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Jacques Casanova de Seingalt
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Title: The Memoires of Casanova, Complete
The Rare Unabridged London Edition Of 1894, plus An
Unpublished Chapter of History, By Arthur Symons
Author: Jacques Casanova de Seingalt
Translator: Arthur Machen
Release Date: November 2, 2006 [EBook #2981]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MEMOIRES OF CASANOVA, COMPLETE ***
Produced by David Widger
THE COMPLETE MEMOIRS OF JACQUES CASANOVA de SEINGALT 1725-1798
THE RARE UNABRIDGED LONDON EDITION OF 1894 TRANSLATED BY ARTHUR MACHEN TO
WHICH HAS BEEN ADDED THE CHAPTERS DISCOVERED BY ARTHUR SYMONS.
[Transcriber's Note: These memoires were not written for children,
they may outrage readers offended by Chaucer, La Fontaine, Rabelais
and The Old Testament. D.W.]
MEMOIRS OF JACQUES CASANOVA de SEINGALT 1725-1798
[Illustration: Bookcover 1]
[Illustration: Titlepage 1]
CASANOVA AT DUX
An Unpublished Chapter of History, By Arthur Symons
I
The Memoirs of Casanova, though they have enjoyed the popularity of a bad
reputation, have never had justice done to them by serious students of
literature, of life, and of history. One English writer, indeed, Mr.
Havelock Ellis, has realised that 'there are few more delightful books in
the world,' and he has analysed them in an essay on Casanova, published
in Affirmations, with extreme care and remarkable subtlety. But this
essay stands alone, at all events in English, as an attempt to take
Casanova seriously, to show him in his relation to his time, and in his
relation to human problems. And yet these Memoirs are perhaps the most
valuable document which we possess on the society of the eighteenth
century; they are the history of a unique life, a unique personality, one
of the greatest of autobiographies; as a record of adventures, they are
more entertaining than Gil Blas, or Monte Cristo, or any of the imaginary
travels, and escapes, and masquerades in life, which have been written in
imitation of them. They tell the story of a man who loved life
passionately for its own sake: one to whom woman was, indeed, the most
important thing in the world, but to whom nothing in the world was
indifferent. The bust which gives us the most lively notion of him shows
us a great, vivid, intellectual face, full of fiery energy and calm
resource, the face of a thinker and a fighter in one. A scholar, an
adventurer, perhaps a Cabalist, a busy stirrer in politics, a gamester,
one 'born for the fairer sex,' as he tells us, and born also to be a
vagabond; this man, who is remembered now for his written account of his
own life, was that rarest kind of autobiographer, one who did not live to
write, but wrote because he had lived, and when he could live no longer.
And his Memoirs take one all over Europe, giving sidelights, all the more
valuable in being almost accidental, upon many of the affairs and people
most interesting to us during two-thirds of the eighteenth century.
Giacomo Casanova was born in Venice, of Spanish and Italian parentage, on
April 2, 1725; he died at the Chateau of Dux, in Bohemia, on June 4,
1798. In that lifetime of seventy-three years he travelled, as his
Memoirs show us, in Italy, France, Germany, Austria, England,
Switzerland, Belgium, Russia, Poland, Spain, Holland, Turkey; he met
Voltaire at Ferney, Rousseau at Montmorency, Fontenelle, d'Alembert and
Crebillon at Paris, George III. in London, Louis XV. at Fontainebleau,
Catherine the Great at St. Petersburg, Benedict XII. at Rome, Joseph II.
at Vienna, Frederick the Great at Sans-Souci. Imprisoned by the
Inquisitors of State in the Piombi at Venice, he made, in 1755, the most
famous escape in history. His Memoirs, as we have them, break off
abruptly at the moment when he is expecting a safe conduct, and the
permission to return to Venice after twenty years' wanderings. He did
return, as we know from documents in the Venetian archives; he returned
as secret agent of the Inquisitors, and remained in their service from
1774 until 1782. At the end of 1782 he left Venice; and next year we find
him in Paris, where, in 1784, he met Count Waldstein at the Venetian
Ambassador's, and was invited by him to become his librarian at Dux. He
accepted, and for the fourteen remaining years of his life lived at Dux,
where he wrote his Memoirs.
Casanova died in 1798, but nothing was heard of the Memoirs (which the
Prince de Ligne, in his own Memoirs, tells us that Casanova had read to
him, and in which he found 'du dyamatique, de la rapidite, du comique, de
la philosophie, des choses neuves, sublimes, inimitables meme') until the
year 1820, when a certain Carlo Angiolini brought to the publishing house
of Brockhaus, in Leipzig, a manuscript entitled Histoire de ma vie jusqu
a l'an 1797, in the handwriting of Casanova. This manuscript, which I
have examined at Leipzig, is written on foolscap paper, rather rough and
yellow; it is written on both sides of the page, and in sheets or quires;
here and there the paging shows that some pages have been omitted, and in
their place are smaller sheets of thinner and whiter paper, all in
Casanova's handsome, unmistakable handwriting. The manuscript is done up
in twelve bundles, corresponding with the twelve volumes of the original
edition; and only in one place is there a gap. The fourth and fifth
chapters of the twelfth volume are missing, as the editor of the original
edition points out, adding: 'It is not probable that these two chapters
have been withdrawn from the manuscript of Casanova by a strange hand;
everything leads us to believe that the author himself suppressed them,
in the intention, no doubt, of re-writing them, but without having found
time to do so.' The manuscript ends abruptly with the year 1774, and not
with the year 1797, as the title would lead us to suppose.
This manuscript, in its original state, has never been printed. Herr
Brockhaus, on obtaining possession of the manuscript, had it translated
into German by Wilhelm Schutz, but with many omissions and alterations,
and published this translation, volume by volume, from 1822 to 1828,
under the title, 'Aus den Memoiren des Venetianers Jacob Casanova de
Seingalt.' While the German edition was in course of publication, Herr
Brockhaus employed a certain Jean Laforgue, a professor of the French
language at Dresden, to revise the original manuscript, correcting
Casanova's vigorous, but at times incorrect, and often somewhat Italian,
French according to his own notions of elegant writing, suppressing
passages which seemed too free-spoken from the point of view of morals
and of politics, and altering the names of some of the persons referred
to, or replacing those names by initials. This revised text was published
in twelve volumes, the first two in 1826, the third and fourth in 1828,
the fifth to the eighth in 1832, and the ninth to the twelfth in 1837;
the first four bearing the imprint of Brockhaus at Leipzig and Ponthieu
et Cie at Paris; the next four the imprint of Heideloff et Campe at
Paris; and the last four nothing but 'A Bruxelles.' The volumes are all
uniform, and were all really printed for the firm of Brockhaus. This,
however far from representing the real text, is the only authoritative
edition, and my references throughout this article will always be to this
edition.
In turning over the manuscript at Leipzig, I read some of the suppressed
passages, and regretted their suppression; but Herr Brockhaus, the
present head of the firm, assured me that they are not really very
considerable in number. The damage, however, to the vivacity of the whole
narrative, by the persistent alterations of M. Laforgue, is incalculable.
I compared many passages, and found scarcely three consecutive sentences
untouched. Herr Brockhaus (whose courtesy I cannot sufficiently
acknowledge) was kind enough to have a passage copied out for me, which I
afterwards read over, and checked word by word. In this passage Casanova
says, for instance: 'Elle venoit presque tous les jours lui faire une
belle visite.' This is altered into: 'Cependant chaque jour Therese
venait lui faire une visite.' Casanova says that some one 'avoit, comme
de raison, forme le projet d'allier Dieu avec le diable.' This is made to
read: 'Qui, comme de raison, avait saintement forme le projet d'allier
les interets du ciel aux oeuvres de ce monde.' Casanova tells us that
Therese would not commit a mortal sin 'pour devenir reine du monde;' pour
une couronne,' corrects the indefatigable Laforgue. 'Il ne savoit que lui
dire' becomes 'Dans cet etat de perplexite;' and so forth. It must,
therefore, be realized that the Memoirs, as we have them, are only a kind
of pale tracing of the vivid colours of the original.
When Casanova's Memoirs were first published, doubts were expressed as to
their authenticity, first by Ugo Foscolo (in the Westminster Review,
1827), then by Querard, supposed to be an authority in regard to
anonymous and pseudonymous writings, finally by Paul Lacroix, 'le
bibliophile Jacob', who suggested, or rather expressed his 'certainty,'
that the real author of the Memoirs was Stendhal, whose 'mind, character,
ideas and style' he seemed to recognise on every page. This theory, as
foolish and as unsupported as the Baconian theory of Shakespeare, has
been carelessly accepted, or at all events accepted as possible, by many
good scholars who have never taken the trouble to look into the matter
for themselves. It was finally disproved by a series of articles of
Armand Baschet, entitled 'Preuves curieuses de l'authenticite des
Memoires de Jacques Casanova de Seingalt,' in 'Le Livre,' January,
February, April and May, 1881; and these proofs were further corroborated
by two articles of Alessandro d'Ancona, entitled 'Un Avventuriere del
Secolo XVIII., in the 'Nuovo Antologia,' February 1 and August 1, 1882.
Baschet had never himself seen the manuscript of the Memoirs, but he had
learnt all the facts about it from Messrs. Brockhaus, and he had himself
examined the numerous papers relating to Casanova in the Venetian
archives. A similar examination was made at the Frari at about the same
time by the Abbe Fulin; and I myself, in 1894, not knowing at the time
that the discovery had been already made, made it over again for myself.
There the arrest of Casanova, his imprisonment in the Piombi, the exact
date of his escape, the name of the monk who accompanied him, are all
authenticated by documents contained in the 'riferte' of the Inquisition
of State; there are the bills for the repairs of the roof and walls of
the cell from which he escaped; there are the reports of the spies on
whose information he was arrested, for his too dangerous free-spokenness
in matters of religion and morality. The same archives contain
forty-eight letters of Casanova to the Inquisitors of State, dating from
1763 to 1782, among the Riferte dei Confidenti, or reports of secret
agents; the earliest asking permission to return to Venice, the rest
giving information in regard to the immoralities of the city, after his
return there; all in the same handwriting as the Memoirs. Further proof
could scarcely be needed, but Baschet has done more than prove the
authenticity, he has proved the extraordinary veracity, of the Memoirs.
F. W. Barthold, in 'Die Geschichtlichen Personlichkeiten in J. Casanova's
Memoiren,' 2 vols., 1846, had already examined about a hundred of
Casanova's allusions to well known people, showing the perfect exactitude
of all but six or seven, and out of these six or seven inexactitudes
ascribing only a single one to the author's intention. Baschet and
d'Ancona both carry on what Barthold had begun; other investigators, in
France, Italy and Germany, have followed them; and two things are now
certain, first, that Casanova himself wrote the Memoirs published under
his name, though not textually in the precise form in which we have them;
and, second, that as their veracity becomes more and more evident as they
are confronted with more and more independent witnesses, it is only fair
to suppose that they are equally truthful where the facts are such as
could only have been known to Casanova himself.
II
For more than two-thirds of a century it has been known that Casanova
spent the last fourteen years of his life at Dux, that he wrote his
Memoirs there, and that he died there. During all this time people have
been discussing the authenticity and the truthfulness of the Memoirs,
they have been searching for information about Casanova in various
directions, and yet hardly any one has ever taken the trouble, or
obtained the permission, to make a careful examination in precisely the
one place where information was most likely to be found. The very
existence of the manuscripts at Dux was known only to a few, and to most
of these only on hearsay; and thus the singular good fortune was reserved
for me, on my visit to Count Waldstein in September 1899, to be the first
to discover the most interesting things contained in these manuscripts.
M. Octave Uzanne, though he had not himself visited Dux, had indeed
procured copies of some of the manuscripts, a few of which were published
by him in Le Livre, in 1887 and 1889. But with the death of Le Livre in
1889 the 'Casanova inedit' came to an end, and has never, so far as I
know, been continued elsewhere. Beyond the publication of these
fragments, nothing has been done with the manuscripts at Dux, nor has an
account of them ever been given by any one who has been allowed to
examine them.
For five years, ever since I had discovered the documents in the Venetian
archives, I had wanted to go to Dux; and in 1899, when I was staying with
Count Lutzow at Zampach, in Bohemia, I found the way kindly opened for
me. Count Waldstein, the present head of the family, with extreme
courtesy, put all his manuscripts at my disposal, and invited me to stay
with him. Unluckily, he was called away on the morning of the day that I
reached Dux. He had left everything ready for me, and I was shown over
the castle by a friend of his, Dr. Kittel, whose courtesy I should like
also to acknowledge. After a hurried visit to the castle we started on
the long drive to Oberleutensdorf, a smaller Schloss near Komotau, where
the Waldstein family was then staying. The air was sharp and bracing; the
two Russian horses flew like the wind; I was whirled along in an
unfamiliar darkness, through a strange country, black with coal mines,
through dark pine woods, where a wild peasantry dwelt in little mining
towns. Here and there, a few men and women passed us on the road, in
their Sunday finery; then a long space of silence, and we were in the
open country, galloping between broad fields; and always in a haze of
lovely hills, which I saw more distinctly as we drove back next morning.
The return to Dux was like a triumphal entry, as we dashed through the
market-place filled with people come for the Monday market, pots and pans
and vegetables strewn in heaps all over the ground, on the rough paving
stones, up to the great gateway of the castle, leaving but just room for
us to drive through their midst. I had the sensation of an enormous
building: all Bohemian castles are big, but this one was like a royal
palace. Set there in the midst of the town, after the Bohemian fashion,
it opens at the back upon great gardens, as if it were in the midst of
the country. I walked through room after room, along corridor after
corridor; everywhere there were pictures, everywhere portraits of
Wallenstein, and battle-scenes in which he led on his troops. The
library, which was formed, or at least arranged, by Casanova, and which
remains as he left it, contains some 25,000 volumes, some of them of
considerable value; one of the most famous books in Bohemian literature,
Skala's History of the Church, exists in manuscript at Dux, and it is
from this manuscript that the two published volumes of it were printed.
The library forms part of the Museum, which occupies a ground-floor wing
of the castle. The first room is an armoury, in which all kinds of arms
are arranged, in a decorative way, covering the ceiling and the walls
with strange patterns. The second room contains pottery, collected by
Casanova's Waldstein on his Eastern travels. The third room is full of
curious mechanical toys, and cabinets, and carvings in ivory. Finally, we
come to the library, contained in the two innermost rooms. The
book-shelves are painted white, and reach to the low-vaulted ceilings,
which are whitewashed. At the end of a bookcase, in the corner of one of
the windows, hangs a fine engraved portrait of Casanova.
After I had been all over the castle, so long Casanova's home, I was
taken to Count Waldstein's study, and left there with the manuscripts. I
found six huge cardboard cases, large enough to contain foolscap paper,
lettered on the back: 'Grafl. Waldstein-Wartenberg'sches Real
Fideicommiss. Dux-Oberleutensdorf: Handschriftlicher Nachlass Casanova.'
The cases were arranged so as to stand like books; they opened at the
side; and on opening them, one after another, I found series after series
of manuscripts roughly thrown together, after some pretence at
arrangement, and lettered with a very generalised description of
contents. The greater part of the manuscripts were in Casanova's
handwriting, which I could see gradually beginning to get shaky with
years. Most were written in French, a certain number in Italian. The
beginning of a catalogue in the library, though said to be by him, was
not in his handwriting. Perhaps it was taken down at his dictation. There
were also some copies of Italian and Latin poems not written by him. Then
there were many big bundles of letters addressed to him, dating over more
than thirty years. Almost all the rest was in his own handwriting.
I came first upon the smaller manuscripts, among which I, found, jumbled
together on the same and on separate scraps of paper, washing-bills,
accounts, hotel bills, lists of letters written, first drafts of letters
with many erasures, notes on books, theological and mathematical notes,
sums, Latin quotations, French and Italian verses, with variants, a long
list of classical names which have and have not been 'francises,' with
reasons for and against; 'what I must wear at Dresden'; headings without
anything to follow, such as: 'Reflexions on respiration, on the true
cause of youth-the crows'; a new method of winning the lottery at Rome;
recipes, among which is a long printed list of perfumes sold at Spa; a
newspaper cutting, dated Prague, 25th October 1790, on the thirty-seventh
balloon ascent of Blanchard; thanks to some 'noble donor' for the gift of
a dog called 'Finette'; a passport for 'Monsieur de Casanova, Venitien,
allant d'ici en Hollande, October 13, 1758 (Ce Passeport bon pour quinze
jours)', together with an order for post-horses, gratis, from Paris to
Bordeaux and Bayonne.'
Occasionally, one gets a glimpse into his daily life at Dux, as in this
note, scribbled on a fragment of paper (here and always I translate the
French literally): 'I beg you to tell my servant what the biscuits are
that I like to eat; dipped in wine, to fortify my stomach. I believe that
they can all be found at Roman's.' Usually, however, these notes, though
often suggested by something closely personal, branch off into more
general considerations; or else begin with general considerations, and
end with a case in point. Thus, for instance, a fragment of three pages
begins: 'A compliment which is only made to gild the pill is a positive
impertinence, and Monsieur Bailli is nothing but a charlatan; the monarch
ought to have spit in his face, but the monarch trembled with fear.' A
manuscript entitled 'Essai d'Egoisme,' dated, 'Dux, this 27th June,
1769,' contains, in the midst of various reflections, an offer to let his
'appartement' in return for enough money to 'tranquillise for six months
two Jew creditors at Prague.' Another manuscript is headed 'Pride and
Folly,' and begins with a long series of antitheses, such as: 'All fools
are not proud, and all proud men are fools. Many fools are happy, all
proud men are unhappy.' On the same sheet follows this instance or
application:
Whether it is possible to compose a Latin distich of the greatest beauty
without knowing either the Latin language or prosody. We must examine the
possibility and the impossibility, and afterwards see who is the man who
says he is the author of the distich, for there are extraordinary people
in the world. My brother, in short, ought to have composed the distich,
because he says so, and because he confided it to me tete-'a-tete. I had,
it is true, difficulty in believing him; but what is one to do! Either
one must believe, or suppose him capable of telling a lie which could
only be told by a fool; and that is impossible, for all Europe knows that
my brother is not a fool.
Here, as so often in these manuscripts, we seem to see Casanova thinking
on paper. He uses scraps of paper (sometimes the blank page of a letter,
on the other side of which we see the address) as a kind of informal
diary; and it is characteristic of him, of the man of infinitely curious
mind, which this adventurer really was, that there are so few merely
personal notes among these casual jottings. Often, they are purely
abstract; at times, metaphysical 'jeux d'esprit,' like the sheet of
fourteen 'Different Wagers,' which begins:
I wager that it is not true that a man who weighs a hundred pounds will
weigh more if you kill him. I wager that if there is any difference, he
will weigh less. I wager that diamond powder has not sufficient force to
kill a man.
Side by side with these fanciful excursions into science, come more
serious ones, as in the note on Algebra, which traces its progress since
the year 1494, before which 'it had only arrived at the solution of
problems of the second degree, inclusive.' A scrap of paper tells us that
Casanova 'did not like regular towns.' 'I like,' he says, 'Venice, Rome,
Florence, Milan, Constantinople, Genoa.' Then he becomes abstract and
inquisitive again, and writes two pages, full of curious, out-of-the-way
learning, on the name of Paradise:
The name of Paradise is a name in Genesis which indicates a place of
pleasure (lieu voluptueux): this term is Persian. This place of pleasure
was made by God before he had created man.
It may be remembered that Casanova quarrelled with Voltaire, because
Voltaire had told him frankly that his translation of L'Ecossaise was a
bad translation. It is piquant to read another note written in this style
of righteous indignation:
Voltaire, the hardy Voltaire, whose pen is without bit or bridle;
Voltaire, who devoured the Bible, and ridiculed our dogmas, doubts, and
after having made proselytes to impiety, is not ashamed, being reduced to
the extremity of life, to ask for the sacraments, and to cover his body
with more relics than St. Louis had at Amboise.
Here is an argument more in keeping with the tone of the Memoirs:
A girl who is pretty and good, and as virtuous as you please, ought not
to take it ill that a man, carried away by her charms, should set himself
to the task of making their conquest. If this man cannot please her by
any means, even if his passion be criminal, she ought never to take
offence at it, nor treat him unkindly; she ought to be gentle, and pity
him, if she does not love him, and think it enough to keep invincibly
hold upon her own duty.
Occasionally he touches upon aesthetical matters, as in a fragment which
begins with this liberal definition of beauty:
Harmony makes beauty, says M. de S. P. (Bernardin de St. Pierre), but the
definition is too short, if he thinks he has said everything. Here is
mine. Remember that the subject is metaphysical. An object really
beautiful ought to seem beautiful to all whose eyes fall upon it. That is
all; there is nothing more to be said.
At times we have an anecdote and its commentary, perhaps jotted down for
use in that latter part of the Memoirs which was never written, or which
has been lost. Here is a single sheet, dated 'this 2nd September, 1791,'
and headed Souvenir:
The Prince de Rosenberg said to me, as we went down stairs, that Madame
de Rosenberg was dead, and asked me if the Comte de Waldstein had in the
library the illustration of the Villa d'Altichiero, which the Emperor had
asked for in vain at the city library of Prague, and when I answered
'yes,' he gave an equivocal laugh. A moment afterwards, he asked me if he
might tell the Emperor. 'Why not, monseigneur? It is not a secret, 'Is
His Majesty coming to Dux?' 'If he goes to Oberlaitensdorf (sic) he will
go to Dux, too; and he may ask you for it, for there is a monument there
which relates to him when he was Grand Duke.' 'In that case, His Majesty
can also see my critical remarks on the Egyptian prints.'
The Emperor asked me this morning, 6th October, how I employed my time at
Dux, and I told him that I was making an Italian anthology. 'You have all
the Italians, then?' 'All, sire.' See what a lie leads to. If I had not
lied in saying that I was making an anthology, I should not have found
myself obliged to lie again in saying that we have all the Italian poets.
If the Emperor comes to Dux, I shall kill myself.
'They say that this Dux is a delightful spot,' says Casanova in one of
the most personal of his notes, 'and I see that it might be for many; but
not for me, for what delights me in my old age is independent of the
place which I inhabit. When I do not sleep I dream, and when I am tired
of dreaming I blacken paper, then I read, and most often reject all that
my pen has vomited.' Here we see him blackening paper, on every occasion,
and for every purpose. In one bundle I found an unfinished story about
Roland, and some adventure with women in a cave; then a 'Meditation on
arising from sleep, 19th May 1789'; then a 'Short Reflection of a
Philosopher who finds himself thinking of procuring his own death. At
Dux, on getting out of bed on 13th October 1793, day dedicated to St.
Lucy, memorable in my too long life.' A big budget, containing
cryptograms, is headed 'Grammatical Lottery'; and there is the title-page
of a treatise on The Duplication of the Hexahedron, demonstrated
geometrically to all the Universities and all the Academies of Europe.'
[See Charles Henry, Les Connaissances Mathimatiques de Casanova. Rome,
1883.] There are innumerable verses, French and Italian, in all stages,
occasionally attaining the finality of these lines, which appear in half
a dozen tentative forms:
'Sans mystere point de plaisirs,
Sans silence point de mystere.
Charme divin de mes loisirs,
Solitude! que tu mes chere!
Then there are a number of more or less complete manuscripts of some
extent. There is the manuscript of the translation of Homer's 'Iliad, in
ottava rima (published in Venice, 1775-8); of the 'Histoire de Venise,'
of the 'Icosameron,' a curious book published in 1787, purporting to be
'translated from English,' but really an original work of Casanova;
'Philocalies sur les Sottises des Mortels,' a long manuscript never
published; the sketch and beginning of 'Le Pollmarque, ou la Calomnie
demasquee par la presence d'esprit. Tragicomedie en trois actes, composed
a Dux dans le mois de Juin de l'Annee, 1791,' which recurs again under
the form of the 'Polemoscope: La Lorgnette menteuse ou la Calomnie
demasquge,' acted before the Princess de Ligne, at her chateau at
Teplitz, 1791. There is a treatise in Italian, 'Delle Passioni'; there
are long dialogues, such as 'Le Philosophe et le Theologien', and 'Reve':
'Dieu-Moi'; there is the 'Songe d'un Quart d'Heure', divided into
minutes; there is the very lengthy criticism of 'Bernardin de
Saint-Pierre'; there is the 'Confutation d'une Censure indiscrate qu'on
lit dans la Gazette de Iena, 19 Juin 1789'; with another large
manuscript, unfortunately imperfect, first called 'L'Insulte', and then
'Placet au Public', dated 'Dux, this 2nd March, 1790,' referring to the
same criticism on the 'Icosameron' and the 'Fuite des Prisons. L'Histoire
de ma Fuite des Prisons de la Republique de Venise, qu'on appelle les
Plombs', which is the first draft of the most famous part of the Memoirs,
was published at Leipzig in 1788; and, having read it in the Marcian
Library at Venice, I am not surprised to learn from this indignant
document that it was printed 'under the care of a young Swiss, who had
the talent to commit a hundred faults of orthography.'
III.
We come now to the documents directly relating to the Memoirs, and among
these are several attempts at a preface, in which we see the actual
preface coming gradually into form. One is entitled 'Casanova au
Lecteur', another 'Histoire de mon Existence', and a third Preface. There
is also a brief and characteristic 'Precis de ma vie', dated November 17,
1797. Some of these have been printed in Le Livre, 1887. But by far the
most important manuscript that I discovered, one which, apparently, I am
the first to discover, is a manuscript entitled 'Extrait du Chapitre 4 et
5. It is written on paper similar to that on which the Memoirs are
written; the pages are numbered 104-148; and though it is described as
Extrait, it seems to contain, at all events, the greater part of the
missing chapters to which I have already referred, Chapters IV. and V. of
the last volume of the Memoirs. In this manuscript we find Armeline and
Scolastica, whose story is interrupted by the abrupt ending of Chapter
III.; we find Mariuccia of Vol. VII, Chapter IX., who married a
hairdresser; and we find also Jaconine, whom Casanova recognises as his
daughter, 'much prettier than Sophia, the daughter of Therese Pompeati,
whom I had left at London.' It is curious that this very important
manuscript, which supplies the one missing link in the Memoirs, should
never have been discovered by any of the few people who have had the
opportunity of looking over the Dux manuscripts. I am inclined to explain
it by the fact that the case in which I found this manuscript contains
some papers not relating to Casanova. Probably, those who looked into
this case looked no further. I have told Herr Brockhaus of my discovery,
and I hope to see Chapters IV. and V. in their places when the
long-looked-for edition of the complete text is at length given to the
world.
Another manuscript which I found tells with great piquancy the whole
story of the Abbe de Brosses' ointment, the curing of the Princess de
Conti's pimples, and the birth of the Duc de Montpensier, which is told
very briefly, and with much less point, in the Memoirs (vol. iii., p.
327). Readers of the Memoirs will remember the duel at Warsaw with Count
Branicki in 1766 (vol. X., pp. 274-320), an affair which attracted a good
deal of attention at the time, and of which there is an account in a
letter from the Abbe Taruffi to the dramatist, Francesco Albergati, dated
Warsaw, March 19, 1766, quoted in Ernesto Masi's Life of Albergati,
Bologna, 1878. A manuscript at Dux in Casanova's handwriting gives an
account of this duel in the third person; it is entitled, 'Description de
l'affaire arrivee a Varsovie le 5 Mars, 1766'. D'Ancona, in the Nuova
Antologia (vol. lxvii., p. 412), referring to the Abbe Taruffi's account,
mentions what he considers to be a slight discrepancy: that Taruffi
refers to the danseuse, about whom the duel was fought, as La Casacci,
while Casanova refers to her as La Catai. In this manuscript Casanova
always refers to her as La Casacci; La Catai is evidently one of M.
Laforgue's arbitrary alterations of the text.
In turning over another manuscript, I was caught by the name Charpillon,
which every reader of the Memoirs will remember as the name of the harpy
by whom Casanova suffered so much in London, in 1763-4. This manuscript
begins by saying: 'I have been in London for six months and have been to
see them (that is, the mother and daughter) in their own house,' where he
finds nothing but 'swindlers, who cause all who go there to lose their
money in gambling.' This manuscript adds some details to the story told
in the ninth and tenth volumes of the Memoirs, and refers to the meeting
with the Charpillons four and a half years before, described in Volume
V., pages 428-485. It is written in a tone of great indignation.
Elsewhere, I found a letter written by Casanova, but not signed,
referring to an anonymous letter which he had received in reference to
the Charpillons, and ending: 'My handwriting is known.' It was not until
the last that I came upon great bundles of letters addressed to Casanova,
and so carefully preserved that little scraps of paper, on which
postscripts are written, are still in their places. One still sees the
seals on the backs of many of the letters, on paper which has slightly
yellowed with age, leaving the ink, however, almost always fresh. They
come from Venice, Paris, Rome, Prague, Bayreuth, The Hague, Genoa, Fiume,
Trieste, etc., and are addressed to as many places, often poste restante.
Many are letters from women, some in beautiful handwriting, on thick
paper; others on scraps of paper, in painful hands, ill-spelt. A Countess
writes pitifully, imploring help; one protests her love, in spite of the
'many chagrins' he has caused her; another asks 'how they are to live
together'; another laments that a report has gone about that she is
secretly living with him, which may harm his reputation. Some are in
French, more in Italian. 'Mon cher Giacometto', writes one woman, in
French; 'Carissimo a Amatissimo', writes another, in Italian. These
letters from women are in some confusion, and are in need of a good deal
of sorting over and rearranging before their full extent can be realised.
Thus I found letters in the same handwriting separated by letters in
other handwritings; many are unsigned, or signed only by a single
initial; many are undated, or dated only with the day of the week or
month. There are a great many letters, dating from 1779 to 1786, signed
'Francesca Buschini,' a name which I cannot identify; they are written in
Italian, and one of them begins: 'Unico Mio vero Amico' ('my only true
friend'). Others are signed 'Virginia B.'; one of these is dated, 'Forli,
October 15, 1773.' There is also a 'Theresa B.,' who writes from Genoa. I
was at first unable to identify the writer of a whole series of letters
in French, very affectionate and intimate letters, usually unsigned,
occasionally signed 'B.' She calls herself votre petite amie; or she ends
with a half-smiling, half-reproachful 'goodnight, and sleep better than
I' In one letter, sent from Paris in 1759, she writes: 'Never believe me,
but when I tell you that I love you, and that I shall love you always: In
another letter, ill-spelt, as her letters often are, she writes: 'Be
assured that evil tongues, vapours, calumny, nothing can change my heart,
which is yours entirely, and has no will to change its master.' Now, it
seems to me that these letters must be from Manon Baletti, and that they
are the letters referred to in the sixth volume of the Memoirs. We read
there (page 60) how on Christmas Day, 1759, Casanova receives a letter
from Manon in Paris, announcing her marriage with 'M. Blondel, architect
to the King, and member of his Academy'; she returns him his letters, and
begs him to return hers, or burn them. Instead of doing so he allows
Esther to read them, intending to burn them afterwards. Esther begs to be
allowed to keep the letters, promising to 'preserve them religiously all
her life.' 'These letters,' he says, 'numbered more than two hundred, and
the shortest were of four pages: Certainly there are not two hundred of
them at Dux, but it seems to me highly probable that Casanova made a
final selection from Manon's letters, and that it is these which I have
found.
But, however this may be, I was fortunate enough to find the set of
letters which I was most anxious to find the letters from Henriette,
whose loss every writer on Casanova has lamented. Henriette, it will be
remembered, makes her first appearance at Cesena, in the year 1748; after
their meeting at Geneva, she reappears, romantically 'a propos',
twenty-two years later, at Aix in Provence; and she writes to Casanova
proposing 'un commerce epistolaire', asking him what he has done since
his escape from prison, and promising to do her best to tell him all that
has happened to her during the long interval. After quoting her letter,
he adds: 'I replied to her, accepting the correspondence that she offered
me, and telling her briefly all my vicissitudes. She related to me in
turn, in some forty letters, all the history of her life. If she dies
before me, I shall add these letters to these Memoirs; but to-day she is
still alive, and always happy, though now old.' It has never been known
what became of these letters, and why they were not added to the Memoirs.
I have found a great quantity of them, some signed with her married name
in full, 'Henriette de Schnetzmann,' and I am inclined to think that she
survived Casanova, for one of the letters is dated Bayreuth, 1798, the
year of Casanova's death. They are remarkably charming, written with a
mixture of piquancy and distinction; and I will quote the characteristic
beginning and end of the last letter I was able to find. It begins: 'No,
it is impossible to be sulky with you!' and ends: 'If I become vicious,
it is you, my Mentor, who make me so, and I cast my sins upon you. Even
if I were damned I should still be your most devoted friend, Henriette de
Schnetzmann.' Casanova was twenty-three when he met Henriette; now,
herself an old woman, she writes to him when he is seventy-three, as if
the fifty years that had passed were blotted out in the faithful
affection of her memory. How many more discreet and less changing lovers
have had the quality of constancy in change, to which this life-long
correspondence bears witness? Does it not suggest a view of Casanova not
quite the view of all the world? To me it shows the real man, who perhaps
of all others best understood what Shelley meant when he said:
True love in this differs from gold or clay
That to divide is not to take away.
But, though the letters from women naturally interested me the most, they
were only a certain proportion of the great mass of correspondence which
I turned over. There were letters from Carlo Angiolini, who was
afterwards to bring the manuscript of the Memoirs to Brockhaus; from
Balbi, the monk with whom Casanova escaped from the Piombi; from the
Marquis Albergati, playwright, actor, and eccentric, of whom there is
some account in the Memoirs; from the Marquis Mosca, 'a distinguished man
of letters whom I was anxious to see,' Casanova tells us in the same
volume in which he describes his visit to the Moscas at Pesaro; from
Zulian, brother of the Duchess of Fiano; from Richard Lorrain, 'bel
homme, ayant de l'esprit, le ton et le gout de la bonne societe', who
came to settle at Gorizia in 1773, while Casanova was there; from the
Procurator Morosini, whom he speaks of in the Memoirs as his 'protector,'
and as one of those through whom he obtained permission to return to
Venice. His other 'protector,' the 'avogador' Zaguri, had, says Casanova,
'since the affair of the Marquis Albergati, carried on a most interesting
correspondence with me'; and in fact I found a bundle of no less than a
hundred and thirty-eight letters from him, dating from 1784 to 1798.
Another bundle contains one hundred and seventy-two letters from Count
Lamberg. In the Memoirs Casanova says, referring to his visit to Augsburg
at the end of 1761:
I used to spend my evenings in a very agreeable manner at the house of
Count Max de Lamberg, who resided at the court of the Prince-Bishop with
the title of Grand Marshal. What particularly attached me to Count
Lamberg was his literary talent. A first-rate scholar, learned to a
degree, he has published several much esteemed works. I carried on an
exchange of letters with him which ended only with his death four years
ago in 1792.
Casanova tells us that, at his second visit to Augsburg in the early part
of 1767, he 'supped with Count Lamberg two or three times a week,' during
the four months he was there. It is with this year that the letters I
have found begin: they end with the year of his death, 1792. In his
'Memorial d'un Mondain' Lamberg refers to Casanova as 'a man known in
literature, a man of profound knowledge.' In the first edition of 1774,
he laments that 'a man such as M. de S. Galt' should not yet have been
taken back into favour by the Venetian government, and in the second
edition, 1775, rejoices over Casanova's return to Venice. Then there are
letters from Da Ponte, who tells the story of Casanova's curious
relations with Mme. d'Urfe, in his 'Memorie scritte da esso', 1829; from
Pittoni, Bono, and others mentioned in different parts of the Memoirs,
and from some dozen others who are not mentioned in them. The only
letters in the whole collection that have been published are those from
the Prince de Ligne and from Count Koenig.
IV.
Casanova tells us in his Memoirs that, during his later years at Dux, he
had only been able to 'hinder black melancholy from devouring his poor
existence, or sending him out of his mind,' by writing ten or twelve
hours a day. The copious manuscripts at Dux show us how persistently he
was at work on a singular variety of subjects, in addition to the
Memoirs, and to the various books which he published during those years.
We see him jotting down everything that comes into his head, for his own
amusement, and certainly without any thought of publication; engaging in
learned controversies, writing treatises on abstruse mathematical
problems, composing comedies to be acted before Count Waldstein's
neighbours, practising verse-writing in two languages, indeed with more
patience than success, writing philosophical dialogues in which God and
himself are the speakers, and keeping up an extensive correspondence,
both with distinguished men and with delightful women. His mental
activity, up to the age of seventy-three, is as prodigious as the
activity which he had expended in living a multiform and incalculable
life. As in life everything living had interested him so in his
retirement from life every idea makes its separate appeal to him; and he
welcomes ideas with the same impartiality with which he had welcomed
adventures. Passion has intellectualised itself, and remains not less
passionate. He wishes to do everything, to compete with every one; and it
is only after having spent seven years in heaping up miscellaneous
learning, and exercising his faculties in many directions, that he turns
to look back over his own past life, and to live it over again in memory,
as he writes down the narrative of what had interested him most in it. 'I
write in the hope that my history will never see the broad day light of
publication,' he tells us, scarcely meaning it, we may be sure, even in
the moment of hesitancy which may naturally come to him. But if ever a
book was written for the pleasure of writing it, it was this one; and an
autobiography written for oneself is not likely to be anything but frank.
'Truth is the only God I have ever adored,' he tells us: and we now know
how truthful he was in saying so. I have only summarised in this article
the most important confirmations of his exact accuracy in facts and
dates; the number could be extended indefinitely. In the manuscripts we
find innumerable further confirmations; and their chief value as
testimony is that they tell us nothing which we should not have already
known, if we had merely taken Casanova at his word. But it is not always
easy to take people at their own word, when they are writing about
themselves; and the world has been very loth to believe in Casanova as he
represents himself. It has been specially loth to believe that he is
telling the truth when he tells us about his adventures with women. But
the letters contained among these manuscripts shows us the women of
Casanova writing to him with all the fervour and all the fidelity which
he attributes to them; and they show him to us in the character of as
fervid and faithful a lover. In every fact, every detail, and in the
whole mental impression which they convey, these manuscripts bring before
us the Casanova of the Memoirs. As I seemed to come upon Casanova at
home, it was as if I came upon old friend, already perfectly known to me,
before I had made my pilgrimage to Dux.
1902
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE
A series of adventures wilder and more fantastic than the wildest of
romances, written down with the exactitude of a business diary; a view of
men and cities from Naples to Berlin, from Madrid and London to
Constantinople and St. Petersburg; the 'vie intime' of the eighteenth
century depicted by a man, who to-day sat with cardinals and saluted
crowned heads, and to morrow lurked in dens of profligacy and crime; a
book of confessions penned without reticence and without penitence; a
record of forty years of "occult" charlatanism; a collection of tales of
successful imposture, of 'bonnes fortunes', of marvellous escapes, of
transcendent audacity, told with the humour of Smollett and the delicate
wit of Voltaire. Who is there interested in men and letters, and in the
life of the past, who would not cry, "Where can such a book as this be
found?"
Yet the above catalogue is but a brief outline, a bare and meagre
summary, of the book known as "THE MEMOIRS OF CASANOVA"; a work
absolutely unique in literature. He who opens these wonderful pages is as
one who sits in a theatre and looks across the gloom, not on a
stage-play, but on another and a vanished world. The curtain draws up,
and suddenly a hundred and fifty years are rolled away, and in bright
light stands out before us the whole life of the past; the gay dresses,
the polished wit, the careless morals, and all the revel and dancing of
those merry years before the mighty deluge of the Revolution. The palaces
and marble stairs of old Venice are no longer desolate, but thronged with
scarlet-robed senators, prisoners with the doom of the Ten upon their
heads cross the Bridge of Sighs, at dead of night the nun slips out of
the convent gate to the dark canal where a gondola is waiting, we assist
at the 'parties fines' of cardinals, and we see the bank made at faro.
Venice gives place to the assembly rooms of Mrs. Cornely and the fast
taverns of the London of 1760; we pass from Versailles to the Winter
Palace of St. Petersburg in the days of Catherine, from the policy of the
Great Frederick to the lewd mirth of strolling-players, and the
presence-chamber of the Vatican is succeeded by an intrigue in a garret.
It is indeed a new experience to read this history of a man who,
refraining from nothing, has concealed nothing; of one who stood in the
courts of Louis the Magnificent before Madame de Pompadour and the nobles
of the Ancien Regime, and had an affair with an adventuress of Denmark
Street, Soho; who was bound over to keep the peace by Fielding, and knew
Cagliostro. The friend of popes and kings and noblemen, and of all the
male and female ruffians and vagabonds of Europe, abbe, soldier,
charlatan, gamester, financier, diplomatist, viveur, philosopher,
virtuoso, "chemist, fiddler, and buffoon," each of these, and all of
these was Giacomo Casanova, Chevalier de Seingalt, Knight of the Golden
Spur.
And not only are the Memoirs a literary curiosity; they are almost
equally curious from a bibliographical point of view. The manuscript was
written in French and came into the possession of the publisher
Brockhaus, of Leipzig, who had it translated into German, and printed.
From this German edition, M. Aubert de Vitry re-translated the work into
French, but omitted about a fourth of the matter, and this mutilated and
worthless version is frequently purchased by unwary bibliophiles. In the
year 1826, however, Brockhaus, in order presumably to protect his
property, printed the entire text of the original MS. in French, for the
first time, and in this complete form, containing a large number of
anecdotes and incidents not to be found in the spurious version, the work
was not acceptable to the authorities, and was consequently rigorously
suppressed. Only a few copies sent out for presentation or for review are
known to have escaped, and from one of these rare copies the present
translation has been made and solely for private circulation.
In conclusion, both translator and 'editeur' have done their utmost to
present the English Casanova in a dress worthy of the wonderful and witty
original.
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
I will begin with this confession: whatever I have done in the course of
my life, whether it be good or evil, has been done freely; I am a free
agent.
The doctrine of the Stoics or of any other sect as to the force of
Destiny is a bubble engendered by the imagination of man, and is near
akin to Atheism. I not only believe in one God, but my faith as a
Christian is also grafted upon that tree of philosophy which has never
spoiled anything.
I believe in the existence of an immaterial God, the Author and Master of
all beings and all things, and I feel that I never had any doubt of His
existence, from the fact that I have always relied upon His providence,
prayed to Him in my distress, and that He has always granted my prayers.
Despair brings death, but prayer does away with despair; and when a man
has prayed he feels himself supported by new confidence and endowed with
power to act. As to the means employed by the Sovereign Master of human
beings to avert impending dangers from those who beseech His assistance,
I confess that the knowledge of them is above the intelligence of man,
who can but wonder and adore. Our ignorance becomes our only resource,
and happy, truly happy; are those who cherish their ignorance! Therefore
must we pray to God, and believe that He has granted the favour we have
been praying for, even when in appearance it seems the reverse. As to the
position which our body ought to assume when we address ourselves to the
Creator, a line of Petrarch settles it:
'Con le ginocchia della mente inchine.'
Man is free, but his freedom ceases when he has no faith in it; and the
greater power he ascribes to faith, the more he deprives himself of that
power which God has given to him when He endowed him with the gift of
reason. Reason is a particle of the Creator's divinity. When we use it
with a spirit of humility and justice we are certain to please the Giver
of that precious gift. God ceases to be God only for those who can admit
the possibility of His non-existence, and that conception is in itself
the most severe punishment they can suffer.
Man is free; yet we must not suppose that he is at liberty to do
everything he pleases, for he becomes a slave the moment he allows his
actions to be ruled by passion. The man who has sufficient power over
himself to wait until his nature has recovered its even balance is the
truly wise man, but such beings are seldom met with.
The reader of these Memoirs will discover that I never had any fixed aim
before my eyes, and that my system, if it can be called a system, has
been to glide away unconcernedly on the stream of life, trusting to the
wind wherever it led. How many changes arise from such an independent
mode of life! My success and my misfortunes, the bright and the dark days
I have gone through, everything has proved to me that in this world,
either physical or moral, good comes out of evil just as well as evil
comes out of good. My errors will point to thinking men the various
roads, and will teach them the great art of treading on the brink of the
precipice without falling into it. It is only necessary to have courage,
for strength without self-confidence is useless. I have often met with
happiness after some imprudent step which ought to have brought ruin upon
me, and although passing a vote of censure upon myself I would thank God
for his mercy. But, by way of compensation, dire misfortune has befallen
me in consequence of actions prompted by the most cautious wisdom. This
would humble me; yet conscious that I had acted rightly I would easily
derive comfort from that conviction.
In spite of a good foundation of sound morals, the natural offspring of
the Divine principles which had been early rooted in my heart, I have
been throughout my life the victim of my senses; I have found delight in
losing the right path, I have constantly lived in the midst of error,
with no consolation but the consciousness of my being mistaken.
Therefore, dear reader, I trust that, far from attaching to my history
the character of impudent boasting, you will find in my Memoirs only the
characteristic proper to a general confession, and that my narratory
style will be the manner neither of a repenting sinner, nor of a man
ashamed to acknowledge his frolics. They are the follies inherent to
youth; I make sport of them, and, if you are kind, you will not yourself
refuse them a good-natured smile. You will be amused when you see that I
have more than once deceived without the slightest qualm of conscience,
both knaves and fools. As to the deceit perpetrated upon women, let it
pass, for, when love is in the way, men and women as a general rule dupe
each other. But on the score of fools it is a very different matter. I
always feel the greatest bliss when I recollect those I have caught in my
snares, for they generally are insolent, and so self-conceited that they
challenge wit. We avenge intellect when we dupe a fool, and it is a
victory not to be despised for a fool is covered with steel and it is
often very hard to find his vulnerable part. In fact, to gull a fool
seems to me an exploit worthy of a witty man. I have felt in my very
blood, ever since I was born, a most unconquerable hatred towards the
whole tribe of fools, and it arises from the fact that I feel myself a
blockhead whenever I am in their company. I am very far from placing them
in the same class with those men whom we call stupid, for the latter are
stupid only from deficient education, and I rather like them. I have met
with some of them--very honest fellows, who, with all their stupidity,
had a kind of intelligence and an upright good sense, which cannot be the
characteristics of fools. They are like eyes veiled with the cataract,
which, if the disease could be removed, would be very beautiful.
Dear reader, examine the spirit of this preface, and you will at once
guess at my purpose. I have written a preface because I wish you to know
me thoroughly before you begin the reading of my Memoirs. It is only in a
coffee-room or at a table d'hote that we like to converse with strangers.
I have written the history of my life, and I have a perfect right to do
so; but am I wise in throwing it before a public of which I know nothing
but evil? No, I am aware it is sheer folly, but I want to be busy, I want
to laugh, and why should I deny myself this gratification?
'Expulit elleboro morbum bilemque mero.'
An ancient author tells us somewhere, with the tone of a pedagogue, if
you have not done anything worthy of being recorded, at least write
something worthy of being read. It is a precept as beautiful as a diamond
of the first water cut in England, but it cannot be applied to me,
because I have not written either a novel, or the life of an illustrious
character. Worthy or not, my life is my subject, and my subject is my
life. I have lived without dreaming that I should ever take a fancy to
write the history of my life, and, for that very reason, my Memoirs may
claim from the reader an interest and a sympathy which they would not
have obtained, had I always entertained the design to write them in my
old age, and, still more, to publish them.
I have reached, in 1797, the age of three-score years and twelve; I can
not say, Vixi, and I could not procure a more agreeable pastime than to
relate my own adventures, and to cause pleasant laughter amongst the good
company listening to me, from which I have received so many tokens of
friendship, and in the midst of which I have ever lived. To enable me to
write well, I have only to think that my readers will belong to that
polite society:
'Quoecunque dixi, si placuerint, dictavit auditor.'
Should there be a few intruders whom I can not prevent from perusing my
Memoirs, I must find comfort in the idea that my history was not written
for them.
By recollecting the pleasures I have had formerly, I renew them, I enjoy
them a second time, while I laugh at the remembrance of troubles now
past, and which I no longer feel. A member of this great universe, I
speak to the air, and I fancy myself rendering an account of my
administration, as a steward is wont to do before leaving his situation.
For my future I have no concern, and as a true philosopher, I never would
have any, for I know not what it may be: as a Christian, on the other
hand, faith must believe without discussion, and the stronger it is, the
more it keeps silent. I know that I have lived because I have felt, and,
feeling giving me the knowledge of my existence, I know likewise that I
shall exist no more when I shall have ceased to feel.
Should I perchance still feel after my death, I would no longer have any
doubt, but I would most certainly give the lie to anyone asserting before
me that I was dead.
The history of my life must begin by the earliest circumstance which my
memory can evoke; it will therefore commence when I had attained the age
of eight years and four months. Before that time, if to think is to live
be a true axiom, I did not live, I could only lay claim to a state of
vegetation. The mind of a human being is formed only of comparisons made
in order to examine analogies, and therefore cannot precede the existence
of memory. The mnemonic organ was developed in my head only eight years
and four months after my birth; it is then that my soul began to be
susceptible of receiving impressions. How is it possible for an
immaterial substance, which can neither touch nor be touched to receive
impressions? It is a mystery which man cannot unravel.
A certain philosophy, full of consolation, and in perfect accord with
religion, pretends that the state of dependence in which the soul stands
in relation to the senses and to the organs, is only incidental and
transient, and that it will reach a condition of freedom and happiness
when the death of the body shall have delivered it from that state of
tyrannic subjection. This is very fine, but, apart from religion, where
is the proof of it all? Therefore, as I cannot, from my own information,
have a perfect certainty of my being immortal until the dissolution of my
body has actually taken place, people must kindly bear with me, if I am
in no hurry to obtain that certain knowledge, for, in my estimation, a
knowledge to be gained at the cost of life is a rather expensive piece of
information. In the mean time I worship God, laying every wrong action
under an interdict which I endeavour to respect, and I loathe the wicked
without doing them any injury. I only abstain from doing them any good,
in the full belief that we ought not to cherish serpents.
As I must likewise say a few words respecting my nature and my
temperament, I premise that the most indulgent of my readers is not
likely to be the most dishonest or the least gifted with intelligence.
I have had in turn every temperament; phlegmatic in my infancy; sanguine
in my youth; later on, bilious; and now I have a disposition which
engenders melancholy, and most likely will never change. I always made my
food congenial to my constitution, and my health was always excellent. I
learned very early that our health is always impaired by some excess
either of food or abstinence, and I never had any physician except
myself. I am bound to add that the excess in too little has ever proved
in me more dangerous than the excess in too much; the last may cause
indigestion, but the first causes death.
Now, old as I am, and although enjoying good digestive organs, I must
have only one meal every day; but I find a set-off to that privation in
my delightful sleep, and in the ease which I experience in writing down
my thoughts without having recourse to paradox or sophism, which would be
calculated to deceive myself even more than my readers, for I never could
make up my mind to palm counterfeit coin upon them if I knew it to be
such.
The sanguine temperament rendered me very sensible to the attractions of
voluptuousness: I was always cheerful and ever ready to pass from one
enjoyment to another, and I was at the same time very skillful in
inventing new pleasures. Thence, I suppose, my natural disposition to
make fresh acquaintances, and to break with them so readily, although
always for a good reason, and never through mere fickleness. The errors
caused by temperament are not to be corrected, because our temperament is
perfectly independent of our strength: it is not the case with our
character. Heart and head are the constituent parts of character;
temperament has almost nothing to do with it, and, therefore, character
is dependent upon education, and is susceptible of being corrected and
improved.
I leave to others the decision as to the good or evil tendencies of my
character, but such as it is it shines upon my countenance, and there it
can easily be detected by any physiognomist. It is only on the fact that
character can be read; there it lies exposed to the view. It is worthy of
remark that men who have no peculiar cast of countenance, and there are a
great many such men, are likewise totally deficient in peculiar
characteristics, and we may establish the rule that the varieties in
physiognomy are equal to the differences in character. I am aware that
throughout my life my actions have received their impulse more from the
force of feeling than from the wisdom of reason, and this has led me to
acknowledge that my conduct has been dependent upon my nature more than
upon my mind; both are generally at war, and in the midst of their
continual collisions I have never found in me sufficient mind to balance
my nature, or enough strength in my nature to counteract the power of my
mind. But enough of this, for there is truth in the old saying: 'Si
brevis esse volo, obscurus fio', and I believe that, without offending
against modesty, I can apply to myself the following words of my dear
Virgil:
'Nec sum adeo informis: nuper me in littore vidi
Cum placidum ventis staret mare.'
The chief business of my life has always been to indulge my senses; I
never knew anything of greater importance. I felt myself born for the
fair sex, I have ever loved it dearly, and I have been loved by it as
often and as much as I could. I have likewise always had a great weakness
for good living, and I ever felt passionately fond of every object which
excited my curiosity.
I have had friends who have acted kindly towards me, and it has been my
good fortune to have it in my power to give them substantial proofs of my
gratitude. I have had also bitter enemies who have persecuted me, and
whom I have not crushed simply because I could not do it. I never would
have forgiven them, had I not lost the memory of all the injuries they
had heaped upon me. The man who forgets does not forgive, he only loses
the remembrance of the harm inflicted on him; forgiveness is the
offspring of a feeling of heroism, of a noble heart, of a generous mind,
whilst forgetfulness is only the result of a weak memory, or of an easy
carelessness, and still oftener of a natural desire for calm and
quietness. Hatred, in the course of time, kills the unhappy wretch who
delights in nursing it in his bosom.
Should anyone bring against me an accusation of sensuality he would be
wrong, for all the fierceness of my senses never caused me to neglect any
of my duties. For the same excellent reason, the accusation of
drunkenness ought not to have been brought against Homer:
'Laudibus arguitur vini vinosus Homerus.'
I have always been fond of highly-seasoned, rich dishes, such as macaroni
prepared by a skilful Neapolitan cook, the olla-podrida of the Spaniards,
the glutinous codfish from Newfoundland, game with a strong flavour, and
cheese the perfect state of which is attained when the tiny animaculae
formed from its very essence begin to shew signs of life. As for women, I
have always found the odour of my beloved ones exceeding pleasant.
What depraved tastes! some people will exclaim. Are you not ashamed to
confess such inclinations without blushing! Dear critics, you make me
laugh heartily. Thanks to my coarse tastes, I believe myself happier than
other men, because I am convinced that they enhance my enjoyment. Happy
are those who know how to obtain pleasures without injury to anyone;
insane are those who fancy that the Almighty can enjoy the sufferings,
the pains, the fasts and abstinences which they offer to Him as a
sacrifice, and that His love is granted only to those who tax themselves
so foolishly. God can only demand from His creatures the practice of
virtues the seed of which He has sown in their soul, and all He has given
unto us has been intended for our happiness; self-love, thirst for
praise, emulation, strength, courage, and a power of which nothing can
deprive us--the power of self-destruction, if, after due calculation,
whether false or just, we unfortunately reckon death to be advantageous.
This is the strongest proof of our moral freedom so much attacked by
sophists. Yet this power of self-destruction is repugnant to nature, and
has been rightly opposed by every religion.
A so-called free-thinker told me at one time that I could not consider
myself a philosopher if I placed any faith in revelation. But when we
accept it readily in physics, why should we reject it in religious
matters? The form alone is the point in question. The spirit speaks to
the spirit, and not to the ears. The principles of everything we are
acquainted with must necessarily have been revealed to those from whom we
have received them by the great, supreme principle, which contains them
all. The bee erecting its hive, the swallow building its nest, the ant
constructing its cave, and the spider warping its web, would never have
done anything but for a previous and everlasting revelation. We must
either believe that it is so, or admit that matter is endowed with
thought. But as we dare not pay such a compliment to matter, let us stand
by revelation.
The great philosopher, who having deeply studied nature, thought he had
found the truth because he acknowledged nature as God, died too soon. Had
he lived a little while longer, he would have gone much farther, and yet
his journey would have been but a short one, for finding himself in his
Author, he could not have denied Him: In Him we move and have our being.
He would have found Him inscrutable, and thus would have ended his
journey.
God, great principle of all minor principles, God, who is Himself without
a principle, could not conceive Himself, if, in order to do it, He
required to know His own principle.
Oh, blissful ignorance! Spinosa, the virtuous Spinosa, died before he
could possess it. He would have died a learned man and with a right to
the reward his virtue deserved, if he had only supposed his soul to be
immortal!
It is not true that a wish for reward is unworthy of real virtue, and
throws a blemish upon its purity. Such a pretension, on the contrary,
helps to sustain virtue, man being himself too weak to consent to be
virtuous only for his own 'gratification. I hold as a myth that
Amphiaraus who preferred to be good than to seem good. In fact, I do not
believe there is an honest man alive without some pretension, and here is
mine.
I pretend to the friendship, to the esteem, to the gratitude of my
readers. I claim their gratitude, if my Memoirs can give them instruction
and pleasure; I claim their esteem if, rendering me justice, they find
more good qualities in me than faults, and I claim their friendship as
soon as they deem me worthy of it by the candour and the good faith with
which I abandon myself to their judgment, without disguise and exactly as
I am in reality. They will find that I have always had such sincere love
for truth, that I have often begun by telling stories for the purpose of
getting truth to enter the heads of those who could not appreciate its
charms. They will not form a wrong opinion of me when they see one
emptying the purse of my friends to satisfy my fancies, for those friends
entertained idle schemes, and by giving them the hope of success I
trusted to disappointment to cure them. I would deceive them to make them
wiser, and I did not consider myself guilty, for I applied to my own
enjoyment sums of money which would have been lost in the vain pursuit of
possessions denied by nature; therefore I was not actuated by any
avaricious rapacity. I might think myself guilty if I were rich now, but
I have nothing. I have squandered everything; it is my comfort and my
justification. The money was intended for extravagant follies, and by
applying it to my own frolics I did not turn it into a very different,
channel.
If I were deceived in my hope to please, I candidly confess I would
regret it, but not sufficiently so to repent having written my Memoirs,
for, after all, writing them has given me pleasure. Oh, cruel ennui! It
must be by mistake that those who have invented the torments of hell have
forgotten to ascribe thee the first place among them. Yet I am bound to
own that I entertain a great fear of hisses; it is too natural a fear for
me to boast of being insensible to them, and I cannot find any solace in
the idea that, when these Memoirs are published, I shall be no more. I
cannot think without a shudder of contracting any obligation towards
death: I hate death; for, happy or miserable, life is the only blessing
which man possesses, and those who do not love it are unworthy of it. If
we prefer honour to life, it is because life is blighted by infamy; and
if, in the alternative, man sometimes throws away his life, philosophy
must remain silent.
Oh, death, cruel death! Fatal law which nature necessarily rejects
because thy very office is to destroy nature! Cicero says that death
frees us from all pains and sorrows, but this great philosopher books all
the expense without taking the receipts into account. I do not recollect
if, when he wrote his 'Tusculan Disputations', his own Tullia was dead.
Death is a monster which turns away from the great theatre an attentive
hearer before the end of the play which deeply interests him, and this is
reason enough to hate it.
All my adventures are not to be found in these Memoirs; I have left out
those which might have offended the persons who have played a sorry part
therein. In spite of this reserve, my readers will perhaps often think me
indiscreet, and I am sorry for it. Should I perchance become wiser before
I give up the ghost, I might burn every one of these sheets, but now I
have not courage enough to do it.
It may be that certain love scenes will be considered too explicit, but
let no one blame me, unless it be for lack of skill, for I ought not to
be scolded because, in my old age, I can find no other enjoyment but that
which recollections of the past afford to me. After all, virtuous and
prudish readers are at liberty to skip over any offensive pictures, and I
think it my duty to give them this piece of advice; so much the worse for
those who may not read my preface; it is no fault of mine if they do not,
for everyone ought to know that a preface is to a book what the play-bill
is to a comedy; both must be read.
My Memoirs are not written for young persons who, in order to avoid false
steps and slippery roads, ought to spend their youth in blissful
ignorance, but for those who, having thorough experience of life, are no
longer exposed to temptation, and who, having but too often gone through
the fire, are like salamanders, and can be scorched by it no more. True
virtue is but a habit, and I have no hesitation in saying that the really
virtuous are those persons who can practice virtue without the slightest
trouble; such persons are always full of toleration, and it is to them
that my Memoirs are addressed.
I have written in French, and not in Italian, because the French language
is more universal than mine, and the purists, who may criticise in my
style some Italian turns will be quite right, but only in case it should
prevent them from understanding me clearly. The Greeks admired
Theophrastus in spite of his Eresian style, and the Romans delighted in
their Livy in spite of his Patavinity. Provided I amuse my readers, it
seems to me that I can claim the same indulgence. After all, every
Italian reads Algarotti with pleasure, although his works are full of
French idioms.
There is one thing worthy of notice: of all the living languages
belonging to the republic of letters, the French tongue is the only one
which has been condemned by its masters never to borrow in order to
become richer, whilst all other languages, although richer in words than
the French, plunder from it words and constructions of sentences,
whenever they find that by such robbery they add something to their own
beauty. Yet those who borrow the most from the French, are the most
forward in trumpeting the poverty of that language, very likely thinking
that such an accusation justifies their depredations. It is said that the
French language has attained the apogee of its beauty, and that the
smallest foreign loan would spoil it, but I make bold to assert that this
is prejudice, for, although it certainly is the most clear, the most
logical of all languages, it would be great temerity to affirm that it
can never go farther or higher than it has gone. We all recollect that,
in the days of Lulli, there was but one opinion of his music, yet Rameau
came and everything was changed. The new impulse given to the French
nation may open new and unexpected horizons, and new beauties, fresh
perfections, may spring up from new combinations and from new wants.
The motto I have adopted justifies my digressions, and all the
commentaries, perhaps too numerous, in which I indulge upon my various
exploits: 'Nequidquam sapit qui sibi non sapit'. For the same reason I
have always felt a great desire to receive praise and applause from
polite society:
'Excitat auditor stadium, laudataque virtus
Crescit, et immensum gloria calcar habet.
I would willingly have displayed here the proud axiom: 'Nemo laeditur
nisi a se ipso', had I not feared to offend the immense number of persons
who, whenever anything goes wrong with them, are wont to exclaim, "It is
no fault of mine!" I cannot deprive them of that small particle of
comfort, for, were it not for it, they would soon feel hatred for
themselves, and self-hatred often leads to the fatal idea of
self-destruction.
As for myself I always willingly acknowledge my own self as the principal
cause of every good or of every evil which may befall me; therefore I
have always found myself capable of being my own pupil, and ready to love
my teacher.
THE MEMOIRS OF JACQUES CASANOVA
VENETIAN YEARS
EPISODE 1 -- CHILDHOOD
CHAPTER I
My Family Pedigree--My Childhood
Don Jacob Casanova, the illegitimate son of Don Francisco Casanova, was a
native of Saragosa, the capital of Aragon, and in the year of 1428 he
carried off Dona Anna Palofax from her convent, on the day after she had
taken the veil. He was secretary to King Alfonso. He ran away with her to
Rome, where, after one year of imprisonment, the pope, Martin III.,
released Anna from her vows, and gave them the nuptial blessing at the
instance of Don Juan Casanova, majordomo of the Vatican, and uncle of Don
Jacob. All the children born from that marriage died in their infancy,
with the exception of Don Juan, who, in 1475, married Donna Eleonora
Albini, by whom he had a son, Marco Antonio.
In 1481, Don Juan, having killed an officer of the king of Naples, was
compelled to leave Rome, and escaped to Como with his wife and his son;
but having left that city to seek his fortune, he died while traveling
with Christopher Columbus in the year 1493.
Marco Antonio became a noted poet of the school of Martial, and was
secretary to Cardinal Pompeo Colonna.
The satire against Giulio de Medicis, which we find in his works, having
made it necessary for him to leave Rome, he returned to Como, where he
married Abondia Rezzonica. The same Giulio de Medicis, having become pope
under the name of Clement VII, pardoned him and called him back to Rome
with his wife. The city having been taken and ransacked by the
Imperialists in 1526, Marco Antonio died there from an attack of the
plague; otherwise he would have died of misery, the soldiers of Charles
V. having taken all he possessed. Pierre Valerien speaks of him in his
work 'de infelicitate litteratorum'.
Three months after his death, his wife gave birth to Jacques Casanova,
who died in France at a great age, colonel in the army commanded by
Farnese against Henri, king of Navarre, afterwards king of France. He had
left in the city of Parma a son who married Theresa Conti, from whom he
had Jacques, who, in the year 1681, married Anna Roli. Jacques had two
sons, Jean-Baptiste and Gaetan-Joseph-Jacques. The eldest left Parma in
1712, and was never heard of; the other also went away in 1715, being
only nineteen years old.
This is all I have found in my father's diary: from my mother's lips I
have heard the following particulars:
Gaetan-Joseph-Jacques left his family, madly in love with an actress
named Fragoletta, who performed the chambermaids. In his poverty, he
determined to earn a living by making the most of his own person. At
first he gave himself up to dancing, and five years afterwards became an
actor, making himself conspicuous by his conduct still more than by his
talent.
Whether from fickleness or from jealousy, he abandoned the Fragoletta,
and joined in Venice a troop of comedians then giving performances at the
Saint-Samuel Theatre. Opposite the house in which he had taken his
lodging resided a shoemaker, by name Jerome Farusi, with his wife Marzia,
and Zanetta, their only daughter--a perfect beauty sixteen years of age.
The young actor fell in love with this girl, succeeded in gaining her
affection, and in obtaining her consent to a runaway match. It was the
only way to win her, for, being an actor, he never could have had
Marzia's consent, still less Jerome's, as in their eyes a player was a
most awful individual. The young lovers, provided with the necessary
certificates and accompanied by two witnesses, presented themselves
before the Patriarch of Venice, who performed over them the marriage
ceremony. Marzia, Zanetta's mother, indulged in a good deal of
exclamation, and the father died broken-hearted.
I was born nine months afterwards, on the 2nd of April, 1725.
The following April my mother left me under the care of her own mother,
who had forgiven her as soon as she had heard that my father had promised
never to compel her to appear on the stage. This is a promise which all
actors make to the young girls they marry, and which they never fulfil,
simply because their wives never care much about claiming from them the
performance of it. Moreover, it turned out a very fortunate thing for my
mother that she had studied for the stage, for nine years later, having
been left a widow with six children, she could not have brought them up
if it had not been for the resources she found in that profession.
I was only one year old when my father left me to go to London, where he
had an engagement. It was in that great city that my mother made her
first appearance on the stage, and in that city likewise that she gave
birth to my brother Francois, a celebrated painter of battles, now
residing in Vienna, where he has followed his profession since 1783.
Towards the end of the year 1728 my mother returned to Venice with her
husband, and as she had become an actress she continued her artistic
life. In 1730 she was delivered of my brother Jean, who became Director
of the Academy of painting at Dresden, and died there in 1795; and during
the three following years she became the mother of two daughters, one of
whom died at an early age, while the other married in Dresden, where she
still lived in 1798. I had also a posthumous brother, who became a
priest; he died in Rome fifteen years ago.
Let us now come to the dawn of my existence in the character of a
thinking being.
The organ of memory began to develop itself in me at the beginning of
August, 1733. I had at that time reached the age of eight years and four
months. Of what may have happened to me before that period I have not the
faintest recollection. This is the circumstance.
I was standing in the corner of a room bending towards the wall,
supporting my head, and my eyes fixed upon a stream of blood flowing from
my nose to the ground. My grandmother, Marzia, whose pet I was, came to
me, bathed my face with cold water, and, unknown to everyone in the
house, took me with her in a gondola as far as Muran, a thickly-populated
island only half a league distant from Venice.
Alighting from the gondola, we enter a wretched hole, where we find an
old woman sitting on a rickety bed, holding a black cat in her arms, with
five or six more purring around her. The two old cronies held together a
long discourse of which, most likely, I was the subject. At the end of
the dialogue, which was carried on in the patois of Forli, the witch
having received a silver ducat from my grandmother, opened a box, took me
in her arms, placed me in the box and locked me in it, telling me not to
be frightened--a piece of advice which would certainly have had the
contrary effect, if I had had any wits about me, but I was stupefied. I
kept myself quiet in a corner of the box, holding a handkerchief to my
nose because it was still bleeding, and otherwise very indifferent to the
uproar going on outside. I could hear in turn, laughter, weeping,
singing, screams, shrieks, and knocking against the box, but for all that
I cared nought. At last I am taken out of the box; the blood stops
flowing. The wonderful old witch, after lavishing caresses upon me, takes
off my clothes, lays me on the bed, burns some drugs, gathers the smoke
in a sheet which she wraps around me, pronounces incantations, takes the
sheet off me, and gives me five sugar-plums of a very agreeable taste.
Then she immediately rubs my temples and the nape of my neck with an
ointment exhaling a delightful perfume, and puts my clothes on me again.
She told me that my haemorrhage would little by little leave me, provided
I should never disclose to any one what she had done to cure me, and she
threatened me, on the other hand, with the loss of all my blood and with
death, should I ever breathe a word concerning those mysteries. After
having thus taught me my lesson, she informed me that a beautiful lady
would pay me a visit during the following night, and that she would make
me happy, on condition that I should have sufficient control over myself
never to mention to anyone my having received such a visit. Upon this we
left and returned home.
I fell asleep almost as soon as I was in bed, without giving a thought to
the beautiful visitor I was to receive; but, waking up a few hours
afterwards, I saw, or fancied I saw, coming down the chimney, a dazzling
woman, with immense hoops, splendidly attired, and wearing on her head a
crown set with precious stones, which seemed to me sparkling with fire.
With slow steps, but with a majestic and sweet countenance, she came
forward and sat on my bed; then taking several small boxes from her
pocket, she emptied their contents over my head, softly whispering a few
words, and after giving utterance to a long speech, not a single word of
which I understood, she kissed me and disappeared the same way she had
come. I soon went again to sleep.
The next morning, my grandmother came to dress me, and the moment she was
near my bed, she cautioned me to be silent, threatening me with death if
I dared to say anything respecting my night's adventures. This command,
laid upon me by the only woman who had complete authority over me, and
whose orders I was accustomed to obey blindly, caused me to remember the
vision, and to store it, with the seal of secrecy, in the inmost corner
of my dawning memory. I had not, however, the slightest inclination to
mention the circumstances to anyone; in the first place, because I did
not suppose it would interest anybody, and in the second because I would
not have known whom to make a confidant of. My disease had rendered me
dull and retired; everybody pitied me and left me to myself; my life was
considered likely to be but a short one, and as to my parents, they never
spoke to me.
After the journey to Muran, and the nocturnal visit of the fairy, I
continued to have bleeding at the nose, but less from day to day, and my
memory slowly developed itself. I learned to read in less than a month.
It would be ridiculous, of course, to attribute this cure to such
follies, but at the same time I think it would be wrong to assert that
they did not in any way contribute to it. As far as the apparition of the
beautiful queen is concerned, I have always deemed it to be a dream,
unless it should have been some masquerade got up for the occasion, but
it is not always in the druggist's shop that are found the best remedies
for severe diseases. Our ignorance is every day proved by some wonderful
phenomenon, and I believe this to be the reason why it is so difficult to
meet with a learned man entirely untainted with superstition. We know, as
a matter of course, that there never have been any sorcerers in this
world, yet it is true that their power has always existed in the
estimation of those to whom crafty knaves have passed themselves off as
such. 'Somnio nocturnos lemures portentaque Thessalia vides'.
Many things become real which, at first, had no existence but in our
imagination, and, as a natural consequence, many facts which have been
attributed to Faith may not always have been miraculous, although they
are true miracles for those who lend to Faith a boundless power.
The next circumstance of any importance to myself which I recollect
happened three months after my trip to Muran, and six weeks before my
father's death. I give it to my readers only to convey some idea of the
manner in which my nature was expanding.
One day, about the middle of November, I was with my brother Francois,
two years younger than I, in my father's room, watching him attentively
as he was working at optics. A large lump of crystal, round and cut into
facets, attracted my attention. I took it up, and having brought it near
my eyes I was delighted to see that it multiplied objects. The wish to
possess myself of it at once got hold of me, and seeing myself unobserved
I took my opportunity and hid it in my pocket.
A few minutes after this my father looked about for his crystal, and
unable to find it, he concluded that one of us must have taken it. My
brother asserted that he had not touched it, and I, although guilty, said
the same; but my father, satisfied that he could not be mistaken,
threatened to search us and to thrash the one who had told him a story. I
pretended to look for the crystal in every corner of the room, and,
watching my opportunity I slyly slipped it in the pocket of my brother's
jacket. At first I was sorry for what I had done, for I might as well
have feigned to find the crystal somewhere about the room; but the evil
deed was past recall. My father, seeing that we were looking in vain,
lost patience, searched us, found the unlucky ball of crystal in the
pocket of the innocent boy, and inflicted upon him the promised
thrashing. Three or four years later I was foolish enough to boast before
my brother of the trick I had then played on him; he never forgave me,
and has never failed to take his revenge whenever the opportunity
offered.
However, having at a later period gone to confession, and accused myself
to the priest of the sin with every circumstance surrounding it, I gained
some knowledge which afforded me great satisfaction. My confessor, who
was a Jesuit, told me that by that deed I had verified the meaning of my
first name, Jacques, which, he said, meant, in Hebrew, "supplanter," and
that God had changed for that reason the name of the ancient patriarch
into that of Israel, which meant "knowing." He had deceived his brother
Esau.
Six weeks after the above adventure my father was attacked with an
abscess in the head which carried him off in a week. Dr. Zambelli first
gave him oppilative remedies, and, seeing his mistake, he tried to mend
it by administering castoreum, which sent his patient into convulsions
and killed him. The abscess broke out through the ear one minute after
his death, taking its leave after killing him, as if it had no longer any
business with him. My father departed this life in the very prime of his
manhood. He was only thirty-six years of age, but he was followed to his
grave by the regrets of the public, and more particularly of all the
patricians amongst whom he was held as above his profession, not less on
account of his gentlemanly behaviour than on account of his extensive
knowledge in mechanics.
Two days before his death, feeling that his end was at hand, my father
expressed a wish to see us all around his bed, in the presence of his
wife and of the Messieurs Grimani, three Venetian noblemen whose
protection he wished to entreat in our favour. After giving us his
blessing, he requested our mother, who was drowned in tears, to give her
sacred promise that she would not educate any of us for the stage, on
which he never would have appeared himself had he not been led to it by
an unfortunate attachment. My mother gave her promise, and the three
noblemen said that they would see to its being faithfully kept.
Circumstances helped our mother to fulfill her word.
At that time my mother had been pregnant for six months, and she was
allowed to remain away from the stage until after Easter. Beautiful and
young as she was, she declined all the offers of marriage which were made
to her, and, placing her trust in Providence, she courageously devoted
herself to the task of bringing up her young family.
She considered it a duty to think of me before the others, not so much
from a feeling of preference as in consequence of my disease, which had
such an effect upon me that it was difficult to know what to do with me.
I was very weak, without any appetite, unable to apply myself to
anything, and I had all the appearance of an idiot. Physicians disagreed
as to the cause of the disease. He loses, they would say, two pounds of
blood every week; yet there cannot be more than sixteen or eighteen
pounds in his body. What, then, can cause so abundant a bleeding? One
asserted that in me all the chyle turned into blood; another was of
opinion that the air I was breathing must, at each inhalation, increase
the quantity of blood in my lungs, and contended that this was the reason
for which I always kept my mouth open. I heard of it all six years
afterward from M. Baffo, a great friend of my late father.
This M. Baffo consulted the celebrated Doctor Macop, of Padua, who sent
him his opinion by writing. This consultation, which I have still in my
possession, says that our blood is an elastic fluid which is liable to
diminish or to increase in thickness, but never in quantity, and that my
haemorrhage could only proceed from the thickness of the mass of my
blood, which relieved itself in a natural way in order to facilitate
circulation. The doctor added that I would have died long before, had not
nature, in its wish for life, assisted itself, and he concluded by
stating that the cause of the thickness of my blood could only be
ascribed to the air I was breathing and that consequently I must have a
change of air, or every hope of cure be abandoned. He thought likewise,
that the stupidity so apparent on my countenance was caused by nothing
else but the thickness of my blood.
M. Baffo, a man of sublime genius, a most lascivious, yet a great and
original poet, was therefore instrumental in bringing about the decision
which was then taken to send me to Padua, and to him I am indebted for my
life. He died twenty years after, the last of his ancient patrician
family, but his poems, although obscene, will give everlasting fame to
his name. The state-inquisitors of Venice have contributed to his
celebrity by their mistaken strictness. Their persecutions caused his
manuscript works to become precious. They ought to have been aware that
despised things are forgotten.
As soon as the verdict given by Professor Macop had been approved of, the
Abbe Grimani undertook to find a good boarding-house in Padua for me,
through a chemist of his acquaintance who resided in that city. His name
was Ottaviani, and he was also an antiquarian of some repute. In a few
days the boarding-house was found, and on the 2nd day of April, 1734, on
the very day I had accomplished my ninth year, I was taken to Padua in a
'burchiello', along the Brenta Canal. We embarked at ten o'clock in the
evening, immediately after supper.
The 'burchiello' may be considered a small floating house. There is a
large saloon with a smaller cabin at each end, and rooms for servants
fore and aft. It is a long square with a roof, and cut on each side by
glazed windows with shutters. The voyage takes eight hours. M. Grimani,
M. Baffo, and my mother accompanied me. I slept with her in the saloon,
and the two friends passed the night in one of the cabins. My mother rose
at day break, opened one of the windows facing the bed, and the rays of
the rising sun, falling on my eyes, caused me to open them. The bed was
too low for me to see the land; I could see through the window only the
tops of the trees along the river. The boat was sailing with such an even
movement that I could not realize the fact of our moving, so that the
trees, which, one after the other, were rapidly disappearing from my
sight, caused me an extreme surprise. "Ah, dear mother!" I exclaimed,
"what is this? the trees are walking!" At that very moment the two
noblemen came in, and reading astonishment on my countenance, they asked
me what my thoughts were so busy about. "How is it," I answered, "that
the trees are walking."
They all laughed, but my mother, heaving a great sigh, told me, in a tone
of deep pity, "The boat is moving, the trees are not. Now dress
yourself."
I understood at once the reason of the phenomenon. "Then it may be," said
I, "that the sun does not move, and that we, on the contrary, are
revolving from west to east." At these words my good mother fairly
screamed. M. Grimani pitied my foolishness, and I remained dismayed,
grieved, and ready to cry. M. Baffo brought me life again. He rushed to
me, embraced me tenderly, and said, "Thou are right, my child. The sun
does not move; take courage, give heed to your reasoning powers and let
others laugh."
My mother, greatly surprised, asked him whether he had taken leave of his
senses to give me such lessons; but the philosopher, not even
condescending to answer her, went on sketching a theory in harmony with
my young and simple intelligence. This was the first real pleasure I
enjoyed in my life. Had it not been for M. Baffo, this circumstance might
have been enough to degrade my understanding; the weakness of credulity
would have become part of my mind. The ignorance of the two others would
certainly have blunted in me the edge of a faculty which, perhaps, has
not carried me very far in my after life, but to which alone I feel that
I am indebted for every particle of happiness I enjoy when I look into
myself.
We reached Padua at an early hour and went to Ottaviani's house; his wife
loaded me with caresses. I found there five or six children, amongst them
a girl of eight years, named Marie, and another of seven, Rose, beautiful
as a seraph. Ten years later Marie became the wife of the broker Colonda,
and Rose, a few years afterwards, married a nobleman, Pierre Marcello,
and had one son and two daughters, one of whom was wedded to M. Pierre
Moncenigo, and the other to a nobleman of the Carrero family. This last
marriage was afterwards nullified. I shall have, in the course of events,
to speak of all these persons, and that is my reason for mentioning their
names here.
Ottaviani took us at once to the house where I was to board. It was only
a few yards from his own residence, at Sainte-Marie d'Advance, in the
parish of Saint-Michel, in the house of an old Sclavonian woman, who let
the first floor to Signora Mida, wife of a Sclavonian colonel. My small
trunk was laid open before the old woman, to whom was handed an inventory
of all its contents, together with six sequins for six months paid in
advance. For this small sum she undertook to feed me, to keep me clean,
and to send me to a day-school. Protesting that it was not enough, she
accepted these terms. I was kissed and strongly commanded to be always
obedient and docile, and I was left with her.
In this way did my family get rid of me.
CHAPTER II
My Grandmother Comes to Padua, and Takes Me to Dr. Gozzi's
School--My First Love Affair
As soon as I was left alone with the Sclavonian woman, she took me up to
the garret, where she pointed out my bed in a row with four others, three
of which belonged to three young boys of my age, who at that moment were
at school, and the fourth to a servant girl whose province it was to
watch us and to prevent the many peccadilloes in which school-boys are
wont to indulge. After this visit we came downstairs, and I was taken to
the garden with permission to walk about until dinner-time.
I felt neither happy nor unhappy; I had nothing to say. I had neither
fear nor hope, nor even a feeling of curiosity; I was neither cheerful
nor sad. The only thing which grated upon me was the face of the mistress
of the house. Although I had not the faintest idea either of beauty or of
ugliness, her face, her countenance, her tone of voice, her language,
everything in that woman was repulsive to me. Her masculine features
repelled me every time I lifted my eyes towards her face to listen to
what she said to me. She was tall and coarse like a trooper; her
complexion was yellow, her hair black, her eyebrows long and thick, and
her chin gloried in a respectable bristly beard: to complete the picture,
her hideous, half-naked bosom was hanging half-way down her long chest;
she may have been about fifty. The servant was a stout country girl, who
did all the work of the house; the garden was a square of some thirty
feet, which had no other beauty than its green appearance.
Towards noon my three companions came back from school, and they at once
spoke to me as if we had been old acquaintances, naturally giving me
credit for such intelligence as belonged to my age, but which I did not
possess. I did not answer them, but they were not baffled, and they at
last prevailed upon me to share their innocent pleasures. I had to run,
to carry and be carried, to turn head over heels, and I allowed myself to
be initiated into those arts with a pretty good grace until we were
summoned to dinner. I sat down to the table; but seeing before me a
wooden spoon, I pushed it back, asking for my silver spoon and fork to
which I was much attached, because they were a gift from my good old
granny. The servant answered that the mistress wished to maintain
equality between the boys, and I had to submit, much to my disgust.
Having thus learned that equality in everything was the rule of the
house, I went to work like the others and began to eat the soup out of
the common dish, and if I did not complain of the rapidity with which my
companions made it disappear, I could not help wondering at such
inequality being allowed. To follow this very poor soup, we had a small
portion of dried cod and one apple each, and dinner was over: it was in
Lent. We had neither glasses nor cups, and we all helped ourselves out of
the same earthen pitcher to a miserable drink called graspia, which is
made by boiling in water the stems of grapes stripped of their fruit.
From the following day I drank nothing but water. This way of living
surprised me, for I did not know whether I had a right to complain of it.
After dinner the servant took me to the school, kept by a young priest,
Doctor Gozzi, with whom the Sclavonian woman had bargained for my
schooling at the rate of forty sous a month, or the eleventh part of a
sequin.
The first thing to do was to teach me writing, and I was placed amongst
children of five and six years, who did not fail to turn me into ridicule
on account of my age.
On my return to the boarding-house I had my supper, which, as a matter of
course, was worse than the dinner, and I could not make out why the right
of complaint should be denied me. I was then put to bed, but there three
well-known species of vermin kept me awake all night, besides the rats,
which, running all over the garret, jumped on my bed and fairly made my
blood run cold with fright. This is the way in which I began to feel
misery, and to learn how to suffer it patiently. The vermin, which
feasted upon me, lessened my fear of the rats, and by a very lucky system
of compensation, the dread of the rats made me less sensitive to the
bites of the vermin. My mind was reaping benefit from the very struggle
fought between the evils which surrounded me. The servant was perfectly
deaf to my screaming.
As soon as it was daylight I ran out of the wretched garret, and, after
complaining to the girl of all I had endured during the night, I asked
her to give me a Clean shirt, the one I had on being disgusting to look
at, but she answered that I could only change my linen on a Sunday, and
laughed at me when I threatened to complain to the mistress. For the
first time in my life I shed tears of sorrow and of anger, when I heard
my companions scoffing at me. The poor wretches shared my unhappy
condition, but they were used to it, and that makes all the difference.
Sorely depressed, I went to school, but only to sleep soundly through the
morning. One of my comrades, in the hope of turning the affair into
ridicule at my expense, told the doctor the reason of my being so sleepy.
The good priest, however, to whom without doubt Providence had guided me,
called me into his private room, listened to all I had to say, saw with
his own eyes the proofs of my misery, and moved by the sight of the
blisters which disfigured my innocent skin, he took up his cloak, went
with me to my boarding-house, and shewed the woman the state I was in.
She put on a look of great astonishment, and threw all the blame upon the
servant. The doctor being curious to see my bed, I was, as much as he
was, surprised at the filthy state of the sheets in which I had passed
the night. The accursed woman went on blaming the servant, and said that
she would discharge her; but the girl, happening to be close by, and not
relishing the accusation, told her boldly that the fault was her own, and
she then threw open the beds of my companions to shew us that they did
not experience any better treatment. The mistress, raving, slapped her on
the face, and the servant, to be even with her, returned the compliment
and ran away. The doctor left me there, saying that I could not enter his
school unless I was sent to him as clean as the other boys. The result
for me was a very sharp rebuke, with the threat, as a finishing stroke,
that if I ever caused such a broil again, I would be ignominiously turned
out of the house.
I could not make it out; I had just entered life, and I had no knowledge
of any other place but the house in which I had been born, in which I had
been brought up, and in which I had always seen cleanliness and honest
comfort. Here I found myself ill-treated, scolded, although it did not
seem possible that any blame could be attached to me. At last the old
shrew tossed a shirt in my face, and an hour later I saw a new servant
changing the sheets, after which we had our dinner.
My schoolmaster took particular care in instructing me. He gave me a seat
at his own desk, and in order to shew my proper appreciation of such a
favour, I gave myself up to my studies; at the end of the first month I
could write so well that I was promoted to the grammar class.
The new life I was leading, the half-starvation system to which I was
condemned, and most likely more than everything else, the air of Padua,
brought me health such as I had never enjoyed before, but that very state
of blooming health made it still more difficult for me to bear the hunger
which I was compelled to endure; it became unbearable. I was growing
rapidly; I enjoyed nine hours of deep sleep, unbroken by any dreams, save
that I always fancied myself sitting at a well-spread table, and
gratifying my cruel appetite, but every morning I could realize in full
the vanity and the unpleasant disappointment of flattering dreams! This
ravenous appetite would at last have weakened me to death, had I not made
up my mind to pounce upon, and to swallow, every kind of eatables I could
find, whenever I was certain of not being seen.
Necessity begets ingenuity. I had spied in a cupboard of the kitchen some
fifty red herrings; I devoured them all one after the other, as well as
all the sausages which were hanging in the chimney to be smoked; and in
order to accomplish those feats without being detected, I was in the
habit of getting up at night and of undertaking my foraging expeditions
under the friendly veil of darkness. Every new-laid egg I could discover
in the poultry-yard, quite warm and scarcely dropped by the hen, was a
most delicious treat. I would even go as far as the kitchen of the
schoolmaster in the hope of pilfering something to eat.
The Sclavonian woman, in despair at being unable to catch the thieves,
turned away servant after servant. But, in spite of all my expeditions,
as I could not always find something to steal, I was as thin as a walking
skeleton.
My progress at school was so rapid during four or five months that the
master promoted me to the rank of dux. My province was to examine the
lessons of my thirty school-fellows, to correct their mistakes and report
to the master with whatever note of blame or of approval I thought they
deserved; but my strictness did not last long, for idle boys soon found
out the way to enlist my sympathy. When their Latin lesson was full of
mistakes, they would buy me off with cutlets and roast chickens; they
even gave me money. These proceedings excited my covetousness, or,
rather, my gluttony, and, not satisfied with levying a tax upon the
ignorant, I became a tyrant, and I refused well-merited approbation to
all those who declined paying the contribution I demanded. At last,
unable to bear my injustice any longer, the boys accused me, and the
master, seeing me convicted of extortion, removed me from my exalted
position. I would very likely have fared badly after my dismissal, had
not Fate decided to put an end to my cruel apprenticeship.
Doctor Gozzi, who was attached to me, called me privately one day into
his study, and asked me whether I would feel disposed to carry out the
advice he would give me in order to bring about my removal from the house
of the Sclavonian woman, and my admission in his own family. Finding me
delighted at such an offer, he caused me to copy three letters which I
sent, one to the Abbe Grimani, another to my friend Baffo, and the last
to my excellent grandam. The half-year was nearly out, and my mother not
being in Venice at that period there was no time to lose.
In my letters I gave a description of all my sufferings, and I
prognosticated my death were I not immediately removed from my
boarding-house and placed under the care of my school-master, who was
disposed to receive me; but he wanted two sequins a month.
M. Grimani did not answer me, and commissioned his friend Ottaviani to
scold me for allowing myself to be ensnared by the doctor; but M. Baffo
went to consult with my grandmother, who could not write, and in a letter
which he addressed to me he informed me that I would soon find myself in
a happier situation. And, truly, within a week the excellent old woman,
who loved me until her death, made her appearance as I was sitting down
to my dinner. She came in with the mistress of the house, and the moment
I saw her I threw my arms around her neck, crying bitterly, in which
luxury the old lady soon joined me. She sat down and took me on her
knees; my courage rose again. In the presence of the Sclavonian woman I
enumerated all my grievances, and after calling her attention to the
food, fit only for beggars, which I was compelled to swallow, I took her
upstairs to shew her my bed. I begged her to take me out and give me a
good dinner after six months of such starvation. The boarding-house
keeper boldly asserted that she could not afford better for the amount
she had received, and there was truth in that, but she had no business to
keep house and to become the tormentor of poor children who were thrown
on her hands by stinginess, and who required to be properly fed.
My grandmother very quietly intimated her intention to take me away
forthwith, and asked her to put all my things in my trunk. I cannot
express my joy during these preparations. For the first time I felt that
kind of happiness which makes forgiveness compulsory upon the being who
enjoys it, and causes him to forget all previous unpleasantness. My
grandmother took me to the inn, and dinner was served, but she could
hardly eat anything in her astonishment at the voracity with which I was
swallowing my food. In the meantime Doctor Gozzi, to whom she had sent
notice of her arrival, came in, and his appearance soon prepossessed her
in his favour. He was then a fine-looking priest, twenty-six years of
age, chubby, modest, and respectful. In less than a quarter of an hour
everything was satisfactorily arranged between them. The good old lady
counted out twenty-four sequins for one year of my schooling, and took a
receipt for the same, but she kept me with her for three days in order to
have me clothed like a priest, and to get me a wig, as the filthy state
of my hair made it necessary to have it all cut off.
At the end of the three days she took me to the doctor's house, so as to
see herself to my installation and to recommend me to the doctor's
mother, who desired her to send or to buy in Padua a bedstead and
bedding; but the doctor having remarked that, his own bed being very
wide, I might sleep with him, my grandmother expressed her gratitude for
all his kindness, and we accompanied her as far as the burchiello she had
engaged to return to Venice.
The family of Doctor Gozzi was composed of his mother, who had great
reverence for him, because, a peasant by birth, she did not think herself
worthy of having a son who was a priest, and still more a doctor in
divinity; she was plain, old, and cross; and of his father, a shoemaker
by trade, working all day long and never addressing a word to anyone, not
even during the meals. He only became a sociable being on holidays, on
which occasions he would spend his time with his friends in some tavern,
coming home at midnight as drunk as a lord and singing verses from Tasso.
When in this blissful state the good man could not make up his mind to go
to bed, and became violent if anyone attempted to compel him to lie down.
Wine alone gave him sense and spirit, for when sober he was incapable of
attending to the simplest family matter, and his wife often said that he
never would have married her had not his friends taken care to give him a
good breakfast before he went to the church.
But Doctor Gozzi had also a sister, called Bettina, who at the age of
thirteen was pretty, lively, and a great reader of romances. Her father
and mother scolded her constantly because she was too often looking out
of the window, and the doctor did the same on account of her love for
reading. This girl took at once my fancy without my knowing why, and
little by little she kindled in my heart the first spark of a passion
which, afterwards became in me the ruling one.
Six months after I had been an inmate in the house, the doctor found
himself without scholars; they all went away because I had become the
sole object of his affection. He then determined to establish a college,
and to receive young boys as boarders; but two years passed before he met
with any success. During that period he taught me everything he knew;
true, it was not much; yet it was enough to open to me the high road to
all sciences. He likewise taught me the violin, an accomplishment which
proved very useful to me in a peculiar circumstance, the particulars of
which I will give in good time. The excellent doctor, who was in no way a
philosopher, made me study the logic of the Peripatetics, and the
cosmography of the ancient system of Ptolemy, at which I would laugh,
teasing the poor doctor with theorems to which he could find no answer.
His habits, moreover, were irreproachable, and in all things connected
with religion, although no bigot, he was of the greatest strictness, and,
admitting everything as an article of faith, nothing appeared difficult
to his conception. He believed the deluge to have been universal, and he
thought that, before that great cataclysm, men lived a thousand years and
conversed with God, that Noah took one hundred years to build the ark,
and that the earth, suspended in the air, is firmly held in the very
centre of the universe which God had created from nothing. When I would
say and prove that it was absurd to believe in the existence of
nothingness, he would stop me short and call me a fool.
He could enjoy a good bed, a glass of wine, and cheerfulness at home. He
did not admire fine wits, good jests or criticism, because it easily
turns to slander, and he would laugh at the folly of men reading
newspapers which, in his opinion, always lied and constantly repeated the
same things. He asserted that nothing was more troublesome than
incertitude, and therefore he condemned thought because it gives birth to
doubt.
His ruling passion was preaching, for which his face and his voice
qualified him; his congregation was almost entirely composed of women of
whom, however, he was the sworn enemy; so much so, that he would not look
them in the face even when he spoke to them. Weakness of the flesh and
fornication appeared to him the most monstrous of sins, and he would be
very angry if I dared to assert that, in my estimation, they were the
most venial of faults. His sermons were crammed with passages from the
Greek authors, which he translated into Latin. One day I ventured to
remark that those passages ought to be translated into Italian because
women did not understand Latin any more than Greek, but he took offence,
and I never had afterwards the courage to allude any more to the matter.
Moreover he praised me to his friends as a wonder, because I had learned
to read Greek alone, without any assistance but a grammar.
During Lent, in the year 1736, my mother, wrote to the doctor; and, as
she was on the point of her departure for St. Petersburg, she wished to
see me, and requested him to accompany me to Venice for three or four
days. This invitation set him thinking, for he had never seen Venice,
never frequented good company, and yet he did not wish to appear a novice
in anything. We were soon ready to leave Padua, and all the family
escorted us to the 'burchiello'.
My mother received the doctor with a most friendly welcome; but she was
strikingly beautiful, and my poor master felt very uncomfortable, not
daring to look her in the face, and yet called upon to converse with her.
She saw the dilemma he was in, and thought she would have some amusing
sport about it should opportunity present itself. I, in the meantime,
drew the attention of everyone in her circle; everybody had known me as a
fool, and was amazed at my improvement in the short space of two years.
The doctor was overjoyed, because he saw that the full credit of my
transformation was given to him.
The first thing which struck my mother unpleasantly was my light-coloured
wig, which was not in harmony with my dark complexion, and contrasted
most woefully with my black eyes and eyebrows. She inquired from the
doctor why I did not wear my own hair, and he answered that, with a wig,
it was easier for his sister to keep me clean. Everyone smiled at the
simplicity of the answer, but the merriment increased when, to the
question made by my mother whether his sister was married, I took the
answer upon myself, and said that Bettina was the prettiest girl of
Padua, and was only fourteen years of age. My mother promised the doctor
a splendid present for his sister on condition that she would let me wear
my own hair, and he promised that her wishes would be complied with. The
peruke-maker was then called, and I had a wig which matched my
complexion.
Soon afterwards all the guests began to play cards, with the exception of
my master, and I went to see my brothers in my grandmother's room.
Francois shewed me some architectural designs which I pretended to
admire; Jean had nothing to skew me, and I thought him a rather
insignificant boy. The others were still very young.
At the supper-table, the doctor, seated next to my mother, was very
awkward. He would very likely not have said one word, had not an
Englishman, a writer of talent, addressed him in Latin; but the doctor,
being unable to make him out, modestly answered that he did not
understand English, which caused much hilarity. M. Baffo, however,
explained the puzzle by telling us that Englishmen read and pronounced
Latin in the same way that they read and spoke their own language, and I
remarked that Englishmen were wrong as much as we would be, if we
pretended to read and to pronounce their language according to Latin
rules. The Englishman, pleased with my reasoning, wrote down the
following old couplet, and gave it to me to read:
'Dicite, grammatici, cur mascula nomina cunnus,
Et cur femineum mentula nomen habet.'
After reading it aloud, I exclaimed, "This is Latin indeed."
"We know that," said my mother, "but can you explain it?"
"To explain it is not enough," I answered; "it is a question which is
worthy of an answer." And after considering for a moment, I wrote the
following pentameter:
'Disce quod a domino nomina servus habet.'
This was my first literary exploit, and I may say that in that very
instant the seed of my love for literary fame was sown in my breast, for
the applause lavished upon me exalted me to the very pinnacle of
happiness. The Englishman, quite amazed at my answer, said that no boy of
eleven years had ever accomplished such a feat, embraced me repeatedly,
and presented me with his watch. My mother, inquisitive like a woman,
asked M. Grimani to tell her the meaning of the lines, but as the abbe
was not any wiser than she was M. Baffo translated it in a whisper.
Surprised at my knowledge, she rose from her chair to get a valuable gold
watch and presented to my master, who, not knowing how to express his
deep gratitude, treated us to the most comic scene. My mother, in order
to save him from the difficulty of paying her a compliment, offered him
her cheek. He had only to give her a couple of kisses, the easiest and
the most innocent thing in good company; but the poor man was on burning
coals, and so completely out of countenance that he would, I truly
believe, rather have died than give the kisses. He drew back with his
head down, and he was allowed to remain in peace until we retired for the
night.
When we found ourselves alone in our room, he poured out his heart, and
exclaimed that it was a pity he could not publish in Padua the distich
and my answer.
"And why not?" I said.
"Because both are obscene."
"But they are sublime."
"Let us go to bed and speak no more on the subject. Your answer was
wonderful, because you cannot possibly know anything of the subject in
question, or of the manner in which verses ought to be written."
As far as the subject was concerned, I knew it by theory; for, unknown to
the doctor, and because he had forbidden it, I had read Meursius, but it
was natural that he should be amazed at my being able to write verses,
when he, who had taught me prosody, never could compose a single line.
'Nemo dat quod non habet' is a false axiom when applied to mental
acquirements.
Four days afterwards, as we were preparing for our departure, my mother
gave me a parcel for Bettina, and M. Grimani presented me with four
sequins to buy books. A week later my mother left for St. Petersburg.
After our return to Padua, my good master for three or four months never
ceased to speak of my mother, and Bettina, having found in the parcel
five yards of black silk and twelve pairs of gloves, became singularly
attached to me, and took such good care of my hair that in less than six
months I was able to give up wearing the wig. She used to comb my hair
every morning, often before I was out of bed, saying that she had not
time to wait until I was dressed. She washed my face, my neck, my chest;
lavished on me childish caresses which I thought innocent, but which
caused me to, be angry with myself, because I felt that they excited me.
Three years younger than she was, it seemed to me that she could not love
me with any idea of mischief, and the consciousness of my own vicious
excitement put me out of temper with myself. When, seated on my bed, she
would say that I was getting stouter, and would have the proof of it with
her own hands, she caused me the most intense emotion; but I said
nothing, for fear she would remark my sensitiveness, and when she would
go on saying that my skin was soft, the tickling sensation made me draw
back, angry with myself that I did not dare to do the same to her, but
delighted at her not guessing how I longed to do it. When I was dressed,
she often gave me the sweetest kisses, calling me her darling child, but
whatever wish I had to follow her example, I was not yet bold enough.
After some time, however, Bettina laughing at my timidity, I became more
daring and returned her kisses with interest, but I always gave way the
moment I felt a wish to go further; I then would turn my head, pretending
to look for something, and she would go away. She was scarcely out of the
room before I was in despair at not having followed the inclination of my
nature, and, astonished at the fact that Bettina could do to me all she
was in the habit of doing without feeling any excitement from it, while I
could hardly refrain from pushing my attacks further, I would every day
determine to change my way of acting.
In the early part of autumn, the doctor received three new boarders; and
one of them, who was fifteen years old, appeared to me in less than a
month on very friendly terms with Bettina.
This circumstance caused me a feeling of which until then I had no idea,
and which I only analyzed a few years afterwards. It was neither jealousy
nor indignation, but a noble contempt which I thought ought not to be
repressed, because Cordiani, an ignorant, coarse boy, without talent or
polite education, the son of a simple farmer, and incapable of competing
with me in anything, having over me but the advantage of dawning manhood,
did not appear to me a fit person to be preferred to me; my young
self-esteem whispered that I was above him. I began to nurse a feeling of
pride mixed with contempt which told against Bettina, whom I loved
unknown to myself. She soon guessed it from the way I would receive her
caresses, when she came to comb my hair while I was in bed; I would
repulse her hands, and no longer return her kisses. One day, vexed at my
answering her question as to the reason of my change towards her by
stating that I had no cause for it, she, told me in a tone of
commiseration that I was jealous of Cordiani. This reproach sounded to me
like a debasing slander. I answered that Cordiani was, in my estimation,
as worthy of her as she was worthy of him. She went away smiling, but,
revolving in her mind the only way by which she could be revenged, she
thought herself bound to render me jealous. However, as she could not
attain such an end without making me fall in love with her, this is the
policy she adopted.
One morning she came to me as I was in bed and brought me a pair of white
stockings of her own knitting. After dressing my hair, she asked my
permission to try the stockings on herself, in order to correct any
deficiency in the other pairs she intended to knit for me. The doctor had
gone out to say his mass. As she was putting on the stocking, she
remarked that my legs were not clean, and without any more ado she
immediately began to wash them. I would have been ashamed to let her see
my bashfulness; I let her do as she liked, not foreseeing what would
happen. Bettina, seated on my bed, carried too far her love for
cleanliness, and her curiosity caused me such intense voluptuousness that
the feeling did not stop until it could be carried no further. Having
recovered my calm, I bethought myself that I was guilty and begged her
forgiveness. She did not expect this, and, after considering for a few
moments, she told me kindly that the fault was entirely her own, but that
she never would again be guilty of it. And she went out of the room,
leaving me to my own thoughts.
They were of a cruel character. It seemed to me that I had brought
dishonour upon Bettina, that I had betrayed the confidence of her family,
offended against the sacred laws of hospitality, that I was guilty of a
most wicked crime, which I could only atone for by marrying her, in case
Bettina could make up her mind to accept for her husband a wretch
unworthy of her.
These thoughts led to a deep melancholy which went on increasing from day
to day, Bettina having entirely ceased her morning visits by my bedside.
During the first week, I could easily account for the girl's reserve, and
my sadness would soon have taken the character of the warmest love, had
not her manner towards Cordiani inoculated in my veins the poison of
jealousy, although I never dreamed of accusing her of the same crime
towards him that she had committed upon me.
I felt convinced, after due consideration, that the act she had been
guilty of with me had been deliberately done, and that her feelings of
repentance kept her away from me. This conviction was rather flattering
to my vanity, as it gave me the hope of being loved, and the end of all
my communings was that I made up my mind to write to her, and thus to
give her courage.
I composed a letter, short but calculated to restore peace to her mind,
whether she thought herself guilty, or suspected me of feelings contrary
to those which her dignity might expect from me. My letter was, in my own
estimation, a perfect masterpiece, and just the kind of epistle by which
I was certain to conquer her very adoration, and to sink for ever the sun
of Cordiani, whom I could not accept as the sort of being likely to make
her hesitate for one instant in her choice between him and me.
Half-an-hour after the receipt of my letter, she told me herself that the
next morning she would pay me her usual visit, but I waited in vain. This
conduct provoked me almost to madness, but my surprise was indeed great
when, at the breakfast table, she asked me whether I would let her dress
me up as a girl to accompany her five or six days later to a ball for
which a neighbour of ours, Doctor Olivo, had sent letters of invitation.
Everybody having seconded the motion, I gave my consent. I thought this
arrangement would afford a favourable opportunity for an explanation, for
mutual vindication, and would open a door for the most complete
reconciliation, without fear of any surprise arising from the proverbial
weakness of the flesh. But a most unexpected circumstance prevented our
attending the ball, and brought forth a comedy with a truly tragic turn.
Doctor Gozzi's godfather, a man advanced in age, and in easy
circumstances, residing in the country, thought himself, after a severe
illness, very near his end, and sent to the doctor a carriage with a
request to come to him at once with his father, as he wished them to be
present at his death, and to pray for his departing soul. The old
shoemaker drained a bottle, donned his Sunday clothes, and went off with
his son.
I thought this a favourable opportunity and determined to improve it,
considering that the night of the ball was too remote to suit my
impatience. I therefore managed to tell Bettina that I would leave ajar
the door of my room, and that I would wait for her as soon as everyone in
the house had gone to bed. She promised to come. She slept on the ground
floor in a small closet divided only by a partition from her father's
chamber; the doctor being away, I was alone in the large room. The three
boarders had their apartment in a different part of the house, and I had
therefore no mishap to fear. I was delighted at the idea that I had at
last reached the moment so ardently desired.
The instant I was in my room I bolted my door and opened the one leading
to the passage, so that Bettina should have only to push it in order to
come in; I then put my light out, but did not undress. When we read of
such situations in a romance we think they are exaggerated; they are not
so, and the passage in which Ariosto represents Roger waiting for Alcine
is a beautiful picture painted from nature.
Until midnight I waited without feeling much anxiety; but I heard the
clock strike two, three, four o'clock in the morning without seeing
Bettina; my blood began to boil, and I was soon in a state of furious
rage. It was snowing hard, but I shook from passion more than from cold.
One hour before day-break, unable to master any longer my impatience, I
made up my mind to go downstairs with bare feet, so as not to wake the
dog, and to place myself at the bottom of the stairs within a yard of
Bettina's door, which ought to have been opened if she had gone out of
her room. I reached the door; it was closed, and as it could be locked
only from inside I imagined that Bettina had fallen asleep. I was on the
point of knocking at the door, but was prevented by fear of rousing the
dog, as from that door to that of her closet there was a distance of
three or four yards. Overwhelmed with grief, and unable to take a
decision, I sat down on the last step of the stairs; but at day-break,
chilled, benumbed, shivering with cold, afraid that the servant would see
me and would think I was mad, I determined to go back to my room. I
arise, but at that very moment I hear some noise in Bettina's room.
Certain that I am going to see her, and hope lending me new strength, I
draw nearer to the door. It opens; but instead of Bettina coming out I
see Cordiani, who gives me such a furious kick in the stomach that I am
thrown at a distance deep in the snow. Without stopping a single instant
Cordiani is off, and locks himself up in the room which he shared with
the brothers Feltrini.
I pick myself up quickly with the intention of taking my revenge upon
Bettina, whom nothing could have saved from the effects of my rage at
that moment. But I find her door locked; I kick vigorously against it,
the dog starts a loud barking, and I make a hurried retreat to my room,
in which I lock myself up, throwing myself in bed to compose and heal up
my mind and body, for I was half dead.
Deceived, humbled, ill-treated, an object of contempt to the happy and
triumphant Cordiani, I spent three hours ruminating the darkest schemes
of revenge. To poison them both seemed to me but a trifle in that
terrible moment of bitter misery. This project gave way to another as
extravagant, as cowardly-namely, to go at once to her brother and
disclose everything to him. I was twelve years of age, and my mind had
not yet acquired sufficient coolness to mature schemes of heroic revenge,
which are produced by false feelings of honour; this was only my
apprenticeship in such adventures.
I was in that state of mind when suddenly I heard outside of my door the
gruff voice of Bettina's mother, who begged me to come down, adding that
her daughter was dying. As I would have been very sorry if she had
departed this life before she could feel the effects of my revenge, I got
up hurriedly and went downstairs. I found Bettina lying in her father's
bed writhing with fearful convulsions, and surrounded by the whole
family. Half dressed, nearly bent in two, she was throwing her body now
to the right, now to the left, striking at random with her feet and with
her fists, and extricating herself by violent shaking from the hands of
those who endeavoured to keep her down.
With this sight before me, and the night's adventure still in my mind, I
hardly knew what to think. I had no knowledge of human nature, no
knowledge of artifice and tricks, and I could not understand how I found
myself coolly witnessing such a scene, and composedly calm in the
presence of two beings, one of whom I intended to kill and the other to
dishonour. At the end of an hour Bettina fell asleep.
A nurse and Doctor Olivo came soon after. The first said that the
convulsions were caused by hysterics, but the doctor said no, and
prescribed rest and cold baths. I said nothing, but I could not refrain
from laughing at them, for I knew, or rather guessed, that Bettina's
sickness was the result of her nocturnal employment, or of the fright
which she must have felt at my meeting with Cordiani. At all events, I
determined to postpone my revenge until the return of her brother,
although I had not the slightest suspicion that her illness was all sham,
for I did not give her credit for so much cleverness.
To return to my room I had to pass through Bettina's closet, and seeing
her dress handy on the bed I took it into my head to search her pockets.
I found a small note, and recognizing Cordiani's handwriting, I took
possession of it to read it in my room. I marvelled at the girl's
imprudence, for her mother might have discovered it, and being unable to
read would very likely have given it to the doctor, her son. I thought
she must have taken leave of her senses, but my feelings may be
appreciated when I read the following words: "As your father is away it
is not necessary to leave your door ajar as usual. When we leave the
supper-table I will go to your closet; you will find me there."
When I recovered from my stupor I gave way to an irresistible fit of
laughter, and seeing how completely I had been duped I thought I was
cured of my love. Cordiani appeared to me deserving of forgiveness, and
Bettina of contempt. I congratulated myself upon having received a lesson
of such importance for the remainder of my life. I even went so far as to
acknowledge to myself that Bettina had been quite right in giving the
preference to Cordiani, who was fifteen years old, while I was only a
child. Yet, in spite of my good disposition to forgiveness, the kick
administered by Cordiani was still heavy upon my memory, and I could not
help keeping a grudge against him.
At noon, as we were at dinner in the kitchen, where we took our meals on
account of the cold weather, Bettina began again to raise piercing
screams. Everybody rushed to her room, but I quietly kept my seat and
finished my dinner, after which I went to my studies. In the evening when
I came down to supper I found that Bettina's bed had been brought to the
kitchen close by her mother's; but it was no concern of mine, and I
remained likewise perfectly indifferent to the noise made during the
night, and to the confusion which took place in the morning, when she had
a fresh fit of convulsions.
Doctor Gozzi and his father returned in the evening. Cordiani, who felt
uneasy, came to inquire from me what my intentions were, but I rushed
towards him with an open penknife in my hand, and he beat a hasty
retreat. I had entirely abandoned the idea of relating the night's
scandalous adventure to the doctor, for such a project I could only
entertain in a moment of excitement and rage. The next day the mother
came in while we were at our lesson, and told the doctor, after a
lengthened preamble, that she had discovered the character of her
daughter's illness; that it was caused by a spell thrown over her by a
witch, and that she knew the witch well.
"It may be, my dear mother, but we must be careful not to make a mistake.
Who is the witch?"
"Our old servant, and I have just had a proof of it."
"How so?"
"I have barred the door of my room with two broomsticks placed in the
shape of a cross, which she must have undone to go in; but when she saw
them she drew back, and she went round by the other door. It is evident
that, were she not a witch, she would not be afraid of touching them."
"It is not complete evidence, dear mother; send the woman to me."
The servant made her appearance.
"Why," said the doctor, "did you not enter my mother's room this morning
through the usual door?"
"I do not know what you mean."
"Did you not see the St. Andrew's cross on the door?"
"What cross is that?"
"It is useless to plead ignorance," said the mother; "where did you sleep
last Thursday night?"
"At my niece's, who had just been confined."
"Nothing of the sort. You were at the witches' Sabbath; you are a witch,
and have bewitched my daughter."
The poor woman, indignant at such an accusation, spits at her mistress's
face; the mistress, enraged, gets hold of a stick to give the servant a
drubbing; the doctor endeavours to keep his mother back, but he is
compelled to let her loose and to run after the servant, who was hurrying
down the stairs, screaming and howling in order to rouse the neighbours;
he catches her, and finally succeeds in pacifying her with some money.
After this comical but rather scandalous exhibition, the doctor donned
his vestments for the purpose of exorcising his sister and of
ascertaining whether she was truly possessed of an unclean spirit. The
novelty of this mystery attracted the whole of my attention. All the
inmates of the house appeared to me either mad or stupid, for I could
not, for the life of me, imagine that diabolical spirits were dwelling in
Bettina's body. When we drew near her bed, her breathing had, to all
appearance, stopped, and the exorcisms of her brother did not restore it.
Doctor Olivo happened to come in at that moment, and inquired whether he
would be in the way; he was answered in the negative, provided he had
faith.
Upon which he left, saying that he had no faith in any miracles except in
those of the Gospel.
Soon after Doctor Gozzi went to his room, and finding myself alone with
Bettina I bent down over her bed and whispered in her ear.
"Take courage, get well again, and rely upon my discretion."
She turned her head towards the wall and did not answer me, but the day
passed off without any more convulsions. I thought I had cured her, but
on the following day the frenzy went up to the brain, and in her delirium
she pronounced at random Greek and Latin words without any meaning, and
then no doubt whatever was entertained of her being possessed of the evil
spirit. Her mother went out and returned soon, accompanied by the most
renowned exorcist of Padua, a very ill-featured Capuchin, called Friar
Prospero da Bovolenta.
The moment Bettina saw the exorcist, she burst into loud laughter, and
addressed to him the most offensive insults, which fairly delighted
everybody, as the devil alone could be bold enough to address a Capuchin
in such a manner; but the holy man, hearing himself called an obtrusive
ignoramus and a stinkard, went on striking Bettina with a heavy crucifix,
saying that he was beating the devil. He stopped only when he saw her on
the point of hurling at him the chamber utensil which she had just
seized. "If it is the devil who has offended thee with his words," she
said, "resent the insult with words likewise, jackass that thou art, but
if I have offended thee myself, learn, stupid booby, that thou must
respect me, and be off at once."
I could see poor Doctor Gozzi blushing; the friar, however, held his
ground, and, armed at all points, began to read a terrible exorcism, at
the end of which he commanded the devil to state his name.
"My name is Bettina."
"It cannot be, for it is the name of a baptized girl."
"Then thou art of opinion that a devil must rejoice in a masculine name?
Learn, ignorant friar, that a devil is a spirit, and does not belong to
either sex. But as thou believest that a devil is speaking to thee
through my lips, promise to answer me with truth, and I will engage to
give way before thy incantations."
"Very well, I agree to this."
"Tell me, then, art thou thinking that thy knowledge is greater than
mine?"
"No, but I believe myself more powerful in the name of the holy Trinity,
and by my sacred character."
"If thou art more powerful than I, then prevent me from telling thee
unpalatable truths. Thou art very vain of thy beard, thou art combing and
dressing it ten times a day, and thou would'st not shave half of it to
get me out of this body. Cut off thy beard, and I promise to come out."
"Father of lies, I will increase thy punishment a hundred fold."
"I dare thee to do it."
After saying these words, Bettina broke into such a loud peal of
laughter, that I could not refrain from joining in it. The Capuchin,
turning towards Doctor Gozzi, told him that I was wanting in faith, and
that I ought to leave the room; which I did, remarking that he had
guessed rightly. I was not yet out of the room when the friar offered his
hand to Bettina for her to kiss, and I had the pleasure of seeing her
spit upon it.
This strange girl, full of extraordinary talent, made rare sport of the
friar, without causing any surprise to anyone, as all her answers were
attributed to the devil. I could not conceive what her purpose was in
playing such a part.
The Capuchin dined with us, and during the meal he uttered a good deal of
nonsense. After dinner, he returned to Bettina's chamber, with the
intention of blessing her, but as soon as she caught sight of him, she
took up a glass full of some black mixture sent from the apothecary, and
threw it at his head. Cordiani, being close by the friar, came in for a
good share of the liquid-an accident which afforded me the greatest
delight. Bettina was quite right to improve her opportunity, as
everything she did was, of course, put to the account of the unfortunate
devil. Not overmuch pleased, Friar Prospero, as he left the house, told
the doctor that there was no doubt of the girl being possessed, but that
another exorcist must be sent for, since he had not, himself, obtained
God's grace to eject the evil spirit.
After he had gone, Bettina kept very calm for six hours, and in the
evening, to our great surprise, she joined us at the supper table. She
told her parents that she felt quite well, spoke to her brother, and
then, addressing me, she remarked that, the ball taking place on the
morrow, she would come to my room in the morning to dress my hair like a
girl's. I thanked her, and said that, as she had been so ill, she ought
to nurse herself. She soon retired to bed, and we remained at the table,
talking of her.
When I was undressing for the night, I took up my night-cap, and found in
it a small note with these words: "You must accompany me to the ball,
disguised as a girl, or I will give you a sight which will cause you to
weep."
I waited until the doctor was asleep, and I wrote the following answer:
"I cannot go to the ball, because I have fully made up my mind to avoid
every opportunity of being alone with you. As for the painful sight with
which you threaten to entertain me, I believe you capable of keeping your
word, but I entreat you to spare my heart, for I love you as if you were
my sister. I have forgiven you, dear Bettina, and I wish to forget
everything. I enclose a note which you must be delighted to have again in
your possession. You see what risk you were running when you left it in
your pocket. This restitution must convince you of my friendship."
CHAPTER III
Bettina Is Supposed to Go Mad--Father Mancia--The Small-pox--
I Leave Padua
Bettina must have been in despair, not knowing into whose hands her
letter had fallen; to return it to her and thus to allay her anxiety, was
therefore a great proof of friendship; but my generosity, at the same
time that it freed her from a keen sorrow, must have caused her another
quite as dreadful, for she knew that I was master of her secret.
Cordiani's letter was perfectly explicit; it gave the strongest evidence
that she was in the habit of receiving him every night, and therefore the
story she had prepared to deceive me was useless. I felt it was so, and,
being disposed to calm her anxiety as far as I could, I went to her
bedside in the morning, and I placed in her hands Cordiani's note and my
answer to her letter.
The girl's spirit and talent had won my esteem; I could no longer despise
her; I saw in her only a poor creature seduced by her natural
temperament. She loved man, and was to be pitied only on account of the
consequences. Believing that the view I took of the situation was a right
one, I had resigned myself like a reasonable being, and not like a
disappointed lover. The shame was for her and not for me. I had only one
wish, namely, to find out whether the two brothers Feltrini, Cordiani's
companions, had likewise shared Bettina's favours.
Bettina put on throughout the day a cheerful and happy look. In the
evening she dressed herself for the ball; but suddenly an attack of
sickness, whether feigned or real I did not know, compelled her to go to
bed, and frightened everybody in the house. As for myself, knowing the
whole affair, I was prepared for new scenes, and indeed for sad ones, for
I felt that I had obtained over her a power repugnant to her vanity and
self-love. I must, however, confess that, in spite of the excellent
school in which I found myself before I had attained manhood, and which
ought to have given me experience as a shield for the future, I have
through the whole of my life been the dupe of women. Twelve years ago, if
it had not been for my guardian angel, I would have foolishly married a
young, thoughtless girl, with whom I had fallen in love: Now that I am
seventy-two years old I believe myself no longer susceptible of such
follies; but, alas! that is the very thing which causes me to be
miserable.
The next day the whole family was deeply grieved because the devil of
whom Bettina was possessed had made himself master of her reason. Doctor
Gozzi told me that there could not be the shadow of a doubt that his
unfortunate sister was possessed, as, if she had only been mad, she never
would have so cruelly ill-treated the Capuchin, Prospero, and he
determined to place her under the care of Father Mancia.
This Mancia was a celebrated Jacobin (or Dominican) exorcist, who enjoyed
the reputation of never having failed to cure a girl possessed of the
demon.
Sunday had come; Bettina had made a good dinner, but she had been frantic
all through the day. Towards midnight her father came home, singing Tasso
as usual, and so drunk that he could not stand. He went up to Bettina's
bed, and after kissing her affectionately he said to her: "Thou art not
mad, my girl."
Her answer was that he was not drunk.
"Thou art possessed of the devil, my dear child."
"Yes, father, and you alone can cure me."
"Well, I am ready."
Upon this our shoemaker begins a theological discourse, expatiating upon
the power of faith and upon the virtue of the paternal blessing. He
throws off his cloak, takes a crucifix with one hand, places the other
over the head of his daughter, and addresses the devil in such an amusing
way that even his wife, always a stupid, dull, cross-grained old woman,
had to laugh till the tears came down her cheeks. The two performers in
the comedy alone were not laughing, and their serious countenance added
to the fun of the performance. I marvelled at Bettina (who was always
ready to enjoy a good laugh) having sufficient control over herself to
remain calm and grave. Doctor Gozzi had also given way to merriment; but
begged that the farce should come to an end, for he deemed that his
father's eccentricities were as many profanations against the sacredness
of exorcism. At last the exorcist, doubtless tired out, went to bed
saying that he was certain that the devil would not disturb his daughter
during the night.
On the morrow, just as we had finished our breakfast, Father Mancia made
his appearance. Doctor Gozzi, followed by the whole family, escorted him
to his sister's bedside. As for me, I was entirely taken up by the face
of the monk. Here is his portrait. His figure was tall and majestic, his
age about thirty; he had light hair and blue eyes; his features were
those of Apollo, but without his pride and assuming haughtiness; his
complexion, dazzling white, was pale, but that paleness seemed to have
been given for the very purpose of showing off the red coral of his lips,
through which could be seen, when they opened, two rows of pearls. He was
neither thin nor stout, and the habitual sadness of his countenance
enhanced its sweetness. His gait was slow, his air timid, an indication
of the great modesty of his mind.
When we entered the room Bettina was asleep, or pretended to be so.
Father Mancia took a sprinkler and threw over her a few drops of holy
water; she opened her eyes, looked at the monk, and closed them
immediately; a little while after she opened them again, had a better
look at him, laid herself on her back, let her arms droop down gently,
and with her head prettily bent on one side she fell into the sweetest of
slumbers.
The exorcist, standing by the bed, took out his pocket ritual and the
stole which he put round his neck, then a reliquary, which he placed on
the bosom of the sleeping girl, and with the air of a saint he begged all
of us to fall on our knees and to pray, so that God should let him know
whether the patient was possessed or only labouring under a natural
disease. He kept us kneeling for half an hour, reading all the time in a
low tone of voice. Bettina did not stir.
Tired, I suppose, of the performance, he desired to speak privately with
Doctor Gozzi. They passed into the next room, out of which they emerged
after a quarter of an hour, brought back by a loud peal of laughter from
the mad girl, who, when she saw them, turned her back on them. Father
Mancia smiled, dipped the sprinkler over and over in the holy water, gave
us all a generous shower, and took his leave.
Doctor Gozzi told us that the exorcist would come again on the morrow,
and that he had promised to deliver Bettina within three hours if she
were truly possessed of the demon, but that he made no promise if it
should turn out to be a case of madness. The mother exclaimed that he
would surely deliver her, and she poured out her thanks to God for having
allowed her the grace of beholding a saint before her death.
The following day Bettina was in a fine frenzy. She began to utter the
most extravagant speeches that a poet could imagine, and did not stop
when the charming exorcist came into her room; he seemed to enjoy her
foolish talk for a few minutes, after which, having armed himself
'cap-a-pie', he begged us to withdraw. His order was obeyed instantly; we
left the chamber, and the door remained open. But what did it matter? Who
would have been bold enough to go in?
During three long hours we heard nothing; the stillness was unbroken. At
noon the monk called us in. Bettina was there sad and very quiet while
the exorcist packed up his things. He took his departure, saying he had
very good hopes of the case, and requesting that the doctor would send
him news of the patient. Bettina partook of dinner in her bed, got up for
supper, and the next day behaved herself rationally; but the following
circumstance strengthened my opinion that she had been neither insane nor
possessed.
It was two days before the Purification of the Holy Virgin. Doctor Gozzi
was in the habit of giving us the sacrament in his own church, but he
always sent us for our confession to the church of Saint-Augustin, in
which the Jacobins of Padua officiated. At the supper table, he told us
to prepare ourselves for the next day, and his mother, addressing us,
said: "You ought, all of you, to confess to Father Mancia, so as to
obtain absolution from that holy man. I intend to go to him myself."
Cordiani and the two Feltrini agreed to the proposal; I remained silent,
but as the idea was unpleasant to me, I concealed the feeling, with a
full determination to prevent the execution of the project.
I had entire confidence in the secrecy of confession, and I was incapable
of making a false one, but knowing that I had a right to choose my
confessor, I most certainly never would have been so simple as to confess
to Father Mancia what had taken place between me and a girl, because he
would have easily guessed that the girl could be no other but Bettina.
Besides, I was satisfied that Cordiani would confess everything to the
monk, and I was deeply sorry.
Early the next morning, Bettina brought me a band for my neck, and gave
me the following letter: "Spurn me, but respect my honour and the shadow
of peace to which I aspire. No one from this house must confess to Father
Mancia; you alone can prevent the execution of that project, and I need
not suggest the way to succeed. It will prove whether you have some
friendship for me."
I could not express the pity I felt for the poor girl, as I read that
note. In spite of that feeling, this is what I answered: "I can well
understand that, notwithstanding the inviolability of confession, your
mother's proposal should cause you great anxiety; but I cannot see why,
in order to prevent its execution, you should depend upon me rather than
upon Cordiani who has expressed his acceptance of it. All I can promise
you is that I will not be one of those who may go to Father Mancia; but I
have no influence over your lover; you alone can speak to him."
She replied: "I have never addressed a word to Cordiani since the fatal
night which has sealed my misery, and I never will speak to him again,
even if I could by so doing recover my lost happiness. To you alone I
wish to be indebted for my life and for my honour."
This girl appeared to me more wonderful than all the heroines of whom I
had read in novels. It seemed to me that she was making sport of me with
the most barefaced effrontery. I thought she was trying to fetter me
again with her chains; and although I had no inclination for them, I made
up my mind to render her the service she claimed at my hands, and which
she believed I alone could compass. She felt certain of her success, but
in what school had she obtained her experience of the human heart? Was it
in reading novels? Most likely the reading of a certain class of novels
causes the ruin of a great many young girls, but I am of opinion that
from good romances they acquire graceful manners and a knowledge of
society.
Having made up my mind to shew her every kindness in my power, I took an
opportunity, as we were undressing for the night, of telling Doctor Gozzi
that, for conscientious motives, I could not confess to Father Mancia,
and yet that I did not wish to be an exception in that matter. He kindly
answered that he understood my reasons, and that he would take us all to
the church of Saint-Antoine. I kissed his hand in token of my gratitude.
On the following day, everything having gone according to her wishes, I
saw Bettina sit down to the table with a face beaming with satisfaction.
In the afternoon I had to go to bed in consequence of a wound in my foot;
the doctor accompanied his pupils to church; and Bettina being alone,
availed herself of the opportunity, came to my room and sat down on my
bed. I had expected her visit, and I received it with pleasure, as it
heralded an explanation for which I was positively longing.
She began by expressing a hope that I would not be angry with her for
seizing the first opportunity she had of some conversation with me.
"No," I answered, "for you thus afford me an occasion of assuring you
that, my feelings towards you being those of a friend only, you need not
have any fear of my causing you any anxiety or displeasure. Therefore
Bettina, you may do whatever suits you; my love is no more. You have at
one blow given the death-stroke to the intense passion which was
blossoming in my heart. When I reached my room, after the ill-treatment I
had experienced at Cordiani's hands, I felt for you nothing but hatred;
that feeling soon merged into utter contempt, but that sensation itself
was in time, when my mind recovered its balance, changed for a feeling of
the deepest indifference, which again has given way when I saw what power
there is in your mind. I have now become your friend; I have conceived
the greatest esteem for your cleverness. I have been the dupe of it, but
no matter; that talent of yours does exist, it is wonderful, divine, I
admire it, I love it, and the highest homage I can render to it is, in my
estimation, to foster for the possessor of it the purest feelings of
friendship. Reciprocate that friendship, be true, sincere, and plain
dealing. Give up all nonsense, for you have already obtained from me all
I can give you. The very thought of love is repugnant to me; I can bestow
my love only where I feel certain of being the only one loved. You are at
liberty to lay my foolish delicacy to the account of my youthful age, but
I feel so, and I cannot help it. You have written to me that you never
speak to Cordiani; if I am the cause of that rupture between you, I
regret it, and I think that, in the interest of your honour, you would do
well to make it up with him; for the future I must be careful never to
give him any grounds for umbrage or suspicion. Recollect also that, if
you have tempted him by the same manoeuvres which you have employed
towards me, you are doubly wrong, for it may be that, if he truly loves
you, you have caused him to be miserable."
"All you have just said to me," answered Bettina, "is grounded upon false
impressions and deceptive appearances. I do not love Cordiani, and I
never had any love for him; on the contrary, I have felt, and I do feel,
for him a hatred which he has richly deserved, and I hope to convince
you, in spite of every appearance which seems to convict me. As to the
reproach of seduction, I entreat you to spare me such an accusation. On
our side, consider that, if you had not yourself thrown temptation in my
way, I never would have committed towards you an action of which I have
deeply repented, for reasons which you do not know, but which you must
learn from me. The fault I have been guilty of is a serious one only
because I did not foresee the injury it would do me in the inexperienced
mind of the ingrate who dares to reproach me with it."
Bettina was shedding tears: all she had said was not unlikely and rather
complimentary to my vanity, but I had seen too much. Besides, I knew the
extent of her cleverness, and it was very natural to lend her a wish to
deceive me; how could I help thinking that her visit to me was prompted
only by her self-love being too deeply wounded to let me enjoy a victory
so humiliating to herself? Therefore, unshaken in my preconceived
opinion, I told her that I placed implicit confidence in all she had just
said respecting the state of her heart previous to the playful nonsense
which had been the origin of my love for her, and that I promised never
in the future to allude again to my accusation of seduction. "But," I
continued, "confess that the fire at that time burning in your bosom was
only of short duration, and that the slightest breath of wind had been
enough to extinguish it. Your virtue, which went astray for only one
instant, and which has so suddenly recovered its mastery over your
senses, deserves some praise. You, with all your deep adoring love for
me, became all at once blind to my sorrow, whatever care I took to make
it clear to your sight. It remains for me to learn how that virtue could
be so very dear to you, at the very time that Cordiani took care to wreck
it every night."
Bettina eyed me with the air of triumph which perfect confidence in
victory gives to a person, and said: "You have just reached the point
where I wished you to be. You shall now be made aware of things which I
could not explain before, owing to your refusing the appointment which I
then gave you for no other purpose than to tell you all the truth.
Cordiani declared his love for me a week after he became an inmate in our
house; he begged my consent to a marriage, if his father made the demand
of my hand as soon as he should have completed his studies. My answer was
that I did not know him sufficiently, that I could form no idea on the
subject, and I requested him not to allude to it any more. He appeared to
have quietly given up the matter, but soon after, I found out that it was
not the case; he begged me one day to come to his room now and then to
dress his hair; I told him I had no time to spare, and he remarked that
you were more fortunate. I laughed at this reproach, as everyone here
knew that I had the care of you. It was a fortnight after my refusal to
Cordiani, that I unfortunately spent an hour with you in that loving
nonsense which has naturally given you ideas until then unknown to your
senses. That hour made me very happy: I loved you, and having given way
to very natural desires, I revelled in my enjoyment without the slightest
remorse of conscience. I was longing to be again with you the next
morning, but after supper, misfortune laid for the first time its hand
upon me. Cordiani slipped in my hands this note and this letter which I
have since hidden in a hole in the wall, with the intention of shewing
them to you at the first opportunity."
Saying this, Bettina handed me the note and the letter; the first ran as
follows: "Admit me this evening in your closet, the door of which,
leading to the yard, can be left ajar, or prepare yourself to make the
best of it with the doctor, to whom I intend to deliver, if you should
refuse my request, the letter of which I enclose a copy."
The letter contained the statement of a cowardly and enraged informer,
and would certainly have caused the most unpleasant results. In that
letter Cordiani informed the doctor that his sister spent her mornings
with me in criminal connection while he was saying his mass, and he
pledged himself to enter into particulars which would leave him no doubt.
"After giving to the case the consideration it required," continued
Bettina, "I made up my mind to hear that monster; but my determination
being fixed, I put in my pocket my father's stilletto, and holding my
door ajar I waited for him there, unwilling to let him come in, as my
closet is divided only by a thin partition from the room of my father,
whom the slightest noise might have roused up. My first question to
Cordiani was in reference to the slander contained in the letter he
threatened to deliver to my brother: he answered that it was no slander,
for he had been a witness to everything that had taken place in the
morning through a hole he had bored in the garret just above your bed,
and to which he would apply his eye the moment he knew that I was in your
room. He wound up by threatening to discover everything to my brother and
to my mother, unless I granted him the same favours I had bestowed upon
you. In my just indignation I loaded him with the most bitter insults, I
called him a cowardly spy and slanderer, for he could not have seen
anything but childish playfulness, and I declared to him that he need not
flatter himself that any threat would compel me to give the slightest
compliance to his wishes. He then begged and begged my pardon a thousand
times, and went on assuring me that I must lay to my rigour the odium of
the step he had taken, the only excuse for it being in the fervent love I
had kindled in his heart, and which made him miserable. He acknowledged
that his letter might be a slander, that he had acted treacherously, and
he pledged his honour never to attempt obtaining from me by violence
favours which he desired to merit only by the constancy of his love. I
then thought myself to some extent compelled to say that I might love him
at some future time, and to promise that I would not again come near your
bed during the absence of my brother. In this way I dismissed him
satisfied, without his daring to beg for so much as a kiss, but with the
promise that we might now and then have some conversation in the same
place. As soon as he left me I went to bed, deeply grieved that I could
no longer see you in the absence of my brother, and that I was unable,
for fear of consequences, to let you know the reason of my change. Three
weeks passed off in that position, and I cannot express what have been my
sufferings, for you, of course, urged me to come, and I was always under
the painful necessity of disappointing you. I even feared to find myself
alone with you, for I felt certain that I could not have refrained from
telling you the cause of the change in my conduct. To crown my misery,
add that I found myself compelled, at least once a week, to receive the
vile Cordiani outside of my room, and to speak to him, in order to check
his impatience with a few words. At last, unable to bear up any longer
under such misery, threatened likewise by you, I determined to end my
agony. I wished to disclose to you all this intrigue, leaving to you the
care of bringing a change for the better, and for that purpose I proposed
that you should accompany me to the ball disguised as a girl, although I
knew it would enrage Cordiani; but my mind was made up. You know how my
scheme fell to the ground. The unexpected departure of my brother with my
father suggested to both of you the same idea, and it was before
receiving Cordiani's letter that I promised to come to you. Cordiani did
not ask for an appointment; he only stated that he would be waiting for
me in my closet, and I had no opportunity of telling him that I could not
allow him to come, any more than I could find time to let you know that I
would be with you only after midnight, as I intended to do, for I
reckoned that after an hour's talk I would dismiss the wretch to his
room. But my reckoning was wrong; Cordiani had conceived a scheme, and I
could not help listening to all he had to say about it. His whining and
exaggerated complaints had no end. He upbraided me for refusing to
further the plan he had concocted, and which he thought I would accept
with rapture if I loved him. The scheme was for me to elope with him
during holy week, and to run away to Ferrara, where he had an uncle who
would have given us a kind welcome, and would soon have brought his
father to forgive him and to insure our happiness for life. The
objections I made, his answers, the details to be entered into, the
explanations and the ways and means to be examined to obviate the
difficulties of the project, took up the whole night. My heart was
bleeding as I thought of you; but my conscience is at rest, and I did
nothing that could render me unworthy of your esteem. You cannot refuse
it to me, unless you believe that the confession I have just made is
untrue; but you would be both mistaken and unjust. Had I made up my mind
to sacrifice myself and to grant favours which love alone ought to
obtain, I might have got rid of the treacherous wretch within one hour,
but death seemed preferable to such a dreadful expedient. Could I in any
way suppose that you were outside of my door, exposed to the wind and to
the snow? Both of us were deserving of pity, but my misery was still
greater than yours. All these fearful circumstances were written in the
book of fate, to make me lose my reason, which now returns only at
intervals, and I am in constant dread of a fresh attack of those awful
convulsions. They say I am bewitched, and possessed of the demon; I do
not know anything about it, but if it should be true I am the most
miserable creature in existence." Bettina ceased speaking, and burst into
a violent storm of tears, sobs, and groans. I was deeply moved, although
I felt that all she had said might be true, and yet was scarcely worthy
of belief:
'Forse era ver, ma non pero credibile
A chi del senso suo fosse signor.'
But she was weeping, and her tears, which at all events were not
deceptive, took away from me the faculty of doubt. Yet I put her tears to
the account of her wounded self-love; to give way entirely I needed a
thorough conviction, and to obtain it evidence was necessary, probability
was not enough. I could not admit either Cordiani's moderation or
Bettina's patience, or the fact of seven hours employed in innocent
conversation. In spite of all these considerations, I felt a sort of
pleasure in accepting for ready cash all the counterfeit coins that she
had spread out before me.
After drying her tears, Bettina fixed her beautiful eyes upon mine,
thinking that she could discern in them evident signs of her victory; but
I surprised her much by alluding to one point which, with all her
cunning, she had neglected to mention in her defence. Rhetoric makes use
of nature's secrets in the same way as painters who try to imitate it:
their most beautiful work is false. This young girl, whose mind had not
been refined by study, aimed at being considered innocent and artless,
and she did her best to succeed, but I had seen too good a specimen of
her cleverness.
"Well, my dear Bettina," I said, "your story has affected me; but how do
you think I am going to accept your convulsions as natural, and to
believe in the demoniac symptoms which came on so seasonably during the
exorcisms, although you very properly expressed your doubts on the
matter?"
Hearing this, Bettina stared at me, remaining silent for a few minutes,
then casting her eyes down she gave way to fresh tears, exclaiming now
and then: "Poor me! oh, poor me!" This situation, however, becoming most
painful to me, I asked what I could do for her. She answered in a sad
tone that if my heart did not suggest to me what to do, she did not
herself see what she could demand of me.
"I thought," said she, "that I would reconquer my lost influence over
your heart, but, I see it too plainly, you no longer feel an interest in
me. Go on treating me harshly; go on taking for mere fictions sufferings
which are but too real, which you have caused, and which you will now
increase. Some day, but too late, you will be sorry, and your repentance
will be bitter indeed."
As she pronounced these words she rose to take her leave; but judging her
capable of anything I felt afraid, and I detained her to say that the
only way to regain my affection was to remain one month without
convulsions and without handsome Father Mancia's presence being required.
"I cannot help being convulsed," she answered, "but what do you mean by
applying to the Jacobin that epithet of handsome? Could you suppose--?"
"Not at all, not at all--I suppose nothing; to do so would be necessary
for me to be jealous. But I cannot help saying that the preference given
by your devils to the exorcism of that handsome monk over the
incantations of the ugly Capuchin is likely to give birth to remarks
rather detrimental to your honour. Moreover, you are free to do whatever
pleases you."
Thereupon she left my room, and a few minutes later everybody came home.
After supper the servant, without any question on my part, informed me
that Bettina had gone to bed with violent feverish chills, having
previously had her bed carried into the kitchen beside her mother's. This
attack of fever might be real, but I had my doubts. I felt certain that
she would never make up her mind to be well, for her good health would
have supplied me with too strong an argument against her pretended
innocence, even in the case of Cordiani; I likewise considered her idea
of having her bed placed near her mother's nothing but artful
contrivance.
The next day Doctor Olivo found her very feverish, and told her brother
that she would most likely be excited and delirious, but that it would be
the effect of the fever and not the work of the devil. And truly, Bettina
was raving all day, but Dr. Gozzi, placing implicit confidence in the
physician, would not listen to his mother, and did not send for the
Jacobin friar. The fever increased in violence, and on the fourth day the
small-pox broke out. Cordiani and the two brothers Feitrini, who had so
far escaped that disease, were immediately sent away, but as I had had it
before I remained at home.
The poor girl was so fearfully covered with the loathsome eruption, that
on the sixth day her skin could not be seen on any part of her body. Her
eyes closed, and her life was despaired of, when it was found that her
mouth and throat were obstructed to such a degree that she could swallow
nothing but a few drops of honey. She was perfectly motionless; she
breathed and that was all. Her mother never left her bedside, and I was
thought a saint when I carried my table and my books into the patient's
room. The unfortunate girl had become a fearful sight to look upon; her
head was dreadfully swollen, the nose could no longer be seen, and much
fear was entertained for her eyes, in case her life should be spared. The
odour of her perspiration was most offensive, but I persisted in keeping
my watch by her.
On the ninth day, the vicar gave her absolution, and after administering
extreme unction, he left her, as he said, in the hands of God. In the
midst of so much sadness, the conversation of the mother with her son,
would, in spite of myself, cause me some amount of merriment. The good
woman wanted to know whether the demon who was dwelling in her child
could still influence her to perform extravagant follies, and what would
become of the demon in the case of her daughter's death, for, as she
expressed it, she could not think of his being so stupid as to remain in
so loathsome a body. She particularly wanted to ascertain whether the
demon had power to carry off the soul of her child. Doctor Gozzi, who was
an ubiquitarian, made to all those questions answers which had not even
the shadow of good sense, and which of course had no other effect than to
increase a hundred-fold the perplexity of his poor mother.
During the tenth and eleventh days, Bettina was so bad that we thought
every moment likely to be her last. The disease had reached its worst
period; the smell was unbearable; I alone would not leave her, so sorely
did I pity her. The heart of man is indeed an unfathomable abyss, for,
however incredible it may appear, it was while in that fearful state that
Bettina inspired me with the fondness which I showed her after her
recovery.
On the thirteenth day the fever abated, but the patient began to
experience great irritation, owing to a dreadful itching, which no remedy
could have allayed as effectually as these powerful words which I kept
constantly pouring into her ear: "Bettina, you are getting better; but if
you dare to scratch yourself, you will become such a fright that nobody
will ever love you." All the physicians in the universe might be
challenged to prescribe a more potent remedy against itching for a girl
who, aware that she has been pretty, finds herself exposed to the loss of
her beauty through her own fault, if she scratches herself.
At last her fine eyes opened again to the light of heaven; she was moved
to her own room, but she had to keep her bed until Easter. She inoculated
me with a few pocks, three of which have left upon my face everlasting
marks; but in her eyes they gave me credit for great devotedness, for
they were a proof of my constant care, and she felt that I indeed
deserved her whole love. And she truly loved me, and I returned her love,
although I never plucked a flower which fate and prejudice kept in store
for a husband. But what a contemptible husband!
Two years later she married a shoemaker, by name Pigozzo--a base, arrant
knave who beggared and ill-treated her to such an extent that her brother
had to take her home and to provide for her. Fifteen years afterwards,
having been appointed arch-priest at Saint-George de la Vallee, he took
her there with him, and when I went to pay him a visit eighteen years
ago, I found Bettina old, ill, and dying. She breathed her last in my
arms in 1776, twenty-four hours after my arrival. I will speak of her
death in good time.
About that period, my mother returned from St. Petersburg, where the
Empress Anne Iwanowa had not approved of the Italian comedy. The whole of
the troop had already returned to Italy, and my mother had travelled with
Carlin Bertinazzi, the harlequin, who died in Paris in the year 1783. As
soon as she had reached Padua, she informed Doctor Gozzi of her arrival,
and he lost no time in accompanying me to the inn where she had put up.
We dined with her, and before bidding us adieu, she presented the doctor
with a splendid fur, and gave me the skin of a lynx for Bettina. Six
months afterwards she summoned me to Venice, as she wished to see me
before leaving for Dresden, where she had contracted an engagement for
life in the service of the Elector of Saxony, Augustus III., King of
Poland. She took with her my brother Jean, then eight years old, who was
weeping bitterly when he left; I thought him very foolish, for there was
nothing very tragic in that departure. He is the only one in the family
who was wholly indebted to our mother for his fortune, although he was
not her favourite child.
I spent another year in Padua, studying law in which I took the degree of
Doctor in my sixteenth year, the subject of my thesis being in the civil
law, 'de testamentis', and in the canon law, 'utrum Hebraei possint
construere novas synagogas'.
My vocation was to study medicine, and to practice it, for I felt a great
inclination for that profession, but no heed was given to my wishes, and
I was compelled to apply myself to the study of the law, for which I had
an invincible repugnance. My friends were of opinion that I could not
make my fortune in any profession but that of an advocate, and, what is
still worse, of an ecclesiastical advocate. If they had given the matter
proper consideration, they would have given me leave to follow my own
inclinations, and I would have been a physician--a profession in which
quackery is of still greater avail than in the legal business. I never
became either a physician or an advocate, and I never would apply to a
lawyer, when I had any legal business, nor call in a physician when I
happened to be ill. Lawsuits and pettifoggery may support a good many
families, but a greater proportion is ruined by them, and those who
perish in the hands, of physicians are more numerous by far than those
who get cured strong evidence in my opinion, that mankind would be much
less miserable without either lawyers or doctors.
To attend the lectures of the professors, I had to go to the university
called the Bo, and it became necessary for me to go out alone. This was a
matter of great wonder to me, for until then I had never considered
myself a free man; and in my wish to enjoy fully the liberty I thought I
had just conquered, it was not long before I had made the very worst
acquaintances amongst the most renowned students. As a matter of course,
the most renowned were the most worthless, dissolute fellows, gamblers,
frequenters of disorderly houses, hard drinkers, debauchees, tormentors
and suborners of honest girls, liars, and wholly incapable of any good or
virtuous feeling. In the company of such men did I begin my
apprenticeship of the world, learning my lesson from the book of
experience.
The theory of morals and its usefulness through the life of man can be
compared to the advantage derived by running over the index of a book
before reading it when we have perused that index we know nothing but the
subject of the work. This is like the school for morals offered by the
sermons, the precepts, and the tales which our instructors recite for our
especial benefit. We lend our whole attention to those lessons, but when
an opportunity offers of profiting by the advice thus bestowed upon us,
we feel inclined to ascertain for ourselves whether the result will turn
out as predicted; we give way to that very natural inclination, and
punishment speedily follows with concomitant repentance. Our only
consolation lies in the fact that in such moments we are conscious of our
own knowledge, and consider ourselves as having earned the right to
instruct others; but those to whom we wish to impart our experience act
exactly as we have acted before them, and, as a matter of course, the
world remains in statu quo, or grows worse and worse.
When Doctor Gozzi granted me the privilege of going out alone, he gave me
an opportunity for the discovery of several truths which, until then,
were not only unknown to me, but the very existence of which I had never
suspected. On my first appearance, the boldest scholars got hold of me
and sounded my depth. Finding that I was a thorough freshman, they
undertook my education, and with that worthy purpose in view they allowed
me to fall blindly into every trap. They taught me gambling, won the
little I possessed, and then they made me play upon trust, and put me up
to dishonest practices in order to procure the means of paying my
gambling debts; but I acquired at the same time the sad experience of
sorrow! Yet these hard lessons proved useful, for they taught me to
mistrust the impudent sycophants who openly flatter their dupes, and
never to rely upon the offers made by fawning flatterers. They taught me
likewise how to behave in the company of quarrelsome duellists, the
society of whom ought to be avoided, unless we make up our mind to be
constantly in the very teeth of danger. I was not caught in the snares of
professional lewd women, because not one of them was in my eyes as pretty
as Bettina, but I did not resist so well the desire for that species of
vain glory which is the reward of holding life at a cheap price.
In those days the students in Padua enjoyed very great privileges, which
were in reality abuses made legal through prescription, the primitive
characteristic of privileges, which differ essentially from prerogatives.
In fact, in order to maintain the legality of their privileges, the
students often committed crimes. The guilty were dealt with tenderly,
because the interest of the city demanded that severity should not
diminish the great influx of scholars who flocked to that renowned
university from every part of Europe. The practice of the Venetian
government was to secure at a high salary the most celebrated professors,
and to grant the utmost freedom to the young men attending their lessons.
The students acknowledged no authority but that of a chief, chosen among
themselves, and called syndic. He was usually a foreign nobleman, who
could keep a large establishment, and who was responsible to the
government for the behaviour of the scholars. It was his duty to give
them up to justice when they transgressed the laws, and the students
never disputed his sentence, because he always defended them to the
utmost, when they had the slightest shadow of right on their side.
The students, amongst other privileges, would not suffer their trunks to
be searched by customhouse authorities, and no ordinary policeman would
have dared to arrest one of them. They carried about them forbidden
weapons, seduced helpless girls, and often disturbed the public peace by
their nocturnal broils and impudent practical jokes; in one word, they
were a body of young fellows, whom nothing could restrain, who would
gratify every whim, and enjoy their sport without regard or consideration
for any human being.
It was about that time that a policeman entered a coffee-room, in which
were seated two students. One of them ordered him out, but the man taking
no notice of it, the student fired a pistol at him, and missed his aim.
The policeman returned the fire, wounded the aggressor, and ran away. The
students immediately mustered together at the Bo, divided into bands, and
went over the city, hunting the policemen to murder them, and avenge the
insult they had received. In one of the encounters two of the students
were killed, and all the others, assembling in one troop, swore never to
lay their arms down as long as there should be one policeman alive in
Padua. The authorities had to interfere, and the syndic of the students
undertook to put a stop to hostilities provided proper satisfaction was
given, as the police were in the wrong. The man who had shot the student
in the coffee-room was hanged, and peace was restored; but during the
eight days of agitation, as I was anxious not to appear less brave than
my comrades who were patrolling the city, I followed them in spite of
Doctor Gozzi's remonstrances. Armed with a carbine and a pair of pistols,
I ran about the town with the others, in quest of the enemy, and I
recollect how disappointed I was because the troop to which I belonged
did not meet one policeman. When the war was over, the doctor laughed at
me, but Bettina admired my valour. Unfortunately, I indulged in expenses
far above my means, owing to my unwillingness to seem poorer than my new
friends. I sold or pledged everything I possessed, and I contracted debts
which I could not possibly pay. This state of things caused my first
sorrows, and they are the most poignant sorrows under which a young man
can smart. Not knowing which way to turn, I wrote to my excellent
grandmother, begging her assistance, but instead of sending me some
money, she came to Padua on the 1st of October, 1739, and, after thanking
the doctor and Bettina for all their affectionate care, she bought me
back to Venice. As he took leave of me, the doctor, who was shedding
tears, gave me what he prized most on earth; a relic of some saint, which
perhaps I might have kept to this very day, had not the setting been of
gold. It performed only one miracle, that of being of service to me in a
moment of great need. Whenever I visited Padua, to complete my study of
the law, I stayed at the house of the kind doctor, but I was always
grieved at seeing near Bettina the brute to whom she was engaged, and who
did not appear to me deserving of such a wife. I have always regretted
that a prejudice, of which I soon got rid, should have made me preserve
for that man a flower which I could have plucked so easily.
CHAPTER IV
I receive the minor orders from the patriarch of Venice--
I get acquainted with Senator Malipiero, with Therese Imer,
with the niece of the Curate, with Madame Orio, with Nanette
and Marton, and with the Cavamacchia--I become a preacher--
My adventure with Lucie at Pasean A rendezvous on the third
story.
[Illustration: 1c04.jpg]
"He comes from Padua, where he has completed his studies." Such were the
words by which I was everywhere introduced, and which, the moment they
were uttered, called upon me the silent observation of every young man of
my age and condition, the compliments of all fathers, and the caresses of
old women, as well as the kisses of a few who, although not old, were not
sorry to be considered so for the sake of embracing a young man without
impropriety. The curate of Saint-Samuel, the Abbe Josello, presented me
to Monsignor Correre, Patriarch of Venice, who gave me the tonsure, and
who, four months afterwards, by special favour, admitted me to the four
minor orders. No words could express the joy and the pride of my
grandmother. Excellent masters were given to me to continue my studies,
and M. Baffo chose the Abbe Schiavo to teach me a pure Italian style,
especially poetry, for which I had a decided talent. I was very
comfortably lodged with my brother Francois, who was studying theatrical
architecture. My sister and my youngest brother were living with our
grandam in a house of her own, in which it was her wish to die, because
her husband had there breathed his last. The house in which I dwelt was
the same in which my father had died, and the rent of which my mother
continued to pay. It was large and well furnished.
Although Abbe Grimani was my chief protector, I seldom saw him, and I
particularly attached myself to M. de Malipiero, to whom I had been
presented by the Curate Josello. M. de Malipiero was a senator, who was
unwilling at seventy years of age to attend any more to State affairs,
and enjoyed a happy, sumptuous life in his mansion, surrounded every
evening by a well-chosen party of ladies who had all known how to make
the best of their younger days, and of gentlemen who were always
acquainted with the news of the town. He was a bachelor and wealthy, but,
unfortunately, he had three or four times every year severe attacks of
gout, which always left him crippled in some part or other of his body,
so that all his person was disabled. His head, his lungs, and his stomach
had alone escaped this cruel havoc. He was still a fine man, a great
epicure, and a good judge of wine; his wit was keen, his knowledge of the
world extensive, his eloquence worthy of a son of Venice, and he had that
wisdom which must naturally belong to a senator who for forty years has
had the management of public affairs, and to a man who has bid farewell
to women after having possessed twenty mistresses, and only when he felt
himself compelled to acknowledge that he could no longer be accepted by
any woman. Although almost entirely crippled, he did not appear to be so
when he was seated, when he talked, or when he was at table. He had only
one meal a day, and always took it alone because, being toothless and
unable to eat otherwise than very slowly, he did not wish to hurry
himself out of compliment to his guests, and would have been sorry to see
them waiting for him. This feeling deprived him of the pleasure he would
have enjoyed in entertaining at his board friendly and agreeable guests,
and caused great sorrow to his excellent cook.
The first time I had the honour of being introduced to him by the curate,
I opposed earnestly the reason which made him eat his meals in solitude,
and I said that his excellency had only to invite guests whose appetite
was good enough to enable them to eat a double share.
"But where can I find such table companions?" he asked.
"It is rather a delicate matter," I answered; "but you must take your
guests on trial, and after they have been found such as you wish them to
be, the only difficulty will be to keep them as your guests without their
being aware of the real cause of your preference, for no respectable man
could acknowledge that he enjoys the honour of sitting at your
excellency's table only because he eats twice as much as any other man."
The senator understood the truth of my argument, and asked the curate to
bring me to dinner on the following day. He found my practice even better
than my theory, and I became his daily guest.
This man, who had given up everything in life except his own self,
fostered an amorous inclination, in spite of his age and of his gout. He
loved a young girl named Therese Imer, the daughter of an actor residing
near his mansion, her bedroom window being opposite to his own. This
young girl, then in her seventeenth year, was pretty, whimsical, and a
regular coquette. She was practising music with a view to entering the
theatrical profession, and by showing herself constantly at the window
she had intoxicated the old senator, and was playing with him cruelly.
She paid him a daily visit, but always escorted by her mother, a former
actress, who had retired from the stage in order to work out her
salvation, and who, as a matter of course, had made up her mind to
combine the interests of heaven with the works of this world. She took
her daughter to mass every day and compelled her to go to confession
every week; but every afternoon she accompanied her in a visit to the
amorous old man, the rage of whom frightened me when she refused him a
kiss under the plea that she had performed her devotions in the morning,
and that she could not reconcile herself to the idea of offending the God
who was still dwelling in her.
What a sight for a young man of fifteen like me, whom the old man
admitted as the only and silent witness of these erotic scenes! The
miserable mother applauded her daughter's reserve, and went so far as to
lecture the elderly lover, who, in his turn, dared not refute her maxims,
which savoured either too much or too little of Christianity, and
resisted a very strong inclination to hurl at her head any object he had
at hand. Anger would then take the place of lewd desires, and after they
had retired he would comfort himself by exchanging with me philosophical
considerations.
Compelled to answer him, and not knowing well what to say, I ventured one
day upon advising a marriage. He struck me with amazement when he
answered that she refused to marry him from fear of drawing upon herself
the hatred of his relatives.
"Then make her the offer of a large sum of money, or a position."
"She says that she would not, even for a crown, commit a deadly sin."
"In that case, you must either take her by storm, or banish her for ever
from your presence."
"I can do neither one nor the other; physical as well as moral strength
is deficient in me."
"Kill her, then."
"That will very likely be the case unless I die first."
"Indeed I pity your excellency."
"Do you sometimes visit her?"
"No, for I might fall in love with her, and I would be miserable."
"You are right."
Witnessing many such scenes, and taking part in many similar
conversations, I became an especial favourite with the old nobleman. I
was invited to his evening assemblies which were, as I have stated
before, frequented by superannuated women and witty men. He told me that
in this circle I would learn a science of greater import than Gassendi's
philosophy, which I was then studying by his advice instead of
Aristotle's, which he turned into ridicule. He laid down some precepts
for my conduct in those assemblies, explaining the necessity of my
observing them, as there would be some wonder at a young man of my age
being received at such parties. He ordered me never to open my lips
except to answer direct questions, and particularly enjoined me never to
pass an opinion on any subject, because at my age I could not be allowed
to have any opinions.
I faithfully followed his precepts, and obeyed his orders so well, that
in a few days I had gained his esteem, and become the child of the house,
as well as the favourite of all the ladies who visited him. In my
character of a young and innocent ecclesiastic, they would ask me to
accompany them in their visits to the convents where their daughters or
their nieces were educated; I was at all hours received at their houses
without even being announced; I was scolded if a week elapsed without my
calling upon them, and when I went to the apartments reserved for the
young ladies, they would run away, but the moment they saw that the
intruder was only I, they would return at once, and their confidence was
very charming to me.
Before dinner, M. de Malipiero would often inquire from me what
advantages were accruing to me from the welcome I received at the hands
of the respectable ladies I had become acquainted with at his house,
taking care to tell me, before I could have time to answer, that they
were all endowed with the greatest virtue, and that I would give
everybody a bad opinion of myself, if I ever breathed one word of
disparagement to the high reputation they all enjoyed. In this way he
would inculcate in me the wise precept of reserve and discretion.
It was at the senator's house that I made the acquaintance of Madame
Manzoni, the wife of a notary public, of whom I shall have to speak very
often. This worthy lady inspired me with the deepest attachment, and she
gave me the wisest advice. Had I followed it, and profited by it, my life
would not have been exposed to so many storms; it is true that in that
case, my life would not be worth writing.
All these fine acquaintances amongst women who enjoyed the reputation of
being high-bred ladies, gave me a very natural desire to shine by my good
looks and by the elegance of my dress; but my father confessor, as well
as my grandmother, objected very strongly to this feeling of vanity. On
one occasion, taking me apart, the curate told me, with honeyed words,
that in the profession to which I had devoted myself my thoughts ought to
dwell upon the best means of being agreeable to God, and not on pleasing
the world by my fine appearance. He condemned my elaborate curls, and the
exquisite perfume of my pomatum. He said that the devil had got hold of
me by the hair, that I would be excommunicated if I continued to take
such care of it, and concluded by quoting for my benefit these words from
an oecumenical council: 'clericus qui nutrit coman, anathema sit'. I
answered him with the names of several fashionable perfumed abbots, who
were not threatened with excommunication, who were not interfered with,
although they wore four times as much powder as I did--for I only used a
slight sprinkling--who perfumed their hair with a certain amber-scented
pomatum which brought women to the very point of fainting, while mine, a
jessamine pomade, called forth the compliment of every circle in which I
was received. I added that I could not, much to my regret, obey him, and
that if I had meant to live in slovenliness, I would have become a
Capuchin and not an abbe.
My answer made him so angry that, three or four days afterwards, he
contrived to obtain leave from my grandmother to enter my chamber early
in the morning, before I was awake, and, approaching my bed on tiptoe
with a sharp pair of scissors, he cut off unmercifully all my front hair,
from one ear to the other. My brother Francois was in the adjoining room
and saw him, but he did not interfere as he was delighted at my
misfortune. He wore a wig, and was very jealous of my beautiful head of
hair. Francois was envious through the whole of his life; yet he combined
this feeling of envy with friendship; I never could understand him; but
this vice of his, like my own vices, must by this time have died of old
age.
After his great operation, the abbe left my room quietly, but when I woke
up shortly afterwards, and realized all the horror of this unheard-of
execution, my rage and indignation were indeed wrought to the highest
pitch.
What wild schemes of revenge my brain engendered while, with a
looking-glass in my hand, I was groaning over the shameful havoc
performed by this audacious priest! At the noise I made my grandmother
hastened to my room, and amidst my brother's laughter the kind old woman
assured me that the priest would never have been allowed to enter my room
if she could have foreseen his intention, and she managed to soothe my
passion to some extent by confessing that he had over-stepped the limits
of his right to administer a reproof.
But I was determined upon revenge, and I went on dressing myself and
revolving in my mind the darkest plots. It seemed to me that I was
entitled to the most cruel revenge, without having anything to dread from
the terrors of the law. The theatres being open at that time I put on a
mask to go out, and I, went to the advocate Carrare, with whom I had
become acquainted at the senator's house, to inquire from him whether I
could bring a suit against the priest. He told me that, but a short time
since, a family had been ruined for having sheared the moustache of a
Sclavonian--a crime not nearly so atrocious as the shearing of all my
front locks, and that I had only to give him my instructions to begin a
criminal suit against the abbe, which would make him tremble. I gave my
consent, and begged that he would tell M. de Malipiero in the evening the
reason for which I could not go to his house, for I did not feel any
inclination to show myself anywhere until my hair had grown again.
I went home and partook with my brother of a repast which appeared rather
scanty in comparison to the dinners I had with the old senator. The
privation of the delicate and plentiful fare to which his excellency had
accustomed me was most painful, besides all the enjoyments from which I
was excluded through the atrocious conduct of the virulent priest, who
was my godfather. I wept from sheer vexation; and my rage was increased
by the consciousness that there was in this insult a certain dash of
comical fun which threw over me a ridicule more disgraceful in my
estimation than the greatest crime.
I went to bed early, and, refreshed by ten hours of profound slumber, I
felt in the morning somewhat less angry, but quite as determined to
summon the priest before a court. I dressed myself with the intention of
calling upon my advocate, when I received the visit of a skilful
hair-dresser whom I had seen at Madame Cantarini's house. He told me that
he was sent by M. de Malipiero to arrange my hair so that I could go out,
as the senator wished me to dine with him on that very day. He examined
the damage done to my head, and said, with a smile, that if I would trust
to his art, he would undertake to send me out with an appearance of even
greater elegance than I could boast of before; and truly, when he had
done, I found myself so good-looking that I considered my thirst for
revenge entirely satisfied.
Having thus forgotten the injury, I called upon the lawyer to tell him to
stay all proceedings, and I hastened to M. de Malipiero's palace, where,
as chance would have it, I met the abbe. Notwithstanding all my joy, I
could not help casting upon him rather unfriendly looks, but not a word
was said about what had taken place. The senator noticed everything, and
the priest took his leave, most likely with feelings of mortified
repentance, for this time I most verily deserved excommunication by the
extreme studied elegance of my curling hair.
When my cruel godfather had left us, I did not dissemble with M. de
Malipiero; I candidly told him that I would look out for another church,
and that nothing would induce me to remain under a priest who, in his
wrath, could go the length of such proceedings. The wise old man agreed
with me, and said that I was quite right: it was the best way to make me
do ultimately whatever he liked. In the evening everyone in our circle,
being well aware of what had happened, complimented me, and assured me
that nothing could be handsomer than my new head-dress. I was delighted,
and was still more gratified when, after a fortnight had elapsed, I found
that M. de Malipiero did not broach the subject of my returning to my
godfather's church. My grandmother alone constantly urged me to return.
But this calm was the harbinger of a storm. When my mind was thoroughly
at rest on that subject, M. de Malipiero threw me into the greatest
astonishment by suddenly telling me that an excellent opportunity offered
itself for me to reappear in the church and to secure ample satisfaction
from the abbe.
"It is my province," added the senator, "as president of the
Confraternity of the Holy Sacrament, to choose the preacher who is to
deliver the sermon on the fourth Sunday of this month, which happens to
be the second Christmas holiday. I mean to appoint you, and I am certain
that the abbe will not dare to reject my choice. What say you to such a
triumphant reappearance? Does it satisfy you?"
This offer caused me the greatest surprise, for I had never dreamt of
becoming a preacher, and I had never been vain enough to suppose that I
could write a sermon and deliver it in the church. I told M. de Malipiero
that he must surely be enjoying a joke at my expense, but he answered
that he had spoken in earnest, and he soon contrived to persuade me and
to make me believe that I was born to become the most renowned preacher
of our age as soon as I should have grown fat--a quality which I
certainly could not boast of, for at that time I was extremely thin. I
had not the shadow of a fear as to my voice or to my elocution, and for
the matter of composing my sermon I felt myself equal to the production
of a masterpiece.
I told M. de Malipiero that I was ready, and anxious to be at home in
order to go to work; that, although no theologian, I was acquainted with
my subject, and would compose a sermon which would take everyone by
surprise on account of its novelty.
On the following day, when I called upon him, he informed me that the
abbe had expressed unqualified delight at the choice made by him, and at
my readiness in accepting the appointment; but he likewise desired that I
should submit my sermon to him as soon as it was written, because the
subject belonging to the most sublime theology he could not allow me to
enter the pulpit without being satisfied that I would not utter any
heresies. I agreed to this demand, and during the week I gave birth to my
masterpiece. I have now that first sermon in my possession, and I cannot
help saying that, considering my tender years, I think it a very good
one.
I could not give an idea of my grandmother's joy; she wept tears of
happiness at having a grandson who had become an apostle. She insisted
upon my reading my sermon to her, listened to it with her beads in her
hands, and pronounced it very beautiful. M. de Malipiero, who had no
rosary when I read it to him, was of opinion that it would not prove
acceptable to the parson. My text was from Horace: 'Ploravere suis non
respondere favorem sperdtum meritis'; and I deplored the wickedness and
ingratitude of men, through which had failed the design adopted by Divine
wisdom for the redemption of humankind. But M. de Malipiero was sorry
that I had taken my text from any heretical poet, although he was pleased
that my sermon was not interlarded with Latin quotations.
I called upon the priest to read my production; but as he was out I had
to wait for his return, and during that time I fell in love with his
niece, Angela. She was busy upon some tambour work; I sat down close by
her, and telling me that she had long desired to make my acquaintance,
she begged me to relate the history of the locks of hair sheared by her
venerable uncle.
My love for Angela proved fatal to me, because from it sprang two other
love affairs which, in their turn, gave birth to a great many others, and
caused me finally to renounce the Church as a profession. But let us
proceed quietly, and not encroach upon future events.
On his return home the abbe found me with his niece, who was about my
age, and he did not appear to be angry. I gave him my sermon: he read it
over, and told me that it was a beautiful academical dissertation, but
unfit for a sermon from the pulpit, and he added,
"I will give you a sermon written by myself, which I have never
delivered; you will commit it to memory, and I promise to let everybody
suppose that it is of your own composition."
"I thank you, very reverend father, but I will preach my own sermon, or
none at all."
"At all events, you shall not preach such a sermon as this in my church."
"You can talk the matter over with M. de Malipiero. In the meantime I
will take my work to the censorship, and to His Eminence the Patriarch,
and if it is not accepted I shall have it printed."
"All very well, young man. The patriarch will coincide with me."
In the evening I related my discussion with the parson before all the
guests of M. de Malipiero. The reading of my sermon was called for, and
it was praised by all. They lauded me for having with proper modesty
refrained from quoting the holy fathers of the Church, whom at my age I
could not be supposed to have sufficiently studied, and the ladies
particularly admired me because there was no Latin in it but the Text
from Horace, who, although a great libertine himself, has written very
good things. A niece of the patriarch, who was present that evening,
promised to prepare her uncle in my favour, as I had expressed my
intention to appeal to him; but M. de Malipiero desired me not to take
any steps in the matter until I had seen him on the following day, and I
submissively bowed to his wishes.
When I called at his mansion the next day he sent for the priest, who
soon made his appearance. As he knew well what he had been sent for, he
immediately launched out into a very long discourse, which I did not
interrupt, but the moment he had concluded his list of objections I told
him that there could not be two ways to decide the question; that the
patriarch would either approve or disapprove my sermon.
"In the first case," I added, "I can pronounce it in your church, and no
responsibility can possibly fall upon your shoulders; in the second, I
must, of course, give way."
The abbe was struck by my determination and he said,
"Do not go to the patriarch; I accept your sermon; I only request you to
change your text. Horace was a villain."
"Why do you quote Seneca, Tertullian, Origen, and Boethius? They were all
heretics, and must, consequently, be considered by you as worse wretches
than Horace, who, after all, never had the chance of becoming a
Christian!"
However, as I saw it would please M. de Malipiero, I finally consented to
accept, as a substitute for mine, a text offered by the abbe, although it
did not suit in any way the spirit of my production; and in order to get
an opportunity for a visit to his niece, I gave him my manuscript, saying
that I would call for it the next day. My vanity prompted me to send a
copy to Doctor Gozzi, but the good man caused me much amusement by
returning it and writing that I must have gone mad, and that if I were
allowed to deliver such a sermon from the pulpit I would bring dishonour
upon myself as well as upon the man who had educated me.
I cared but little for his opinion, and on the appointed day I delivered
my sermon in the Church of the Holy Sacrament in the presence of the best
society of Venice. I received much applause, and every one predicted that
I would certainly become the first preacher of our century, as no young
ecclesiastic of fifteen had ever been known to preach as well as I had
done. It is customary for the faithful to deposit their offerings for the
preacher in a purse which is handed to them for that purpose.
The sexton who emptied it of its contents found in it more than fifty
sequins, and several billets-doux, to the great scandal of the weaker
brethren. An anonymous note amongst them, the writer of which I thought I
had guessed, let me into a mistake which I think better not to relate.
This rich harvest, in my great penury, caused me to entertain serious
thoughts of becoming a preacher, and I confided my intention to the
parson, requesting his assistance to carry it into execution. This gave
me the privilege of visiting at his house every day, and I improved the
opportunity of conversing with Angela, for whom my love was daily
increasing. But Angela was virtuous. She did not object to my love, but
she wished me to renounce the Church and to marry her. In spite of my
infatuation for her, I could not make up my mind to such a step, and I
went on seeing her and courting her in the hope that she would alter her
decision.
The priest, who had at last confessed his admiration for my first sermon,
asked me, some time afterwards, to prepare another for St. Joseph's Day,
with an invitation to deliver it on the 19th of March, 1741. I composed
it, and the abbe spoke of it with enthusiasm, but fate had decided that I
should never preach but once in my life. It is a sad tale, unfortunately
for me very true, which some persons are cruel enough to consider very
amusing.
Young and rather self-conceited, I fancied that it was not necessary for
me to spend much time in committing my sermon to memory. Being the
author, I had all the ideas contained in my work classified in my mind,
and it did not seem to me within the range of possibilities that I could
forget what I had written. Perhaps I might not remember the exact words
of a sentence, but I was at liberty to replace them by other expressions
as good, and as I never happened to be at a loss, or to be struck dumb,
when I spoke in society, it was not likely that such an untoward accident
would befall me before an audience amongst whom I did not know anyone who
could intimidate me and cause me suddenly to lose the faculty of reason
or of speech. I therefore took my pleasure as usual, being satisfied with
reading my sermon morning and evening, in order to impress it upon my
memory which until then had never betrayed me.
The 19th of March came, and on that eventful day at four o'clock in the
afternoon I was to ascend the pulpit; but, believing myself quite secure
and thoroughly master of my subject, I had not the moral courage to deny
myself the pleasure of dining with Count Mont-Real, who was then residing
with me, and who had invited the patrician Barozzi, engaged to be married
to his daughter after the Easter holidays.
I was still enjoying myself with my fine company, when the sexton of the
church came in to tell me that they were waiting for me in the vestry.
With a full stomach and my head rather heated, I took my leave, ran to
the church, and entered the pulpit. I went through the exordium with
credit to myself, and I took breathing time; but scarcely had I
pronounced the first sentences of the narration, before I forgot what I
was saying, what I had to say, and in my endeavours to proceed, I fairly
wandered from my subject and I lost myself entirely. I was still more
discomforted by a half-repressed murmur of the audience, as my deficiency
appeared evident. Several persons left the church, others began to smile,
I lost all presence of mind and every hope of getting out of the scrape.
I could not say whether I feigned a fainting fit, or whether I truly
swooned; all I know is that I fell down on the floor of the pulpit,
striking my head against the wall, with an inward prayer for
annihilation.
Two of the parish clerks carried me to the vestry, and after a few
moments, without addressing a word to anyone, I took my cloak and my hat,
and went home to lock myself in my room. I immediately dressed myself in
a short coat, after the fashion of travelling priests, I packed a few
things in a trunk, obtained some money from my grandmother, and took my
departure for Padua, where I intended to pass my third examination. I
reached Padua at midnight, and went to Doctor Gozzi's house, but I did
not feel the slightest temptation to mention to him my unlucky adventure.
I remained in Padua long enough to prepare myself for the doctor's
degree, which I intended to take the following year, and after Easter I
returned to Venice, where my misfortune was already forgotten; but
preaching was out of the question, and when any attempt was made to
induce me to renew my efforts, I manfully kept to my determination never
to ascend the pulpit again.
On the eve of Ascension Day M. Manzoni introduced me to a young
courtesan, who was at that time in great repute at Venice, and was
nick-named Cavamacchia, because her father had been a scourer. This named
vexed her a great deal, she wished to be called Preati, which was her
family name, but it was all in vain, and the only concession her friends
would make was to call her by her Christian name of Juliette. She had
been introduced to fashionable notice by the Marquis de Sanvitali, a
nobleman from Parma, who had given her one hundred thousand ducats for
her favours. Her beauty was then the talk of everybody in Venice, and it
was fashionable to call upon her. To converse with her, and especially to
be admitted into her circle, was considered a great boon.
As I shall have to mention her several times in the course of my history,
my readers will, I trust, allow me to enter into some particulars about
her previous life.
Juliette was only fourteen years of age when her father sent her one day
to the house of a Venetian nobleman, Marco Muazzo, with a coat which he
had cleaned for him. He thought her very beautiful in spite of the dirty
rags in which she was dressed, and he called to see her at her father's
shop, with a friend of his, the celebrated advocate, Bastien Uccelli,
who; struck by the romantic and cheerful nature of Juliette still more
than by her beauty and fine figure, gave her an apartment, made her study
music, and kept her as his mistress. At the time of the fair, Bastien
took her with him to various public places of resort; everywhere she
attracted general attention, and secured the admiration of every lover of
the sex. She made rapid progress in music, and at the end of six months
she felt sufficient confidence in herself to sign an engagement with a
theatrical manager who took her to Vienna to give her a 'castrato' part
in one of Metastasio's operas.
The advocate had previously ceded her to a wealthy Jew who, after giving
her splendid diamonds, left her also.
In Vienna, Juliette appeared on the stage, and her beauty gained for her
an admiration which she would never have conquered by her very inferior
talent. But the constant crowd of adorers who went to worship the
goddess, having sounded her exploits rather too loudly, the august
Maria-Theresa objected to this new creed being sanctioned in her capital,
and the beautiful actress received an order to quit Vienna forthwith.
Count Spada offered her his protection, and brought her back to Venice,
but she soon left for Padua where she had an engagement. In that city she
kindled the fire of love in the breast of Marquis Sanvitali, but the
marchioness having caught her once in her own box, and Juliette having
acted disrespectfully to her, she slapped her face, and the affair having
caused a good deal of noise, Juliette gave up the stage altogether. She
came back to Venice, where, made conspicuous by her banishment from
Vienna, she could not fail to make her fortune. Expulsion from Vienna,
for this class of women, had become a title to fashionable favour, and
when there was a wish to depreciate a singer or a dancer, it was said of
her that she had not been sufficiently prized to be expelled from Vienna.
After her return, her first lover was Steffano Querini de Papozzes, but
in the spring of 1740, the Marquis de Sanvitali came to Venice and soon
carried her off. It was indeed difficult to resist this delightful
marquis! His first present to the fair lady was a sum of one hundred
thousand ducats, and, to prevent his being accused of weakness or of
lavish prodigality, he loudly proclaimed that the present could scarcely
make up for the insult Juliette had received from his wife--an insult,
however, which the courtesan never admitted, as she felt that there would
be humiliation in such an acknowledgment, and she always professed to
admire with gratitude her lover's generosity. She was right; the
admission of the blow received would have left a stain upon her charms,
and how much more to her taste to allow those charms to be prized at such
a high figure!
It was in the year 1741 that M. Manzoni introduced me to this new Phryne
as a young ecclesiastic who was beginning to make a reputation. I found
her surrounded by seven or eight well-seasoned admirers, who were burning
at her feet the incense of their flattery. She was carelessly reclining
on a sofa near Querini. I was much struck with her appearance. She eyed
me from head to foot, as if I had been exposed for sale, and telling me,
with the air of a princess, that she was not sorry to make my
acquaintance, she invited me to take a seat. I began then, in my turn, to
examine her closely and deliberately, and it was an easy matter, as the
room, although small, was lighted with at least twenty wax candles.
Juliette was then in her eighteenth year; the freshness of her complexion
was dazzling, but the carnation tint of her cheeks, the vermilion of her
lips, and the dark, very narrow curve of her eyebrows, impressed me as
being produced by art rather than nature. Her teeth--two rows of
magnificent pearls--made one overlook the fact that her mouth was
somewhat too large, and whether from habit, or because she could not help
it, she seemed to be ever smiling. Her bosom, hid under a light gauze,
invited the desires of love; yet I did not surrender to her charms. Her
bracelets and the rings which covered her fingers did not prevent me from
noticing that her hand was too large and too fleshy, and in spite of her
carefully hiding her feet, I judged, by a telltale slipper lying close by
her dress, that they were well proportioned to the height of her
figure--a proportion which is unpleasant not only to the Chinese and
Spaniards, but likewise to every man of refined taste. We want a tall
women to have a small foot, and certainly it is not a modern taste, for
Holofernes of old was of the same opinion; otherwise he would not have
thought Judith so charming: 'et sandalid ejus rapuerunt oculos ejus'.
Altogether I found her beautiful, but when I compared her beauty and the
price of one hundred thousand ducats paid for it, I marvelled at my
remaining so cold, and at my not being tempted to give even one sequin
for the privilege of making from nature a study of the charms which her
dress concealed from my eyes.
I had scarcely been there a quarter of an hour when the noise made by the
oars of a gondola striking the water heralded the prodigal marquis. We
all rose from our seats, and M. Querini hastened, somewhat blushing, to
quit his place on the sofa. M. de Sanvitali, a man of middle age, who had
travelled much, took a seat near Juliette, but not on the sofa, so she
was compelled to turn round. It gave me the opportunity of seeing her
full front, while I had before only a side view of her face.
After my introduction to Juliette, I paid her four or five visits, and I
thought myself justified, by the care I had given to the examination of
her beauty, in saying in M. de Malipiero's draw-room, one evening, when
my opinion about her was asked, that she could please only a glutton with
depraved tastes; that she had neither the fascination of simple nature
nor any knowledge of society, that she was deficient in well-bred, easy
manners as well as in striking talents and that those were the qualities
which a thorough gentleman liked to find in a woman. This opinion met the
general approbation of his friends, but M. de Malipiero kindly whispered
to me that Juliette would certainly be informed of the portrait I had
drawn of her, and that she would become my sworn enemy. He had guessed
rightly.
I thought Juliette very singular, for she seldom spoke to me, and
whenever she looked at me she made use of an eye-glass, or she contracted
her eye-lids, as if she wished to deny me the honour of seeing her eyes,
which were beyond all dispute very beautiful. They were blue, wondrously
large and full, and tinted with that unfathomable variegated iris which
nature only gives to youth, and which generally disappears, after having
worked miracles, when the owner reaches the shady side of forty.
Frederick the Great preserved it until his death.
Juliette was informed of the portrait I had given of her to M. de
Malipiero's friends by the indiscreet pensioner, Xavier Cortantini. One
evening I called upon her with M. Manzoni, and she told him that a
wonderful judge of beauty had found flaws in hers, but she took good care
not to specify them. It was not difficult to make out that she was
indirectly firing at me, and I prepared myself for the ostracism which I
was expecting, but which, however, she kept in abeyance fully for an
hour. At last, our conversation falling upon a concert given a few days
before by Imer, the actor, and in which his daughter, Therese, had taken
a brilliant part, Juliette turned round to me and inquired what M. de
Malipiero did for Therese. I said that he was educating her. "He can well
do it," she answered, "for he is a man of talent; but I should like to
know what he can do with you?"
"Whatever he can."
"I am told that he thinks you rather stupid."
As a matter of course, she had the laugh on her side, and I, confused,
uncomfortable and not knowing what to say, took leave after having cut a
very sorry figure, and determined never again to darken her door. The
next day at dinner the account of my adventure caused much amusement to
the old senator.
Throughout the summer, I carried on a course of Platonic love with my
charming Angela at the house of her teacher of embroidery, but her
extreme reserve excited me, and my love had almost become a torment to
myself. With my ardent nature, I required a mistress like Bettina, who
knew how to satisfy my love without wearing it out. I still retained some
feelings of purity, and I entertained the deepest veneration for Angela.
She was in my eyes the very palladium of Cecrops. Still very innocent, I
felt some disinclination towards women, and I was simple enough to be
jealous of even their husbands.
Angela would not grant me the slightest favour, yet she was no flirt; but
the fire beginning in me parched and withered me. The pathetic entreaties
which I poured out of my heart had less effect upon her than upon two
young sisters, her companions and friends: had I not concentrated every
look of mine upon the heartless girl, I might have discovered that her
friends excelled her in beauty and in feeling, but my prejudiced eyes saw
no one but Angela. To every outpouring of my love she answered that she
was quite ready to become my wife, and that such was to be the limit of
my wishes; when she condescended to add that she suffered as much as I
did myself, she thought she had bestowed upon me the greatest of favours.
Such was the state of my mind, when, in the first days of autumn, I
received a letter from the Countess de Mont-Real with an invitation to
spend some time at her beautiful estate at Pasean. She expected many
guests, and among them her own daughter, who had married a Venetian
nobleman, and who had a great reputation for wit and beauty, although she
had but one eye; but it was so beautiful that it made up for the loss of
the other. I accepted the invitation, and Pasean offering me a constant
round of pleasures, it was easy enough for me to enjoy myself, and to
forget for the time the rigours of the cruel Angela.
I was given a pretty room on the ground floor, opening upon the gardens
of Pasean, and I enjoyed its comforts without caring to know who my
neighbours were.
The morning after my arrival, at the very moment I awoke, my eyes were
delighted with the sight of the charming creature who brought me my
coffee. She was a very young girl, but as well formed as a young person
of seventeen; yet she had scarcely completed her fourteenth year. The
snow of her complexion, her hair as dark as the raven's wing, her black
eyes beaming with fire and innocence, her dress composed only of a
chemise and a short petticoat which exposed a well-turned leg and the
prettiest tiny foot, every detail I gathered in one instant presented to
my looks the most original and the most perfect beauty I had ever beheld.
I looked at her with the greatest pleasure, and her eyes rested upon me
as if we had been old acquaintances.
"How did you find your bed?" she asked.
"Very comfortable; I am sure you made it. Pray, who are you?"
"I am Lucie, the daughter of the gate-keeper: I have neither brothers nor
sisters, and I am fourteen years old. I am very glad you have no servant
with you; I will be your little maid, and I am sure you will be pleased
with me."
Delighted at this beginning, I sat up in my bed and she helped me to put
on my dressing-gown, saying a hundred things which I did not understand.
I began to drink my coffee, quite amazed at her easy freedom, and struck
with her beauty, to which it would have been impossible to remain
indifferent. She had seated herself on my bed, giving no other apology
for that liberty than the most delightful smile.
I was still sipping my coffee, when Lucie's parents came into my room.
She did not move from her place on the bed, but she looked at them,
appearing very proud of such a seat. The good people kindly scolded her,
begged my forgiveness in her favour, and Lucie left the room to attend to
her other duties. The moment she had gone her father and mother began to
praise their daughter.
"She is," they said, "our only child, our darling pet, the hope of our
old age. She loves and obeys us, and fears God; she is as clean as a new
pin, and has but one fault."
"What is that?"
"She is too young."
"That is a charming fault which time will mend."
I was not long in ascertaining that they were living specimens of
honesty, of truth, of homely virtues, and of real happiness. I was
delighted at this discovery, when Lucie returned as gay as a lark,
prettily dressed, her hair done in a peculiar way of her own, and with
well-fitting shoes. She dropped a simple courtesy before me, gave a
couple of hearty kisses to both her parents, and jumped on her father
knees. I asked her to come and sit on my bed, but she answered that she
could not take such a liberty now that she was dressed, The simplicity,
artlessness, and innocence of the answer seemed to me very enchanting,
and brought a smile on my lips. I examined her to see whether she was
prettier in her new dress or in the morning's negligee, and I decided in
favour of the latter. To speak the truth, Lucie was, I thought, superior
in everything, not only to Angela, but even to Bettina.
The hair-dresser made his appearance, and the honest family left my room.
When I was dressed I went to meet the countess and her amiable daughter.
The day passed off very pleasantly, as is generally the case in the
country, when you are amongst agreeable people.
In the morning, the moment my eyes were opened,
I rang the bell, and pretty Lucie came in, simple and natural as before,
with her easy manners and wonderful remarks. Her candour, her innocence
shone brilliantly all over her person. I could not conceive how, with her
goodness, her virtue and her intelligence, she could run the risk of
exciting me by coming into my room alone, and with so much familiarity. I
fancied that she would not attach much importance to certain slight
liberties, and would not prove over-scrupulous, and with that idea I made
up my mind to shew her that I fully understood her. I felt no remorse of
conscience on the score of her parents, who, in my estimation, were as
careless as herself; I had no dread of being the first to give the alarm
to her innocence, or to enlighten her mind with the gloomy light of
malice, but, unwilling either to be the dupe of feeling or to act against
it, I resolved to reconnoitre the ground. I extend a daring hand towards
her person, and by an involuntary movement she withdraws, blushes, her
cheerfulness disappears, and, turning her head aside as if she were in
search of something, she waits until her agitation has subsided. The
whole affair had not lasted one minute. She came back, abashed at the
idea that she had proved herself rather knowing, and at the dread of
having perhaps given a wrong interpretation to an action which might have
been, on my part, perfectly innocent, or the result of politeness. Her
natural laugh soon returned, and, having rapidly read in her mind all I
have just described, I lost no time in restoring her confidence, and,
judging that I would venture too much by active operations, I resolved to
employ the following morning in a friendly chat during which I could make
her out better.
In pursuance of that plan, the next morning, as we were talking, I told
her that it was cold, but that she would not feel it if she would lie
down near me.
"Shall I disturb you?" she said.
"No; but I am thinking that if your mother happened to come in, she would
be angry."
"Mother would not think of any harm."
"Come, then. But Lucie, do you know what danger you are exposing yourself
to?"
"Certainly I do; but you are good, and, what is more, you are a priest."
"Come; only lock the door."
"No, no, for people might think.... I do not know what." She laid down
close by me, and kept on her chatting, although I did not understand a
word of what she said, for in that singular position, and unwilling to
give way to my ardent desires, I remained as still as a log.
Her confidence in her safety, confidence which was certainly not feigned,
worked upon my feelings to such an extent that I would have been ashamed
to take any advantage of it. At last she told me that nine o'clock had
struck, and that if old Count Antonio found us as we were, he would tease
her with his jokes. "When I see that man," she said, "I am afraid and I
run away." Saying these words, she rose from the bed and left the room.
I remained motionless for a long while, stupefied, benumbed, and mastered
by the agitation of my excited senses as well as by my thoughts. The next
morning, as I wished to keep calm, I only let her sit down on my bed, and
the conversation I had with her proved without the shadow of a doubt that
her parents had every reason to idolize her, and that the easy freedom of
her mind as well as of her behaviour with me was entirely owing to her
innocence and to her purity. Her artlessness, her vivacity, her eager
curiosity, and the bashful blushes which spread over her face whenever
her innocent or jesting remarks caused me to laugh, everything, in fact,
convinced me that she was an angel destined to become the victim of the
first libertine who would undertake to seduce her. I felt sufficient
control over my own feelings to resist any attempt against her virtue
which my conscience might afterwards reproach me with. The mere thought
of taking advantage of her innocence made me shudder, and my self-esteem
was a guarantee to her parents, who abandoned her to me on the strength
of the good opinion they entertained of me, that Lucie's honour was safe
in my hands. I thought I would have despised myself if I had betrayed the
trust they reposed in me. I therefore determined to conquer my feelings,
and, with perfect confidence in the victory, I made up my mind to wage
war against myself, and to be satisfied with her presence as the only
reward of my heroic efforts. I was not yet acquainted with the axiom that
"as long as the fighting lasts, victory remains uncertain."
As I enjoyed her conversation much, a natural instinct prompted me to
tell her that she would afford me great pleasure if she could come
earlier in the morning, and even wake me up if I happened to be asleep,
adding, in order to give more weight to my request, that the less I slept
the better I felt in health. In this manner I contrived to spend three
hours instead of two in her society, although this cunning contrivance of
mine did not prevent the hours flying, at least in my opinion, as swift
as lightning.
Her mother would often come in as we were talking, and when the good
woman found her sitting on my bed she would say nothing, only wondering
at my kindness. Lucie would then cover her with kisses, and the kind old
soul would entreat me to give her child lessons of goodness, and to
cultivate her mind; but when she had left us Lucie did not think herself
more unrestrained, and whether in or out of her mother's presence, she
was always the same without the slightest change.
If the society of this angelic child afforded me the sweetest delight, it
also caused me the most cruel suffering. Often, very often, when her face
was close to my lips, I felt the most ardent temptation to smother her
with kisses, and my blood was at fever heat when she wished that she had
been a sister of mine. But I kept sufficient command over myself to avoid
the slightest contact, for I was conscious that even one kiss would have
been the spark which would have blown up all the edifice of my reserve.
Every time she left me I remained astounded at my own victory, but,
always eager to win fresh laurels, I longed for the following morning,
panting for a renewal of this sweet yet very dangerous contest.
At the end of ten or twelve days, I felt that there was no alternative
but to put a stop to this state of things, or to become a monster in my
own eyes; and I decided for the moral side of the question all the more
easily that nothing insured me success, if I chose the second
alternative. The moment I placed her under the obligation to defend
herself Lucie would become a heroine, and the door of my room being open,
I might have been exposed to shame and to a very useless repentance. This
rather frightened me. Yet, to put an end to my torture, I did not know
what to decide. I could no longer resist the effect made upon my senses
by this beautiful girl, who, at the break of day and scarcely dressed,
ran gaily into my room, came to my bed enquiring how I had slept, bent
familiarly her head towards me, and, so to speak, dropped her words on my
lips. In those dangerous moments I would turn my head aside; but in her
innocence she would reproach me for being afraid when she felt herself so
safe, and if I answered that I could not possibly fear a child, she would
reply that a difference of two years was of no account.
Standing at bay, exhausted, conscious that every instant increased the
ardour which was devouring me, I resolved to entreat from herself the
discontinuance of her visits, and this resolution appeared to me sublime
and infallible; but having postponed its execution until the following
morning, I passed a dreadful night, tortured by the image of Lucie, and
by the idea that I would see her in the morning for the last time. I
fancied that Lucie would not only grant my prayer, but that she would
conceive for me the highest esteem. In the morning, it was barely
day-light, Lucie beaming, radiant with beauty, a happy smile brightening
her pretty mouth, and her splendid hair in the most fascinating disorder,
bursts into my room, and rushes with open arms towards my bed; but when
she sees my pale, dejected, and unhappy countenance, she stops short, and
her beautiful face taking an expression of sadness and anxiety:
"What ails you?" she asks, with deep sympathy.
"I have had no sleep through the night:"
"And why?"
"Because I have made up my mind to impart to you a project which,
although fraught with misery to myself, will at least secure me your
esteem."
"But if your project is to insure my esteem it ought to make you very
cheerful. Only tell me, reverend sir, why, after calling me 'thou'
yesterday, you treat me today respectfully, like a lady? What have I
done? I will get your coffee, and you must tell me everything after you
have drunk it; I long to hear you."
She goes and returns, I drink the coffee, and seeing that my countenance
remains grave she tries to enliven me, contrives to make me smile, and
claps her hands for joy. After putting everything in order, she closes
the door because the wind is high, and in her anxiety not to lose one
word of what I have to say, she entreats artlessly a little place near
me. I cannot refuse her, for I feel almost lifeless.
I then begin a faithful recital of the fearful state in which her beauty
has thrown me, and a vivid picture of all the suffering I have
experienced in trying to master my ardent wish to give her some proof of
my love; I explain to her that, unable to endure such torture any longer,
I see no other safety but in entreating her not to see me any more. The
importance of the subject, the truth of my love, my wish to present my
expedient in the light of the heroic effort of a deep and virtuous
passion, lend me a peculiar eloquence. I endeavour above all to make her
realize the fearful consequences which might follow a course different to
the one I was proposing, and how miserable we might be.
At the close of my long discourse Lucie, seeing my eyes wet with tears,
throws off the bed-clothes to wipe them, without thinking that in so
doing she uncovers two globes, the beauty of which might have caused the
wreck of the most experienced pilot. After a short silence, the charming
child tells me that my tears make her very unhappy, and that she had
never supposed that she could cause them.
"All you have just told me," she added, "proves the sincerity of your
great love for me, but I cannot imagine why you should be in such dread
of a feeling which affords me the most intense pleasure. You wish to
banish me from your presence because you stand in fear of your love, but
what would you do if you hated me? Am I guilty because I have pleased
you? If it is a crime to have won your affection, I can assure you that I
did not think I was committing a criminal action, and therefore you
cannot conscientiously punish me. Yet I cannot conceal the truth; I am
very happy to be loved by you. As for the danger we run, when we love,
danger which I can understand, we can set it at defiance, if we choose,
and I wonder at my not fearing it, ignorant as I am, while you, a learned
man, think it so terrible. I am astonished that love, which is not a
disease, should have made you ill, and that it should have exactly the
opposite effect upon me. Is it possible that I am mistaken, and that my
feeling towards you should not be love? You saw me very cheerful when I
came in this morning; it is because I have been dreaming all night, but
my dreams did not keep me awake; only several times I woke up to
ascertain whether my dream was true, for I thought I was near you; and
every time, finding that it was not so, I quickly went to sleep again in
the hope of continuing my happy dream, and every time I succeeded. After
such a night, was it not natural for me to be cheerful this morning? My
dear abbe, if love is a torment for you I am very sorry, but would it be
possible for you to live without love? I will do anything you order me to
do, but, even if your cure depended upon it, I would not cease to love
you, for that would be impossible. Yet if to heal your sufferings it
should be necessary for you to love me no more, you must do your utmost
to succeed, for I would much rather see you alive without love, than dead
for having loved too much. Only try to find some other plan, for the one
you have proposed makes me very miserable. Think of it, there may be some
other way which will be less painful. Suggest one more practicable, and
depend upon Lucie's obedience."
These words, so true, so artless, so innocent, made me realize the
immense superiority of nature's eloquence over that of philosophical
intellect. For the first time I folded this angelic being in my arms,
exclaiming, "Yes, dearest Lucie, yes, thou hast it in thy power to afford
the sweetest relief to my devouring pain; abandon to my ardent kisses thy
divine lips which have just assured me of thy love."
An hour passed in the most delightful silence, which nothing interrupted
except these words murmured now and then by Lucie, "Oh, God! is it true?
is it not a dream?" Yet I respected her innocence, and the more readily
that she abandoned herself entirely and without the slightest resistance.
At last, extricating herself gently from my arms, she said, with some
uneasiness, "My heart begins to speak, I must go;" and she instantly
rose. Having somewhat rearranged her dress she sat down, and her mother,
coming in at that moment, complimented me upon my good looks and my
bright countenance, and told Lucie to dress herself to attend mass. Lucie
came back an hour later, and expressed her joy and her pride at the
wonderful cure she thought she had performed upon me, for the healthy
appearance I was then shewing convinced her of my love much better than
the pitiful state in which she had found me in the morning. "If your
complete happiness," she said, "rests in my power, be happy; there is
nothing that I can refuse you."
The moment she left me, still wavering between happiness and fear, I
understood that I was standing on the very brink of the abyss, and that
nothing but a most extraordinary determination could prevent me from
falling headlong into it.
I remained at Pasean until the end of September, and the last eleven
nights of my stay were passed in the undisturbed possession of Lucie,
who, secure in her mother's profound sleep, came to my room to enjoy in
my arms the most delicious hours. The burning ardour of my love was
increased by the abstinence to which I condemned myself, although Lucie
did everything in her power to make me break through my determination.
She could not fully enjoy the sweetness of the forbidden fruit unless I
plucked it without reserve, and the effect produced by our constantly
lying in each other's arms was too strong for a young girl to resist. She
tried everything she could to deceive me, and to make me believe that I
had already, and in reality, gathered the whole flower, but Bettina's
lessons had been too efficient to allow me to go on a wrong scent, and I
reached the end of my stay without yielding entirely to the temptation
she so fondly threw in my way. I promised her to return in the spring;
our farewell was tender and very sad, and I left her in a state of mind
and of body which must have been the cause of her misfortunes, which,
twenty years after, I had occasion to reproach myself with in Holland,
and which will ever remain upon my conscience.
A few days after my return to Venice, I had fallen back into all my old
habits, and resumed my courtship of Angela in the hope that I would
obtain from her, at least, as much as Lucie had granted to me. A certain
dread which to-day I can no longer trace in my nature, a sort of terror
of the consequences which might have a blighting influence upon my
future, prevented me from giving myself up to complete enjoyment. I do
not know whether I have ever been a truly honest man, but I am fully
aware that the feelings I fostered in my youth were by far more upright
than those I have, as I lived on, forced myself to accept. A wicked
philosophy throws down too many of these barriers which we call
prejudices.
The two sisters who were sharing Angela's embroidery lessons were her
intimate friends and the confidantes of all her secrets. I made their
acquaintance, and found that they disapproved of her extreme reserve
towards me. As I usually saw them with Angela and knew their intimacy
with her, I would, when I happened to meet them alone, tell them all my
sorrows, and, thinking only of my cruel sweetheart, I never was conceited
enough to propose that these young girls might fall in love with me; but
I often ventured to speak to them with all the blazing inspiration which
was burning in me--a liberty I would not have dared to take in the
presence of her whom I loved. True love always begets reserve; we fear to
be accused of exaggeration if we should give utterance to feelings
inspired, by passion, and the modest lover, in his dread of saying too
much, very often says too little.
The teacher of embroidery, an old bigot, who at first appeared not to
mind the attachment I skewed for Angela, got tired at last of my too
frequent visits, and mentioned them to the abbe, the uncle of my fair
lady. He told me kindly one day that I ought not to call at that house so
often, as my constant visits might be wrongly construed, and prove
detrimental to the reputation of his niece. His words fell upon me like a
thunder-bolt, but I mastered my feelings sufficiently to leave him
without incurring any suspicion, and I promised to follow his good
advice.
Three or four days afterwards, I paid a visit to the teacher of
embroidery, and, to make her believe that my visit was only intended for
her, I did not stop one instant near the young girls; yet I contrived to
slip in the hand of the eldest of the two sisters a note enclosing
another for my dear Angela, in which I explained why I had been compelled
to discontinue my visits, entreating her to devise some means by which I
could enjoy the happiness of seeing her and of conversing with her. In my
note to Nanette, I only begged her to give my letter to her friend,
adding that I would see them again the day after the morrow, and that I
trusted to her to find an opportunity for delivering me the answer. She
managed it all very cleverly, and, when I renewed my visit two days
afterwards, she gave me a letter without attracting the attention of
anyone. Nanette's letter enclosed a very short note from Angela, who,
disliking letter-writing, merely advised me to follow, if I could, the
plan proposed by her friend. Here is the copy of the letter written by
Nanette, which I have always kept, as well as all other letters which I
give in these Memoirs:
"There is nothing in the world, reverend sir, that I would not readily do
for my friend. She visits at our house every holiday, has supper with us,
and sleeps under our roof. I will suggest the best way for you to make
the acquaintance of Madame Orio, our aunt; but, if you obtain an
introduction to her, you must be very careful not to let her suspect your
preference for Angela, for our aunt would certainly object to her house
being made a place of rendezvous to facilitate your interviews with a
stranger to her family. Now for the plan I propose, and in the execution
of which I will give you every assistance in my power. Madame Orio,
although a woman of good station in life, is not wealthy, and she wishes
to have her name entered on the list of noble widows who receive the
bounties bestowed by the Confraternity of the Holy Sacrament, of which M.
de Malipiero is president. Last Sunday, Angela mentioned that you are in
the good graces of that nobleman, and that the best way to obtain his
patronage would be to ask you to entreat it in her behalf. The foolish
girl added that you were smitten with me, that all your visits to our
mistress of embroidery were made for my special benefit and for the sake
of entertaining me, and that I would find it a very easy task to interest
you in her favour. My aunt answered that, as you are a priest, there was
no fear of any harm, and she told me to write to you with an invitation
to call on her; I refused. The procurator Rosa, who is a great favourite
of my aunt's, was present; he approved of my refusal, saying that the
letter ought to be written by her and not by me, that it was for my aunt
to beg the honour of your visit on business of real importance, and that,
if there was any truth in the report of your love for me, you would not
fail to come. My aunt, by his advice, has therefore written the letter
which you will find at your house. If you wish to meet Angela, postpone
your visit to us until next Sunday. Should you succeed in obtaining M. de
Malipiero's good will in favour of my aunt, you will become the pet of
the household, but you must forgive me if I appear to treat you with
coolness, for I have said that I do not like you. I would advise you to
make love to my aunt, who is sixty years of age; M. Rosa will not be
jealous, and you will become dear to everyone. For my part, I will manage
for you an opportunity for some private conversation with Angela, and I
will do anything to convince you of my friendship. Adieu."
This plan appeared to me very well conceived, and, having the same
evening received Madame Orio's letter, I called upon her on the following
day, Sunday. I was welcomed in a very friendly manner, and the lady,
entreating me to exert in her behalf my influence with M. de Malipiero,
entrusted me with all the papers which I might require to succeed. I
undertook to do my utmost, and I took care to address only a few words to
Angela, but I directed all my gallant attentions to Nanette, who treated
me as coolly as could be. Finally, I won the friendship of the old
procurator Rosa, who, in after years, was of some service to me.
I had so much at stake in the success of Madame Orio's petition, that I
thought of nothing else, and knowing all the power of the beautiful
Therese Imer over our amorous senator, who would be but too happy to
please her in anything, I determined to call upon her the next day, and I
went straight to her room without being announced. I found her alone with
the physician Doro, who, feigning to be on a professional visit, wrote a
prescription, felt her pulse, and went off. This Doro was suspected of
being in love with Therese; M. de Malipiero, who was jealous, had
forbidden Therese to receive his visits, and she had promised to obey
him. She knew that I was acquainted with those circumstances, and my
presence was evidently unpleasant to her, for she had certainly no wish
that the old man should hear how she kept her promise. I thought that no
better opportunity could be found of obtaining from her everything I
wished.
I told her in a few words the object of my visit, and I took care to add
that she could rely upon my discretion, and that I would not for the
world do her any injury. Therese, grateful for this assurance, answered
that she rejoiced at finding an occasion to oblige me, and, asking me to
give her the papers of my protege, she shewed me the certificates and
testimonials of another lady in favour of whom she had undertaken to
speak, and whom, she said, she would sacrifice to the person in whose
behalf I felt interested. She kept her word, for the very next day she
placed in my hands the brevet, signed by his excellency as president of
the confraternity. For the present, and with the expectation of further
favours, Madame Orio's name was put down to share the bounties which were
distributed twice a year.
Nanette and her sister Marton were the orphan daughters of a sister of
Madame Orio. All the fortune of the good lady consisted in the house
which was her dwelling, the first floor being let, and in a pension given
to her by her brother, member of the council of ten. She lived alone with
her two charming nieces, the eldest sixteen, and the youngest fifteen
years of age. She kept no servant, and only employed an old woman, who,
for one crown a month, fetched water, and did the rough work. Her only
friend was the procurator Rosa; he had, like her, reached his sixtieth
year, and expected to marry her as soon as he should become a widower.
The two sisters slept together on the third floor in a large bed, which
was likewise shared by Angela every Sunday.
As soon as I found myself in possession of the deed for Madame Orio, I
hastened to pay a visit to the mistress of embroidery, in order to find
an opportunity of acquainting Nanette with my success, and in a short
note which I prepared, I informed her that in two days I would call to
give the brevet to Madame Orio, and I begged her earnestly not to forget
her promise to contrive a private interview with my dear Angela.
When I arrived, on the appointed day, at Madame Orio's house, Nanette,
who had watched for my coming, dexterously conveyed to my hand a billet,
requesting me to find a moment to read it before leaving the house. I
found Madame Orio, Angela, the old procurator, and Marton in the room.
Longing to read the note, I refused the seat offered to me, and
presenting to Madame Orio the deed she had so long desired, I asked, as
my only reward, the pleasure of kissing her hand, giving her to
understand that I wanted to leave the room immediately.
"Oh, my dear abbe!" said the lady, "you shall have a kiss, but not on my
hand, and no one can object to it, as I am thirty years older than you."
She might have said forty-five without going much astray. I gave her two
kisses, which evidently satisfied her, for she desired me to perform the
same ceremony with her nieces, but they both ran away, and Angela alone
stood the brunt of my hardihood. After this the widow asked me to sit
down.
"I cannot, Madame."
"Why, I beg?"
"I have--."
"I understand. Nanette, shew the way."
"Dear aunt, excuse me."
"Well, then, Marton."
"Oh! dear aunt, why do you not insist upon my sister obeying your
orders?"
"Alas! madame, these young ladies are quite right. Allow me to retire."
"No, my dear abbe, my nieces are very foolish; M. Rosa, I am sure, will
kindly."
The good procurator takes me affectionately by the hand, and leads me to
the third story, where he leaves me. The moment I am alone I open my
letter, and I read the following:
"My aunt will invite you to supper; do not accept. Go away as soon as we
sit down to table, and Marton will escort you as far as the street door,
but do not leave the house. When the street door is closed again,
everyone thinking you are gone, go upstairs in the dark as far as the
third floor, where you must wait for us. We will come up the moment M.
Rosa has left the house, and our aunt has gone to bed. Angela will be at
liberty to grant you throughout the night a tete-a-tete which, I trust,
will prove a happy one."
Oh! what joy-what gratitude for the lucky chance which allowed me to read
this letter on the very spot where I was to expect the dear abject of my
love! Certain of finding my way without the slightest difficulty, I
returned to Madame Orio's sitting-room, overwhelmed with happiness.
CHAPTER V
An Unlucky Night I Fall in Love with the Two Sisters, and
Forget Angela--A Ball at My House--Juliette's Humiliation--
My Return to Pasian--Lucie's Misfortune--A Propitious Storm
[Illustration: 1c05.jpg]
On my reappearance, Madame Orio told me, with many heart-felt thanks,
that I must for the future consider myself as a privileged and welcome
friend, and the evening passed off very pleasantly. As the hour for
supper drew near, I excused myself so well that Madame Orio could not
insist upon my accepting her invitation to stay. Marton rose to light me
out of the room, but her aunt, believing Nanette to be my favourite, gave
her such an imperative order to accompany me that she was compelled to
obey. She went down the stairs rapidly, opened and closed the street door
very noisily, and putting her light out, she reentered the sitting room,
leaving me in darkness. I went upstairs softly: when I reached the third
landing I found the chamber of the two sisters, and, throwing myself upon
a sofa, I waited patiently for the rising of the star of my happiness. An
hour passed amidst the sweetest dreams of my imagination; at last I hear
the noise of the street door opening and closing, and, a few minutes
after, the two sisters come in with my Angela. I draw her towards me, and
caring for nobody else, I keep up for two full hours my conversation with
her. The clock strikes midnight; I am pitied for having gone so late
supperless, but I am shocked at such an idea; I answer that, with such
happiness as I am enjoying, I can suffer from no human want. I am told
that I am a prisoner, that the key of the house door is under the aunt's
pillow, and that it is opened only by herself as she goes in the morning
to the first mass. I wonder at my young friends imagining that such news
can be anything but delightful to me. I express all my joy at the
certainty of passing the next five hours with the beloved mistress of my
heart. Another hour is spent, when suddenly Nanette begins to laugh,
Angela wants to know the reason, and Marton whispering a few words to
her, they both laugh likewise. This puzzles me. In my turn, I want to
know what causes this general laughter, and at last Nanette, putting on
an air of anxiety, tells me that they have no more candle, and that in a
few minutes we shall be in the dark. This is a piece of news particularly
agreeable to me, but I do not let my satisfaction appear on my
countenance, and saying how truly I am sorry for their sake, I propose
that they should go to bed and sleep quietly under my respectful
guardianship. My proposal increases their merriment.
"What can we do in the dark?"
"We can talk."
We were four; for the last three hours we had been talking, and I was the
hero of the romance. Love is a great poet, its resources are
inexhaustible, but if the end it has in view is not obtained, it feels
weary and remains silent. My Angela listened willingly, but little
disposed to talk herself, she seldom answered, and she displayed good
sense rather than wit. To weaken the force of my arguments, she was often
satisfied with hurling at me a proverb, somewhat in the fashion of the
Romans throwing the catapult. Every time that my poor hands came to the
assistance of love, she drew herself back or repulsed me. Yet, in spite
of all, I went on talking and using my hands without losing courage, but
I gave myself up to despair when I found that my rather artful arguing
astounded her without bringing conviction to her heart, which was only
disquieted, never softened. On the other hand, I could see with
astonishment upon their countenances the impression made upon the two
sisters by the ardent speeches I poured out to Angela. This metaphysical
curve struck me as unnatural, it ought to have been an angle; I was then,
unhappily for myself, studying geometry. I was in such a state that,
notwithstanding the cold, I was perspiring profusely. At last the light
was nearly out, and Nanette took it away.
The moment we were in the dark, I very naturally extended my arms to
seize her whom I loved; but I only met with empty space, and I could not
help laughing at the rapidity with which Angela had availed herself of
the opportunity of escaping me. For one full hour I poured out all the
tender, cheerful words that love inspired me with, to persuade her to
come back to me; I could only suppose that it was a joke to tease me. But
I became impatient.
"The joke," I said, "has lasted long enough; it is foolish, as I could
not run after you, and I am surprised to hear you laugh, for your strange
conduct leads me to suppose that you are making fun of me. Come and take
your seat near me, and if I must speak to you without seeing you let my
hands assure me that I am not addressing my words to the empty air. To
continue this game would be an insult to me, and my love does not deserve
such a return."
"Well, be calm. I will listen to every word you may say, but you must
feel that it would not be decent for me to place myself near you in this
dark room."
"Do you want me to stand where I am until morning?"
"Lie down on the bed, and go to sleep."
"In wonder, indeed, at your thinking me capable of doing so in the state
I am in. Well, I suppose we must play at blind man's buff."
Thereupon, I began to feel right and left, everywhere, but in vain.
Whenever I caught anyone it always turned out to be Nanette or Marton,
who at once discovered themselves, and I, stupid Don Quixote, instantly
would let them go! Love and prejudice blinded me, I could not see how
ridiculous I was with my respectful reserve. I had not yet read the
anecdotes of Louis XIII, king of France, but I had read Boccacio. I kept
on seeking in vain, reproaching her with her cruelty, and entreating her
to let me catch her; but she would only answer that the difficulty of
meeting each other was mutual. The room was not large, and I was enraged
at my want of success.
Tired and still more vexed, I sat down, and for the next hour I told the
history of Roger, when Angelica disappears through the power of the magic
ring which the loving knight had so imprudently given her:
'Cosi dicendo, intorno a la fortuna
Brancolando n'andava come cieco.
O quante volte abbraccio l'aria vana
Speyando la donzella abbracciar seco'.
Angela had not read Ariosto, but Nanette had done so several times. She
undertook the defence of Angelica, and blamed the simplicity of Roger,
who, if he had been wise, would never have trusted the ring to a
coquette. I was delighted with Nanette, but I was yet too much of a
novice to apply her remarks to myself.
Only one more hour remained, and I was to leave before the break of day,
for Madame Orio would have died rather than give way to the temptation of
missing the early mass. During that hour I spoke to Angela, trying to
convince her that she ought to come and sit by me. My soul went through
every gradation of hope and despair, and the reader cannot possibly
realize it unless he has been placed in a similar position. I exhausted
the most convincing arguments; then I had recourse to prayers, and even
to tears; but, seeing all was useless, I gave way to that feeling of
noble indignation which lends dignity to anger. Had I not been in the
dark, I might, I truly believe, have struck the proud monster, the cruel
girl, who had thus for five hours condemned me to the most distressing
suffering. I poured out all the abuse, all the insulting words that
despised love can suggest to an infuriated mind; I loaded her with the
deepest curses; I swore that my love had entirely turned into hatred,
and, as a finale, I advised her to be careful, as I would kill her the
moment I would set my eyes on her.
My invectives came to an end with the darkness. At the first break of
day, and as soon as I heard the noise made by the bolt and the key of the
street door, which Madame Orio was opening to let herself out, that she
might seek in the church the repose of which her pious soul was in need,
I got myself ready and looked for my cloak and for my hat. But how can I
ever portray the consternation in which I was thrown when, casting a sly
glance upon the young friends, I found the three bathed in tears! In my
shame and despair I thought of committing suicide, and sitting down
again, I recollected my brutal speeches, and upbraided myself for having
wantonly caused them to weep. I could not say one word; I felt choking;
at last tears came to my assistance, and I gave way to a fit of crying
which relieved me. Nanette then remarked that her aunt would soon return
home; I dried my eyes, and, not venturing another look at Angela or at
her friends, I ran away without uttering a word, and threw myself on my
bed, where sleep would not visit my troubled mind.
At noon, M. de Malipiero, noticing the change in my countenance, enquired
what ailed me, and longing to unburden my heart, I told him all that had
happened. The wise old man did not laugh at my sorrow, but by his
sensible advice he managed to console me and to give me courage. He was
in the same predicament with the beautiful Therese. Yet he could not help
giving way to his merriment when at dinner he saw me, in spite of my
grief, eat with increased appetite; I had gone without my supper the
night before; he complimented me upon my happy constitution.
I was determined never to visit Madame Orio's house, and on that very day
I held an argument in metaphysics, in which I contended that any being of
whom we had only an abstract idea, could only exist abstractedly, and I
was right; but it was a very easy task to give to my thesis an
irreligious turn, and I was obliged to recant. A few days afterwards I
went to Padua, where I took my degree of doctor 'utroque jure'.
When I returned to Venice, I received a note from M. Rosa, who entreated
me to call upon Madame Orio; she wished to see me, and, feeling certain
of not meeting Angela, I paid her a visit the same evening. The two
graceful sisters were so kind, so pleasant, that they scattered to the
winds the shame I felt at seeing them after the fearful night I had
passed in their room two months before. The labours of writing my thesis
and passing my examination were of course sufficient excuses for Madame
Orio, who only wanted to reproach me for having remained so long away
from her house.
As I left, Nanette gave me a letter containing a note from Angela, the
contents of which ran as follows:
"If you are not afraid of passing another night with me you shall have no
reason to complain of me, for I love you, and I wish to hear from your
own lips whether you would still have loved me if I had consented to
become contemptible in your eyes."
This is the letter of Nanette, who alone had her wits about her:
"M. Rosa having undertaken to bring you back to our house, I prepare
these few lines to let you know that Angela is in despair at having lost
you. I confess that the night you spent with us was a cruel one, but I do
not think that you did rightly in giving up your visits to Madame Orio.
If you still feel any love for Angela, I advise you to take your chances
once more. Accept a rendezvous for another night; she may vindicate
herself, and you will be happy. Believe me; come. Farewell!"
Those two letters afforded me much gratification, for I had it in my
power to enjoy my revenge by shewing to Angela the coldest contempt.
Therefore, on the following Sunday I went to Madame Orio's house, having
provided myself with a smoked tongue and a couple of bottles of Cyprus
wine; but to my great surprise my cruel mistress was not there. Nanette
told me that she had met her at church in the morning, and that she would
not be able to come before supper-time. Trusting to that promise I
declined Madam Orio's invitation, and before the family sat down to
supper I left the room as I had done on the former occasion, and slipped
upstairs. I longed to represent the character I had prepared myself for,
and feeling assured that Angela, even if she should prove less cruel,
would only grant me insignificant favours, I despised them in
anticipation, and resolved to be avenged.
After waiting three quarters of an hour the street door was locked, and a
moment later Nanette and Marton entered the room.
"Where is Angela?" I enquired.
"She must have been unable to come, or to send a message. Yet she knows
you are here."
"She thinks she has made a fool of me; but I suspected she would act in
this way. You know her now. She is trifling with me, and very likely she
is now revelling in her triumph. She has made use of you to allure me in
the snare, and it is all the better for her; had she come, I meant to
have had my turn, and to have laughed at her."
"Ah! you must allow me to have my doubts as to that."
"Doubt me not, beautiful Nanette; the pleasant night we are going to
spend without her must convince you."
"That is to say that, as a man of sense, you can accept us as a
makeshift; but you can sleep here, and my sister can lie with me on the
sofa in the next room."
"I cannot hinder you, but it would be great unkindness on your part. At
all events, I do not intend to go to bed."
"What! you would have the courage to spend seven hours alone with us?
Why, I am certain that in a short time you will be at a loss what to say,
and you will fall asleep."
"Well, we shall see. In the mean-time here are provisions. You will not
be so cruel as to let me eat alone? Can you get any bread?"
"Yes, and to please you we must have a second supper."
"I ought to be in love with you. Tell me, beautiful Nanette, if I were as
much attached to you as I was to Angela, would you follow her example and
make me unhappy?"
"How can you ask such a question? It is worthy of a conceited man. All I
can answer is, that I do not know what I would do."
They laid the cloth, brought some bread, some Parmesan cheese and water,
laughing all the while, and then we went to work. The wine, to which they
were not accustomed, went to their heads, and their gaiety was soon
delightful. I wondered, as I looked at them, at my having been blind
enough not to see their merit.
After our supper, which was delicious, I sat between them, holding their
hands, which I pressed to my lips, asking them whether they were truly my
friends, and whether they approved of Angela's conduct towards me. They
both answered that it had made them shed many tears. "Then let me," I
said, "have for you the tender feelings of a brother, and share those
feelings yourselves as if you were my sisters; let us exchange, in all
innocence, proofs of our mutual affection, and swear to each other an
eternal fidelity."
The first kiss I gave them was prompted by entirely harmless motives, and
they returned the kiss, as they assured me a few days afterwards only to
prove to me that they reciprocated my brotherly feelings; but those
innocent kisses, as we repeated them, very soon became ardent ones, and
kindled a flame which certainly took us by surprise, for we stopped, as
by common consent, after a short time, looking at each other very much
astonished and rather serious. They both left me without affectation, and
I remained alone with my thoughts. Indeed, it was natural that the
burning kisses I had given and received should have sent through me the
fire of passion, and that I should suddenly have fallen madly in love
with the two amiable sisters. Both were handsomer than Angela, and they
were superior to her--Nanette by her charming wit, Marton by her sweet
and simple nature; I could not understand how I had been so long in
rendering them the justice they deserved, but they were the innocent
daughters of a noble family, and the lucky chance which had thrown them
in my way ought not to prove a calamity for them. I was not vain enough
to suppose that they loved me, but I could well enough admit that my
kisses had influenced them in the same manner that their kisses had
influenced me, and, believing this to be the case, it was evident that,
with a little cunning on my part, and of sly practices of which they were
ignorant, I could easily, during the long night I was going to spend with
them, obtain favours, the consequences of which might be very positive.
The very thought made me shudder, and I firmly resolved to respect their
virtue, never dreaming that circumstances might prove too strong for me.
When they returned, I read upon their countenances perfect security and
satisfaction, and I quickly put on the same appearance, with a full
determination not to expose myself again to the danger of their kisses.
For one hour we spoke of Angela, and I expressed my determination never
to see her again, as I had every proof that she did not care for me. "She
loves you," said the artless Marton; "I know she does, but if you do not
mean to marry her, you will do well to give up all intercourse with her,
for she is quite determined not to grant you even a kiss as long as you
are not her acknowledged suitor. You must therefore either give up the
acquaintance altogether, or make up your mind that she will refuse you
everything."
"You argue very well, but how do you know that she loves me?"
"I am quite sure of it, and as you have promised to be our brother, I can
tell you why I have that conviction. When Angela is in bed with me, she
embraces me lovingly and calls me her dear abbe."
The words were scarcely spoken when Nanette, laughing heartily, placed
her hand on her sister's lips, but the innocent confession had such an
effect upon me that I could hardly control myself.
Marton told Nanette that I could not possibly be ignorant of what takes
place between young girls sleeping together.
"There is no doubt," I said, "that everybody knows those trifles, and I
do not think, dear Nanette, that you ought to reproach your sister with
indiscretion for her friendly confidence."
"It cannot be helped now, but such things ought not to be mentioned. If
Angela knew it!"
"She would be vexed, of course; but Marton has given me a mark of her
friendship which I never can forget. But it is all over; I hate Angela,
and I do not mean to speak to her any more! she is false, and she wishes
my ruin."
"Yet, loving you, is she wrong to think of having you for her husband?"
"Granted that she is not; but she thinks only of her own self, for she
knows what I suffer, and her conduct would be very different if she loved
me. In the mean time, thanks to her imagination, she finds the means of
satisfying her senses with the charming Marton who kindly performs the
part of her husband."
Nanette laughed louder, but I kept very serious, and I went on talking to
her sister, and praising her sincerity. I said that very likely, and to
reciprocate her kindness, Angela must likewise have been her husband, but
she answered, with a smile, that Angela played husband only to Nanette,
and Nanette could not deny it.
"But," said I, "what name did Nanette, in her rapture, give to her
husband?"
"Nobody knows."
"Do you love anyone, Nanette?"
"I do; but my secret is my own."
This reserve gave me the suspicion that I had something to do with her
secret, and that Nanette was the rival of Angela. Such a delightful
conversation caused me to lose the wish of passing an idle night with two
girls so well made for love.
"It is very lucky," I exclaimed, "that I have for you only feelings of
friendship; otherwise it would be very hard to pass the night without
giving way to the temptation of bestowing upon you proofs of my
affection, for you are both so lovely, so bewitching, that you would turn
the brains of any man."
As I went on talking, I pretended to be somewhat sleepy; Nanette being
the first to notice it, said, "Go to bed without any ceremony, we will
lie down on the sofa in the adjoining room."
"I would be a very poor-spirited fellow indeed, if I agreed to this; let
us talk; my sleepiness will soon pass off, but I am anxious about you. Go
to bed yourselves, my charming friends, and I will go into the next room.
If you are afraid of me, lock the door, but you would do me an injustice,
for I feel only a brother's yearnings towards you."
"We cannot accept such an arrangement," said Nanette, "but let me
persuade you; take this bed."
"I cannot sleep with my clothes on."
"Undress yourself; we will not look at you."
"I have no fear of it, but how could I find the heart to sleep, while on
my account you are compelled to sit up?"
"Well," said Marton, "we can lie down, too, without undressing."
"If you shew me such distrust, you will offend me. Tell me, Nanette, do
you think I am an honest man?"
"Most certainly."
"Well, then, give me a proof of your good opinion; lie down near me in
the bed, undressed, and rely on my word of honour that I will not even
lay a finger upon you. Besides, you are two against one, what can you
fear? Will you not be free to get out of the bed in case I should not
keep quiet? In short, unless you consent to give me this mark of your
confidence in me, at least when I have fallen asleep, I cannot go to
bed."
I said no more, and pretended to be very sleepy. They exchanged a few
words, whispering to each other, and Marton told me to go to bed, that
they would follow me as soon as I was asleep. Nanette made me the same
promise, I turned my back to them, undressed myself quickly, and wishing
them good night, I went to bed. I immediately pretended to fall asleep,
but soon I dozed in good earnest, and only woke when they came to bed.
Then, turning round as if I wished to resume my slumbers, I remained very
quiet until I could suppose them fast asleep; at all events, if they did
not sleep, they were at liberty to pretend to do so. Their backs were
towards me, and the light was out; therefore I could only act at random,
and I paid my first compliments to the one who was lying on my right, not
knowing whether she was Nanette or Marton. I find her bent in two, and
wrapped up in the only garment she had kept on. Taking my time, and
sparing her modesty, I compel her by degrees to acknowledge her defeat,
and convince her that it is better to feign sleep and to let me proceed.
Her natural instincts soon working in concert with mine, I reach the
goal; and my efforts, crowned with the most complete success, leave me
not the shadow of a doubt that I have gathered those first-fruits to
which our prejudice makes us attach so great an importance. Enraptured at
having enjoyed my manhood completely and for the first time, I quietly
leave my beauty in order to do homage to the other sister. I find her
motionless, lying on her back like a person wrapped in profound and
undisturbed slumber. Carefully managing my advance, as if I were afraid
of waking her up, I begin by gently gratifying her senses, and I
ascertain the delightful fact that, like her sister, she is still in
possession of her maidenhood. As soon as a natural movement proves to me
that love accepts the offering, I take my measures to consummate the
sacrifice. At that moment, giving way suddenly to the violence of her
feelings, and tired of her assumed dissimulation, she warmly locks me in
her arms at the very instant of the voluptuous crisis, smothers me with
kisses, shares my raptures, and love blends our souls in the most
ecstatic enjoyment.
Guessing her to be Nanette, I whisper her name.
"Yes, I am Nanette," she answers; "and I declare myself happy, as well as
my sister, if you prove yourself true and faithful."
"Until death, my beloved ones, and as everything we have done is the work
of love, do not let us ever mention the name of Angela."
After this, I begged that she would give us a light; but Marton, always
kind and obliging, got out of bed leaving us alone. When I saw Nanette in
my arms, beaming with love, and Marton near the bed, holding a candle,
with her eyes reproaching us with ingratitude because we did not speak to
her, who, by accepting my first caresses, had encouraged her sister to
follow her example, I realized all my happiness.
"Let us get up, my darlings," said I, "and swear to each other eternal
affection."
When we had risen we performed, all three together, ablutions which made
them laugh a good deal, and which gave a new impetus to the ardour of our
feelings. Sitting up in the simple costume of nature, we ate the remains
of our supper, exchanging those thousand trifling words which love alone
can understand, and we again retired to our bed, where we spent a most
delightful night giving each other mutual and oft-repeated proofs of our
passionate ardour. Nanette was the recipient of my last bounties, for
Madame Orio having left the house to go to church, I had to hasten my
departure, after assuring the two lovely sisters that they had
effectually extinguished whatever flame might still have flickered in my
heart for Angela. I went home and slept soundly until dinner-time.
M. de Malipiero passed a remark upon my cheerful looks and the dark
circles around my eyes, but I kept my own counsel, and I allowed him to
think whatever he pleased. On the following day I paid a visit to Madame
Orio, and Angela not being of the party, I remained to supper and retired
with M. Rosa. During the evening Nanette contrived to give me a letter
and a small parcel. The parcel contained a small lump of wax with the
stamp of a key, and the letter told me to have a key made, and to use it
to enter the house whenever I wished to spend the night with them. She
informed me at the same time that Angela had slept with them the night
following our adventures, and that, thanks to their mutual and usual
practices, she had guessed the real state of things, that they had not
denied it, adding that it was all her fault, and that Angela, after
abusing them most vehemently, had sworn never again to darken their
doors; but they did not care a jot.
A few days afterwards our good fortune delivered us from Angela; she was
taken to Vicenza by her father, who had removed there for a couple of
years, having been engaged to paint frescoes in some houses in that city.
Thanks to her absence, I found myself undisturbed possessor of the two
charming sisters, with whom I spent at least two nights every week,
finding no difficulty in entering the house with the key which I had
speedily procured.
Carnival was nearly over, when M. Manzoni informed me one day that the
celebrated Juliette wished to see me, and regretted much that I had
ceased to visit her. I felt curious as to what she had to say to me, and
accompanied him to her house. She received me very politely, and
remarking that she had heard of a large hall I had in my house, she said
she would like to give a ball there, if I would give her the use of it. I
readily consented, and she handed me twenty-four sequins for the supper
and for the band, undertaking to send people to place chandeliers in the
hall and in my other rooms.
M. de Sanvitali had left Venice, and the Parmesan government had placed
his estates in chancery in consequence of his extravagant expenditure. I
met him at Versailles ten years afterwards. He wore the insignia of the
king's order of knighthood, and was grand equerry to the eldest daughter
of Louis XV., Duchess of Parma, who, like all the French princesses,
could not be reconciled to the climate of Italy.
The ball took place, and went off splendidly. All the guests belonged to
Juliette's set, with the exception of Madame Orio, her nieces, and the
procurator Rosa, who sat together in the room adjoining the hall, and
whom I had been permitted to introduce as persons of no consequence
whatever.
While the after-supper minuets were being danced Juliette took me apart,
and said, "Take me to your bedroom; I have just got an amusing idea."
My room was on the third story; I shewed her the way. The moment we
entered she bolted the door, much to my surprise. "I wish you," she said,
"to dress me up in your ecclesiastical clothes, and I will disguise you
as a woman with my own things. We will go down and dance together. Come,
let us first dress our hair."
Feeling sure of something pleasant to come, and delighted with such an
unusual adventure, I lose no time in arranging her hair, and I let her
afterwards dress mine. She applies rouge and a few beauty spots to my
face; I humour her in everything, and to prove her satisfaction, she
gives me with the best of grace a very loving kiss, on condition that I
do not ask for anything else.
"As you please, beautiful Juliette, but I give you due notice that I
adore you!"
I place upon my bed a shirt, an abbe's neckband, a pair of drawers, black
silk stockings--in fact, a complete fit-out. Coming near the bed,
Juliette drops her skirt, and cleverly gets into the drawers, which were
not a bad fit, but when she comes to the breeches there is some
difficulty; the waistband is too narrow, and the only remedy is to rip it
behind or to cut it, if necessary. I undertake to make everything right,
and, as I sit on the foot of my bed, she places herself in front of me,
with her back towards me. I begin my work, but she thinks that I want to
see too much, that I am not skilful enough, and that my fingers wander in
unnecessary places; she gets fidgety, leaves me, tears the breeches, and
manages in her own way. Then I help her to put her shoes on, and I pass
the shirt over her head, but as I am disposing the ruffle and the
neck-band, she complains of my hands being too curious; and in truth, her
bosom was rather scanty. She calls me a knave and rascal, but I take no
notice of her. I was not going to be duped, and I thought that a woman
who had been paid one hundred thousand ducats was well worth some study.
At last, her toilet being completed, my turn comes. In spite of her
objections I quickly get rid of my breeches, and she must put on me the
chemise, then a skirt, in a word she has to dress me up. But all at once,
playing the coquette, she gets angry because I do not conceal from her
looks the very apparent proof that her charms have some effect on a
particular part of my being, and she refuses to grant me the favour which
would soon afford both relief and calm. I try to kiss her, and she
repulses me, whereupon I lose patience, and in spite of herself she has
to witness the last stage of my excitement. At the sight of this, she
pours out every insulting word she can think of; I endeavour to prove
that she is to blame, but it is all in vain.
However, she is compelled to complete my disguise. There is no doubt that
an honest woman would not have exposed herself to such an adventure,
unless she had intended to prove her tender feelings, and that she would
not have drawn back at the very moment she saw them shared by her
companion; but women like Juliette are often guided by a spirit of
contradiction which causes them to act against their own interests.
Besides, she felt disappointed when she found out that I was not timid,
and my want of restraint appeared to her a want of respect. She would not
have objected to my stealing a few light favours which she would have
allowed me to take, as being of no importance, but, by doing that, I
should have flattered her vanity too highly.
Our disguise being complete, we went together to the dancing-hall, where
the enthusiastic applause of the guests soon restored our good temper.
Everybody gave me credit for a piece of fortune which I had not enjoyed,
but I was not ill-pleased with the rumour, and went on dancing with the
false abbe, who was only too charming. Juliette treated me so well during
the night that I construed her manners towards me into some sort of
repentance, and I almost regretted what had taken place between us; it
was a momentary weakness for which I was sorely punished.
At the end of the quadrille all the men thought they had a right to take
liberties with the abbe, and I became myself rather free with the young
girls, who would have been afraid of exposing themselves to ridicule had
they offered any opposition to my caresses.
M. Querini was foolish enough to enquire from me whether I had kept on my
breeches, and as I answered that I had been compelled to lend them to
Juliette, he looked very unhappy, sat down in a corner of the room, and
refused to dance.
Every one of the guests soon remarked that I had on a woman's chemise,
and nobody entertained a doubt of the sacrifice having been consummated,
with the exception of Nanette and Marton, who could not imagine the
possibility of my being unfaithful to them. Juliette perceived that she
had been guilty of great imprudence, but it was too late to remedy the
evil.
When we returned to my chamber upstairs, thinking that she had repented
of her previous behaviour, and feeling some desire to possess her, I
thought I would kiss her, and I took hold of her hand, saying I was
disposed to give her every satisfaction, but she quickly slapped my face
in so violent a manner that, in my indignation, I was very near returning
the compliment. I undressed myself rapidly without looking at her, she
did the same, and we came downstairs; but, in spite of the cold water I
had applied to my cheek, everyone could easily see the stamp of the large
hand which had come in contact with my face.
Before leaving the house, Juliette took me apart, and told me, in the
most decided and impressive manner, that if I had any fancy for being
thrown out of the window, I could enjoy that pleasure whenever I liked to
enter her dwelling, and that she would have me murdered if this night's
adventure ever became publicly known. I took care not to give her any
cause for the execution of either of her threats, but I could not prevent
the fact of our having exchanged shirts being rather notorious. As I was
not seen at her house, it was generally supposed that she had been
compelled by M. Querini to keep me at a distance. The reader will see
how, six years later, this extraordinary woman thought proper to feign
entire forgetfulness of this adventure.
I passed Lent, partly in the company of my loved ones, partly in the
study of experimental physics at the Convent of the Salutation. My
evenings were always given to M. de Malipiero's assemblies. At Easter, in
order to keep the promise I had made to the Countess of Mont-Real, and
longing to see again my beautiful Lucie, I went to Pasean. I found the
guests entirely different to the set I had met the previous autumn. Count
Daniel, the eldest of the family, had married a Countess Gozzi, and a
young and wealthy government official, who had married a god-daughter of
the old countess, was there with his wife and his sister-in-law. I
thought the supper very long. The same room had been given to me, and I
was burning to see Lucie, whom I did not intend to treat any more like a
child. I did not see her before going to bed, but I expected her early
the next morning, when lo! instead of her pretty face brightening my
eyes, I see standing before me a fat, ugly servant-girl! I enquire after
the gatekeeper's family, but her answer is given in the peculiar dialect
of the place, and is, of course, unintelligible to me.
I wonder what has become of Lucie; I fancy that our intimacy has been
found out, I fancy that she is ill--dead, perhaps. I dress myself with
the intention of looking for her. If she has been forbidden to see me, I
think to myself, I will be even with them all, for somehow or other I
will contrive the means of speaking to her, and out of spite I will do
with her that which honour prevented love from accomplishing. As I was
revolving such thoughts, the gate-keeper comes in with a sorrowful
countenance. I enquire after his wife's health, and after his daughter,
but at the name of Lucie his eyes are filled with tears.
"What! is she dead?"
"Would to God she were!"
"What has she done?"
"She has run away with Count Daniel's courier, and we have been unable to
trace her anywhere."
His wife comes in at the moment he replies, and at these words, which
renewed her grief, the poor woman faints away. The keeper, seeing how
sincerely I felt for his misery, tells me that this great misfortune
befell them only a week before my arrival.
"I know that man l'Aigle," I say; "he is a scoundrel. Did he ask to marry
Lucie?"
"No; he knew well enough that our consent would have been refused!"
"I wonder at Lucie acting in such a way."
"He seduced her, and her running away made us suspect the truth, for she
had become very stout."
"Had he known her long?"
"About a month after your last visit she saw him for the first time. He
must have thrown a spell over her, for our Lucie was as pure as a dove,
and you can, I believe, bear testimony to her goodness."
"And no one knows where they are?"
"No one. God alone knows what this villain will do with her."
I grieved as much as the unfortunate parents; I went out and took a long
ramble in the woods to give way to my sad feelings. During two hours I
cogitated over considerations, some true, some false, which were all
prefaced by an if. If I had paid this visit, as I might have done, a week
sooner, loving Lucie would have confided in me, and I would have
prevented that self-murder. If I had acted with her as with Nanette and
Marton, she would not have been left by me in that state of ardent
excitement which must have proved the principal cause of her fault, and
she would not have fallen a prey to that scoundrel. If she had not known
me before meeting the courier, her innocent soul would never have
listened to such a man. I was in despair, for in my conscience I
acknowledged myself the primary agent of this infamous seduction; I had
prepared the way for the villain.
Had I known where to find Lucie, I would certainly have gone forth on the
instant to seek for her, but no trace whatever of her whereabouts had
been discovered.
Before I had been made acquainted with Lucie's misfortune I felt great
pride at having had sufficient power over myself to respect her
innocence; but after hearing what had happened I was ashamed of my own
reserve, and I promised myself that for the future I would on that score
act more wisely. I felt truly miserable when my imagination painted the
probability of the unfortunate girl being left to poverty and shame,
cursing the remembrance of me, and hating me as the first cause of her
misery. This fatal event caused me to adopt a new system, which in after
years I carried sometimes rather too far.
I joined the cheerful guests of the countess in the gardens, and received
such a welcome that I was soon again in my usual spirits, and at dinner I
delighted everyone.
My sorrow was so great that it was necessary either to drive it away at
once or to leave Pasean. But a new life crept into my being as I examined
the face and the disposition of the newly-married lady. Her sister was
prettier, but I was beginning to feel afraid of a novice; I thought the
work too great.
This newly-married lady, who was between nineteen and twenty years of
age, drew upon herself everybody's attention by her over-strained and
unnatural manners. A great talker, with a memory crammed with maxims and
precepts often without sense, but of which she loved to make a show, very
devout, and so jealous of her husband that she did not conceal her
vexation when he expressed his satisfaction at being seated at table
opposite her sister, she laid herself open to much ridicule. Her husband
was a giddy young fellow, who perhaps felt very deep affection for his
wife, but who imagined that, through good breeding, he ought to appear
very indifferent, and whose vanity found pleasure in giving her constant
causes for jealousy. She, in her turn, had a great dread of passing for
an idiot if she did not shew her appreciation of, and her resentment for,
his conduct. She felt uneasy in the midst of good company, precisely
because she wished to appear thoroughly at home. If I prattled away with
some of my trilling nonsense, she would stare at me, and in her anxiety
not to be thought stupid, she would laugh out of season. Her oddity, her
awkwardness, and her self-conceit gave me the desire to know her better,
and I began to dance attendance upon her.
My attentions, important and unimportant, my constant care, ever my
fopperies, let everybody know that I meditated conquest. The husband was
duly warned, but, with a great show of intrepidity, he answered with a
joke every time he was told that I was a formidable rival. On my side I
assumed a modest, and even sometimes a careless appearance, when, to shew
his freedom from jealousy, he excited me to make love to his wife, who,
on her part, understood but little how to perform the part of fancy free.
I had been paying my address to her for five or six days with great
constancy, when, taking a walk with her in the garden, she imprudently
confided to me the reason of her anxiety respecting her husband, and how
wrong he was to give her any cause for jealousy. I told her, speaking as
an old friend, that the best way to punish him would be to take no
apparent notice of her, husband's preference for her sister, and to feign
to be herself in love with me. In order to entice her more easily to
follow my advice, I added that I was well aware of my plan being a very
difficult one to carry out, and that to play successfully such a
character a woman must be particularly witty. I had touched her weak
point, and she exclaimed that she would play the part to perfection; but
in spite of her self-confidence she acquitted herself so badly that
everybody understood that the plan was of my own scheming.
If I happened to be alone with her in the dark paths of the garden, and
tried to make her play her part in real earnest, she would take the
dangerous step of running away, and rejoining the other guests; the
result being that, on my reappearance, I was called a bad sportsman who
frightened the bird away. I would not fail at the first opportunity to
reproach her for her flight, and to represent the triumph she had thus
prepared for her spouse. I praised her mind, but lamented over the
shortcomings of her education; I said that the tone, the manners I
adopted towards her, were those of good society, and proved the great
esteem I entertained for her intelligence, but in the middle of all my
fine speeches, towards the eleventh or twelfth day of my courtship, she
suddenly put me out of all conceit by telling me that, being a priest, I
ought to know that every amorous connection was a deadly sin, that God
could see every action of His creatures, and that she would neither damn
her soul nor place herself under the necessity of saying to her confessor
that she had so far forgotten herself as to commit such a sin with a
priest. I objected that I was not yet a priest, but she foiled me by
enquiring point-blank whether or not the act I had in view was to be
numbered amongst the cardinal sins, for, not feeling the courage to deny
it, I felt that I must give up the argument and put an end to the
adventure.
A little consideration having considerably calmed my feelings, everybody
remarked my new countenance during dinner; and the old count, who was
very fond of a joke, expressed loudly his opinion that such quiet
demeanour on my part announced the complete success of my campaign.
Considering such a remark to be favourable to me, I took care to spew my
cruel devotee that such was the way the world would judge, but all this
was lost labour. Luck, however, stood me in good stead, and my efforts
were crowned with success in the following manner.
On Ascension Day, we all went to pay a visit to Madame Bergali, a
celebrated Italian poetess. On my return to Pasean the same evening, my
pretty mistress wished to get into a carriage for four persons in which
her husband and sister were already seated, while I was alone in a
two-wheeled chaise. I exclaimed at this, saying that such a mark of
distrust was indeed too pointed, and everybody remonstrated with her,
saying that she ought not to insult me so cruelly. She was compelled to
come with me, and having told the postillion that I wanted to go by the
nearest road, he left the other carriages, and took the way through the
forest of Cequini. The sky was clear and cloudless when we left, but in
less than half-an-hour we were visited by one of those storms so frequent
in the south, which appear likely to overthrow heaven and earth, and
which end rapidly, leaving behind them a bright sky and a cool
atmosphere, so that they do more good than harm.
"Oh, heavens!" exclaimed my companion, "we shall have a storm."
"Yes," I say, "and although the chaise is covered, the rain will spoil
your pretty dress. I am very sorry."
"I do not mind the dress; but the thunder frightens me so!"
"Close your ears."
"And the lightning?"
"Postillion, let us go somewhere for shelter."
"There is not a house, sir, for a league, and before we come to it, the
storm will have passed off."
He quietly keeps on his way, and the lightning flashes, the thunder sends
forth its mighty voice, and the lady shudders with fright. The rain comes
down in torrents, I take off my cloak to shelter us in front, at the same
moment we are blinded by a flash of lightning, and the electric fluid
strikes the earth within one hundred yards of us. The horses plunge and
prance with fear, and my companion falls in spasmodic convulsions. She
throws herself upon me, and folds me in her arms. The cloak had gone
down, I stoop to place it around us, and improving my opportunity I take
up her clothes. She tries to pull them down, but another clap of thunder
deprives her of every particle of strength. Covering her with the cloak,
I draw her towards me, and the motion of the chaise coming to my
assistance, she falls over me in the most favourable position. I lose no
time, and under pretence of arranging my watch in my fob, I prepare
myself for the assault. On her side, conscious that, unless she stops me
at once, all is lost, she makes a great effort; but I hold her tightly,
saying that if she does not feign a fainting fit, the post-boy will turn
round and see everything; I let her enjoy the pleasure of calling me an
infidel, a monster, anything she likes, but my victory is the most
complete that ever a champion achieved.
The rain, however, was falling, the wind, which was very high, blew in
our faces, and, compelled to stay where she was, she said I would ruin
her reputation, as the postillion could see everything.
"I keep my eye upon him," I answered, "he is not thinking of us, and even
if he should turn his head, the cloak shelters us from him. Be quiet, and
pretend to have fainted, for I will not let you go."
She seems resigned, and asks how I can thus set the storm at defiance.
"The storm, dear one, is my best friend to-day."
She almost seems to believe me, her fear vanishes, and feeling my
rapture, she enquires whether I have done. I smile and answer in the
negative, stating that I cannot let her go till the storm is over.
"Consent to everything, or I let the cloak drop," I say to her.
"Well, you dreadful man, are you satisfied, now that you have insured my
misery for the remainder of my life?"
"No, not yet."
"What more do you want?"
"A shower of kisses."
"How unhappy I am! Well! here they are."
"Tell me you forgive me, and confess that you have shared all my
pleasure."
"You know I did. Yes, I forgive you."
Then I give her her liberty, and treating her to some very pleasant
caresses, I ask her to have the same kindness for me, and she goes to
work with a smile on her pretty lips.
"Tell me you love me," I say to her.
"No, I do not, for you are an atheist, and hell awaits you."
The weather was fine again, and the elements calm; I kissed her hands and
told her that the postillion had certainly not seen anything, and that I
was sure I had cured her of her dread of thunder, but that she was not
likely to reveal the secret of my remedy. She answered that one thing at
least was certain, namely that no other woman had ever been cured by the
same prescription.
"Why," I said, "the same remedy has very likely been applied a million of
times within the last thousand years. To tell you the truth, I had
somewhat depended upon it, when we entered the chaise together, for I did
not know any other way of obtaining the happiness of possessing you. But
console yourself with the belief that, placed in the same position, no
frightened woman could have resisted."
"I believe you; but for the future I will travel only with my husband."
"You would be wrong, for your husband would not have been clever enough
to cure your fright in the way I have done."
"True, again. One learns some curious things in your company; but we
shall not travel tete-a-tete again."
We reached Pasean an hour before our friends. We get out of the chaise,
and my fair mistress ran off to her chamber, while I was looking for a
crown for the postillion. I saw that he was grinning.
"What are you laughing at?"
"Oh! you know."
"Here, take this ducat and keep a quiet tongue in your head."
CHAPTER VI
My Grandmother's Death and Its Consequences I Lose M. de
Malipiero's Friendship--I Have No Longer a Home--
La Tintoretta--I Am Sent to a Clerical Seminary--I Am Expelled
From It, and Confined in a Fortress
During supper the conversation turned altogether upon the storm, and the
official, who knew the weakness of his wife, told me that he was quite
certain I would never travel with her again. "Nor I with him," his wife
remarked, "for, in his fearful impiety, he exorcised the lightning with
jokes."
Henceforth she avoided me so skilfully that I never could contrive
another interview with her.
When I returned to Venice I found my grandmother ill, and I had to change
all my habits, for I loved her too dearly not to surround her with every
care and attention; I never left her until she had breathed her last. She
was unable to leave me anything, for during her life she had given me all
she could, and her death compelled me to adopt an entirely different mode
of life.
A month after her death, I received a letter from my mother informing me
that, as there was no probability of her return to Venice, she had
determined to give up the house, the rent of which she was still paying,
that she had communicated her intention to the Abbe Grimani, and that I
was to be guided entirely by his advice.
He was instructed to sell the furniture, and to place me, as well as my
brothers and my sister, in a good boarding-house. I called upon Grimani
to assure him of my perfect disposition to obey his commands.
The rent of the house had been paid until the end of the year; but, as I
was aware that the furniture would be sold on the expiration of the term,
I placed my wants under no restraint. I had already sold some linen, most
of the china, and several tapestries; I now began to dispose of the
mirrors, beds, etc. I had no doubt that my conduct would be severely
blamed, but I knew likewise that it was my father's inheritance, to which
my mother had no claim whatever, and, as to my brothers, there was plenty
of time before any explanation could take place between us.
Four months afterwards I had a second letter from my mother, dated from
Warsaw, and enclosing another. Here is the translation of my mother's
letter:
"My dear son, I have made here the acquaintance of a learned Minim friar,
a Calabrian by birth, whose great qualities have made me think of you
every time he has honoured me with a visit. A year ago I told him that I
had a son who was preparing himself for the Church, but that I had not
the means of keeping him during his studies, and he promised that my son
would become his own child, if I could obtain for him from the queen a
bishopric in his native country, and he added that it would be very easy
to succeed if I could induce the sovereign to recommend him to her
daughter, the queen of Naples.
"Full of trust in the Almighty, I threw myself at the feet of her
majesty, who granted me her gracious protection. She wrote to her
daughter, and the worthy friar has been appointed by the Pope to the
bishopric of Monterano. Faithful to his promise, the good bishop will
take you with him about the middle of next year, as he passes through
Venice to reach Calabria. He informs you himself of his intentions in the
enclosed letter. Answer him immediately, my dear son, and forward your
letter to me; I will deliver it to the bishop. He will pave your way to
the highest dignities of the Church, and you may imagine my consolation
if, in some twenty or thirty years, I had the happiness of seeing you a
bishop, at least! Until his arrival, M. Grimani will take care of you. I
give you my blessing, and I am, my dear child, etc., etc."
The bishop's letter was written in Latin, and was only a repetition of my
mother's. It was full of unction, and informed me that he would tarry but
three days in Venice.
I answered according to my mother's wishes, but those two letters had
turned my brain. I looked upon my fortune as made. I longed to enter the
road which was to lead me to it, and I congratulated myself that I could
leave my country without any regret. Farewell, Venice, I exclaimed; the
days for vanity are gone by, and in the future I will only think of a
great, of a substantial career! M. Grimani congratulated me warmly on my
good luck, and promised all his friendly care to secure a good
boarding-house, to which I would go at the beginning of the year, and
where I would wait for the bishop's arrival.
M. de Malipiero, who in his own way had great wisdom, and who saw that in
Venice I was plunging headlong into pleasures and dissipation, and was
only wasting a precious time, was delighted to see me on the eve of going
somewhere else to fulfil my destiny, and much pleased with my ready
acceptance of those new circumstances in my life. He read me a lesson
which I have never forgotten. "The famous precept of the Stoic
philosophers," he said to me, "'Sequere Deum', can be perfectly explained
by these words: 'Give yourself up to whatever fate offers to you,
provided you do not feel an invincible repugnance to accept it.'" He
added that it was the genius of Socrates, 'saepe revocans, raro
impellens'; and that it was the origin of the 'fata viam inveniunt' of
the same philosophers.
M. de Malipiero's science was embodied in that very lesson, for he had
obtained his knowledge by the study of only one book--the book of man.
However, as if it were to give me the proof that perfection does not
exist, and that there is a bad side as well as a good one to everything,
a certain adventure happened to me a month afterwards which, although I
was following his own maxims, cost me the loss of his friendship, and
which certainly did not teach me anything.
The senator fancied that he could trace upon the physiognomy of young
people certain signs which marked them out as the special favourites of
fortune. When he imagined that he had discovered those signs upon any
individual, he would take him in hand and instruct him how to assist
fortune by good and wise principles; and he used to say, with a great
deal of truth, that a good remedy would turn into poison in the hands of
a fool, but that poison is a good remedy when administered by a learned
man. He had, in my time, three favourites in whose education he took
great pains. They were, besides myself, Therese Imer, with whom the
reader has a slight acquaintance already, and the third was the daughter
of the boatman Gardela, a girl three years younger than I, who had the
prettiest and most fascinating countenance. The speculative old man, in
order to assist fortune in her particular case, made her learn dancing,
for, he would say, the ball cannot reach the pocket unless someone pushes
it. This girl made a great reputation at Stuttgard under the name of
Augusta. She was the favourite mistress of the Duke of Wurtemburg in
1757. She was a most charming woman. The last time I saw her she was in
Venice, and she died two years afterwards. Her husband, Michel de
l'Agata, poisoned himself a short time after her death.
One day we had all three dined with him, and after dinner the senator
left us, as was his wont, to enjoy his siesta; the little Gardela, having
a dancing lesson to take, went away soon after him, and I found myself
alone with Therese, whom I rather admired, although I had never made love
to her. We were sitting down at a table very near each other, with our
backs to the door of the room in which we thought our patron fast asleep,
and somehow or other we took a fancy to examine into the difference of
conformation between a girl and a boy; but at the most interesting part
of our study a violent blow on my shoulders from a stick, followed by
another, and which would have been itself followed by many more if I had
not ran away, compelled us to abandon our interesting investigation
unfinished. I got off without hat or cloak, and went home; but in less
than a quarter of an hour the old housekeeper of the senator brought my
clothes with a letter which contained a command never to present myself
again at the mansion of his excellency. I immediately wrote him an answer
in the following terms: "You have struck me while you were the slave of
your anger; you cannot therefore boast of having given me a lesson, and I
have not learned anything. To forgive you I must forget that you are a
man of great wisdom, and I can never forget it."
This nobleman was perhaps quite right not to be pleased with the sight we
gave him; yet, with all his prudence, he proved himself very unwise, for
all the servants were acquainted with the cause of my exile, and, of
course, the adventure was soon known through the city, and was received
with great merriment. He dared not address any reproaches to Therese, as
I heard from her soon after, but she could not venture to entreat him to
pardon me.
The time to leave my father's house was drawing near, and one fine
morning I received the visit of a man about forty years old, with a black
wig, a scarlet cloak, and a very swarthy complexion, who handed me a
letter from M. Grimani, ordering me to consign to the bearer all the
furniture of the house according to the inventory, a copy of which was in
my possession. Taking the inventory in my hand, I pointed out every
article marked down, except when the said article, having through my
instrumentality taken an airing out of the house, happened to be missing,
and whenever any article was absent I said that I had not the slightest
idea where it might be. But the uncouth fellow, taking a very high tone,
said loudly that he must know what I had done with the furniture. His
manner being very disagreeable to me, I answered that I had nothing to do
with him, and as he still raised his voice I advised him to take himself
off as quickly as possible, and I gave him that piece of advice in such a
way as to prove to him that, at home, I knew I was the more powerful of
the two.
Feeling it my duty to give information to M. Grimani of what had just
taken place, I called upon him as soon as he was up, but I found that my
man was already there, and that he had given his own account of the
affair. The abbe, after a very severe lecture to which I had to listen in
silence, ordered me to render an account of all the missing articles. I
answered that I had found myself under the necessity of selling them to
avoid running into debt. This confession threw him in a violent passion;
he called me a rascal, said that those things did not belong to me, that
he knew what he had to do, and he commanded me to leave his house on the
very instant.
Mad with rage, I ran for a Jew, to whom I wanted to sell what remained of
the furniture, but when I returned to my house I found a bailiff waiting
at the door, and he handed me a summons. I looked over it and perceived
that it was issued at the instance of Antonio Razetta. It was the name of
the fellow with the swarthy countenance. The seals were already affixed
on all the doors, and I was not even allowed to go to my room, for a
keeper had been left there by the bailiff. I lost no time, and called
upon M. Rosa, to whom I related all the circumstances. After reading the
summons he said,
"The seals shall be removed to-morrow morning, and in the meantime I
shall summon Razetta before the avogador. But to-night, my dear friend,"
he added, "you must beg the hospitality of some one of your
acquaintances. It has been a violent proceeding, but you shall be paid
handsomely for it; the man is evidently acting under M. Grimani's
orders."
"Well, that is their business."
I spent the night with Nanette and Marton, and on the following morning,
the seals having been taken off, I took possession of my dwelling.
Razetta did not appear before the 'avogador', and M. Rosa summoned him in
my name before the criminal court, and obtained against him a writ of
'capias' in case he should not obey the second summons. On the third day
M. Grimani wrote to me, commanding me to call upon him. I went
immediately. As soon as I was in his presence he enquired abruptly what
my intentions were.
"I intend to shield myself from your violent proceedings under the
protection of the law, and to defend myself against a man with whom I
ought never to have had any connection, and who has compelled me to pass
the night in a disreputable place."
"In a disreputable place?"
"Of course. Why was I, against all right and justice, prevented from
entering my own dwelling?"
"You have possession of it now. But you must go to your lawyer and tell
him to suspend all proceedings against Razetta, who has done nothing but
under my instructions. I suspected that your intention was to sell the
rest of the furniture; I have prevented it. There is a room at your
disposal at St. Chrysostom's, in a house of mine, the first floor of
which is occupied by La Tintoretta, our first opera dancer. Send all your
things there, and come and dine with me every day. Your sister and your
brothers have been provided with a comfortable home; therefore,
everything is now arranged for the best."
I called at once upon M. Rosa, to whom I explained all that had taken
place, and his advice being to give way to M. Grimani's wishes, I
determined to follow it. Besides, the arrangement offered the best
satisfaction I could obtain, as to be a guest at his dinner table was an
honour for me. I was likewise full of curiosity respecting my new lodging
under the same roof with La Tintoretta, who was much talked of, owing to
a certain Prince of Waldeck who was extravagantly generous with her.
The bishop was expected in the course of the summer; I had, therefore,
only six months more to wait in Venice before taking the road which would
lead me, perhaps, to the throne of Saint Peter: everything in the future
assumed in my eyes the brightest hue, and my imagination revelled amongst
the most radiant beams of sunshine; my castles in the air were indeed
most beautiful.
I dined the same day with M. Grimani, and I found myself seated next to
Razetta--an unpleasant neighbour, but I took no notice of him. When the
meal was over, I paid a last visit to my beautiful house in
Saint-Samuel's parish, and sent all I possessed in a gondola to my new
lodging.
I did not know Signora Tintoretta, but I was well acquainted with her
reputation, character and manners. She was but a poor dancer, neither
handsome nor plain, but a woman of wit and intellect. Prince Waldeck
spent a great deal for her, and yet he did not prevent her from retaining
the titulary protection of a noble Venetian of the Lin family, now
extinct, a man about sixty years of age, who was her visitor at every
hour of the day. This nobleman, who knew me, came to my room towards the
evening, with the compliments of the lady, who, he added, was delighted
to have me in her house, and would be pleased to receive me in her
intimate circle.
To excuse myself for not having been the first to pay my respects to the
signora, I told M. Lin that I did not know she was my neighbour, that M.
Grimani had not mentioned the circumstance, otherwise I would have paid
my duties to her before taking possession of my lodging. After this
apology I followed the ambassador, he presented me to his mistress, and
the acquaintance was made.
She received me like a princess, took off her glove before giving me her
hand to kiss, mentioned my name before five or six strangers who were
present, and whose names she gave me, and invited me to take a seat near
her. As she was a native of Venice, I thought it was absurd for her to
speak French to me, and I told her that I was not acquainted with that
language, and would feel grateful if she would converse in Italian. She
was surprised at my not speaking French, and said I would cut but a poor
figure in her drawing-room, as they seldom spoke any other language
there, because she received a great many foreigners. I promised to learn
French. Prince Waldeck came in during the evening; I was introduced to
him, and he gave me a very friendly welcome. He could speak Italian very
well, and during the carnival he chewed me great kindness. He presented
me with a gold snuffbox as a reward for a very poor sonnet which I had
written for his dear Grizellini. This was her family name; she was called
Tintoretta because her father had been a dyer.
The Tintoretta had greater claims than Juliette to the admiration of
sensible men. She loved poetry, and if it had not been that I was
expecting the bishop, I would have fallen in love with her. She was
herself smitten with a young physician of great merit, named Righelini,
who died in the prime of life, and whom I still regret. I shall have to
mention him in another part of my Memoirs.
Towards the end of the carnival, my mother wrote to M. Grimani that it
would be a great shame if the bishop found me under the roof of an opera
dancer, and he made up his mind to lodge me in a respectable and decent
place. He took the Abbe Tosello into consultation, and the two gentlemen
thought that the best thing they could do for me would be to send me to a
clerical seminary. They arranged everything unknown to me, and the abbe
undertook to inform me of their plan and to obtain from me a gracious
consent. But when I heard him speak with beautiful flowers of rhetoric
for the purpose of gilding the bitter pill, I could not help bursting
into a joyous laughter, and I astounded his reverence when I expressed my
readiness to go anywhere he might think right to send me.
The plan of the two worthy gentlemen was absurd, for at the age of
seventeen, and with a nature like mine, the idea of placing me in a
seminary ought never to have been entertained, but ever a faithful
disciple of Socrates, feeling no unconquerable reluctance, and the plan,
on the contrary, appearing to me rather a good joke, I not only gave a
ready consent, but I even longed to enter the seminary. I told M. Grimani
I was prepared to accept anything, provided Razetta had nothing to do
with it. He gave me his promise, but he did not keep it when I left the
seminary. I have never been able to decide whether this Grimani was kind
because he was a fool, or whether his stupidity was the result of his
kindness, but all his brothers were the same. The worst trick that Dame
Fortune can play upon an intelligent young man is to place him under the
dependence of a fool. A few days afterwards, having been dressed as a
pupil of a clerical seminary by the care of the abbe, I was taken to
Saint-Cyprian de Muran and introduced to the rector.
The patriarchal church of Saint-Cyprian is served by an order of the
monks, founded by the blessed Jerome Miani, a nobleman of Venice. The
rector received me with tender affection and great kindness. But in his
address (which was full of unction) I thought I could perceive a
suspicion on his part that my being sent to the seminary was a
punishment, or at least a way to put a stop to an irregular life, and,
feeling hurt in my dignity, I told him at once, "Reverend father, I do
not think that any one has the right of punishing me."
"No, no, my son," he answered, "I only meant that you would be very happy
with us."
We were then shewn three halls, in which we found at least one hundred
and fifty seminarists, ten or twelve schoolrooms, the refectory, the
dormitory, the gardens for play hours, and every pain was taken to make
me imagine life in such a place the happiest that could fall to the lot
of a young man, and to make me suppose that I would even regret the
arrival of the bishop. Yet they all tried to cheer me up by saying that I
would only remain there five or six months. Their eloquence amused me
greatly.
I entered the seminary at the beginning of March, and prepared myself for
my new life by passing the night between my two young friends, Nanette
and Marton, who bathed their pillows with tears; they could not
understand, and this was likewise the feeling of their aunt and of the
good M. Rosa, how a young man like myself could shew such obedience.
The day before going to the seminary, I had taken care to entrust all my
papers to Madame Manzoni. They made a large parcel, and I left it in her
hands for fifteen years. The worthy old lady is still alive, and with her
ninety years she enjoys good health and a cheerful temper. She received
me with a smile, and told me that I would not remain one month in the
seminary.
"I beg your pardon, madam, but I am very glad to go there, and intend to
remain until the arrival of the bishop."
"You do not know your own nature, and you do not know your bishop, with
whom you will not remain very long either."
The abbe accompanied me to the seminary in a gondola, but at Saint-Michel
he had to stop in consequence of a violent attack of vomiting which
seized me suddenly; the apothecary cured me with some mint-water.
I was indebted for this attack to the too frequent sacrifices which I had
been offering on the altar of love. Any lover who knows what his feelings
were when he found himself with the woman he adored and with the fear
that it was for the last time, will easily imagine my feelings during the
last hours that I expected ever to spend with my two charming mistresses.
I could not be induced to let the last offering be the last, and I went
on offering until there was no more incense left.
The priest committed me to the care of the rector, and my luggage was
carried to the dormitory, where I went myself to deposit my cloak and my
hat. I was not placed amongst the adults, because, notwithstanding my
size, I was not old enough. Besides, I would not shave myself, through
vanity, because I thought that the down on my face left no doubt of my
youth. It was ridiculous, of course; but when does man cease to be so? We
get rid of our vices more easily than of our follies. Tyranny has not had
sufficient power over me to compel me to shave myself; it is only in that
respect that I have found tyranny to be tolerant.
"To which school do you wish to belong?" asked the rector.
"To the dogmatic, reverend father; I wish to study the history of the
Church."
"I will introduce you to the father examiner."
"I am doctor in divinity, most reverend father, and do not want to be
examined."
"It is necessary, my dear son; come with me."
This necessity appeared to me an insult, and I felt very angry; but a
spirit of revenge quickly whispered to me the best way to mystify them,
and the idea made me very joyful. I answered so badly all the questions
propounded in Latin by the examiner, I made so many solecisms, that he
felt it his duty to send me to an inferior class of grammar, in which, to
my great delight, I found myself the companion of some twenty young
urchins of about ten years, who, hearing that I was doctor in divinity,
kept on saying: 'Accipiamus pecuniam, et mittamus asinum in patriam
suam'.
Our play hours afforded me great amusement; my companions of the
dormitory, who were all in the class of philosophy at least, looked down
upon me with great contempt, and when they spoke of their own sublime
discourses, they laughed if I appeared to be listening attentively to
their discussions which, as they thought, must have been perfect enigmas
to me. I did not intend to betray myself, but an accident, which I could
not avoid, forced me to throw off the mask.
Father Barbarigo, belonging to the Convent of the Salutation at Venice,
whose pupil I had been in physics, came to pay a visit to the rector, and
seeing me as we were coming from mass paid me his friendly compliments.
His first question was to enquire what science I was studying, and he
thought I was joking when I answered that I was learning the grammar. The
rector having joined us, I left them together, and went to my class. An
our later, the rector sent for me.
"Why did you feign such ignorance at the examination?" he asked.
"Why," I answered, "were you unjust enough to compel me to the
degradation of an examination?"
He looked annoyed, and escorted me to the dogmatic school, where my
comrades of the dormitory received me with great astonishment, and in the
afternoon, at play time, they gathered around me and made me very happy
with their professions of friendship.
One of them, about fifteen years old, and who at the present time must,
if still alive, be a bishop, attracted my notice by his features as much
as by his talents. He inspired me with a very warm friendship, and during
recess, instead of playing skittles with the others, we always walked
together. We conversed upon poetry, and we both delighted in the
beautiful odes of Horace. We liked Ariosto better than Tasso, and
Petrarch had our whole admiration, while Tassoni and Muratori, who had
been his critics, were the special objects of our contempt. We were such
fast friends, after four days of acquaintance, that we were actually
jealous of each other, and to such an extent that if either of us walked
about with any seminarist, the other would be angry and sulk like a
disappointed lover.
The dormitory was placed under the supervision of a lay friar, and it was
his province to keep us in good order. After supper, accompanied by this
lay friar, who had the title of prefect, we all proceeded to the
dormitory. There, everyone had to go to his own bed, and to undress
quietly after having said his prayers in a low voice. When all the pupils
were in bed, the prefect would go to his own. A large lantern lighted up
the dormitory, which had the shape of a parallelogram eighty yards by
ten. The beds were placed at equal distances, and to each bed there were
a fold-stool, a chair, and room for the trunk of the Seminarist. At one
end was the washing place, and at the other the bed of the prefect. The
bed of my friend was opposite mine, and the lantern was between us.
The principal duty of the prefect was to take care that no pupil should
go and sleep with one of his comrades, for such a visit was never
supposed an innocent one. It was a cardinal sin, and, bed being accounted
the place for sleep and not for conversation, it was admitted that a
pupil who slept out of his own bed, did so only for immoral purposes. So
long as he stopped in his own bed, he could do what he liked; so much the
worse for him if he gave himself up to bad practices. It has been
remarked in Germany that it is precisely in those institutions for young
men in which the directors have taken most pains to prevent onanism that
this vice is most prevalent.
Those who had framed the regulations in our seminary were stupid fools,
who had not the slightest knowledge of either morals or human nature.
Nature has wants which must be administered to, and Tissot is right only
as far as the abuse of nature is concerned, but this abuse would very
seldom occur if the directors exercised proper wisdom and prudence, and
if they did not make a point of forbidding it in a special and peculiar
manner; young people give way to dangerous excesses from a sheer delight
in disobedience,--a disposition very natural to humankind, since it began
with Adam and Eve.
I had been in the seminary for nine or ten days, when one night I felt
someone stealing very quietly in my bed; my hand was at once clutched,
and my name whispered. I could hardly restrain my laughter. It was my
friend, who, having chanced to wake up and finding that the lantern was
out, had taken a sudden fancy to pay me a visit. I very soon begged him
to go away for fear the prefect should be awake, for in such a case we
should have found ourselves in a very unpleasant dilemma, and most likely
would have been accused of some abominable offence. As I was giving him
that good advice we heard someone moving, and my friend made his escape;
but immediately after he had left me I heard the fall of some person, and
at the same time the hoarse voice of the prefect exclaiming:
"Ah, villain! wait until to-morrow--until to-morrow!"
After which threat he lighted the lantern and retired to his couch.
The next morning, before the ringing of the bell for rising, the rector,
followed by the prefect, entered the dormitory, and said to us:
"Listen to me, all of you. You are aware of what has taken place this
last night. Two amongst you must be guilty; but I wish to forgive them,
and to save their honour I promise that their names shall not be made
public. I expect every one of you to come to me for confession before
recess."
He left the dormitory, and we dressed ourselves. In the afternoon, in
obedience to his orders, we all went to him and confessed, after which
ceremony we repaired to the garden, where my friend told me that, having
unfortunately met the prefect after he left me, he had thought that the
best way was to knock him down, in order to get time to reach his own bed
without being known.
"And now," I said, "you are certain of being forgiven, for, of course,
you have wisely confessed your error?"
"You are joking," answered my friend; "why, the good rector would not
have known any more than he knows at present, even if my visit to you had
been paid with a criminal intent."
"Then you must have made a false confession: you are at all events guilty
of disobedience?"
"That may be, but the rector is responsible for the guilt, as he used
compulsion."
"My dear friend, you argue in a very forcible way, and the very reverend
rector must by this time be satisfied that the inmates of our dormitory
are more learned than he is himself."
No more would have been said about the adventure if, a few nights after,
I had not in my turn taken a fancy to return the visit paid by my friend.
Towards midnight, having had occasion to get out of bed, and hearing the
loud snoring of the prefect, I quickly put out the lantern and went to
lie beside my friend. He knew me at once, and gladly received me; but we
both listened attentively to the snoring of our keeper, and when it
ceased, understanding our danger, I got up and reached my own bed without
losing a second, but the moment I got to it I had a double surprise. In
the first place I felt somebody lying in my bed, and in the second I saw
the prefect, with a candle in his hand, coming along slowly and taking a
survey of all the beds right and left. I could understand the prefect
suddenly lighting a candle, but how could I realize what I saw--namely,
one of my comrades sleeping soundly in my bed, with his back turned to
me? I immediately made up my mind to feign sleep. After two or three
shakings given by the prefect, I pretended to wake up, and my
bed-companion woke up in earnest. Astonished at finding himself in my
bed, he offered me an apology:
"I have made a mistake," he said, "as I returned from a certain place in
the dark, I found your bed empty, and mistook it for mine."
"Very likely," I answered; "I had to get up, too."
"Yes," remarked the prefect; "but how does it happen that you went to bed
without making any remark when, on your return, you found your bed
already tenanted? And how is it that, being in the dark, you did not
suppose that you were mistaken yourself?"
"I could not be mistaken, for I felt the pedestal of this crucifix of
mine, and I knew I was right; as to my companion here, I did not feel
him."
"It is all very unlikely," answered our Argus; and he went to the
lantern, the wick of which he found crushed down.
"The wick has been forced into the oil, gentlemen; it has not gone out of
itself; it has been the handiwork of one of you, but it will be seen to
in the morning."
My stupid companion went to his own bed, the prefect lighted the lamp and
retired to his rest, and after this scene, which had broken the repose of
every pupil, I quietly slept until the appearance of the rector, who, at
the dawn of day, came in great fury, escorted by his satellite, the
prefect.
The rector, after examining the localities and submitting to a lengthy
interrogatory first my accomplice, who very naturally was considered as
the most guilty, and then myself, whom nothing could convict of the
offence, ordered us to get up and go to church to attend mass. As soon as
we were dressed, he came back, and addressing us both, he said, kindly:
"You stand both convicted of a scandalous connivance, and it is proved by
the fact of the lantern having been wilfully extinguished. I am disposed
to believe that the cause of all this disorder is, if not entirely
innocent, at least due only to extreme thoughtlessness; but the scandal
given to all your comrades, the outrage offered to the discipline and to
the established rules of the seminary, call loudly for punishment. Leave
the room."
We obeyed; but hardly were we between the double doors of the dormitory
than we were seized by four servants, who tied our hands behind us, and
led us to the class room, where they compelled us to kneel down before
the great crucifix. The rector told them to execute his orders, and, as
we were in that position, the wretches administered to each of us seven
or eight blows with a stick, or with a rope, which I received, as well as
my companion, without a murmur. But the moment my hands were free, I
asked the rector whether I could write two lines at the very foot of the
cross. He gave orders to bring ink and paper, and I traced the following
words:
"I solemnly swear by this God that I have never spoken to the seminarist
who was found in my bed. As an innocent person I must protest against
this shameful violence. I shall appeal to the justice of his lordship the
patriarch."
My comrade in misery signed this protest with me; after which, addressing
myself to all the pupils, I read it aloud, calling upon them to speak the
truth if any one could say the contrary of what I had written. They, with
one voice, immediately declared that we had never been seen conversing
together, and that no one knew who had put the lamp out. The rector left
the room in the midst of hisses and curses, but he sent us to prison all
the same at the top of the house and in separate cells. An hour
afterwards, I had my bed, my trunk and all my things, and my meals were
brought to me every day. On the fourth day, the Abbe Tosello came for me
with instructions to bring me to Venice. I asked him whether he had
sifted this unpleasant affair; he told me that he had enquired into it,
that he had seen the other seminarist, and that he believed we were both
innocent; but the rector would not confess himself in the wrong, and he
did not see what could be done.
I threw off my seminarist's habit, and dressed myself in the clothes I
used to wear in Venice, and, while my luggage was carried to a boat, I
accompanied the abbe to M. Grimani's gondola in which he had come, and we
took our departure. On our way, the abbe ordered the boatman to leave my
things at the Palace Grimani, adding that he was instructed by M. Grimani
to tell me that, if I had the audacity to present myself at his mansion,
his servants had received orders to turn me away.
He landed me near the convent of the Jesuits, without any money, and with
nothing but what I had on my back.
I went to beg a dinner from Madame Manzoni, who laughed heartily at the
realization of her prediction. After dinner I called upon M. Rosa to see
whether the law could protect me against the tyranny of my enemies, and
after he had been made acquainted with the circumstances of the case, he
promised to bring me the same evening, at Madame Orio's house, an
extra-judicial act. I repaired to the place of appointment to wait for
him, and to enjoy the pleasure of my two charming friends at my sudden
reappearance. It was indeed very great, and the recital of my adventures
did not astonish them less than my unexpected presence. M. Rosa came and
made me read the act which he had prepared; he had not had time to have
it engrossed by the notary, but he undertook to have it ready the next
day.
I left Madame Orio to take supper with my brother Francois, who resided
with a painter called Guardi; he was, like me, much oppressed by the
tyranny of Grimani, and I promised to deliver him. Towards midnight I
returned to the two amiable sisters who were expecting me with their
usual loving impatience, but, I am bound to confess it with all humility,
my sorrows were prejudicial to love in spite of the fortnight of absence
and of abstinence. They were themselves deeply affected to see me so
unhappy, and pitied me with all their hearts. I endeavoured to console
them, and assured them that all my misery would soon come to an end, and
that we would make up for lost time.
In the morning, having no money, and not knowing where to go, I went to
St. Mark's Library, where I remained until noon. I left it with the
intention of dining with Madame Manzoni, but I was suddenly accosted by a
soldier who informed me that someone wanted to speak to me in a gondola
to which he pointed. I answered that the person might as well come out,
but he quietly remarked that he had a friend at hand to conduct me
forcibly to the gondola, if necessary, and without any more hesitation I
went towards it. I had a great dislike to noise or to anything like a
public exhibition. I might have resisted, for the soldiers were unarmed,
and I would not have been taken up, this sort of arrest not being legal
in Venice, but I did not think of it. The 'sequere deum' was playing its
part; I felt no reluctance. Besides, there are moments in which a
courageous man has no courage, or disdains to shew it.
I enter the gondola, the curtain is drawn aside, and I see my evil
genius, Razetta, with an officer. The two soldiers sit down at the prow;
I recognize M. Grimani's own gondola, it leaves the landing and takes the
direction of the Lido. No one spoke to me, and I remained silent. After
half-an-hour's sailing, the gondola stopped before the small entrance of
the Fortress St. Andre, at the mouth of the Adriatic, on the very spot
where the Bucentaur stands, when, on Ascension Day, the doge comes to
espouse the sea.
The sentinel calls the corporal; we alight, the officer who accompanied
me introduces me to the major, and presents a letter to him. The major,
after reading its contents, gives orders to M. Zen, his adjutant, to
consign me to the guard-house. In another quarter of an hour my
conductors take their departure, and M. Zen brings me three livres and a
half, stating that I would receive the same amount every week. It was
exactly the pay of a private.
I did not give way to any burst of passion, but I felt the most intense
indignation. Late in the evening I expressed a wish to have some food
bought, for I could not starve; then, stretching myself upon a hard camp
bed, I passed the night amongst the soldiers without closing my eyes, for
these Sclavonians were singing, eating garlic, smoking a bad tobacco
which was most noxious, and drinking a wine of their own country, as
black as ink, which nobody else could swallow.
Early next morning Major Pelodoro (the governor of the fortress) called
me up to his room, and told me that, in compelling me to spend the night
in the guard-house, he had only obeyed the orders he had received from
Venice from the secretary of war. "Now, reverend sir," he added, "my
further orders are only to keep you a prisoner in the fort, and I am
responsible for your remaining here. I give you the whole of the fortress
for your prison. You shall have a good room in which you will find your
bed and all your luggage. Walk anywhere you please; but recollect that,
if you should escape, you would cause my ruin. I am sorry that my
instructions are to give you only ten sous a day, but if you have any
friends in Venice able to send you some money, write to them, and trust
to me for the security of your letters. Now you may go to bed, if you
need rest."
I was taken to my room; it was large and on the first story, with two
windows from which I had a very fine view. I found my bed, and I
ascertained with great satisfaction that my trunk, of which I had the
keys, had not been forced open. The major had kindly supplied my table
with all the implements necessary for writing. A Sclavonian soldier
informed me very politely that he would attend upon me, and that I would
pay him for his services whenever I could, for everyone knew that I had
only ten sous a day. I began by ordering some soup, and, when I had
dispatched it, I went to bed and slept for nine hours. When I woke, I
received an invitation to supper from the major, and I began to imagine
that things, after all, would not be so very bad.
I went to the honest governor, whom I found in numerous company. He
presented me to his wife and to every person present. I met there several
officers, the chaplain of the fortress, a certain Paoli Vida, one of the
singers of St. Mark's Church, and his wife, a pretty woman, sister-in-law
of the major, whom the husband chose to confine in the fort because he
was very jealous (jealous men are not comfortable at Venice), together
with several other ladies, not very young, but whom I thought very
agreeable, owing to their kind welcome.
Cheerful as I was by nature, those pleasant guests easily managed to put
me in the best of humours. Everyone expressed a wish to know the reasons
which could have induced M. Grimani to send me to the fortress, so I gave
a faithful account of all my adventures since my grandmother's death. I
spoke for three hours without any bitterness, and even in a pleasant
tone, upon things which, said in a different manner, might have
displeased my audience; all expressed their satisfaction, and shewed so
much sympathy that, as we parted for the night, I received from all an
assurance of friendship and the offer of their services. This is a piece
of good fortune which has never failed me whenever I have been the victim
of oppression, until I reached the age of fifty. Whenever I met with
honest persons expressing a curiosity to know the history of the
misfortune under which I was labouring, and whenever I satisfied their
curiosity, I have inspired them with friendship, and with that sympathy
which was necessary to render them favourable and useful to me.
That success was owing to a very simple artifice; it was only to tell my
story in a quiet and truthful manner, without even avoiding the facts
which told against me. It is simple secret that many men do not know,
because the larger portion of humankind is composed of cowards; a man who
always tells the truth must be possessed of great moral courage.
Experience has taught me that truth is a talisman, the charm of which
never fails in its effect, provided it is not wasted upon unworthy
people, and I believe that a guilty man, who candidly speaks the truth to
his judge, has a better chance of being acquitted, than the innocent man
who hesitates and evades true statements. Of course the speaker must be
young, or at least in the prime of manhood; for an old man finds the
whole of nature combined against him.
The major had his joke respecting the visit paid and returned to the
seminarist's bed, but the chaplain and the ladies scolded him. The major
advised me to write out my story and send it to the secretary of war,
undertaking that he should receive it, and he assured me that he would
become my protector. All the ladies tried to induce me to follow the
major's advice.
CHAPTER VII
My Short Stay in Fort St. Andre--My First Repentance in Love
Affairs I Enjoy the Sweets of Revenge, and Prove a Clever
Alibi--Arrest of Count Bonafede--My Release--Arrival of the
Bishop--Farewell to Venice
The fort, in which the Republic usually kept only a garrison of one
hundred half-pay Sclavonians, happened to contain at that time two
thousand Albanian soldiers, who were called Cimariotes.
The secretary of war, who was generally known under the title of 'sage a
l'ecriture', had summoned these men from the East in consequence of some
impending promotion, as he wanted the officers to be on the spot in order
to prove their merits before being rewarded. They all came from the part
of Epirus called Albania, which belongs to the Republic of Venice, and
they had distinguished themselves in the last war against the Turks. It
was for me a new and extraordinary sight to examine some eighteen or
twenty officers, all of an advanced age, yet strong and healthy, shewing
the scars which covered their face and their chest, the last naked and
entirely exposed through military pride. The lieutenant-colonel was
particularly conspicuous by his wounds, for, without exaggeration, he had
lost one-fourth of his head. He had but one eye, but one ear, and no jaw
to speak of. Yet he could eat very well, speak without difficulty, and
was very cheerful. He had with him all his family, composed of two pretty
daughters, who looked all the prettier in their national costume, and of
seven sons, every one of them a soldier. This lieutenant-colonel stood
six feet high, and his figure was magnificent, but his scars so
completely deformed his features that his face was truly horrid to look
at. Yet I found so much attraction in him that I liked him the moment I
saw him, and I would have been much pleased to converse with him if his
breath had not sent forth such a strong smell of garlic. All the
Albanians had their pockets full of it, and they enjoyed a piece of
garlic with as much relish as we do a sugar-plum. After this none can
maintain it to be a poison, though the only medicinal virtue it possesses
is to excite the appetite, because it acts like a tonic upon a weak
stomach.
The lieutenant-colonel could not read, but he was not ashamed of his
ignorance, because not one amongst his men, except the priest and the
surgeon, could boast greater learning. Every man, officer or private, had
his purse full of gold; half of them, at least, were married, and we had
in the fortress a colony of five or six hundred women, with God knows how
many children! I felt greatly interested in them all. Happy idleness! I
often regret thee because thou hast often offered me new sights, and for
the same reason I hate old age which never offers but what I know
already, unless I should take up a gazette, but I cared nothing for them
in my young days.
Alone in my room I made an inventory of my trunk, and having put aside
everything of an ecclesiastical character, I sent for a Jew, and sold the
whole parcel unmercifully. Then I wrote to M. Rosa, enclosing all the
tickets of the articles I had pledged, requesting him to have them sold
without any exception, and to forward me the surplus raised by the sale.
Thanks to that double operation, I was enabled to give my Sclavonian
servant the ten sous allowed to me every day. Another soldier, who had
been a hair-dresser, took care of my hair which I had been compelled to
neglect, in consequence of the rules of the seminary. I spent my time in
walking about the fort and through the barracks, and my two places of
resort were the major's apartment for some intellectual enjoyment, and
the rooms of the Albanian lieutenant-colonel for a sprinkling of love.
The Albanian feeling certain that his colonel would be appointed
brigadier, solicited the command of the regiment, but he had a rival and
he feared his success. I wrote him a petition, short, but so well
composed that the secretary of war, having enquired the name of the
author, gave the Albanian his colonelcy. On his return to the fort, the
brave fellow, overjoyed at his success, hugged me in his arms, saying
that he owed it all to me; he invited me to a family dinner, in which my
very soul was parched by his garlic, and he presented me with twelve
botargoes and two pounds of excellent Turkish tobacco.
The result of my petition made all the other officers think that they
could not succeed without the assistance of my pen, and I willingly gave
it to everybody; this entailed many quarrels upon me, for I served all
interests, but, finding myself the lucky possessor of some forty sequins,
I was no longer in dread of poverty, and laughed at everything. However,
I met with an accident which made me pass six weeks in a very unpleasant
condition.
On the 2nd of April, the fatal anniversary of my first appearance in this
world, as I was getting up in the morning, I received in my room the
visit of a very handsome Greek woman, who told me that her husband, then
ensign in the regiment, had every right to claim the rank of lieutenant,
and that he would certainly be appointed, if it were not for the
opposition of his captain who was against him, because she had refused
him certain favours which she could bestow only upon her husband. She
handed me some certificates, and begged me to write a petition which she
would present herself to the secretary of war, adding that she could only
offer me her heart in payment. I answered that her heart ought not to go
alone; I acted as I had spoken, and I met with no other resistance than
the objection which a pretty woman is always sure to feign for the sake
of appearance. After that, I told her to come back at noon, and that the
petition would be ready. She was exact to the appointment, and very
kindly rewarded me a second time; and in the evening, under pretence of
some alterations to be made in the petition, she afforded an excellent
opportunity of reaping a third recompense.
But, alas! the path of pleasure is not strewn only with roses! On the
third day, I found out, much to my dismay, that a serpent had been hid
under the flowers. Six weeks of care and of rigid diet re-established my
health.
When I met the handsome Greek again, I was foolish enough to reproach her
for the present she had bestowed upon me, but she baffled me by laughing,
and saying that she had only offered me what she possessed, and that it
was my own fault if I had not been sufficiently careful. The reader
cannot imagine how much this first misfortune grieved me, and what deep
shame I felt. I looked upon myself as a dishonoured man, and while I am
on that subject I may as well relate an incident which will give some
idea of my thoughtlessness.
Madame Vida, the major's sister-in-law, being alone with me one morning,
confided in me in a moment of unreserved confidence what she had to
suffer from the jealous disposition of her husband, and his cruelty in
having allowed her to sleep alone for the last four years, when she was
in the very flower of her age.
"I trust to God," she added, "that my husband will not find out that you
have spent an hour alone with me, for I should never hear the end of it."
Feeling deeply for her grief, and confidence begetting confidence, I was
stupid enough to tell her the sad state to which I had been reduced by
the cruel Greek woman, assuring her that I felt my misery all the more
deeply, because I should have been delighted to console her, and to give
her the opportunity of a revenge for her jealous husband's coldness. At
this speech, in which my simplicity and good faith could easily be
traced, she rose from her chair, and upbraided me with every insult which
an outraged honest woman might hurl at the head of a bold libertine who
has presumed too far. Astounded, but understanding perfectly well the
nature of my crime, I bowed myself out of her room; but as I was leaving
it she told me in the same angry tone that my visits would not be welcome
for the future, as I was a conceited puppy, unworthy of the society of
good and respectable women. I took care to answer that a respectable
woman would have been rather more reserved than she had been in her
confidences. On reflection I felt pretty sure that, if I had been in good
health, or had said nothing about my mishap, she would have been but too
happy to receive my consolations.
A few days after that incident I had a much greater cause to regret my
acquaintance with the Greek woman. On Ascension Day, as the ceremony of
the Bucentaur was celebrated near the fort, M. Rosa brought Madame Orio
and her two nieces to witness it, and I had the pleasure of treating them
all to a good dinner in my room. I found myself, during the day, alone
with my young friends in one of the casements, and they both loaded me
with the most loving caresses and kisses. I felt that they expected some
substantial proof of my love; but, to conceal the real state, of things,
I pretended to be afraid of being surprised, and they had to be satisfied
with my shallow excuse.
I had informed my mother by letter of all I had suffered from Grimani's
treatment; she answered that she had written to him on the subject, that
she had no doubt he would immediately set me at liberty, and that an
arrangement had been entered into by which M. Grimani would devote the
money raised by Razetta from the sale of the furniture to the settlement
of a small patrimony on my youngest brother. But in this matter Grimani
did not act honestly, for the patrimony was only settled thirteen years
afterwards, and even then only in a fictitious manner. I shall have an
opportunity later on of mentioning this unfortunate brother, who died
very poor in Rome twenty years ago.
Towards the middle of June the Cimariotes were sent back to the East, and
after their departure the garrison of the fort was reduced to its usual
number. I began to feel weary in this comparative solitude, and I gave
way to terrible fits of passion.
The heat was intense, and so disagreeable to me that I wrote to M.
Grimani, asking for two summer suits of clothes, and telling him where
they would be found, if Razetta had not sold them. A week afterwards I
was in the major's apartment when I saw the wretch Razetta come in,
accompanied by a man whom he introduced as Petrillo, the celebrated
favourite of the Empress of Russia, just arrived from St. Petersburg. He
ought to have said infamous instead of celebrated, and clown instead of
favourite.
The major invited them to take a seat, and Razetta, receiving a parcel
from Grimani's gondolier, handed it to me, saying,
"I have brought you your rags; take them."
I answered:
"Some day I will bring you a 'rigano':"
At these words the scoundrel dared to raise his cane, but the indignant
major compelled him to lower his tone by asking him whether he had any
wish to pass the night in the guard-house. Petrillo, who had not yet
opened his lips, told me then that he was sorry not to have found me in
Venice, as I might have shewn him round certain places which must be well
known to me.
"Very likely we should have met your wife in such places," I answered.
"I am a good judge of faces," he said, "and I can see that you are a true
gallows-bird."
I was trembling with rage, and the major, who shared my utter disgust,
told them that he had business to transact, and they took their leave.
The major assured me that on the following day he would go to the war
office to complain of Razetta, and that he would have him punished for
his insolence.
I remained alone, a prey to feelings of the deepest indignation, and to a
most ardent thirst for revenge.
The fortress was entirely surrounded by water, and my windows were not
overlooked by any of the sentinels. A boat coming under my windows could
therefore easily take me to Venice during the night and bring me back to
the fortress before day-break. All that was necessary was to find a
boatman who, for a certain amount, would risk the galleys in case of
discovery. Amongst several who brought provisions to the fort, I chose a
boatman whose countenance pleased me, and I offered him one sequin; he
promised to let me know his decision on the following day. He was true to
his time, and declared himself ready to take me. He informed me that,
before deciding to serve me, he had wished to know whether I was kept in
the fort for any great crime, but as the wife of the major had told him
that my imprisonment had been caused by very trifling frolics, I could
rely upon him. We arranged that he should be under my window at the
beginning of the night, and that his boat should be provided with a mast
long enough to enable me to slide along it from the window to the boat.
The appointed hour came, and everything being ready I got safely into the
boat, landed at the Sclavonian quay, ordered the boatman to wait for me,
and wrapped up in a mariner's cloak I took my way straight to the gate of
Saint-Sauveur, and engaged the waiter of a coffee-room to take me to
Razetta's house.
Being quite certain that he would not be at home at that time, I rang the
bell, and I heard my sister's voice telling me that if I wanted to see
him I must call in the morning. Satisfied with this, I went to the foot
of the bridge and sat down, waiting there to see which way he would come,
and a few minutes before midnight I saw him advancing from the square of
Saint-Paul. It was all I wanted to know; I went back to my boat and
returned to the fort without any difficulty. At five o'clock in the
morning everyone in the garrison could see me enjoying my walk on the
platform.
Taking all the time necessary to mature my plans, I made the following
arrangements to secure my revenge with perfect safety, and to prove an
alibi in case I should kill my rascally enemy, as it was my intention to
do. The day preceding the night fixed for my expedition, I walked about
with the son of the Adjutant Zen, who was only twelve years old, but who
amused me much by his shrewdness. The reader will meet him again in the
year 1771. As I was walking with him, I jumped down from one of the
bastions, and feigned to sprain my ankle. Two soldiers carried me to my
room, and the surgeon of the fort, thinking that I was suffering from a
luxation, ordered me to keep to bed, and wrapped up the ankle in towels
saturated with camphorated spirits of wine. Everybody came to see me, and
I requested the soldier who served me to remain and to sleep in my room.
I knew that a glass of brandy was enough to stupefy the man, and to make
him sleep soundly. As soon as I saw him fast asleep, I begged the surgeon
and the chaplain, who had his room over mine, to leave me, and at
half-past ten I lowered myself in the boat.
As soon as I reached Venice, I bought a stout cudgel, and I sat myself
down on a door-step, at the corner of the street near Saint-Paul's
Square. A narrow canal at the end of the street, was, I thought, the very
place to throw my enemy in. That canal has now disappeared.
At a quarter before twelve I see Razetta, walking along leisurely. I come
out of the street with rapid strides, keeping near the wall to compel him
to make room for me, and I strike a first blow on the head, and a second
on his arm; the third blow sends him tumbling in the canal, howling and
screaming my name. At the same instant a Forlan, or citizen of Forli,
comes out of a house on my left side with a lantern in his hand. A blow
from my cudgel knocks the lantern out of his grasp, and the man,
frightened out of his wits, takes to his heels. I throw away my stick, I
run at full speed through the square and over the bridge, and while
people are hastening towards the spot where the disturbance had taken
place, I jump into the boat, and, thanks to a strong breeze swelling our
sail, I get back to the fortress. Twelve o'clock was striking as I
re-entered my room through the window. I quickly undress myself, and the
moment I am in my bed I wake up the soldier by my loud screams, telling
him to go for the surgeon, as I am dying of the colic.
The chaplain, roused by my screaming, comes down and finds me in
convulsions. In the hope that some diascordium would relieve me, the good
old man runs to his room and brings it, but while he has gone for some
water I hide the medicine. After half an hour of wry faces, I say that I
feel much better, and thanking all my friends, I beg them to retire,
which everyone does, wishing me a quiet sleep.
The next morning I could not get up in consequence of my sprained ankle,
although I had slept very well; the major was kind enough to call upon me
before going to Venice, and he said that very likely my colic had been
caused by the melon I had eaten for my dinner the day before.
The major returned at one o'clock in the afternoon. "I have good news to
give you," he said to me, with a joyful laugh. "Razetta was soundly
cudgelled last night and thrown into a canal."
"Has he been killed?"
"No; but I am glad of it for your sake, for his death would make your
position much more serious. You are accused of having done it."
"I am very glad people think me guilty; it is something of a revenge, but
it will be rather difficult to bring it home to me."
"Very difficult! All the same, Razetta swears he recognized you, and the
same declaration is made by the Forlan who says that you struck his hand
to make him drop his lantern. Razetta's nose is broken, three of his
teeth are gone, and his right arm is severely hurt. You have been accused
before the avogador, and M. Grimani has written to the war office to
complain of your release from the fortress without his knowledge. I
arrived at the office just in time. The secretary was reading Grimani's
letter, and I assured his excellency that it was a false report, for I
left you in bed this morning, suffering from a sprained ankle. I told him
likewise that at twelve o'clock last night you were very near death from
a severe attack of colic."
"Was it at midnight that Razetta was so well treated?"
"So says the official report. The war secretary wrote at once to M.
Grimani and informed him that you have not left the fort, and that you
are even now detained in it, and that the plaintiff is at liberty, if he
chooses, to send commissaries to ascertain the fact. Therefore, my dear
abbe, you must prepare yourself for an interrogatory."
"I expect it, and I will answer that I am very sorry to be innocent."
Three days afterwards, a commissary came to the fort with a clerk of the
court, and the proceedings were soon over. Everybody knew that I had
sprained my ankle; the chaplain, the surgeon, my body-servant, and
several others swore that at midnight I was in bed suffering from colic.
My alibi being thoroughly proved, the avogador sentenced Razetta and the
Forlan to pay all expenses without prejudice to my rights of action.
After this judgment, the major advised me to address to the secretary of
war a petition which he undertook to deliver himself, and to claim my
release from the fort. I gave notice of my proceedings to M. Grimani, and
a week afterwards the major told me that I was free, and that he would
himself take me to the abbe. It was at dinnertime, and in the middle of
some amusing conversation, that he imparted that piece of information.
Not supposing him to be in earnest, and in order to keep up the joke, I
told him very politely that I preferred his house to Venice, and that, to
prove it, I would be happy to remain a week longer, if he would grant me
permission to do so. I was taken at my word, and everybody seemed very
pleased. But when, two hours later, the news was confirmed, and I could
no longer doubt the truth of my release, I repented the week which I had
so foolishly thrown away as a present to the major; yet I had not the
courage to break my word, for everybody, and particularly his wife, had
shown such unaffected pleasure, it would have been contemptible of me to
change my mind. The good woman knew that I owed her every kindness which
I had enjoyed, and she might have thought me ungrateful.
But I met in the fort with a last adventure, which I must not forget to
relate.
On the following day, an officer dressed in the national uniform called
upon the major, accompanied by an elderly man of about sixty years of
age, wearing a sword, and, presenting to the major a dispatch with the
seal of the war office, he waited for an answer, and went away as soon as
he had received one from the governor.
After the officer had taken leave, the major, addressing himself to the
elderly gentleman, to whom he gave the title of count, told him that his
orders were to keep him a prisoner, and that he gave him the whole of the
fort for his prison. The count offered him his sword, but the major nobly
refused to take it, and escorted him to the room he was to occupy. Soon
after, a servant in livery brought a bed and a trunk, and the next
morning the same servant, knocking at my door, told me that his master
begged the honour of my company to breakfast. I accepted the invitation,
and he received me with these words:
"Dear sir, there has been so much talk in Venice about the skill with
which you proved your incredible alibi, that I could not help asking for
the honour of your acquaintance."
"But, count, the alibi being a true one, there can be no skill required
to prove it. Allow me to say that those who doubt its truth are paying me
a very poor compliment, for--"
"Never mind; do not let us talk any more of that, and forgive me. But as
we happen to be companions in misfortune, I trust you will not refuse me
your friendship. Now for breakfast."
After our meal, the count, who had heard from me some portion of my
history, thought that my confidence called for a return on his part, and
he began: "I am the Count de Bonafede. In my early days I served under
Prince Eugene, but I gave up the army, and entered on a civil career in
Austria. I had to fly from Austria and take refuge in Bavaria in
consequence of an unfortunate duel. In Munich I made the acquaintance of
a young lady belonging to a noble family; I eloped with her and brought
her to Venice, where we were married. I have now been twenty years in
Venice. I have six children, and everybody knows me. About a week ago I
sent my servant to the postoffice for my letters, but they were refused
him because he had not any money to pay the postage. I went myself, but
the clerk would not deliver me my letters, although I assured him that I
would pay for them the next time. This made me angry, and I called upon
the Baron de Taxis, the postmaster, and complained of the clerk, but he
answered very rudely that the clerk had simply obeyed his orders, and
that my letters would only be delivered on payment of the postage. I felt
very indignant, but as I was in his house I controlled my anger, went
home, and wrote a note to him asking him to give me satisfaction for his
rudeness, telling him that I would never go out without my sword, and
that I would force him to fight whenever and wherever I should meet him.
I never came across him, but yesterday I was accosted by the secretary of
the inquisitors, who told me that I must forget the baron's rude conduct,
and go under the guidance of an officer whom he pointed out to me, to
imprison myself for a week in this fortress. I shall thus have the
pleasure of spending that time with you."
I told him that I had been free for the last twenty-four hours, but that
to shew my gratitude for his friendly confidence I would feel honoured if
he would allow me to keep him company. As I had already engaged myself
with the major, this was only a polite falsehood.
In the afternoon I happened to be with him on the tower of the fort, and
pointed out a gondola advancing towards the lower gate; he took his
spy-glass and told me that it was his wife and daughter coming to see
him. We went to meet the ladies, one of whom might once have been worth
the trouble of an elopement; the other, a young person between fourteen
and sixteen, struck me as a beauty of a new style. Her hair was of a
beautiful light auburn, her eyes were blue and very fine, her nose a
Roman, and her pretty mouth, half-open and laughing, exposed a set of
teeth as white as her complexion, although a beautiful rosy tint somewhat
veiled the whiteness of the last. Her figure was so slight that it seemed
out of nature, but her perfectly-formed breast appeared an altar on which
the god of love would have delighted to breathe the sweetest incense.
This splendid chest was, however, not yet well furnished, but in my
imagination I gave her all the embonpoint which might have been desired,
and I was so pleased that I could not take my looks from her. I met her
eyes, and her laughing countenance seemed to say to me: "Only wait for
two years, at the utmost, and all that your imagination is now creating
will then exist in reality."
She was elegantly dressed in the prevalent fashion, with large hoops, and
like the daughters of the nobility who have not yet attained the age of
puberty, although the young countess was marriageable. I had never dared
to stare so openly at the bosom of a young lady of quality, but I thought
there was no harm in fixing my eyes on a spot where there was nothing yet
but in expectation.
The count, after having exchanged a few words in German with his wife,
presented me in the most flattering manner, and I was received with great
politeness. The major joined us, deeming it his duty to escort the
countess all over the fortress, and I improved the excellent opportunity
thrown in my way by the inferiority of my position; I offered my arm to
the young lady, and the count left us to go to his room.
I was still an adept in the old Venetian fashion of attending upon
ladies, and the young countess thought me rather awkward, though I
believed myself very fashionable when I placed my hand under her arm, but
she drew it back in high merriment. Her mother turned round to enquire
what she was laughing at, and I was terribly confused when I heard her
answer that I had tickled her.
"This is the way to offer your arm to a lady," she said, and she passed
her hand through my arm, which I rounded in the most clumsy manner,
feeling it a very difficult task to resume a dignified countenance.
Thinking me a novice of the most innocent species, she very likely
determined to make sport of me. She began by remarking that by rounding
my arm as I had done I placed it too far from her waist, and that I was
consequently out of drawing. I told her I did not know how to draw, and
inquired whether it was one of her accomplishments.
"I am learning," she answered, "and when you call upon us I will shew you
Adam and Eve, after the Chevalier Liberi; I have made a copy which has
been found very fine by some professors, although they did not know it
was my work."
"Why did you not tell them?"
"Because those two figures are too naked."
"I am not curious to see your Adam, but I will look at your Eve with
pleasure, and keep your secret."
This answer made her laugh again, and again her mother turned round. I
put on the look of a simpleton, for, seeing the advantage I could derive
from her opinion of me, I had formed my plan at the very moment she tried
to teach me how to offer my arm to a lady.
She was so convinced of my simplicity that she ventured to say that she
considered her Adam by far more beautiful than her Eve, because in her
drawing of the man she had omitted nothing, every muscle being visible,
while there was none conspicuous in Eve. "It is," she added, "a figure
with nothing in it."
"Yet it is the one which I shall like best."
"No; believe me, Adam will please you most."
This conversation had greatly excited me. I had on a pair of linen
breeches, the weather being very warm.... I was afraid of the major and
the countess, who were a few yards in front of us, turning round .... I
was on thorns. To make matters worse, the young lady stumbled, one of her
shoes slipped off, and presenting me her pretty foot she asked me to put
the shoe right. I knelt on the ground, and, very likely without thinking,
she lifted up her skirt.... she had very wide hoops and no petticoat....
what I saw was enough to strike me dead on the spot.... When I rose, she
asked if anything was the matter with me.
A moment after, coming out of one of the casemates, her head-dress got
slightly out of order, and she begged that I would remedy the accident,
but, having to bend her head down, the state in which I was could no
longer remain a secret for her. In order to avoid greater confusion to
both of us, she enquired who had made my watch ribbon; I told her it was
a present from my sister, and she desired to examine it, but when I
answered her that it was fastened to the fob-pocket, and found that she
disbelieved me, I added that she could see for herself. She put her hand
to it, and a natural but involuntary excitement caused me to be very
indiscreet. She must have felt vexed, for she saw that she had made a
mistake in her estimate of my character; she became more timid, she would
not laugh any more, and we joined her mother and the major who was
shewing her, in a sentry-box, the body of Marshal de Schulenburg which
had been deposited there until the mausoleum erected for him was
completed. As for myself, I felt deeply ashamed. I thought myself the
first man who had alarmed her innocence, and I felt ready to do anything
to atone for the insult.
Such was my delicacy of feeling in those days. I used to credit people
with exalted sentiments, which often existed only in my imagination. I
must confess that time has entirely destroyed that delicacy; yet I do not
believe myself worse than other men, my equals in age and inexperience.
We returned to the count's apartment, and the day passed off rather
gloomily. Towards evening the ladies went away, but the countess gave me
a pressing invitation to call upon them in Venice.
The young lady, whom I thought I had insulted, had made such a deep
impression upon me that the seven following days seemed very long; yet I
was impatient to see her again only that I might entreat her forgiveness,
and convince her of my repentance.
The following day the count was visited by his son; he was
plain-featured, but a thorough gentleman, and modest withal. Twenty-five
years afterwards I met him in Spain, a cadet in the king's body-guard. He
had served as a private twenty years before obtaining this poor
promotion. The reader will hear of him in good time; I will only mention
here that when I met him in Spain, he stood me out that I had never known
him; his self-love prompted this very contemptible lie.
Early on the eighth day the count left the fortress, and I took my
departure the same evening, having made an appointment at a coffee-house
in St. Mark's Square with the major who was to accompany me to M.
Grimani's house. I took leave of his wife, whose memory will always be
dear to me, and she said, "I thank you for your skill in proving your
alibi, but you have also to thank me for having understood you so well.
My husband never heard anything about it until it was all over."
As soon as I reached Venice, I went to pay a visit to Madame Orio, where
I was made welcome. I remained to supper, and my two charming sweethearts
who were praying for the death of the bishop, gave me the most delightful
hospitality for the night.
At noon the next day I met the major according to our appointment, and we
called upon the Abbe Grimani. He received me with the air of a guilty man
begging for mercy, and I was astounded at his stupidity when he entreated
me to forgive Razetta and his companion. He told me that the bishop was
expected very soon, and that he had ordered a room to be ready for me,
and that I could take my meals with him. Then he introduced me to M.
Valavero, a man of talent, who had just left the ministry of war, his
term of office having lasted the usual six months. I paid my duty to him,
and we kept up a kind of desultory conversation until the departure of
the major. When he had left us M. Valavero entreated me to confess that I
had been the guilty party in the attack upon Razetta. I candidly told him
that the thrashing had been my handiwork, and I gave him all the
particulars, which amused him immensely. He remarked that, as I had
perpetrated the affair before midnight, the fools had made a mistake in
their accusation; but that, after all, the mistake had not materially
helped me in proving the alibi, because my sprained ankle, which
everybody had supposed a real accident, would of itself have been
sufficient.
But I trust that my kind reader has not forgotten that I had a very heavy
weight upon my conscience, of which I longed to get rid. I had to see the
goddess of my fancy, to obtain my pardon, or die at her feet.
I found the house without difficulty; the count was not at home. The
countess received me very kindly, but her appearance caused me so great a
surprise that I did not know what to say to her. I had fancied that I was
going to visit an angel, that I would find her in a lovely paradise, and
I found myself in a large sitting-room furnished with four rickety chairs
and a dirty old table. There was hardly any light in the room because the
shutters were nearly closed. It might have been a precaution against the
heat, but I judged that it was more probably for the purpose of
concealing the windows, the glass of which was all broken. But this
visible darkness did not prevent me from remarking that the countess was
wrapped up in an old tattered gown, and that her chemise did not shine by
its cleanliness. Seeing that I was ill at ease, she left the room, saying
that she would send her daughter, who, a few minutes afterwards, came in
with an easy and noble appearance, and told me that she had expected me
with great impatience, but that I had surprised her at a time at which
she was not in the habit of receiving any visits.
I did not know what to answer, for she did not seem to me to be the same
person. Her miserable dishabille made her look almost ugly, and I
wondered at the impression she had produced upon me at the fortress. She
saw my surprise, and partly guessed my thoughts, for she put on a look,
not of vexation, but of sorrow which called forth all my pity. If she had
been a philosopher she might have rightly despised me as a man whose
sympathy was enlisted only by her fine dress, her nobility, or her
apparent wealth; but she endeavoured to bring me round by her sincerity.
She felt that if she could call a little sentiment into play, it would
certainly plead in her favour.
"I see that you are astonished, reverend sir, and I know the reason of
your surprise. You expected to see great splendour here, and you find
only misery. The government allows my father but a small salary, and
there are nine of us. As we must attend church on Sundays and holidays in
a style proper to our condition, we are often compelled to go without our
dinner, in order to get out of pledge the clothes which urgent need too
often obliges us to part with, and which we pledge anew on the following
day. If we did not attend mass, the curate would strike our names off the
list of those who share the alms of the Confraternity of the Poor, and
those alms alone keep us afloat."
What a sad tale! She had guessed rightly. I was touched, but rather with
shame than true emotion. I was not rich myself, and, as I was no longer
in love, I only heaved a deep sigh, and remained as cold as ice.
Nevertheless, her position was painful, and I answered politely, speaking
with kindness and assuring her of my sympathy. "Were I wealthy," I said,
"I would soon shew you that your tale of woe has not fallen on unfeeling
ears; but I am poor, and, being at the eve of my departure from Venice,
even my friendship would be useless to you." Then, after some desultory
talk, I expressed a hope that her beauty would yet win happiness for her.
She seemed to consider for a few minutes, and said, "That may happen some
day, provided that the man who feels the power of my charms understands
that they can be bestowed only with my heart, and is willing to render me
the justice I deserve; I am only looking for a lawful marriage, without
dreaming of rank or fortune; I no longer believe in the first, and I know
how to live without the second; for I have been accustomed to poverty,
and even to abject need; but you cannot realize that. Come and see my
drawings."
"You are very good, mademoiselle."
Alas! I was not thinking of her drawings, and I could no longer feel
interested in her Eve, but I followed her.
We came to a chamber in which I saw a table, a chair, a small
toilet-glass and a bed with the straw palliasse turned over, very likely
for the purpose of allowing the looker-on to suppose that there were
sheets underneath, but I was particularly disgusted by a certain smell,
the cause of which was recent; I was thunderstruck, and if I had been
still in love, this antidote would have been sufficiently powerful to
cure me instanter. I wished for nothing but to make my escape, never to
return, and I regretted that I could not throw on the table a handful of
ducats, which I should have considered the price of my ransom.
The poor girl shewed me her drawings; they were fine, and I praised
them, without alluding particularly to Eve, and without venturing a joke
upon Adam. I asked her, for the sake of saying something, why she did not
try to render her talent remunerative by learning pastel drawing.
"I wish I could," she answered, "but the box of chalks alone costs two
sequins."
"Will you forgive me if I am bold enough to offer you six?"
"Alas! I accept them gratefully, and to be indebted to you for such a
service makes me truly happy."
Unable to keep back her tears, she turned her head round to conceal them
from me, and I took that opportunity of laying the money on the table,
and out of politeness, wishing to spare her every unnecessary
humiliation, I saluted her lips with a kiss which she was at liberty to
consider a loving one, as I wanted her to ascribe my reserve to the
respect I felt for her. I then left her with a promise to call another
day to see her father. I never kept my promise. The reader will see how I
met her again after ten years.
How many thoughts crowded upon my mind as I left that house! What a
lesson! I compared reality with the imagination, and I had to give the
preference to the last, as reality is always dependent on it. I then
began to forsee a truth which has been clearly proved to me in my after
life, namely, that love is only a feeling of curiosity more or less
intense, grafted upon the inclination placed in us by nature that the
species may be preserved. And truly, woman is like a book, which, good or
bad, must at first please us by the frontispiece. If this is not
interesting, we do not feel any wish to read the book, and our wish is in
direct proportion to the interest we feel. The frontispiece of woman runs
from top to bottom like that of a book, and her feet, which are most
important to every man who shares my taste, offer the same interest as
the edition of the work. If it is true that most amateurs bestow little
or no attention upon the feet of a woman, it is likewise a fact that most
readers care little or nothing whether a book is of the first edition or
the tenth. At all events, women are quite right to take the greatest care
of their face, of their dress, of their general appearance; for it is
only by that part of the frontispiece that they can call forth a wish to
read them in those men who have not been endowed by nature with the
privilege of blindness. And just in the same manner that men, who have
read a great many books, are certain to feel at last a desire for
perusing new works even if they are bad, a man who has known many women,
and all handsome women, feels at last a curiosity for ugly specimens when
he meets with entirely new ones. It is all very well for his eye to
discover the paint which conceals the reality, but his passion has become
a vice, and suggests some argument in favour of the lying frontispiece.
It is possible, at least he thinks so, that the work may prove better
than the title-page, and the reality more acceptable than the paint which
hides it. He then tries to peruse the book, but the leaves have not been
opened; he meets with some resistance, the living book must be read
according to established rules, and the book-worm falls a victim to a
coquetry, the monster which persecutes all those who make a business of
love. As for thee, intelligent man, who hast read the few preceding
lines, let me tell thee that, if they do not assist in opening thy eyes,
thou art lost; I mean that thou art certain of being a victim to the fair
sex to the very last moment of thy life. If my candour does not displease
thee, accept my congratulations. In the evening I called upon Madame
Orio, as I wanted to inform her charming nieces that, being an inmate of
Grimani's house, I could not sleep out for the first night. I found there
the faithful Rosa, who told me that the affair of the alibi was in every
mouth, and that, as such celebrity was evidently caused by a very decided
belief in the untruth of the alibi itself, I ought to fear a retaliation
of the same sort on the part of Razetta, and to keep on my guard,
particularly at night. I felt all the importance of this advice, and I
took care never to go out in the evening otherwise than in a gondola, or
accompanied by some friends. Madame Manzoni told me that I was acting
wisely, because, although the judges could not do otherwise than acquit
me, everybody knew the real truth of the matter, and Razetta could not
fail to be my deadly foe.
Three or four days afterwards M. Grimani announced the arrival of the
bishop, who had put up at the convent of his order, at Saint-Francois de
Paul. He presented me himself to the prelate as a jewel highly prized by
himself, and as if he had been the only person worthy of descanting upon
its beauty.
I saw a fine monk wearing his pectoral cross. He would have reminded me
of Father Mancia if he had not looked stouter and less reserved. He was
about thirty-four, and had been made a bishop by the grace of God, the
Holy See, and my mother. After pronouncing over me a blessing, which I
received kneeling, and giving me his hand to kiss, he embraced me warmly,
calling me his dear son in the Latin language, in which he continued to
address me. I thought that, being a Calabrian, he might feel ashamed of
his Italian, but he undeceived me by speaking in that language to M.
Grimani. He told me that, as he could not take me with him from Venice, I
should have to proceed to Rome, where Grimani would take care to send me,
and that I would procure his address at Ancona from one of his friends,
called Lazari, a Minim monk, who would likewise supply me with the means
of continuing my journey.
"When we meet in Rome," he added, "we can go together to Martorano by way
of Naples. Call upon me to-morrow morning, and have your breakfast with
me. I intend to leave the day after."
As we were on our way back to his house, M. Grimani treated me to a long
lecture on morals, which nearly caused me to burst into loud laughter.
Amongst other things, he informed me that I ought not to study too hard,
because the air in Calabria was very heavy, and I might become
consumptive from too close application to my books.
The next morning at day-break I went to the bishop. After saying his
mass, we took some chocolate, and for three hours he laid me under
examination. I saw clearly that he was not pleased with me, but I was
well enough pleased with him. He seemed to me a worthy man, and as he was
to lead me along the great highway of the Church, I felt attracted
towards him, for, at the time, although I entertained a good opinion of
my personal appearance, I had no confidence whatever in my talents.
After the departure of the good bishop, M. Grimani gave me a letter left
by him, which I was to deliver to Father Lazari, at the Convent of the
Minims, in Ancona. M. Grimani informed me that he would send me to that
city with the ambassador from Venice, who was on the point of sailing. I
had therefore to keep myself in readiness, and, as I was anxious to be
out of his hands, I approved all his arrangements. As soon as I had
notice of the day on which the suite of the ambassador would embark, I
went to pay my last farewell to all my acquaintances. I left my brother
Francois in the school of M. Joli, a celebrated decorative painter. As
the peotta in which I was to sail would not leave before daybreak, I
spent the short night in the arms of the two sisters, who, this time,
entertained no hope of ever seeing me again. On my side I could not
forsee what would happen, for I was abandoning myself to fate, and I
thought it would be useless to think of the future. The night was
therefore spent between joy and sadness, between pleasures and tears. As
I bade them adieu, I returned the key which had opened so often for me
the road to happiness.
This, my first love affair, did not give me any experience of the world,
for our intercourse was always a happy one, and was never disturbed by
any quarrel or stained by any interested motive. We often felt, all three
of us, as if we must raise our souls towards the eternal Providence of
God, to thank Him for having, by His particular protection, kept from us
all the accidents which might have disturbed the sweet peace we were
enjoying.
I left in the hands of Madame Manzoni all my papers, and all the
forbidden books I possessed. The good woman, who was twenty years older
than I, and who, believing in an immutable destiny, took pleasure in
turning the leaves of the great book of fate, told me that she was
certain of restoring to me all I left with her, before the end of the
following year, at the latest. Her prediction caused me both surprise and
pleasure, and feeling deep reverence for her, I thought myself bound to
assist the realization of her foresight. After all, if she predicted the
future, it was not through superstition, or in consequence of some vain
foreboding which reason must condemn, but through her knowledge of the
world, and of the nature of the person she was addressing. She used to
laugh because she never made a mistake.
I embarked from St: Mark's landing. M. Grimani had given me ten sequins,
which he thought would keep me during my stay in the lazzaretto of Ancona
for the necessary quarantine, after which it was not to be supposed that
I could want any money. I shared Grimani's certainty on the subject, and
with my natural thoughtlessness I cared nothing about it. Yet I must say
that, unknown to everybody, I had in my purse forty bright sequins, which
powerfully contributed to increase my cheerfulness, and I left Venice
full of joy and without one regret.
EPISODE 2 -- CLERIC IN NAPLES
CHAPTER VIII
My Misfortunes in Chiozza--Father Stephano--The Lazzaretto
at Ancona--The Greek Slave--My Pilgrimage to Our Lady of
Loretto--I Go to Rome on Foot, and From Rome to Naples to
Meet the Bishop--I Cannot Join Him--Good Luck Offers Me the
Means of Reaching Martorano, Which Place I Very Quickly
Leave to Return to Naples
[Illustration: 1c08.jpg]
The retinue of the ambassador, which was styled "grand," appeared to me
very small. It was composed of a Milanese steward, named Carcinelli, of a
priest who fulfilled the duties of secretary because he could not write,
of an old woman acting as housekeeper, of a man cook with his ugly wife,
and eight or ten servants.
We reached Chiozza about noon. Immediately after landing, I politely
asked the steward where I should put up, and his answer was:
"Wherever you please, provided you let this man know where it is, so that
he can give you notice when the peotta is ready to sail. My duty," he
added, "is to leave you at the lazzaretto of Ancona free of expense from
the moment we leave this place. Until then enjoy yourself as well as you
can."
The man to whom I was to give my address was the captain of the peotta. I
asked him to recommend me a lodging.
"You can come to my house," he said, "if you have no objection to share a
large bed with the cook, whose wife remains on board."
Unable to devise any better plan, I accepted the offer, and a sailor,
carrying my trunk, accompanied me to the dwelling of the honest captain.
My trunk had to be placed under the bed which filled up the room. I was
amused at this, for I was not in a position to be over-fastidious, and,
after partaking of some dinner at the inn, I went about the town. Chiozza
is a peninsula, a sea-port belonging to Venice, with a population of ten
thousand inhabitants, seamen, fishermen, merchants, lawyers, and
government clerks.
I entered a coffee-room, and I had scarcely taken a seat when a young
doctor-at-law, with whom I had studied in Padua, came up to me, and
introduced me to a druggist whose shop was near by, saying that his house
was the rendezvous of all the literary men of the place. A few minutes
afterwards, a tall Jacobin friar, blind of one eye, called Corsini, whom
I had known in Venice, came in and paid me many compliments. He told me
that I had arrived just in time to go to a picnic got up by the Macaronic
academicians for the next day, after a sitting of the academy in which
every member was to recite something of his composition. He invited me to
join them, and to gratify the meeting with the delivery of one of my
productions. I accepted the invitation, and, after the reading of ten
stanzas which I had written for the occasion, I was unanimously elected a
member. My success at the picnic was still greater, for I disposed of
such a quantity of macaroni that I was found worthy of the title of
prince of the academy.
The young doctor, himself one of the academicians, introduced me to his
family. His parents, who were in easy circumstances, received me very
kindly. One of his sisters was very amiable, but the other, a professed
nun, appeared to me a prodigy of beauty. I might have enjoyed myself in a
very agreeable way in the midst of that charming family during my stay in
Chiozza, but I suppose that it was my destiny to meet in that place with
nothing but sorrows. The young doctor forewarned me that the monk Corsini
was a very worthless fellow, despised by everybody, and advised me to
avoid him. I thanked him for the information, but my thoughtlessness
prevented me from profiting by it. Of a very easy disposition, and too
giddy to fear any snares, I was foolish enough to believe that the monk
would, on the contrary, be the very man to throw plenty of amusement in
my way.
On the third day the worthless dog took me to a house of ill-fame, where
I might have gone without his introduction, and, in order to shew my
mettle, I obliged a low creature whose ugliness ought to have been a
sufficient antidote against any fleshly desire. On leaving the place, he
brought me for supper to an inn where we met four scoundrels of his own
stamp. After supper one of them began a bank of faro, and I was invited
to join in the game. I gave way to that feeling of false pride which so
often causes the ruin of young men, and after losing four sequins I
expressed a wish to retire, but my honest friend, the Jacobin contrived
to make me risk four more sequins in partnership with him. He held the
bank, and it was broken. I did not wish to play any more, but Corsini,
feigning to pity me and to feel great sorrow at being the cause of my
loss, induced me to try myself a bank of twenty-five sequins; my bank was
likewise broken. The hope of winning back my money made me keep up the
game, and I lost everything I had.
Deeply grieved, I went away and laid myself down near the cook, who woke
up and said I was a libertine.
"You are right," was all I could answer.
I was worn out with fatigue and sorrow, and I slept soundly. My vile
tormentor, the monk, woke me at noon, and informed me with a triumphant
joy that a very rich young man had been invited by his friends to supper,
that he would be sure to play and to lose, and that it would be a good
opportunity for me to retrieve my losses.
"I have lost all my money. Lend me twenty sequins."
"When I lend money I am sure to lose; you may call it superstition, but I
have tried it too often. Try to find money somewhere else, and come.
Farewell."
I felt ashamed to confess my position to my friend, and sending for, a
money-lender I emptied my trunk before him. We made an inventory of my
clothes, and the honest broker gave me thirty sequins, with the
understanding that if I did not redeem them within three days all my
things would become his property. I am bound to call him an honest man,
for he advised me to keep three shirts, a few pairs of stockings, and a
few handkerchiefs; I was disposed to let him take everything, having a
presentiment that I would win back all I had lost; a very common error. A
few years later I took my revenge by writing a diatribe against
presentiments. I am of opinion that the only foreboding in which man can
have any sort of faith is the one which forbodes evil, because it comes
from the mind, while a presentiment of happiness has its origin in the
heart, and the heart is a fool worthy of reckoning foolishly upon fickle
fortune.
I did not lose any time in joining the honest company, which was alarmed
at the thought of not seeing me. Supper went off without any allusion to
gambling, but my admirable qualities were highly praised, and it was
decided that a brilliant fortune awaited me in Rome. After supper there
was no talk of play, but giving way to my evil genius I loudly asked for
my revenge. I was told that if I would take the bank everyone would punt.
I took the bank, lost every sequin I had, and retired, begging the monk
to pay what I owed to the landlord, which he promised to do.
I was in despair, and to crown my misery I found out as I was going home
that I had met the day before with another living specimen of the Greek
woman, less beautiful but as perfidious. I went to bed stunned by my
grief, and I believe that I must have fainted into a heavy sleep, which
lasted eleven hours; my awaking was that of a miserable being, hating the
light of heaven, of which he felt himself unworthy, and I closed my eyes
again, trying to sleep for a little while longer. I dreaded to rouse
myself up entirely, knowing that I would then have to take some decision;
but I never once thought of returning to Venice, which would have been
the very best thing to do, and I would have destroyed myself rather than
confide my sad position to the young doctor. I was weary of my existence,
and I entertained vaguely some hope of starving where I was, without
leaving my bed. It is certain that I should not have got up if M. Alban,
the master of the peotta, had not roused me by calling upon me and
informing me that the boat was ready to sail.
The man who is delivered from great perplexity, no matter by what means,
feels himself relieved. It seemed to me that Captain Alban had come to
point out the only thing I could possibly do; I dressed myself in haste,
and tying all my worldly possessions in a handkerchief I went on board.
Soon afterwards we left the shore, and in the morning we cast anchor in
Orsara, a seaport of Istria. We all landed to visit the city, which would
more properly be called a village. It belongs to the Pope, the Republic
of Venice having abandoned it to the Holy See.
A young monk of the order of the Recollects who called himself Friar
Stephano of Belun, and had obtained a free passage from the devout
Captain Alban, joined me as we landed and enquired whether I felt sick.
"Reverend father, I am unhappy."
"You will forget all your sorrow, if you will come and dine with me at
the house of one of our devout friends."
I had not broken my fast for thirty-six hours, and having suffered much
from sea-sickness during the night, my stomach was quite empty. My erotic
inconvenience made me very uncomfortable, my mind felt deeply the
consciousness of my degradation, and I did not possess a groat! I was in
such a miserable state that I had no strength to accept or to refuse
anything. I was thoroughly torpid, and I followed the monk mechanically.
He presented me to a lady, saying that he was accompanying me to Rome,
where I intend to become a Franciscan. This untruth disgusted me, and
under any other circumstances I would not have let it pass without
protest, but in my actual position it struck me as rather comical. The
good lady gave us a good dinner of fish cooked in oil, which in Orsara is
delicious, and we drank some exquisite refosco. During our meal, a priest
happened to drop in, and, after a short conversation, he told me that I
ought not to pass the night on board the tartan, and pressed me to accept
a bed in his house and a good dinner for the next day in case the wind
should not allow us to sail; I accepted without hesitation. I offered my
most sincere thanks to the good old lady, and the priest took me all over
the town. In the evening, he brought me to his house where we partook of
an excellent supper prepared by his housekeeper, who sat down to the
table with us, and with whom I was much pleased. The refosco, still
better than that which I had drunk at dinner, scattered all my misery to
the wind, and I conversed gaily with the priest. He offered to read to me
a poem of his own composition, but, feeling that my eyes would not keep
open, I begged he would excuse me and postpone the reading until the
following day.
I went to bed, and in the morning, after ten hours of the most profound
sleep, the housekeeper, who had been watching for my awakening, brought
me some coffee. I thought her a charming woman, but, alas! I was not in a
fit state to prove to her the high estimation in which I held her beauty.
Entertaining feelings of gratitude for my kind host, and disposed to
listen attentively to his poem, I dismissed all sadness, and I paid his
poetry such compliments that he was delighted, and, finding me much more
talented than he had judged me to be at first, he insisted upon treating
me to a reading of his idylls, and I had to swallow them, bearing the
infliction cheerfully. The day passed off very agreeably; the housekeeper
surrounded me with the kindest attentions--a proof that she was smitten
with me; and, giving way to that pleasing idea, I felt that, by a very
natural system of reciprocity, she had made my conquest. The good priest
thought that the day had passed like lightning, thanks to all the
beauties I had discovered in his poetry, which, to speak the truth, was
below mediocrity, but time seemed to me to drag along very slowly,
because the friendly glances of the housekeeper made me long for bedtime,
in spite of the miserable condition in which I felt myself morally and
physically. But such was my nature; I abandoned myself to joy and
happiness, when, had I been more reasonable, I ought to have sunk under
my grief and sadness.
But the golden time came at last. I found the pretty housekeeper full of
compliance, but only up to a certain point, and as she offered some
resistance when I shewed myself disposed to pay a full homage to her
charms, I quietly gave up the undertaking, very well pleased for both of
us that it had not been carried any further, and I sought my couch in
peace. But I had not seen the end of the adventure, for the next morning,
when she brought my coffee, her pretty, enticing manners allured me to
bestow a few loving caresses upon her, and if she did not abandon herself
entirely, it was only, as she said, because she was afraid of some
surprise. The day passed off very pleasantly with the good priest, and at
night, the house-keeper no longer fearing detection, and I having on my
side taken every precaution necessary in the state in which I was, we
passed two most delicious hours. I left Orsara the next morning.
Friar Stephano amused me all day with his talk, which plainly showed me
his ignorance combined with knavery under the veil of simplicity. He made
me look at the alms he had received in Orsara--bread, wine, cheese,
sausages, preserves, and chocolate; every nook and cranny of his holy
garment was full of provisions.
"Have you received money likewise?" I enquired.
"God forbid! In the first place, our glorious order does not permit me to
touch money, and, in the second place, were I to be foolish enough to
receive any when I am begging, people would think themselves quit of me
with one or two sous, whilst they dive me ten times as much in eatables.
Believe me Saint-Francis, was a very judicious man."
I bethought myself that what this monk called wealth would be poverty to
me. He offered to share with me, and seemed very proud at my consenting
to honour him so far.
The tartan touched at the harbour of Pola, called Veruda, and we landed.
After a walk up hill of nearly a quarter of an hour, we entered the city,
and I devoted a couple of hours to visiting the Roman antiquities, which
are numerous, the town having been the metropolis of the empire. Yet I
saw no other trace of grand buildings except the ruins of the arena. We
returned to Veruda, and went again to sea. On the following day we
sighted Ancona, but the wind being against us we were compelled to tack
about, and we did not reach the port till the second day. The harbour of
Ancona, although considered one of the great works of Trajan, would be
very unsafe if it were not for a causeway which has cost a great deal of
money, and which makes it some what better. I observed a fact worthy of
notice, namely, that, in the Adriatic, the northern coast has many
harbours, while the opposite coast can only boast of one or two. It is
evident that the sea is retiring by degrees towards the east, and that in
three or four more centuries Venice must be joined to the land. We landed
at the old lazzaretto, where we received the pleasant information that we
would go through a quarantine of twenty-eight days, because Venice had
admitted, after a quarantine of three months, the crew of two ships from
Messina, where the plague had recently been raging. I requested a room
for myself and for Brother Stephano, who thanked me very heartily. I
hired from a Jew a bed, a table and a few chairs, promising to pay for
the hire at the expiration of our quarantine. The monk would have nothing
but straw. If he had guessed that without him I might have starved, he
would most likely not have felt so much vanity at sharing my room. A
sailor, expecting to find in me a generous customer, came to enquire
where my trunk was, and, hearing from me that I did not know, he, as well
as Captain Alban, went to a great deal of trouble to find it, and I could
hardly keep down my merriment when the captain called, begging to be
excused for having left it behind, and assuring me that he would take
care to forward it to me in less than three weeks.
The friar, who had to remain with me four weeks, expected to live at my
expense, while, on the contrary, he had been sent by Providence to keep
me. He had provisions enough for one week, but it was necessary to think
of the future.
After supper, I drew a most affecting picture of my position, shewing
that I should be in need of everything until my arrival at Rome, where I
was going, I said, to fill the post of secretary of memorials, and my
astonishment may be imagined when I saw the blockhead delighted at the
recital of my misfortunes.
"I undertake to take care of you until we reach Rome; only tell me
whether you can write."
"What a question! Are you joking?"
"Why should I? Look at me; I cannot write anything but my name. True, I
can write it with either hand; and what else do I want to know?"
"You astonish me greatly, for I thought you were a priest."
"I am a monk; I say the mass, and, as a matter of course, I must know how
to read. Saint-Francis, whose unworthy son I am, could not read, an that
is the reason why he never said a mass. But as you can write, you will
to-morrow pen a letter in my name to the persons whose names I will give
you, and I warrant you we shall have enough sent here to live like
fighting cocks all through our quarantine."
The next day he made me write eight letters, because, in the oral
tradition of his order, it is said that, when a monk has knocked at seven
doors and has met with a refusal at every one of them, he must apply to
the eighth with perfect confidence, because there he is certain of
receiving alms. As he had already performed the pilgrimage to Rome, he
knew every person in Ancona devoted to the cult of Saint-Francis, and was
acquainted with the superiors of all the rich convents. I had to write to
every person he named, and to set down all the lies he dictated to me. He
likewise made me sign the letters for him, saying, that, if he signed
himself, his correspondents would see that the letters had not been
written by him, which would injure him, for, he added, in this age of
corruption, people will esteem only learned men. He compelled me to fill
the letters with Latin passages and quotations, even those addressed to
ladies, and I remonstrated in vain, for, when I raised any objection, he
threatened to leave me without anything to eat. I made up my mind to do
exactly as he wished. He desired me to write to the superior of the
Jesuits that he would not apply to the Capuchins, because they were no
better than atheists, and that that was the reason of the great dislike
of Saint-Francis for them. It was in vain that I reminded him of the fact
that, in the time of Saint-Francis, there were neither Capuchins nor
Recollets. His answer was that I had proved myself an ignoramus. I firmly
believed that he would be thought a madman, and that we should not
receive anything, but I was mistaken, for such a quantity of provisions
came pouring in that I was amazed. Wine was sent from three or four
different quarters, more than enough for us during all our stay, and yet
I drank nothing but water, so great was my wish to recover my health. As
for eatables, enough was sent in every day for six persons; we gave all
our surplus to our keeper, who had a large family. But the monk felt no
gratitude for the kind souls who bestowed their charity upon him; all his
thanks were reserved for Saint-Francis.
He undertook to have my men washed by the keeper; I would not have dared
to give it myself, and he said that he had nothing to fear, as everybody
was well aware that the monks of his order never wear any kind of linen.
I kept myself in bed nearly all day, and thus avoided shewing myself to
visitors. The persons who did not come wrote letters full of
incongruities cleverly worded, which I took good care not to point out to
him. It was with great difficulty that I tried to persuade him that those
letters did not require any answer.
A fortnight of repose and severe diet brought me round towards complete
recovery, and I began to walk in the yard of the lazzaretto from morning
till night; but the arrival of a Turk from Thessalonia with his family
compelled me to suspend my walks, the ground-floor having been given to
him. The only pleasure left me was to spend my time on the balcony
overlooking the yard. I soon saw a Greek slave, a girl of dazzling
beauty, for whom I felt the deepest interest. She was in the habit of
spending the whole day sitting near the door with a book or some
embroidery in her hand. If she happened to raise her eyes and to meet
mine, she modestly bent her head down, and sometimes she rose and went in
slowly, as if she meant to say, "I did not know that somebody was looking
at me." Her figure was tall and slender, her features proclaimed her to
be very young; she had a very fair complexion, with beautiful black hair
and eyes. She wore the Greek costume, which gave her person a certain air
of very exciting voluptuousness.
I was perfectly idle, and with the temperament which nature and habit had
given me, was it likely that I could feast my eyes constantly upon such a
charming object without falling desperately in love? I had heard her
conversing in Lingua Franca with her master, a fine old man, who, like
her, felt very weary of the quarantine, and used to come out but seldom,
smoking his pipe, and remaining in the yard only a short time. I felt a
great temptation to address a few words to the beautiful girl, but I was
afraid she might run away and never come out again; however, unable to
control myself any longer, I determined to write to her; I had no
difficulty in conveying the letter, as I had only to let it fall from my
balcony. But she might have refused to pick it up, and this is the plan I
adopted in order not to risk any unpleasant result.
Availing myself of a moment during which she was alone in the yard, I
dropped from my balcony a small piece of paper folded like a letter, but
I had taken care not to write anything on it, and held the true letter in
my hand. As soon as I saw her stooping down to pick up the first, I
quickly let the second drop at her feet, and she put both into her
pocket. A few minutes afterwards she left the yard. My letter was
somewhat to this effect:
"Beautiful angel from the East, I worship you. I will remain all night on
this balcony in the hope that you will come to me for a quarter of an
hour, and listen to my voice through the hole under my feet. We can speak
softly, and in order to hear me you can climb up to the top of the bale
of goods which lies beneath the same hole."
I begged from my keeper not to lock me in as he did every night, and he
consented on condition that he would watch me, for if I had jumped down
in the yard his life might have been the penalty, and he promised not to
disturb me on the balcony.
At midnight, as I was beginning to give her up, she came forward. I then
laid myself flat on the floor of the balcony, and I placed my head
against the hole, about six inches square. I saw her jump on the bale,
and her head reached within a foot from the balcony. She was compelled to
steady herself with one hand against the wall for fear of falling, and in
that position we talked of love, of ardent desires, of obstacles, of
impossibilities, and of cunning artifices. I told her the reason for
which I dared not jump down in the yard, and she observed that, even
without that reason, it would bring ruin upon us, as it would be
impossible to come up again, and that, besides, God alone knew what her
master would do if he were to find us together. Then, promising to visit
me in this way every night, she passed her hand through the hole. Alas! I
could not leave off kissing it, for I thought that I had never in my life
touched so soft, so delicate a hand. But what bliss when she begged for
mine! I quickly thrust my arm through the hole, so that she could fasten
her lips to the bend of the elbow. How many sweet liberties my hand
ventured to take! But we were at last compelled by prudence to separate,
and when I returned to my room I saw with great pleasure that the keeper
was fast asleep.
Although I was delighted at having obtained every favour I could possibly
wish for in the uncomfortable position we had been in, I racked my brain
to contrive the means of securing more complete enjoyment for the
following night, but I found during the afternoon that the feminine
cunning of my beautiful Greek was more fertile than mine.
Being alone in the yard with her master, she said a few words to him in
Turkish, to which he seemed to give his approval, and soon after a
servant, assisted by the keeper, brought under the balcony a large basket
of goods. She overlooked the arrangement, and in order to secure the
basket better, she made the servant place a bale of cotton across two
others. Guessing at her purpose, I fairly leaped for joy, for she had
found the way of raising herself two feet higher; but I thought that she
would then find herself in the most inconvenient position, and that,
forced to bend double, she would not be able to resist the fatigue. The
hole was not wide enough for her head to pass through, otherwise she
might have stood erect and been comfortable. It was necessary at all
events to guard against that difficulty; the only way was to tear out one
of the planks of the floor of the balcony, but it was not an easy
undertaking. Yet I decided upon attempting it, regardless of
consequences; and I went to my room to provide myself with a large pair
of pincers. Luckily the keeper was absent, and availing myself of the
opportunity, I succeeded in dragging out carefully the four large nails
which fastened the plank. Finding that I could lift it at my will, I
replaced the pincers, and waited for the night with amorous impatience.
The darling girl came exactly at midnight, noticing the difficulty she
experienced in climbing up, and in getting a footing upon the third bale
of cotton, I lifted the plank, and, extending my arm as far as I could, I
offered her a steady point of support. She stood straight, and found
herself agreeably surprised, for she could pass her head and her arms
through the hole. We wasted no time in empty compliments; we only
congratulated each other upon having both worked for the same purpose.
If, the night before, I had found myself master of her person more than
she was of mine, this time the position was entirely reversed. Her hand
roamed freely over every part of my body, but I had to stop half-way down
hers. She cursed the man who had packed the bale for not having made it
half a foot bigger, so as to get nearer to me. Very likely even that
would not have satisfied us, but she would have felt happier.
Our pleasures were barren, yet we kept up our enjoyment until the first
streak of light. I put back the plank carefully, and I lay down in my bed
in great need of recruiting my strength.
My dear mistress had informed me that the Turkish Bairam began that very
morning, and would last three days during which it would be impossible
for her to see me.
The night after Bairam, she did not fail to make her appearance, and,
saying that she could not be happy without me, she told me that, as she
was a Christian woman, I could buy her, if I waited for her after leaving
the lazzaretto. I was compelled to tell her that I did not possess the
means of doing so, and my confession made her sigh. On the following
night, she informed me that her master would sell her for two thousand
piasters, that she would give me the amount, that she was yet a virgin,
and that I would be pleased with my bargain. She added that she would
give me a casket full of diamonds, one of which was alone worth two
thousand piasters, and that the sale of the others would place us beyond
the reach of poverty for the remainder of our life. She assured me that
her master would not notice the loss of the casket, and that, if he did,
he would never think of accusing her.
I was in love with this girl; and her proposal made me uncomfortable, but
when I woke in the morning I did not hesitate any longer. She brought the
casket in the evening, but I told her that I never could make up my mind
to be accessory to a robbery; she was very unhappy, and said that my love
was not as deep as her own, but that she could not help admiring me for
being so good a Christian.
This was the last night; probably we should never meet again. The flame
of passion consumed us. She proposed that I should lift her up to the
balcony through the open space. Where is the lover who would have
objected to so attractive a proposal? I rose, and without being a Milo, I
placed my hands under her arms, I drew her up towards me, and my desires
are on the point of being fulfilled. Suddenly I feel two hands upon my
shoulders, and the voice of the keeper exclaims, "What are you about?" I
let my precious burden drop; she regains her chamber, and I, giving vent
to my rage, throw myself flat on the floor of the balcony, and remain
there without a movement, in spite of the shaking of the keeper whom I
was sorely tempted to strangle. At last I rose from the floor and went to
bed without uttering one word, and not even caring to replace the plank.
In the morning, the governor informed us that we were free. As I left the
lazzaretto, with a breaking heart, I caught a glimpse of the Greek slave
drowned in tears.
I agreed to meet Friar Stephano at the exchange, and I took the Jew from
whom I had hired the furniture, to the convent of the Minims, where I
received from Father Lazari ten sequins and the address of the bishop,
who, after performing quarantine on the frontiers of Tuscany, had
proceeded to Rome, where he would expect me to meet him.
I paid the Jew, and made a poor dinner at an inn. As I was leaving it to
join the monk, I was so unlucky as to meet Captain Alban, who reproached
me bitterly for having led him to believe that my trunk had been left
behind. I contrived to appease his anger by telling him all my
misfortunes, and I signed a paper in which I declared that I had no claim
whatever upon him. I then purchased a pair of shoes and an overcoat, and
met Stephano, whom I informed of my decision to make a pilgrimage to Our
Lady of Loretto. I said I would await there for him, and that we would
afterwards travel together as far as Rome. He answered that he did not
wish to go through Loretto, and that I would repent of my contempt for
the grace of Saint-Francis. I did not alter my mind, and I left for
Loretto the next day in the enjoyment of perfect health.
I reached the Holy City, tired almost to death, for it was the first time
in my life that I had walked fifteen miles, drinking nothing but water,
although the weather was very warm, because the dry wine used in that
part of the country parched me too much. I must observe that, in spite of
my poverty, I did not look like a beggar.
As I was entering the city, I saw coming towards me an elderly priest of
very respectable appearance, and, as he was evidently taking notice of
me, as soon as he drew near, I saluted him, and enquired where I could
find a comfortable inn. "I cannot doubt," he said, "that a person like
you, travelling on foot, must come here from devout motives; come with
me." He turned back, I followed him, and he took me to a fine-looking
house. After whispering a few words to a man who appeared to be a
steward, he left me saying, very affably, "You shall be well attended
to."
My first impression was that I had been mistaken for some other person,
but I said nothing.
I was led to a suite of three rooms; the chamber was decorated with
damask hangings, the bedstead had a canopy, and the table was supplied
with all materials necessary for writing. A servant brought me a light
dressing-gown, and another came in with linen and a large tub full of
water, which he placed before me; my shoes and stockings were taken off,
and my feet washed. A very decent-looking woman, followed by a servant
girl, came in a few minutes after, and curtsying very low, she proceeded
to make my bed. At that moment the Angelus bell was heard; everyone knelt
down, and I followed their example. After the prayer, a small table was
neatly laid out, I was asked what sort of wine I wished to drink, and I
was provided with newspapers and two silver candlesticks. An hour
afterwards I had a delicious fish supper, and, before I retired to bed, a
servant came to enquire whether I would take chocolate in the morning
before or after mass.
As soon as I was in bed, the servant brought me a night-lamp with a dial,
and I remained alone. Except in France I have never had such a good bed
as I had that night. It would have cured the most chronic insomnia, but I
was not labouring under such a disease, and I slept for ten hours.
This sort of treatment easily led me to believe that I was not in any
kind of hostelry; but where was I? How was I to suppose that I was in a
hospital?
When I had taken my chocolate, a hair-dresser--quite a fashionable,
dapper fellow--made his appearance, dying to give vent to his chattering
propensities. Guessing that I did not wish to be shaved, he offered to
clip my soft down with the scissors, saying that I would look younger.
"Why do you suppose that I want to conceal my age?"
"It is very natural, because, if your lordship did not wish to do so,
your lordship would have shaved long ago. Countess Marcolini is here;
does your lordship know her? I must go to her at noon to dress her hair."
I did not feel interested in the Countess Marcolini, and, seeing it, the
gossip changed the subject.
"Is this your lordship's first visit to this house? It is the finest
hospital throughout the papal states."
"I quite agree with you, and I shall compliment His Holiness on the
establishment."
"Oh! His Holiness knows all about it, he resided here before he became
pope. If Monsignor Caraffa had not been well acquainted with you, he
would not have introduced you here."
Such is the use of barbers throughout Europe; but you must not put any
questions to them, for, if you do, they are sure to threat you to an
impudent mixture of truth and falsehood, and instead of you pumping them,
they will worm everything out of you.
Thinking that it was my duty to present my respectful compliments to
Monsignor Caraffa, I desired to be taken to his apartment. He gave me a
pleasant welcome, shewed me his library, and entrusted me to the care of
one of his abbes, a man of parts, who acted as my cicerone every where.
Twenty years afterwards, this same abbe was of great service to me in
Rome, and, if still alive, he is a canon of St. John Lateran.
On the following day, I took the communion in the Santa-Casa. The third
day was entirely employed in examining the exterior of this truly
wonderful sanctuary, and early the next day I resumed my journey, having
spent nothing except three paoli for the barber. Halfway to Macerata, I
overtook Brother Stephano walking on at a very slow rate. He was
delighted to see me again, and told me that he had left Ancona two hours
after me, but that he never walked more than three miles a day, being
quite satisfied to take two months for a journey which, even on foot, can
easily be accomplished in a week. "I want," he said, "to reach Rome
without fatigue and in good health. I am in no hurry, and if you feel
disposed to travel with me and in the same quiet way, Saint-Francis will
not find it difficult to keep us both during the journey."
This lazy fellow was a man about thirty, red-haired, very strong and
healthy; a true peasant who had turned himself into a monk only for the
sake of living in idle comfort. I answered that, as I was in a hurry to
reach Rome, I could not be his travelling companion.
"I undertake to walk six miles, instead of three, today," he said, "if
you will carry my cloak, which I find very heavy."
The proposal struck me as a rather funny one; I put on his cloak, and he
took my great-coat, but, after the exchange, we cut such a comical figure
that every peasant we met laughed at us. His cloak would truly have
proved a load for a mule. There were twelve pockets quite full, without
taken into account a pocket behind, which he called 'il batticulo', and
which contained alone twice as much as all the others. Bread, wine, fresh
and salt meat, fowls, eggs, cheese, ham, sausages--everything was to be
found in those pockets, which contained provisions enough for a
fortnight.
I told him how well I had been treated in Loretto, and he assured me that
I might have asked Monsignor Caraffa to give me letters for all the
hospitals on my road to Rome, and that everywhere I would have met with
the same reception. "The hospitals," he added, "are all under the curse
of Saint-Francis, because the mendicant friars are not admitted in them;
but we do not mind their gates being shut against us, because they are
too far apart from each other. We prefer the homes of the persons
attached to our order; these we find everywhere."
"Why do you not ask hospitality in the convents of your order?"
"I am not so foolish. In the first place, I should not be admitted,
because, being a fugitive, I have not the written obedience which must be
shown at every convent, and I should even run the risk of being thrown
into prison; your monks are a cursed bad lot. In the second place, I
should not be half so comfortable in the convents as I am with our devout
benefactors."
"Why and how are you a fugitive?"
He answered my question by the narrative of his imprisonment and flight,
the whole story being a tissue of absurdities and lies. The fugitive
Recollet friar was a fool, with something of the wit of harlequin, and he
thought that every man listening to him was a greater fool than himself.
Yet with all his folly he was not went in a certain species of cunning.
His religious principles were singular. As he did not wish to be taken
for a bigoted man he was scandalous, and for the sake of making people
laugh he would often make use of the most disgusting expressions. He had
no taste whatever for women, and no inclination towards the pleasures of
the flesh; but this was only owing to a deficiency in his natural
temperament, and yet he claimed for himself the virtue of continence. On
that score, everything appeared to him food for merriment, and when he
had drunk rather too much, he would ask questions of such an indecent
character that they would bring blushes on everybody's countenance. Yet
the brute would only laugh.
As we were getting within one hundred yards from the house of the devout
friend whom he intended to honour with his visit, he took back his heavy
cloak. On entering the house he gave his blessing to everybody, and
everyone in the family came to kiss his hand. The mistress of the house
requested him to say mass for them, and the compliant monk asked to be
taken to the vestry, but when I whispered in his ear,---
"Have you forgotten that we have already broken our fast to-day?" he
answered, dryly,---
"Mind your own business."
I dared not make any further remark, but during the mass I was indeed
surprised, for I saw that he did not understand what he was doing. I
could not help being amused at his awkwardness, but I had not yet seen
the best part of the comedy. As soon as he had somehow or other finished
his mass he went to the confessional, and after hearing in confession
every member of the family he took it into his head to refuse absolution
to the daughter of his hostess, a girl of twelve or thirteen, pretty and
quite charming. He gave his refusal publicly, scolding her and
threatening her with the torments of hell. The poor girl, overwhelmed
with shame, left the church crying bitterly, and I, feeling real sympathy
for her, could not help saying aloud to Stephano that he was a madman. I
ran after the girl to offer her my consolations, but she had disappeared,
and could not be induced to join us at dinner. This piece of extravagance
on the part of the monk exasperated me to such an extent that I felt a
very strong inclination to thrash him. In the presence of all the family
I told him that he was an impostor, and the infamous destroyer of the
poor child's honour; I challenged him to explain his reasons for refusing
to give her absolution, but he closed my lips by answering very coolly
that he could not betray the secrets of the confessional. I could eat
nothing, and was fully determined to leave the scoundrel. As we left the
house I was compelled to accept one paolo as the price of the mock mass
he had said. I had to fulfil the sorry duty of his treasurer.
The moment we were on the road, I told him that I was going to part
company, because I was afraid of being sent as a felon to the galleys if
I continued my journey with him. We exchanged high words; I called him an
ignorant scoundrel, he styled me beggar. I struck him a violent slap on
the face, which he returned with a blow from his stick, but I quickly
snatched it from him, and, leaving him, I hastened towards Macerata. A
carrier who was going to Tolentino took me with him for two paoli, and
for six more I might have reached Foligno in a waggon, but unfortunately
a wish for economy made me refuse the offer. I felt well, and I thought I
could easily walk as far as Valcimare, but I arrived there only after
five hours of hard walking, and thoroughly beaten with fatigue. I was
strong and healthy, but a walk of five hours was more than I could bear,
because in my infancy I had never gone a league on foot. Young people
cannot practise too much the art of walking.
The next day, refreshed by a good night's rest, and ready to resume my
journey, I wanted to pay the innkeeper, but, alas! a new misfortune was
in store for me! Let the reader imagine my sad position! I recollected
that I had forgotten my purse, containing seven sequins, on the table of
the inn at Tolentino. What a thunderbolt! I was in despair, but I gave up
the idea of going back, as it was very doubtful whether I would find my
money. Yet it contained all I possessed, save a few copper coins I had in
my pocket. I paid my small bill, and, deeply grieved at my loss,
continued my journey towards Seraval. I was within three miles of that
place when, in jumping over a ditch, I sprained my ankle, and was
compelled to sit down on one side of the road, and to wait until someone
should come to my assistance.
In the course of an hour a peasant happened to pass with his donkey, and
he agreed to carry me to Seraval for one paolo. As I wanted to spend as
little as possible, the peasant took me to an ill-looking fellow who, for
two paoli paid in advance, consented to give me a lodging. I asked him to
send for a surgeon, but I did not obtain one until the following morning.
I had a wretched supper, after which I lay down in a filthy bed. I was in
hope that sleep would bring me some relief, but my evil genius was
preparing for me a night of torments.
Three men, armed with guns and looking like banditti, came in shortly
after I had gone to bed, speaking a kind of slang which I could not make
out, swearing, raging, and paying no attention to me. They drank and sang
until midnight, after which they threw themselves down on bundles of
straw brought for them, and my host, who was drunk, came, greatly to my
dismay, to lie down near me. Disgusted at the idea of having such a
fellow for my bed companion, I refused to let him come, but he answered,
with fearful blasphemies, that all the devils in hell could not prevent
him from taking possession of his own bed. I was forced to make room for
him, and exclaimed "Heavens, where am I?" He told me that I was in the
house of the most honest constable in all the papal states.
Could I possibly have supposed that the peasant would have brought me
amongst those accursed enemies of humankind!
He laid himself down near me, but the filthy scoundrel soon compelled me
to give him, for certain reasons, such a blow in his chest that he rolled
out of bed. He picked himself up, and renewed his beastly attempt. Being
well aware that I could not master him without great danger, I got out of
bed, thinking myself lucky that he did not oppose my wish, and crawling
along as well as I could, I found a chair on which I passed the night. At
day-break, my tormentor, called up by his honest comrades, joined them in
drinking and shouting, and the three strangers, taking their guns,
departed. Left alone by the departure of the vile rabble, I passed
another unpleasant hour, calling in vain for someone. At last a young boy
came in, I gave him some money and he went for a surgeon. The doctor
examined my foot, and assured me that three or four days would set me to
rights. He advised me to be removed to an inn, and I most willingly
followed his counsel. As soon as I was brought to the inn, I went to bed,
and was well cared for, but my position was such that I dreaded the
moment of my recovery. I feared that I should be compelled to sell my
coat to pay the inn-keeper, and the very thought made me feel ashamed. I
began to consider that if I had controlled my sympathy for the young girl
so ill-treated by Stephano, I should not have fallen into this sad
predicament, and I felt conscious that my sympathy had been a mistake. If
I had put up with the faults of the friar, if this and if that, and every
other if was conjured up to torment my restless and wretched brain. Yet I
must confess that the thoughts which have their origin in misfortune are
not without advantage to a young man, for they give him the habit of
thinking, and the man who does not think never does anything right.
The morning of the fourth day came, and I was able to walk, as the
surgeon had predicted; I made up my mind, although reluctantly, to beg
the worthy man to sell my great coat for me--a most unpleasant necessity,
for rain had begun to fall. I owed fifteen paoli to the inn-keeper and
four to the surgeon. Just as I was going to proffer my painful request,
Brother Stephano made his appearance in my room, and burst into loud
laughter enquiring whether I had forgotten the blow from his stick!
I was struck with amazement! I begged the surgeon to leave me with the
monk, and he immediately complied.
I must ask my readers whether it is possible, in the face of such
extraordinary circumstances, not to feel superstitious! What is truly
miraculous in this case is the precise minute at which the event took
place, for the friar entered the room as the word was hanging on my lips.
What surprised me most was the force of Providence, of fortune, of
chance, whatever name is given to it, of that very necessary combination
which compelled me to find no hope but in that fatal monk, who had begun
to be my protective genius in Chiozza at the moment my distress had
likewise commenced. And yet, a singular guardian angel, this Stephano! I
felt that the mysterious force which threw me in his hands was a
punishment rather than a favour.
Nevertheless he was welcome, because I had no doubt of his relieving me
from my difficulties,--and whatever might be the power that sent him to
me, I felt that I could not do better than to submit to its influence;
the destiny of that monk was to escort me to Rome.
"Chi va piano va sano," said the friar as soon as we were alone. He had
taken five days to traverse the road over which I had travelled in one
day, but he was in good health, and he had met with no misfortune. He
told me that, as he was passing, he heard that an abbe, secretary to the
Venetian ambassador at Rome, was lying ill at the inn, after having been
robbed in Valcimara. "I came to see you," he added, "and as I find you
recovered from your illness, we can start again together; I agree to walk
six miles every day to please you. Come, let us forget the past, and let
us be at once on our way."
"I cannot go; I have lost my purse, and I owe twenty paoli."
"I will go and find the amount in the name of Saint-Francis."
He returned within an hour, but he was accompanied by the infamous
constable who told me that, if I had let him know who I was, he would
have been happy to keep me in his house. "I will give you," he continued,
"forty paoli, if you will promise me the protection of your ambassador;
but if you do not succeed in obtaining it for me in Rome, you will
undertake to repay me. Therefore you must give me an acknowledgement of
the debt."
"I have no objection." Every arrangement was speedily completed; I
received the money, paid my debts, and left Seraval with Stephano.
About one o'clock in the afternoon, we saw a wretched-looking house at a
short distance from the road, and the friar said, "It is a good distance
from here to Collefiorito; we had better put up there for the night." It
was in vain that I objected, remonstrating that we were certain of having
very poor accommodation! I had to submit to his will. We found a decrepit
old man lying on a pallet, two ugly women of thirty or forty, three
children entirely naked, a cow, and a cursed dog which barked
continually. It was a picture of squalid misery; but the niggardly monk,
instead of giving alms to the poor people, asked them to entertain us to
supper in the name of Saint-Francis.
"You must boil the hen," said the dying man to the females, "and bring
out of the cellar the bottle of wine which I have kept now for twenty
years." As he uttered those few words, he was seized with such a fit of
coughing that I thought he would die. The friar went near him, and
promised him that, by the grace of Saint-Francis, he would get young and
well. Moved by the sight of so much misery, I wanted to continue my
journey as far as Collefiorito, and to wait there for Stephano, but the
women would not let me go, and I remained. After boiling for four hours
the hen set the strongest teeth at defiance, and the bottle which I
uncorked proved to be nothing but sour vinegar. Losing patience, I got
hold of the monk's batticaslo, and took out of it enough for a plentiful
supper, and I saw the two women opening their eyes very wide at the sight
of our provisions.
We all ate with good appetite, and, after our supper the women made for
us two large beds of fresh straw, and we lay down in the dark, as the
last bit of candle to be found in the miserable dwelling was burnt out.
We had not been lying on the straw five minutes, when Stephano called out
to me that one of the women had just placed herself near him, and at the
same instant the other one takes me in her arms and kisses me. I push her
away, and the monk defends himself against the other; but mine, nothing
daunted, insists upon laying herself near me; I get up, the dog springs
at my neck, and fear compels me to remain quiet on my straw bed; the monk
screams, swears, struggles, the dog barks furiously, the old man coughs;
all is noise and confusion. At last Stephano, protected by his heavy
garments, shakes off the too loving shrew, and, braving the dog, manages
to find his stick. Then he lays about to right and left, striking in
every direction; one of the women exclaims, "Oh, God!" the friar answers,
"She has her quietus." Calm reigns again in the house, the dog, most
likely dead, is silent; the old man, who perhaps has received his
death-blow, coughs no more; the children sleep, and the women, afraid of
the singular caresses of the monk, sheer off into a corner; the remainder
of the night passed off quietly.
At day-break I rose; Stephano was likewise soon up. I looked all round,
and my surprise was great when I found that the women had gone out, and
seeing that the old man gave no sign of life, and had a bruise on his
forehead, I shewed it to Stephano, remarking that very likely he had
killed him.
"It is possible," he answered, "but I have not done it intentionally."
Then taking up his batticulo and finding it empty he flew into a violent
passion; but I was much pleased, for I had been afraid that the women had
gone out to get assistance and to have us arrested, and the robbery of
our provisions reassured me, as I felt certain that the poor wretches had
gone out of the way so as to secure impunity for their theft. But I laid
great stress upon the danger we should run by remaining any longer, and I
succeeded in frightening the friar out of the house. We soon met a
waggoner going to Folligno; I persuaded Stephano to take the opportunity
of putting a good distance between us and the scene of our last
adventures; and, as we were eating our breakfast at Folligno, we saw
another waggon, quite empty, got a lift in it for a trifle, and thus rode
to Pisignano, where a devout person gave us a charitable welcome, and I
slept soundly through the night without the dread of being arrested.
Early the next day we reached Spoleti, where Brother Stephano had two
benefactors, and, careful not to give either of them a cause of jealousy,
he favoured both; we dined with the first, who entertained us like
princes, and we had supper and lodging in the house of the second, a
wealthy wine merchant, and the father of a large and delightful family.
He gave us a delicious supper, and everything would have gone on
pleasantly had not the friar, already excited by his good dinner, made
himself quite drunk. In that state, thinking to please his new host, he
began to abuse the other, greatly to my annoyance; he said the wine he
had given us to drink was adulterated, and that the man was a thief. I
gave him the lie to his face, and called him a scoundrel. The host and
his wife pacified me, saying that they were well acquainted with their
neighbour, and knew what to think of him; but the monk threw his napkin
at my face, and the host took him very quietly by the arm and put him to
bed in a room in which he locked him up. I slept in another room.
In the morning I rose early, and was considering whether it would not be
better to go alone, when the friar, who had slept himself sober, made his
appearance and told me that we ought for the future to live together like
good friends, and not give way to angry feelings; I followed my destiny
once more. We resumed our journey, and at Soma, the inn-keeper, a woman
of rare beauty, gave us a good dinner, and some excellent Cyprus wine
which the Venetian couriers exchanged with her against delicious truffles
found in the vicinity of Soma, which sold for a good price in Venice. I
did not leave the handsome inn-keeper without losing a part of my heart.
It would be difficult to draw a picture of the indignation which
overpowered me when, as we were about two miles from Terni, the infamous
friar shewed me a small bag full of truffles which the scoundrel had
stolen from the amiable woman by way of thanks for her generous
hospitality. The truffles were worth two sequins at least. In my
indignation I snatched the bag from him, saying that I would certainly
return it to its lawful owner. But, as he had not committed the robbery
to give himself the pleasure of making restitution, he threw himself upon
me, and we came to a regular fight. But victory did not remain long in
abeyance; I forced his stick out of his hands, knocked him into a ditch,
and went off. On reaching Terni, I wrote a letter of apology to our
beautiful hostess of Soma, and sent back the truffles.
From Terni I went on foot to Otricoli, where I only stayed long enough to
examine the fine old bridge, and from there I paid four paoli to a
waggoner who carried me to Castel-Nuovo, from which place I walked to
Rome. I reached the celebrated city on the 1st of September, at nine in
the morning.
I must not forget to mention here a rather peculiar circumstance, which,
however ridiculous it may be in reality, will please many of my readers.
An hour after I had left Castel-Nuovo, the atmosphere being calm and the
sky clear, I perceived on my right, and within ten paces of me, a
pyramidal flame about two feet long and four or five feet above the
ground. This apparition surprised me, because it seemed to accompany me.
Anxious to examine it, I endeavoured to get nearer to it, but the more I
advanced towards it the further it went from me. It would stop when I
stood still, and when the road along which I was travelling happened to
be lined with trees, I no longer saw it, but it was sure to reappear as
soon as I reached a portion of the road without trees. I several times
retraced my steps purposely, but, every time I did so, the flame
disappeared, and would not shew itself again until I proceeded towards
Rome. This extraordinary beacon left me when daylight chased darkness
from the sky.
What a splendid field for ignorant superstition, if there had been any
witnesses to that phenomenon, and if I had chanced to make a great name
in Rome! History is full of such trifles, and the world is full of people
who attach great importance to them in spite of the so-called light of
science. I must candidly confess that, although somewhat versed in
physics, the sight of that small meteor gave me singular ideas. But I was
prudent enough not to mention the circumstance to any one.
When I reached the ancient capital of the world, I possessed only seven
paoli, and consequently I did not loiter about. I paid no attention to
the splendid entrance through the gate of the polar trees, which is by
mistake pompously called of the people, or to the beautiful square of the
same name, or to the portals of the magnificent churches, or to all the
stately buildings which generally strike the traveller as he enters the
city. I went straight towards Monte-Magnanopoli, where, according to the
address given to me, I was to find the bishop. There I was informed that
he had left Rome ten days before, leaving instructions to send me to
Naples free of expense. A coach was to start for Naples the next day; not
caring to see Rome, I went to bed until the time for the departure of the
coach. I travelled with three low fellows to whom I did not address one
word through the whole of the journey. I entered Naples on the 6th day of
September.
I went immediately to the address which had been given to me in Rome; the
bishop was not there. I called at the Convent of the Minims, and I found
that he had left Naples to proceed to Martorano. I enquired whether he
had left any instructions for me, but all in vain, no one could give me
any information. And there I was, alone in a large city, without a
friend, with eight carlini in my pocket, and not knowing what to do! But
never mind; fate calls me to Martorano, and to Martorano I must go. The
distance, after all, is only two hundred miles.
I found several drivers starting for Cosenza, but when they heard that I
had no luggage, they refused to take me, unless I paid in advance. They
were quite right, but their prudence placed me under the necessity of
going on foot. Yet I felt I must reach Martorano, and I made up my mind
to walk the distance, begging food and lodging like the very reverend
Brother Stephano.
First of all I made a light meal for one fourth of my money, and, having
been informed that I had to follow the Salerno road, I went towards
Portici where I arrived in an hour and a half. I already felt rather
fatigued; my legs, if not my head, took me to an inn, where I ordered a
room and some supper. I was served in good style, my appetite was
excellent, and I passed a quiet night in a comfortable bed. In the
morning I told the inn-keeper that I would return for my dinner, and I
went out to visit the royal palace. As I passed through the gate, I was
met by a man of prepossessing appearance, dressed in the eastern fashion,
who offered to shew me all over the palace, saying that I would thus save
my money. I was in a position to accept any offer; I thanked him for his
kindness.
Happening during the conversation to state that I was a Venetian, he told
me that he was my subject, since he came from Zante. I acknowledged his
polite compliment with a reverence.
"I have," he said, "some very excellent muscatel wine 'grown in the East,
which I could sell you cheap."
"I might buy some, but I warn you I am a good judge."
"So much the better. Which do you prefer?"
"The Cerigo wine."
"You are right. I have some rare Cerigo muscatel, and we can taste it if
you have no objection to dine with me."
"None whatever."
"I can likewise give you the wines of Samos and Cephalonia. I have also a
quantity of minerals, plenty of vitriol, cinnabar, antimony, and one
hundred quintals of mercury."
"Are all these goods here?"
"No, they are in Naples. Here I have only the muscatel wine and the
mercury."
It is quite naturally and without any intention to deceive, that a young
man accustomed to poverty, and ashamed of it when he speaks to a rich
stranger, boasts of his means--of his fortune. As I was talking with my
new acquaintance, I recollected an amalgam of mercury with lead and
bismuth, by which the mercury increases one-fourth in weight. I said
nothing, but I bethought myself that if the mystery should be unknown to
the Greek I might profit by it. I felt that some cunning was necessary,
and that he would not care for my secret if I proposed to sell it to him
without preparing the way. The best plan was to astonish my man with the
miracle of the augmentation of the mercury, treat it as a jest, and see
what his intentions would be. Cheating is a crime, but honest cunning may
be considered as a species of prudence. True, it is a quality which is
near akin to roguery; but that cannot be helped, and the man who, in time
of need, does not know how to exercise his cunning nobly is a fool. The
Greeks call this sort of wisdom Cerdaleophyon from the word cerdo; fox,
and it might be translated by foxdom if there were such a word in
English.
After we had visited the palace we returned to the inn, and the Greek
took me to his room, in which he ordered the table to be laid for two. In
the next room I saw several large vessels of muscatel wine and four
flagons of mercury, each containing about ten pounds.
My plans were laid, and I asked him to let me have one of the flagons of
mercury at the current price, and took it to my room. The Greek went out
to attend to his business, reminding me that he expected me to dinner. I
went out likewise, and bought two pounds and a half of lead and an equal
quantity of bismuth; the druggist had no more. I came back to the inn,
asked for some large empty bottles, and made the amalgam.
We dined very pleasantly, and the Greek was delighted because I
pronounced his Cerigo excellent. In the course of conversation he
inquired laughingly why I had bought one of his flagons of mercury.
"You can find out if you come to my room," I said.
After dinner we repaired to my room, and he found his mercury divided in
two vessels. I asked for a piece of chamois, strained the liquid through
it, filled his own flagon, and the Greek stood astonished at the sight of
the fine mercury, about one-fourth of a flagon, which remained over, with
an equal quantity of a powder unknown to him; it was the bismuth. My
merry laugh kept company with his astonishment, and calling one of the
servants of the inn I sent him to the druggist to sell the mercury that
was left. He returned in a few minutes and handed me fifteen carlini.
The Greek, whose surprise was complete, asked me to give him back his own
flagon, which was there quite full, and worth sixty carlini. I handed it
to him with a smile, thanking him for the opportunity he had afforded me
of earning fifteen carlini, and took care to add that I should leave for
Salerno early the next morning.
"Then we must have supper together this evening," he said.
During the afternoon we took a walk towards Mount Vesuvius. Our
conversation went from one subject to another, but no allusion was made
to the mercury, though I could see that the Greek had something on his
mind. At supper he told me, jestingly, that I ought to stop in Portici
the next day to make forty-five carlini out of the three other flagons of
mercury. I answered gravely that I did not want the money, and that I had
augmented the first flagon only for the sake of procuring him an
agreeable surprise.
"But," said he, "you must be very wealthy."
"No, I am not, because I am in search of the secret of the augmentation
of gold, and it is a very expensive study for us."
"How many are there in your company?"
"Only my uncle and myself."
"What do you want to augment gold for? The augmentation of mercury ought
to be enough for you. Pray, tell me whether the mercury augmented by you
to-day is again susceptible of a similar increase."
"No, if it were so, it would be an immense source of wealth for us."
"I am much pleased with your sincerity."
Supper over I paid my bill, and asked the landlord to get me a carriage
and pair of horses to take me to Salerno early the next morning. I
thanked the Greek for his delicious muscatel wine, and, requesting his
address in Naples, I assured him that he would see me within a fortnight,
as I was determined to secure a cask of his Cerigo.
We embraced each other, and I retired to bed well pleased with my day's
work, and in no way astonished at the Greek's not offering to purchase my
secret, for I was certain that he would not sleep for anxiety, and that I
should see him early in the morning. At all events, I had enough money to
reach the Tour-du-Grec, and there Providence would take care of me. Yet
it seemed to me very difficult to travel as far as Martorano, begging
like a mendicant-friar, because my outward appearance did not excite
pity; people would feel interested in me only from a conviction that I
needed nothing--a very unfortunate conviction, when the object of it is
truly poor.
As I had forseen, the Greek was in my room at daybreak. I received him in
a friendly way, saying that we could take coffee together.
"Willingly; but tell me, reverend abbe, whether you would feel disposed
to sell me your secret?"
"Why not? When we meet in Naples--"
"But why not now?"
"I am expected in Salerno; besides, I would only sell the secret for a
large sum of money, and I am not acquainted with you."
"That does not matter, as I am sufficiently known here to pay you in
cash. How much would you want?"
"Two thousand ounces."
"I agree to pay you that sum provided that I succeed in making the
augmentation myself with such matter as you name to me, which I will
purchase."
"It is impossible, because the necessary ingredients cannot be got here;
but they are common enough in Naples."
"If it is any sort of metal, we can get it at the Tourdu-Grec. We could
go there together. Can you tell me what is the expense of the
augmentation?"
"One and a half per cent. but are you likewise known at the Tour-du-Grec,
for I should not like to lose my time?"
"Your doubts grieve me."
Saying which, he took a pen, wrote a few words, and handed to me this
order:
"At sight, pay to bearer the sum of fifty gold ounces, on account of
Panagiotti."
He told me that the banker resided within two hundred yards of the inn,
and he pressed me to go there myself. I did not stand upon ceremony, but
went to the banker who paid me the amount. I returned to my room in which
he was waiting for me, and placed the gold on the table, saying that we
could now proceed together to the Tour-du-Grec, where we would complete
our arrangements after the signature of a deed of agreement. The Greek
had his own carriage and horses; he gave orders for them to be got ready,
and we left the inn; but he had nobly insisted upon my taking possession
of the fifty ounces.
When we arrived at the Tour-du-Grec, he signed a document by which he
promised to pay me two thousand ounces as soon as I should have
discovered to him the process of augmenting mercury by one-fourth without
injuring its quality, the amalgam to be equal to the mercury which I had
sold in his presence at Portici.
He then gave me a bill of exchange payable at sight in eight days on M.
Genaro de Carlo. I told him that the ingredients were lead and bismuth;
the first, combining with mercury, and the second giving to the whole the
perfect fluidity necessary to strain it through the chamois leather. The
Greek went out to try the amalgam--I do not know where, and I dined
alone, but toward evening he came back, looking very disconsolate, as I
had expected.
"I have made the amalgam," he said, "but the mercury is not perfect."
"It is equal to that which I have sold in Portici, and that is the very
letter of your engagement."
"But my engagement says likewise without injury to the quality. You must
agree that the quality is injured, because it is no longer susceptible of
further augmentation."
"You knew that to be the case; the point is its equality with the mercury
I sold in Portici. But we shall have to go to law, and you will lose. I
am sorry the secret should become public. Congratulate yourself, sir,
for, if you should gain the lawsuit, you will have obtained my secret for
nothing. I would never have believed you capable of deceiving me in such
a manner."
"Reverend sir, I can assure you that I would not willingly deceive any
one."
"Do you know the secret, or do you not? Do you suppose I would have given
it to you without the agreement we entered into? Well, there will be some
fun over this affair in Naples, and the lawyers will make money out of
it. But I am much grieved at this turn of affairs, and I am very sorry
that I allowed myself to be so easily deceived by your fine talk. In the
mean time, here are your fifty ounces."
As I was taking the money out of my pocket, frightened to death lest he
should accept it, he left the room, saying that he would not have it. He
soon returned; we had supper in the same room, but at separate tables;
war had been openly declared, but I felt certain that a treaty of peace
would soon be signed. We did not exchange one word during the evening,
but in the morning he came to me as I was getting ready to go. I again
offered to return the money I received, but he told me to keep it, and
proposed to give me fifty ounces more if I would give him back his bill
of exchange for two thousand. We began to argue the matter quietly, and
after two hours of discussion I gave in. I received fifty ounces more, we
dined together like old friends, and embraced each other cordially. As I
was bidding him adieu, he gave me an order on his house at Naples for a
barrel of muscatel wine, and he presented me with a splendid box
containing twelve razors with silver handles, manufactured in the
Tour-du-Grec. We parted the best friends in the world and well pleased
with each other.
I remained two days in Salerno to provide myself with linen and other
necessaries. Possessing about one hundred sequins, and enjoying good
health, I was very proud of my success, in which I could not see any
cause of reproach to myself, for the cunning I had brought into play to
insure the sale of my secret could not be found fault with except by the
most intolerant of moralists, and such men have no authority to speak on
matters of business. At all events, free, rich, and certain of presenting
myself before the bishop with a respectable appearance, and not like a
beggar, I soon recovered my natural spirits, and congratulated myself
upon having bought sufficient experience to insure me against falling a
second time an easy prey to a Father Corsini, to thieving gamblers, to
mercenary women, and particularly to the impudent scoundrels who
barefacedly praise so well those they intend to dupe--a species of knaves
very common in the world, even amongst people who form what is called
good society.
I left Salerno with two priests who were going to Cosenza on business,
and we traversed the distance of one hundred and forty-two miles in
twenty-two hours. The day after my arrival in the capital of Calabria, I
took a small carriage and drove to Martorano. During the journey, fixing
my eyes upon the famous mare Ausonaum, I felt delighted at finding myself
in the middle of Magna Grecia, rendered so celebrated for twenty-four
centuries by its connection with Pythagoras. I looked with astonishment
upon a country renowned for its fertility, and in which, in spite of
nature's prodigality, my eyes met everywhere the aspect of terrible
misery, the complete absence of that pleasant superfluity which helps man
to enjoy life, and the degradation of the inhabitants sparsely scattered
on a soil where they ought to be so numerous; I felt ashamed to
acknowledge them as originating from the same stock as myself. Such is,
however the Terra di Lavoro where labour seems to be execrated, where
everything is cheap, where the miserable inhabitants consider that they
have made a good bargain when they have found anyone disposed to take
care of the fruit which the ground supplies almost spontaneously in too
great abundance, and for which there is no market. I felt compelled to
admit the justice of the Romans who had called them Brutes instead of
Byutians. The good priests with whom I had been travelling laughed at my
dread of the tarantula and of the crasydra, for the disease brought on by
the bite of those insects appeared to me more fearful even than a certain
disease with which I was already too well acquainted. They assured me
that all the stories relating to those creatures were fables; they
laughed at the lines which Virgil has devoted to them in the Georgics as
well as at all those I quoted to justify my fears.
I found Bishop Bernard de Bernardis occupying a hard chair near an old
table on which he was writing. I fell on my knees, as it is customary to
do before a prelate, but, instead of giving me his blessing, he raised me
up from the floor, and, folding me in his arms, embraced me tenderly. He
expressed his deep sorrow when I told him that in Naples I had not been
able to find any instructions to enable me to join him, but his face
lighted up again when I added that I was indebted to no one for money,
and that I was in good health. He bade me take a seat, and with a heavy
sigh he began to talk of his poverty, and ordered a servant to lay the
cloth for three persons. Besides this servant, his lordship's suite
consisted of a most devout-looking housekeeper, and of a priest whom I
judged to be very ignorant from the few words he uttered during our meal.
The house inhabited by his lordship was large, but badly built and poorly
kept. The furniture was so miserable that, in order to make up a bed for
me in the room adjoining his chamber, the poor bishop had to give up one
of his two mattresses! His dinner, not to say any more about it,
frightened me, for he was very strict in keeping the rules of his order,
and this being a fast day, he did not eat any meat, and the oil was very
bad. Nevertheless, monsignor was an intelligent man, and, what is still
better, an honest man. He told me, much to my surprise, that his
bishopric, although not one of little importance, brought him in only
five hundred ducat-diregno yearly, and that, unfortunately, he had
contracted debts to the amount of six hundred. He added, with a sigh,
that his only happiness was to feel himself out of the clutches of the
monks, who had persecuted him, and made his life a perfect purgatory for
fifteen years. All these confidences caused me sorrow and mortification,
because they proved to me, not only that I was not in the promised land
where a mitre could be picked up, but also that I would be a heavy charge
for him. I felt that he was grieved himself at the sorry present his
patronage seemed likely to prove.
I enquired whether he had a good library, whether there were any literary
men, or any good society in which one could spend a few agreeable hours.
He smiled and answered that throughout his diocese there was not one man
who could boast of writing decently, and still less of any taste or
knowledge in literature; that there was not a single bookseller, nor any
person caring even for the newspapers. But he promised me that we would
follow our literary tastes together, as soon as he received the books he
had ordered from Naples.
That was all very well, but was this the place for a young man of
eighteen to live in, without a good library, without good society,
without emulation and literacy intercourse? The good bishop, seeing me
full of sad thoughts, and almost astounded at the prospect of the
miserable life I should have to lead with him, tried to give me courage
by promising to do everything in his power to secure my happiness.
The next day, the bishop having to officiate in his pontifical robes, I
had an opportunity of seeing all the clergy, and all the faithful of the
diocese, men and women, of whom the cathedral was full; the sight made me
resolve at once to leave Martorano. I thought I was gazing upon a troop
of brutes for whom my external appearance was a cause of scandal. How
ugly were the women! What a look of stupidity and coarseness in the men!
When I returned to the bishop's house I told the prelate that I did not
feel in me the vocation to die within a few months a martyr in this
miserable city.
"Give me your blessing," I added, "and let me go; or, rather, come with
me. I promise you that we shall make a fortune somewhere else."
The proposal made him laugh repeatedly during the day. Had he agreed to
it he would not have died two years afterwards in the prime of manhood.
The worthy man, feeling how natural was my repugnance, begged me to
forgive him for having summoned me to him, and, considering it his duty
to send me back to Venice, having no money himself and not being aware
that I had any, he told me that he would give me an introduction to a
worthy citizen of Naples who would lend me sixty ducati-di-regno to
enable me to reach my native city. I accepted his offer with gratitude,
and going to my room I took out of my trunk the case of fine razors which
the Greek had given me, and I begged his acceptance of it as a souvenir
of me. I had great difficulty in forcing it upon him, for it was worth
the sixty ducats, and to conquer his resistance I had to threaten to
remain with him if he refused my present. He gave me a very flattering
letter of recommendation for the Archbishop of Cosenza, in which he
requested him to forward me as far as Naples without any expense to
myself. It was thus I left Martorano sixty hours after my arrival,
pitying the bishop whom I was leaving behind, and who wept as he was
pouring heartfelt blessings upon me.
The Archbishop of Cosenza, a man of wealth and of intelligence, offered
me a room in his palace. During the dinner I made, with an overflowing
heart, the eulogy of the Bishop of Martorano; but I railed mercilessly at
his diocese and at the whole of Calabria in so cutting a manner that I
greatly amused the archbishop and all his guests, amongst whom were two
ladies, his relatives, who did the honours of the dinner-table. The
youngest, however, objected to the satirical style in which I had
depicted her country, and declared war against me; but I contrived to
obtain peace again by telling her that Calabria would be a delightful
country if one-fourth only of its inhabitants were like her. Perhaps it
was with the idea of proving to me that I had been wrong in my opinion
that the archbishop gave on the following day a splendid supper.
Cosenza is a city in which a gentleman can find plenty of amusement; the
nobility are wealthy, the women are pretty, and men generally
well-informed, because they have been educated in Naples or in Rome. I
left Cosenza on the third day with a letter from the archbishop for the
far-famed Genovesi.
I had five travelling companions, whom I judged, from their appearance,
to be either pirates or banditti, and I took very good care not to let
them see or guess that I had a well-filled purse. I likewise thought it
prudent to go to bed without undressing during the whole journey--an
excellent measure of prudence for a young man travelling in that part of
the country.
I reached Naples on the 16th of September, 1743, and I lost no time in
presenting the letter of the Bishop of Martorano. It was addressed to a
M. Gennaro Polo at St. Anne's. This excellent man, whose duty was only to
give me the sum of sixty ducats, insisted, after perusing the bishop's
letter, upon receiving me in his house, because he wished me to make the
acquaintance of his son, who was a poet like myself. The bishop had
represented my poetry as sublime. After the usual ceremonies, I accepted
his kind invitation, my trunk was sent for, and I was a guest in the
house of M. Gennaro Polo.
CHAPTER IX
My Stay in Naples; It Is Short but Happy--Don Antonio
Casanova--Don Lelio Caraffa--I Go to Rome in Very Agreeable
Company, and Enter the Service of Cardinal Acquaviva--
Barbara--Testaccio--Frascati
[Illustration: 1c09.jpg
I had no difficulty in answering the various questions which Doctor
Gennaro addressed to me, but I was surprised, and even displeased, at the
constant peals of laughter with which he received my answers. The piteous
description of miserable Calabria, and the picture of the sad situation
of the Bishop of Martorano, appeared to me more likely to call forth
tears than to excite hilarity, and, suspecting that some mystification
was being played upon me, I was very near getting angry when, becoming
more composed, he told me with feeling that I must kindly excuse him;
that his laughter was a disease which seemed to be endemic in his family,
for one of his uncles died of it.
"What!" I exclaimed, "died of laughing!"
"Yes. This disease, which was not known to Hippocrates, is called li
flati."
"What do you mean? Does an hypochondriac affection, which causes sadness
and lowness in all those who suffer from it, render you cheerful?"
"Yes, because, most likely, my flati, instead of influencing the
hypochondrium, affects my spleen, which my physician asserts to be the
organ of laughter. It is quite a discovery."
"You are mistaken; it is a very ancient notion, and it is the only
function which is ascribed to the spleen in our animal organization."
"Well, we must discuss the matter at length, for I hope you will remain
with us a few weeks."
"I wish I could, but I must leave Naples to-morrow or the day after."
"Have you got any money?"
"I rely upon the sixty ducats you have to give me."
At these words, his peals of laughter began again, and as he could see
that I was annoyed, he said, "I am amused at the idea that I can keep you
here as long as I like. But be good enough to see my son; he writes
pretty verses enough."
And truly his son, although only fourteen, was already a great poet.
A servant took me to the apartment of the young man whom I found
possessed of a pleasing countenance and engaging manners. He gave me a
polite welcome, and begged to be excused if he could not attend to me
altogether for the present, as he had to finish a song which he was
composing for a relative of the Duchess de Rovino, who was taking the
veil at the Convent of St. Claire, and the printer was waiting for the
manuscript. I told him that his excuse was a very good one, and I offered
to assist him. He then read his song, and I found it so full of
enthusiasm, and so truly in the style of Guidi, that I advised him to
call it an ode; but as I had praised all the truly beautiful passages, I
thought I could venture to point out the weak ones, and I replaced them
by verses of my own composition. He was delighted, and thanked me warmly,
inquiring whether I was Apollo. As he was writing his ode, I composed a
sonnet on the same subject, and, expressing his admiration for it he
begged me to sign it, and to allow him to send it with his poetry.
While I was correcting and recopying my manuscript, he went to his father
to find out who I was, which made the old man laugh until supper-time. In
the evening, I had the pleasure of seeing that my bed had been prepared
in the young man's chamber.
Doctor Gennaro's family was composed of this son and of a daughter
unfortunately very plain, of his wife and of two elderly, devout sisters.
Amongst the guests at the supper-table I met several literary men, and
the Marquis Galiani, who was at that time annotating Vitruvius. He had a
brother, an abbe whose acquaintance I made twenty years after, in Paris,
when he was secretary of embassy to Count Cantillana. The next day, at
supper, I was presented to the celebrated Genovesi; I had already sent
him the letter of the Archbishop of Cosenza. He spoke to me of Apostolo
Zeno and of the Abbe Conti. He remarked that it was considered a very
venial sin for a regular priest to say two masses in one day for the sake
of earning two carlini more, but that for the same sin a secular priest
would deserve to be burnt at the stake.
The nun took the veil on the following day, and Gennaro's ode and my
sonnet had the greatest success. A Neapolitan gentleman, whose name was
the same as mine, expressed a wish to know me, and, hearing that I
resided at the doctor's, he called to congratulate him on the occasion of
his feast-day, which happened to fall on the day following the ceremony
at Sainte-Claire.
Don Antonio Casanova, informing me of his name, enquired whether my
family was originally from Venice.
"I am, sir," I answered modestly, "the great-grandson of the unfortunate
Marco Antonio Casanova, secretary to Cardinal Pompeo Colonna, who died of
the plague in Rome, in the year 1528, under the pontificate of Clement
VII." The words were scarcely out of my lips when he embraced me, calling
me his cousin, but we all thought that Doctor Gennaro would actually die
with laughter, for it seemed impossible to laugh so immoderately without
risk of life. Madame Gennaro was very angry and told my newly-found
cousin that he might have avoided enacting such a scene before her
husband, knowing his disease, but he answered that he never thought the
circumstance likely to provoke mirth. I said nothing, for, in reality, I
felt that the recognition was very comic. Our poor laugher having
recovered his composure, Casanova, who had remained very serious, invited
me to dinner for the next day with my young friend Paul Gennaro, who had
already become my alter ego.
When we called at his house, my worthy cousin showed me his family tree,
beginning with a Don Francisco, brother of Don Juan. In my pedigree,
which I knew by heart, Don Juan, my direct ancestor, was a posthumous
child. It was possible that there might have been a brother of Marco
Antonio's; but when he heard that my genealogy began with Don Francisco,
from Aragon, who had lived in the fourteenth century, and that
consequently all the pedigree of the illustrious house of the Casanovas
of Saragossa belonged to him, his joy knew no bounds; he did not know
what to do to convince me that the same blood was flowing in his veins
and in mine.
He expressed some curiosity to know what lucky accident had brought me to
Naples; I told him that, having embraced the ecclesiastical profession, I
was going to Rome to seek my fortune. He then presented me to his family,
and I thought that I could read on the countenance of my cousin, his
dearly beloved wife, that she was not much pleased with the newly-found
relationship, but his pretty daughter, and a still prettier niece of his,
might very easily have given me faith in the doctrine that blood is
thicker than water, however fabulous it may be.
After dinner, Don Antonio informed me that the Duchess de Bovino had
expressed a wish to know the Abbe Casanova who had written the sonnet in
honour of her relative, and that he would be very happy to introduce me
to her as his own cousin. As we were alone at that moment, I begged he
would not insist on presenting me, as I was only provided with travelling
suits, and had to be careful of my purse so as not to arrive in Rome
without money. Delighted at my confidence, and approving my economy, he
said, "I am rich, and you must not scruple to come with me to my tailor;"
and he accompanied his offer with an assurance that the circumstance
would not be known to anyone, and that he would feel deeply mortified if
I denied him the pleasure of serving me. I shook him warmly by the hand,
and answered that I was ready to do anything he pleased. We went to a
tailor who took my measure, and who brought me on the following day
everything necessary to the toilet of the most elegant abbe. Don Antonio
called on me, and remained to dine with Don Gennaro, after which he took
me and my friend Paul to the duchess. This lady, according to the
Neapolitan fashion, called me thou in her very first compliment of
welcome. Her daughter, then only ten or twelve years old, was very
handsome, and a few years later became Duchess de Matalona. The duchess
presented me with a snuff-box in pale tortoise-shell with arabesque
incrustations in gold, and she invited us to dine with her on the morrow,
promising to take us after dinner to the Convent of St. Claire to pay a
visit to the new nun.
As we came out of the palace of the duchess, I left my friends and went
alone to Panagiotti's to claim the barrel of muscatel wine. The manager
was kind enough to have the barrel divided into two smaller casks of
equal capacity, and I sent one to Don Antonio, and the other to Don
Gennaro. As I was leaving the shop I met the worthy Panagiotti, who was
glad to see me. Was I to blush at the sight of the good man I had at
first deceived? No, for in his opinion I had acted very nobly towards
him.
Don Gennaro, as I returned home, managed to thank me for my handsome
present without laughing, and the next day Don Antonio, to make up for
the muscatel wine I had sent him, offered me a gold-headed cane, worth at
least fifteen ounces, and his tailor brought me a travelling suit and a
blue great coat, with the buttonholes in gold lace. I therefore found
myself splendidly equipped.
At the Duchess de Bovino's dinner I made the acquaintance of the wisest
and most learned man in Naples, the illustrious Don Lelio Caraffa, who
belonged to the ducal family of Matalona, and whom King Carlos honoured
with the title of friend.
I spent two delightful hours in the convent parlour, coping successfully
with the curiosity of all the nuns who were pressing against the grating.
Had destiny allowed me to remain in Naples my fortune would have been
made; but, although I had no fixed plan, the voice of fate summoned me to
Rome, and therefore I resisted all the entreaties of my cousin Antonio to
accept the honourable position of tutor in several houses of the highest
order.
Don Antonio gave a splendid dinner in my honour, but he was annoyed and
angry because he saw that his wife looked daggers at her new cousin. I
thought that, more than once, she cast a glance at my new costume, and
then whispered to the guest next to her. Very likely she knew what had
taken place. There are some positions in life to which I could never be
reconciled. If, in the most brilliant circle, there is one person who
affects to stare at me I lose all presence of mind. Self-dignity feels
outraged, my wit dies away, and I play the part of a dolt. It is a
weakness on my part, but a weakness I cannot overcome.
Don Lelio Caraffa offered me a very liberal salary if I would undertake
the education of his nephew, the Duke de Matalona, then ten years of age.
I expressed my gratitude, and begged him to be my true benefactor in a
different manner--namely, by giving me a few good letters of introduction
for Rome, a favour which he granted at once. He gave me one for Cardinal
Acquaviva, and another for Father Georgi.
I found out that the interest felt towards me by my friends had induced
them to obtain for me the honour of kissing the hand of Her Majesty the
Queen, and I hastened my preparations to leave Naples, for the queen
would certainly have asked me some questions, and I could not have
avoided telling her that I had just left Martorano and the poor bishop
whom she had sent there. The queen likewise knew my mother; she would
very likely have alluded to my mother's profession in Dresden; it would
have mortified Don Antonio, and my pedigree would have been covered with
ridicule. I knew the force of prejudice! I should have been ruined, and I
felt I should do well to withdraw in good time. As I took leave of him,
Don Antonio presented me with a fine gold watch and gave me a letter for
Don Gaspar Vidaldi, whom he called his best friend. Don Gennaro paid me
the sixty ducats, and his son, swearing eternal friendship, asked me to
write to him. They all accompanied me to the coach, blending their tears
with mine, and loading me with good wishes and blessings.
From my landing in Chiozza up to my arrival in Naples, fortune had seemed
bent upon frowning on me; in Naples it began to shew itself less adverse,
and on my return to that city it entirely smiled upon me. Naples has
always been a fortunate place for me, as the reader of my memoirs will
discover. My readers must not forget that in Portici I was on the point
of disgracing myself, and there is no remedy against the degradation of
the mind, for nothing can restore it to its former standard. It is a case
of disheartening atony for which there is no possible cure.
I was not ungrateful to the good Bishop of Martorano, for, if he had
unwittingly injured me by summoning me to his diocese, I felt that to his
letter for M. Gennaro I was indebted for all the good fortune which had
just befallen me. I wrote to him from Rome.
I was wholly engaged in drying my tears as we were driving through the
beautiful street of Toledo, and it was only after we had left Naples that
I could find time to examine the countenance of my travelling companions.
Next to me, I saw a man of from forty to fifty, with a pleasing face and
a lively air, but, opposite to me, two charming faces delighted my eyes.
They belonged to two ladies, young and pretty, very well dressed, with a
look of candour and modesty. This discovery was most agreeable, but I
felt sad and I wanted calm and silence. We reached Avessa without one
word being exchanged, and as the vetturino stopped there only to water
his mules, we did not get out of the coach. From Avessa to Capua my
companions conversed almost without interruption, and, wonderful to
relate! I did not open my lips once. I was amused by the Neapolitan
jargon of the gentleman, and by the pretty accent of the ladies, who were
evidently Romans. It was a most wonderful feat for me to remain five
hours before two charming women without addressing one word to them,
without paying them one compliment.
At Capua, where we were to spend the night, we put up at an inn, and were
shown into a room with two beds--a very usual thing in Italy. The
Neapolitan, addressing himself to me, said,
"Am I to have the honour of sleeping with the reverend gentleman?"
I answered in a very serious tone that it was for him to choose or to
arrange it otherwise, if he liked. The answer made the two ladies smile,
particularly the one whom I preferred, and it seemed to me a good omen.
We were five at supper, for it is usual for the vetturino to supply his
travellers with their meals, unless some private agreement is made
otherwise, and to sit down at table with them. In the desultory talk
which went on during the supper, I found in my travelling companions
decorum, propriety, wit, and the manners of persons accustomed to good
society. I became curious to know who they were, and going down with the
driver after supper, I asked him.
"The gentleman," he told me, "is an advocate, and one of the ladies is
his wife, but I do not know which of the two."
I went back to our room, and I was polite enough to go to bed first, in
order to make it easier for the ladies to undress themselves with
freedom; I likewise got up first in the morning, left the room, and only
returned when I was called for breakfast. The coffee was delicious. I
praised it highly, and the lady, the one who was my favourite, promised
that I should have the same every morning during our journey. The barber
came in after breakfast; the advocate was shaved, and the barber offered
me his services, which I declined, but the rogue declared that it was
slovenly to wear one's beard.
When we had resumed our seats in the coach, the advocate made some remark
upon the impudence of barbers in general.
"But we ought to decide first," said the lady, "whether or not it is
slovenly to go bearded."
"Of course it is," said the advocate. "Beard is nothing but a dirty
excrescence."
"You may think so," I answered, "but everybody does not share your
opinion. Do we consider as a dirty excrescence the hair of which we take
so much care, and which is of the same nature as the beard? Far from it;
we admire the length and the beauty of the hair."
"Then," remarked the lady, "the barber is a fool."
"But after all," I asked, "have I any beard?"
"I thought you had," she answered.
"In that case, I will begin to shave as soon as I reach Rome, for this is
the first time that I have been convicted of having a beard."
"My dear wife," exclaimed the advocate, "you should have held your
tongue; perhaps the reverend abbe is going to Rome with the intention of
becoming a Capuchin friar."
The pleasantry made me laugh, but, unwilling that he should have the last
word, I answered that he had guessed rightly, that such had been my
intention, but that I had entirely altered my mind since I had seen his
wife.
"Oh! you are wrong," said the joyous Neapolitan, "for my wife is very
fond of Capuchins, and if you wish to please her, you had better follow
your original vocation." Our conversation continued in the same tone of
pleasantry, and the day passed off in an agreeable manner; in the evening
we had a very poor supper at Garillan, but we made up for it by
cheerfulness and witty conversation. My dawning inclination for the
advocate's wife borrowed strength from the affectionate manner she
displayed towards me.
The next day she asked me, after we had resumed our journey, whether I
intended to make a long stay in Rome before returning to Venice. I
answered that, having no acquaintances in Rome, I was afraid my life
there would be very dull.
"Strangers are liked in Rome," she said, "I feel certain that you will be
pleased with your residence in that city."
"May I hope, madam, that you will allow me to pay you my respects?"
"We shall be honoured by your calling on us," said the advocate.
My eyes were fixed upon his charming wife. She blushed, but I did not
appear to notice it. I kept up the conversation, and the day passed as
pleasantly as the previous one. We stopped at Terracina, where they gave
us a room with three beds, two single beds and a large one between the
two others. It was natural that the two sisters should take the large
bed; they did so, and undressed themselves while the advocate and I went
on talking at the table, with our backs turned to them. As soon as they
had gone to rest, the advocate took the bed on which he found his
nightcap, and I the other, which was only about one foot distant from the
large bed. I remarked that the lady by whom I was captivated was on the
side nearest my couch, and, without much vanity, I could suppose that it
was not owing only to chance.
I put the light out and laid down, revolving in my mind a project which I
could not abandon, and yet durst not execute. In vain did I court sleep.
A very faint light enabled me to perceive the bed in which the pretty
woman was lying, and my eyes would, in spite of myself, remain open. It
would be difficult to guess what I might have done at last (I had already
fought a hard battle with myself for more than an hour), when I saw her
rise, get out of her bed, and go and lay herself down near her husband,
who, most likely, did not wake up, and continued to sleep in peace, for I
did not hear any noise.
Vexed, disgusted.... I tried to compose myself to sleep, and I woke only
at day-break. Seeing the beautiful wandering star in her own bed, I got
up, dressed myself in haste, and went out, leaving all my companions fast
asleep. I returned to the inn only at the time fixed for our departure,
and I found the advocate and the two ladies already in the coach, waiting
for me.
The lady complained, in a very obliging manner, of my not having cared
for her coffee; I pleaded as an excuse a desire for an early walk, and I
took care not to honour her even with a look; I feigned to be suffering
from the toothache, and remained in my corner dull and silent. At Piperno
she managed to whisper to me that my toothache was all sham; I was
pleased with the reproach, because it heralded an explanation which I
craved for, in spite of my vexation.
During the afternoon I continued my policy of the morning. I was morose
and silent until we reached Serinonetta, where we were to pass the night.
We arrived early, and the weather being fine, the lady said that she
could enjoy a walk, and asked me politely to offer her my arm. I did so,
for it would have been rude to refuse; besides I had had enough of my
sulking fit. An explanation could alone bring matters back to their
original standing, but I did not know how to force it upon the lady. Her
husband followed us at some distance with the sister.
When we were far enough in advance, I ventured to ask her why she had
supposed my toothache to have been feigned.
"I am very candid," she said; "it is because the difference in your
manner was so marked, and because you were so careful to avoid looking at
me through the whole day. A toothache would not have prevented you from
being polite, and therefore I thought it had been feigned for some
purpose. But I am certain that not one of us can possibly have given you
any grounds for such a rapid change in your manner."
"Yet something must have caused the change, and you, madam, are only half
sincere."
"You are mistaken, sir, I am entirely sincere; and if I have given you
any motive for anger, I am, and must remain, ignorant of it. Be good
enough to tell me what I have done."
"Nothing, for I have no right to complain."
"Yes, you have; you have a right, the same that I have myself; the right
which good society grants to every one of its members. Speak, and shew
yourself as sincere as I am."
"You are certainly bound not to know, or to pretend not to know the real
cause, but you must acknowledge that my duty is to remain silent."
"Very well; now it is all over; but if your duty bids you to conceal the
cause of your bad humour, it also bids you not to shew it. Delicacy
sometimes enforces upon a polite gentleman the necessity of concealing
certain feelings which might implicate either himself or others; it is a
restraint for the mind, I confess, but it has some advantage when its
effect is to render more amiable the man who forces himself to accept
that restraint." Her close argument made me blush for shame, and carrying
her beautiful hand to my lips, I confessed my self in the wrong.
"You would see me at your feet," I exclaimed, "in token of my repentance,
were I not afraid of injuring you---"
"Do not let us allude to the matter any more," she answered.
And, pleased with my repentance, she gave me a look so expressive of
forgiveness that, without being afraid of augmenting my guilt, I took my
lips off her hand and I raised them to her half-open, smiling mouth.
Intoxicated with rapture, I passed so rapidly from a state of sadness to
one of overwhelming cheerfulness that during our supper the advocate
enjoyed a thousand jokes upon my toothache, so quickly cured by the
simple remedy of a walk. On the following day we dined at Velletri and
slept in Marino, where, although the town was full of troops, we had two
small rooms and a good supper. I could not have been on better terms with
my charming Roman; for, although I had received but a rapid proof of her
regard, it had been such a true one--such a tender one! In the coach our
eyes could not say much; but I was opposite to her, and our feet spoke a
very eloquent language.
The advocate had told me that he was going to Rome on some ecclesiastical
business, and that he intended to reside in the house of his
mother-in-law, whom his wife had not seen since her marriage, two years
ago, and her sister hoped to remain in Rome, where she expected to marry
a clerk at the Spirito Santo Bank. He gave me their address, with a
pressing invitation to call upon them, and I promised to devote all my
spare time to them.
We were enjoying our dessert, when my beautiful lady-love, admiring my
snuff-box, told her husband that she wished she had one like it.
"I will buy you one, dear."
"Then buy mine," I said; "I will let you have it for twenty ounces, and
you can give me a note of hand payable to bearer in payment. I owe that
amount to an Englishman, and I will give it him to redeem my debt."
"Your snuff-box, my dear abbe, is worth twenty ounces, but I cannot buy
it unless you agree to receive payment in cash; I should be delighted to
see it in my wife's possession, and she would keep it as a remembrance of
you."
His wife, thinking that I would not accept his offer, said that she had
no objection to give me the note of hand.
"But," exclaimed the advocate, "can you not guess the Englishman exists
only in our friend's imagination? He would never enter an appearance, and
we would have the snuff-box for nothing. Do not trust the abbe, my dear,
he is a great cheat."
"I had no idea," answered his wife, looking at me, "that the world
contained rogues of this species."
I affected a melancholy air, and said that I only wished myself rich
enough to be often guilty of such cheating.
When a man is in love very little is enough to throw him into despair,
and as little to enhance his joy to the utmost. There was but one bed in
the room where supper had been served, and another in a small closet
leading out of the room, but without a door. The ladies chose the closet,
and the advocate retired to rest before me. I bid the ladies good night
as soon as they had gone to bed; I looked at my dear mistress, and after
undressing myself I went to bed, intending not to sleep through the
night. But the reader may imagine my rage when I found, as I got into the
bed, that it creaked loud enough to wake the dead. I waited, however,
quite motionless, until my companion should be fast asleep, and as soon
as his snoring told me that he was entirely under the influence of
Morpheus, I tried to slip out of the bed; but the infernal creaking which
took place whenever I moved, woke my companion, who felt about with his
hand, and, finding me near him, went to sleep again. Half an hour after,
I tried a second time, but with the same result. I had to give it up in
despair.
Love is the most cunning of gods; in the midst of obstacles he seems to
be in his own element, but as his very existence depends upon the
enjoyment of those who ardently worship him, the shrewd, all-seeing,
little blind god contrives to bring success out of the most desperate
case.
I had given up all hope for the night, and had nearly gone to sleep, when
suddenly we hear a dreadful noise. Guns are fired in the street, people,
screaming and howling, are running up and down the stairs; at last there
is a loud knocking at our door. The advocate, frightened out of his
slumbers, asks me what it can all mean; I pretend to be very indifferent,
and beg to be allowed to sleep. But the ladies are trembling with fear,
and loudly calling for a light. I remain very quiet, the advocate jumps
out of bed, and runs out of the room to obtain a candle; I rise at once,
I follow him to shut the door, but I slam it rather too hard, the double
spring of the lock gives way, and the door cannot be reopened without the
key.
I approach the ladies in order to calm their anxiety, telling them that
the advocate would soon return with a light, and that we should then know
the cause of the tumult, but I am not losing my time, and am at work
while I am speaking. I meet with very little opposition, but, leaning
rather too heavily upon my fair lady, I break through the bottom of the
bedstead, and we suddenly find ourselves, the two ladies and myself, all
together in a heap on the floor. The advocate comes back and knocks at
the door; the sister gets up, I obey the prayers of my charming friend,
and, feeling my way, reach the door, and tell the advocate that I cannot
open it, and that he must get the key. The two sisters are behind me. I
extend my hand; but I am abruptly repulsed, and judge that I have
addressed myself to the wrong quarter; I go to the other side, and there
I am better received. But the husband returns, the noise of the key in
the lock announces that the door is going to be opened, and we return to
our respective beds.
The advocate hurries to the bed of the two frightened ladies, thinking of
relieving their anxiety, but, when he sees them buried in their
broken-down bedstead, he bursts into a loud laugh. He tells me to come
and have a look at them, but I am very modest, and decline the
invitation. He then tells us that the alarm has been caused by a German
detachment attacking suddenly the Spanish troops in the city, and that
the Spaniards are running away. In a quarter of an hour the noise has
ceased, and quiet is entirely re-established.
The advocate complimented me upon my coolness, got into bed again, and
was soon asleep. As for me, I was careful not to close my eyes, and as
soon as I saw daylight I got up in order to perform certain ablutions and
to change my shirt; it was an absolute necessity.
I returned for breakfast, and while we were drinking the delicious coffee
which Donna Lucrezia had made, as I thought, better than ever, I remarked
that her sister frowned on me. But how little I cared for her anger when
I saw the cheerful, happy countenance, and the approving looks of my
adored Lucrezia! I felt a delightful sensation run through the whole of
my body.
We reached Rome very early. We had taken breakfast at the Tour, and the
advocate being in a very gay mood I assumed the same tone, loading him
with compliments, and predicting that a son would be born to him, I
compelled his wife to promise it should be so. I did not forget the
sister of my charming Lucrezia, and to make her change her hostile
attitude towards me I addressed to her so many pretty compliments, and
behaved in such a friendly manner, that she was compelled to forgive the
fall of the bed. As I took leave of them, I promised to give them a call
on the following day.
I was in Rome! with a good wardrobe, pretty well supplied with money and
jewellery, not wanting in experience, and with excellent letters of
introduction. I was free, my own master, and just reaching the age in
which a man can have faith in his own fortune, provided he is not
deficient in courage, and is blessed with a face likely to attract the
sympathy of those he mixes with. I was not handsome, but I had something
better than beauty--a striking expression which almost compelled a kind
interest in my favour, and I felt myself ready for anything. I knew that
Rome is the one city in which a man can begin from the lowest rung, and
reach the very top of the social ladder. This knowledge increased my
courage, and I must confess that a most inveterate feeling of self-esteem
which, on account of my inexperience, I could not distrust, enhanced
wonderfully my confidence in myself.
The man who intends to make his fortune in this ancient capital of the
world must be a chameleon susceptible of reflecting all the colours of
the atmosphere that surrounds him--a Proteus apt to assume every form,
every shape. He must be supple, flexible, insinuating; close,
inscrutable, often base, sometimes sincere, some times perfidious, always
concealing a part of his knowledge, indulging in one tone of voice,
patient, a perfect master of his own countenance as cold as ice when any
other man would be all fire; and if unfortunately he is not religious at
heart--a very common occurrence for a soul possessing the above
requisites--he must have religion in his mind, that is to say, on his
face, on his lips, in his manners; he must suffer quietly, if he be an
honest man the necessity of knowing himself an arrant hypocrite. The man
whose soul would loathe such a life should leave Rome and seek his
fortune elsewhere. I do not know whether I am praising or excusing
myself, but of all those qualities I possessed but one--namely,
flexibility; for the rest, I was only an interesting, heedless young
fellow, a pretty good blood horse, but not broken, or rather badly
broken; and that is much worse.
I began by delivering the letter I had received from Don Lelio for Father
Georgi. The learned monk enjoyed the esteem of everyone in Rome, and the
Pope himself had a great consideration for him, because he disliked the
Jesuits, and did not put a mask on to tear the mask from their faces,
although they deemed themselves powerful enough to despise him.
He read the letter with great attention, and expressed himself disposed
to be my adviser; and that consequently I might make him responsible for
any evil which might befall me, as misfortune is not to be feared by a
man who acts rightly. He asked me what I intended to do in Rome, and I
answered that I wished him to tell me what to do.
"Perhaps I may; but in that case you must come and see me often, and
never conceal from me anything, you understand, not anything, of what
interests you, or of what happens to you."
"Don Lelio has likewise given me a letter for the Cardinal Acquaviva."
"I congratulate you; the cardinal's influence in Rome is greater even
than that of the Pope."
"Must I deliver the letter at once?"
"No; I will see him this evening, and prepare him for your visit. Call on
me to-morrow morning, and I will then tell you where and when you are to
deliver your letter to the cardinal. Have you any money?"
"Enough for all my wants during one year."
"That is well. Have you any acquaintances?"
"Not one."
"Do not make any without first consulting me, and, above all, avoid
coffee-houses and ordinaries, but if you should happen to frequent such
places, listen and never speak. Be careful to form your judgment upon
those who ask any questions from you, and if common civility obliges you
to give an answer, give only an evasive one, if any other is likely to
commit you. Do you speak French?"
"Not one word."
"I am sorry for that; you must learn French. Have you been a student?"
"A poor one, but I have a sufficient smattering to converse with ordinary
company."
"That is enough; but be very prudent, for Rome is the city in which
smatterers unmask each other, and are always at war amongst themselves. I
hope you will take your letter to the cardinal, dressed like a modest
abbe, and not in this elegant costume which is not likely to conjure
fortune. Adieu, let me see you to-morrow."
Highly pleased with the welcome I had received at his hands, and with all
he had said to me, I left his house and proceeded towards Campo-di-Fiore
to deliver the letter of my cousin Antonio to Don Gaspar Vivaldi, who
received me in his library, where I met two respectable-looking priests.
He gave me the most friendly welcome, asked for my address, and invited
me to dinner for the next day. He praised Father Georgi most highly, and,
accompanying me as far as the stairs, he told me that he would give me on
the morrow the amount his friend Don Antonio requested him to hand me.
More money which my generous cousin was bestowing on me! It is easy
enough to give away when one possesses sufficient means to do it, but it
is not every man who knows how to give. I found the proceeding of Don
Antonio more delicate even than generous; I could not refuse his present;
it was my duty to prove my gratitude by accepting it.
Just after I had left M. Vivaldi's house I found myself face to face with
Stephano, and this extraordinary original loaded me with friendly
caresses. I inwardly despised him, yet I could not feel hatred for him; I
looked upon him as the instrument which Providence had been pleased to
employ in order to save me from ruin. After telling me that he had
obtained from the Pope all he wished, he advised me to avoid meeting the
fatal constable who had advanced me two sequins in Seraval, because he
had found out that I had deceived him, and had sworn revenge against me.
I asked Stephano to induce the man to leave my acknowledgement of the
debt in the hands of a certain merchant whom we both knew, and that I
would call there to discharge the amount. This was done, and it ended the
affair.
That evening I dined at the ordinary, which was frequented by Romans and
foreigners; but I carefully followed the advice of Father Georgi. I heard
a great deal of harsh language used against the Pope and against the
Cardinal Minister, who had caused the Papal States to be inundated by
eighty thousand men, Germans as well as Spaniards. But I was much
surprised when I saw that everybody was eating meat, although it was
Saturday. But a stranger during the first few days after his arrival in
Rome is surrounded with many things which at first cause surprise, and to
which he soon gets accustomed. There is not a Catholic city in the world
in which a man is half so free on religious matters as in Rome. The
inhabitants of Rome are like the men employed at the Government tobacco
works, who are allowed to take gratis as much tobacco as they want for
their own use. One can live in Rome with the most complete freedom,
except that the 'ordini santissimi' are as much to be dreaded as the
famous Lettres-de-cachet before the Revolution came and destroyed them,
and shewed the whole world the general character of the French nation.
The next day, the 1st of October, 1743, I made up my mind to be shaved.
The down on my chin had become a beard, and I judged that it was time to
renounce some of the privileges enjoyed by adolescence. I dressed myself
completely in the Roman fashion, and Father Georgi was highly pleased
when he saw me in that costume, which had been made by the tailor of my
dear cousin, Don Antonio.
Father Georgi invited me to take a cup of chocolate with him, and
informed me that the cardinal had been apprised of my arrival by a letter
from Don Lelio, and that his eminence would receive me at noon at the
Villa Negroni, where he would be taking a walk. I told Father Georgi that
I had been invited to dinner by M. Vivaldi, and he advised me to
cultivate his acquaintance.
I proceeded to the Villa Negroni; the moment he saw me the cardinal
stopped to receive my letter, allowing two persons who accompanied him to
walk forward. He put the letter in his pocket without reading it,
examined me for one or two minutes, and enquired whether I felt any taste
for politics. I answered that, until now, I had not felt in me any but
frivolous tastes, but that I would make bold to answer for my readiness
to execute all the orders which his eminence might be pleased to lay upon
me, if he should judge me worthy of entering his service.
"Come to my office to-morrow morning," said the cardinal, "and ask for
the Abbe Gama, to whom I will give my instructions. You must apply
yourself diligently to the study of the French language; it is
indispensable." He then enquired after Don Leilo's health, and after
kissing his hand I took my leave.
I hastened to the house of M. Gaspar Vivaldi, where I dined amongst a
well-chosen party of guests. M. Vivaldi was not married; literature was
his only passion. He loved Latin poetry even better than Italian, and
Horace, whom I knew by heart, was his favourite poet. After dinner, we
repaired to his study, and he handed me one hundred Roman crowns, and Don
Antonio's present, and assured me that I would be most welcome whenever I
would call to take a cup of chocolate with him.
After I had taken leave of Don Gaspar, I proceeded towards the Minerva,
for I longed to enjoy the surprise of my dear Lucrezia and of her sister;
I inquired for Donna Cecilia Monti, their mother, and I saw, to my great
astonishment, a young widow who looked like the sister of her two
charming daughters. There was no need for me to give her my name; I had
been announced, and she expected me. Her daughters soon came in, and
their greeting caused me some amusement, for I did not appear to them to
be the same individual. Donna Lucrezia presented me to her youngest
sister, only eleven years of age, and to her brother, an abbe of fifteen,
of charming appearance. I took care to behave so as to please the mother;
I was modest, respectful, and shewed a deep interest in everything I saw.
The good advocate arrived, and was surprised at the change in my
appearance. He launched out in his usual jokes, and I followed him on
that ground, yet I was careful not to give to my conversation the tone of
levity which used to cause so much mirth in our travelling coach; so
that, to, pay me a compliment, he told nee that, if I had had the sign of
manhood shaved from my face, I had certainly transferred it to my mind.
Donna Lucrezia did not know what to think of the change in my manners.
Towards evening I saw, coming in rapid succession, five or six
ordinary-looking ladies, and as many abbes, who appeared to me some of
the volumes with which I was to begin my Roman education. They all
listened attentively to the most insignificant word I uttered, and I was
very careful to let them enjoy their conjectures about me. Donna Cecilia
told the advocate that he was but a poor painter, and that his portraits
were not like the originals; he answered that she could not judge,
because the original was shewing under a mask, and I pretended to be
mortified by his answer. Donna Lucrezia said that she found me exactly
the same, and her sister was of opinion that the air of Rome gave
strangers a peculiar appearance. Everybody applauded, and Angelique
turned red with satisfaction. After a visit of four hours I bowed myself
out, and the advocate, following me, told me that his mother-in-law
begged me to consider myself as a friend of the family, and to be certain
of a welcome at any hour I liked to call. I thanked him gratefully and
took my leave, trusting that I had pleased this amiable society as much
as it had pleased me.
The next day I presented myself to the Abbe Gama. He was a Portuguese,
about forty years old, handsome, and with a countenance full of candour,
wit, and good temper. His affability claimed and obtained confidence. His
manners and accent were quite Roman. He informed me, in the blandest
manner, that his eminence had himself given his instructions about me to
his majordomo, that I would have a lodging in the cardinal's palace, that
I would have my meals at the secretaries' table, and that, until I
learned French, I would have nothing to do but make extracts from letters
that he would supply me with. He then gave me the address of the French
teacher to whom he had already spoken in my behalf. He was a Roman
advocate, Dalacqua by name, residing precisely opposite the palace.
After this short explanation, and an assurance that I could at all times
rely upon his friendship, he had me taken to the major-domo, who made me
sign my name at the bottom of a page in a large book, already filled with
other names, and counted out sixty Roman crowns which he paid me for
three months salary in advance. After this he accompanied me, followed by
a 'staffiere' to my apartment on the third floor, which I found very
comfortably furnished. The servant handed me the key, saying that he
would come every morning to attend upon me, and the major-domo
accompanied me to the gate to make me known to the gate-keeper. I
immediately repaired to my inn, sent my luggage to the palace, and found
myself established in a place in which a great fortune awaited me, if I
had only been able to lead a wise and prudent life, but unfortunately it
was not in my nature. 'Volentem ducit, nolentem trahit.'
I naturally felt it my duty to call upon my mentor, Father Georgi, to
whom I gave all my good news. He said I was on the right road, and that
my fortune was in my hands.
"Recollect," added the good father, "that to lead a blameless life you
must curb your passions, and that whatever misfortune may befall you it
cannot be ascribed by any one to a want of good luck, or attributed to
fate; those words are devoid of sense, and all the fault will rightly
fall on your own head."
"I foresee, reverend father, that my youth and my want of experience will
often make it necessary for me to disturb you. I am afraid of proving
myself too heavy a charge for you, but you will find me docile and
obedient."
"I suppose you will often think me rather too severe; but you are not
likely to confide everything to me."
"Everything, without any exception."
"Allow me to feel somewhat doubtful; you have not told me where you spent
four hours yesterday."
"Because I did not think it was worth mentioning. I made the acquaintance
of those persons during my journey; I believe them to be worthy and
respectable, and the right sort of people for me to visit, unless you
should be of a different opinion."
"God forbid! It is a very respectable house, frequented by honest people.
They are delighted at having made your acquaintance; you are much liked
by everybody, and they hope to retain you as a friend; I have heard all
about it this morning; but you must not go there too often and as a
regular guest."
"Must I cease my visits at once, and without cause?"
"No, it would be a want of politeness on your part. You may go there once
or twice every week, but do not be a constant visitor. You are sighing,
my son?"
"No, I assure you not. I will obey you."
"I hope it may not be only a matter of obedience, and I trust your heart
will not feel it a hardship, but, if necessary, your heart must be
conquered. Recollect that the heart is the greatest enemy of reason."
"Yet they can be made to agree."
"We often imagine so; but distrust the animism of your dear Horace. You
know that there is no middle course with it: 'nisi paret, imperat'."
"I know it, but in the family of which we were speaking there is no
danger for my heart."
"I am glad of it, because in that case it will be all the easier for you
to abstain from frequent visits. Remember that I shall trust you."
"And I, reverend father; will listen to and follow your good advice. I
will visit Donna Cecilia only now and then." Feeling most unhappy, I took
his hand to press it against my lips, but he folded me in his arms as a
father might have done, and turned himself round so as not to let me see
that he was weeping.
I dined at the cardinal's palace and sat near the Abbe Gama; the table
was laid for twelve persons, who all wore the costume of priests, for in
Rome everyone is a priest or wishes to be thought a priest and as there
is no law to forbid anyone to dress like an ecclesiastic that dress is
adopted by all those who wish to be respected (noblemen excepted) even if
they are not in the ecclesiastical profession.
I felt very miserable, and did not utter a word during the dinner; my
silence was construed into a proof of my sagacity. As we rose from the
table, the Abbe Gama invited me to spend the day with him, but I declined
under pretence of letters to be written, and I truly did so for seven
hours. I wrote to Don Lelio, to Don Antonio, to my young friend Paul, and
to the worthy Bishop of Martorano, who answered that he heartily wished
himself in my place.
Deeply enamoured of Lucrezia and happy in my love, to give her up
appeared to me a shameful action. In order to insure the happiness of my
future life, I was beginning to be the executioner of my present
felicity, and the tormentor of my heart. I revolted against such a
necessity which I judged fictitious, and which I could not admit unless I
stood guilty of vileness before the tribunal of my own reason. I thought
that Father Georgi, if he wished to forbid my visiting that family, ought
not to have said that it was worthy of respect; my sorrow would not have
been so intense. The day and the whole of the night were spent in painful
thoughts.
In the morning the Abbe Gama brought me a great book filled with
ministerial letters from which I was to compile for my amusement. After a
short time devoted to that occupation, I went out to take my first French
lesson, after which I walked towards the Strada-Condotta. I intended to
take a long walk, when I heard myself called by my name. I saw the Abbe
Gama in front of a coffee-house. I whispered to him that Minerva had
forbidden me the coffee-rooms of Rome. "Minerva," he answered, "desires
you to form some idea of such places. Sit down by me."
I heard a young abbe telling aloud, but without bitterness, a story,
which attacked in a most direct manner the justice of His Holiness.
Everybody was laughing and echoing the story. Another, being asked why he
had left the services of Cardinal B., answered that it was because his
eminence did not think himself called upon to pay him apart for certain
private services, and everybody laughed outright. Another came to the
Abbe Gama, and told him that, if he felt any inclination to spend the
afternoon at the Villa Medicis, he would find him there with two young
Roman girls who were satisfied with a 'quartino', a gold coin worth
one-fourth of a sequin. Another abbe read an incendiary sonnet against
the government, and several took a copy of it. Another read a satire of
his own composition, in which he tore to pieces the honour of a family.
In the middle of all that confusion, I saw a priest with a very
attractive countenance come in. The size of his hips made me take him for
a woman dressed in men's clothes, and I said so to Gama, who told me that
he was the celebrated castrato, Bepino delta Mamana. The abbe called him
to us, and told him with a laugh that I had taken him for a girl. The
impudent fellow looked me full in the face, and said that, if I liked, he
would shew me whether I had been right or wrong.
At the dinner-table everyone spoke to me, and I fancied I had given
proper answers to all, but, when the repast was over, the Abbe Gama
invited me to take coffee in his own apartment. The moment we were alone,
he told me that all the guests I had met were worthy and honest men, and
he asked me whether I believed that I had succeeded in pleasing the
company.
"I flatter myself I have," I answered.
"You are wrong," said the abbe, "you are flattering yourself. You have so
conspicuously avoided the questions put to you that everybody in the room
noticed your extreme reserve. In the future no one will ask you any
questions."
"I should be sorry if it should turn out so, but was I to expose my own
concerns?"
"No, but there is a medium in all things."
"Yes, the medium of Horace, but it is often a matter of great difficulty
to hit it exactly."
"A man ought to know how to obtain affection and esteem at the same
time."
"That is the very wish nearest to my heart."
"To-day you have tried for the esteem much more than for the affection of
your fellow-creatures. It may be a noble aspiration, but you must prepare
yourself to fight jealousy and her daughter, calumny; if those two
monsters do not succeed in destroying you, the victory must be yours.
Now, for instance, you thoroughly refuted Salicetti to-day. Well, he is a
physician, and what is more a Corsican; he must feel badly towards you."
"Could I grant that the longings of women during their pregnancy have no
influence whatever on the skin of the foetus, when I know the reverse to
be the case? Are you not of my opinion?"
"I am for neither party; I have seen many children with some such marks,
but I have no means of knowing with certainty whether those marks have
their origin in some longing experienced by the mother while she was
pregnant."
"But I can swear it is so."
"All the better for you if your conviction is based upon such evidence,
and all the worse for Salicetti if he denies the possibility of the thing
without certain authority. But let him remain in error; it is better thus
than to prove him in the wrong and to make a bitter enemy of him."
In the evening I called upon Lucrezia. The family knew my success, and
warmly congratulated me. Lucrezia told me that I looked sad, and I
answered that I was assisting at the funeral of my liberty, for I was no
longer my own master. Her husband, always fond of a joke, told her that I
was in love with her, and his mother-in-law advised him not to show so
much intrepidity. I only remained an hour with those charming persons,
and then took leave of them, but the very air around me was heated by the
flame within my breast. When I reached my room I began to write, and
spent the night in composing an ode which I sent the next day to the
advocate. I was certain that he would shew it to his wife, who loved
poetry, and who did not yet know that I was a poet. I abstained from
seeing her again for three or four days. I was learning French, and
making extracts from ministerial letters.
His eminence was in the habit of receiving every evening, and his rooms
were thronged with the highest nobility of Rome; I had never attended
these receptions. The Abbe Gama told me that I ought to do so as well as
he did, without any pretension. I followed his advice and went; nobody
spoke to me, but as I was unknown everyone looked at me and enquired who
I was. The Abbe Gama asked me which was the lady who appeared to me the
most amiable, and I shewed one to him; but I regretted having done so,
for the courtier went to her, and of course informed her of what I had
said. Soon afterwards I saw her look at me through her eye-glass and
smile kindly upon me. She was the Marchioness G----, whose 'cicisbeo' was
Cardinal S---- C----.
On the very day I had fixed to spend the evening with Donna Lucrezia the
worthy advocate called upon me. He told me that if I thought I was going
to prove I was not in love with his wife by staying away I was very much
mistaken, and he invited me to accompany all the family to Testaccio,
where they intended to have luncheon on the following Thursday. He added
that his wife knew my ode by heart, and that she had read it to the
intended husband of Angelique, who had a great wish to make my
acquaintance. That gentleman was likewise a poet, and would be one of the
party to Testaccio. I promised the advocate I would come to his house on
the Thursday with a carriage for two.
At that time every Thursday in the month of October was a festival day in
Rome. I went to see Donna Cecilia in the evening, and we talked about the
excursion the whole time. I felt certain that Donna Lucrezia looked
forward to it with as much pleasure as I did myself. We had no fixed
plan, we could not have any, but we trusted to the god of love, and
tacitly placed our confidence in his protection.
I took care that Father Georgi should not hear of that excursion before I
mentioned it to him myself, and I hastened to him in order to obtain his
permission to go. I confess that, to obtain his leave, I professed the
most complete indifference about it, and the consequence was that the
good man insisted upon my going, saying that it was a family party, and
that it was quite right for me to visit the environs of Rome and to enjoy
myself in a respectable way.
I went to Donna Cecilia's in a carriage which I hired from a certain
Roland, a native of Avignon, and if I insist here upon his name it is
because my readers will meet him again in eighteen years, his
acquaintance with me having had very important results. The charming
widow introduced me to Don Francisco, her intended son-in-law, whom she
represented as a great friend of literary men, and very deeply learned
himself. I accepted it as gospel, and behaved accordingly; yet I thought
he looked rather heavy and not sufficiently elated for a young man on the
point of marrying such a pretty girl as Angelique. But he had plenty of
good-nature and plenty of money, and these are better than learning and
gallantry.
As we were ready to get into the carriages, the advocate told me that he
would ride with me in my carriage, and that the three ladies would go
with Don Francisco in the other. I answered at once that he ought to keep
Don Francisco company, and that I claimed the privilege of taking care of
Donna Cecilia, adding that I should feel dishonoured if things were
arranged differently. Thereupon I offered my arm to the handsome widow,
who thought the arrangement according to the rules of etiquette and good
breeding, and an approving look of my Lucrezia gave me the most agreeable
sensation. Yet the proposal of the advocate struck me somewhat
unpleasantly, because it was in contradiction with his former behaviour,
and especially with what he had said to me in my room a few days before.
"Has he become jealous?" I said to myself; that would have made me almost
angry, but the hope of bringing him round during our stay at Testaccio
cleared away the dark cloud on my mind, and I was very amiable to Donna
Cecilia. What with lunching and walking we contrived to pass the
afternoon very pleasantly; I was very gay, and my love for Lucrezia was
not once mentioned; I was all attention to her mother. I occasionally
addressed myself to Lucrezia, but not once to the advocate, feeling this
the best way to shew him that he had insulted me.
As we prepared to return, the advocate carried off Donna Cecilia and went
with her to the carriage in which were already seated Angelique and Don
Francisco. Scarcely able to control my delight, I offered my arm to Donna
Lucrezia, paying her some absurd compliment, while the advocate laughed
outright, and seemed to enjoy the trick he imagined he had played me.
How many things we might have said to each other before giving ourselves
up to the material enjoyment of our love, had not the instants been so
precious! But, aware that we had only half an hour before us, we were
sparing of the minutes. We were absorbed in voluptuous pleasure when
suddenly Lucrezia exclaims,---
"Oh! dear, how unhappy we are!"
She pushes me back, composes herself, the carriage stops, and the servant
opens the door. "What is the matter?" I enquire. "We are at home."
Whenever I recollect the circumstance, it seems to me fabulous, for it is
not possible to annihilate time, and the horses were regular old screws.
But we were lucky all through. The night was dark, and my beloved angel
happened to be on the right side to get out of the carriage first, so
that, although the advocate was at the door of the brougham as soon as
the footman, everything went right, owing to the slow manner in which
Lucrezia alighted. I remained at Donna Cecilia's until midnight.
When I got home again, I went to bed; but how could I sleep? I felt
burning in me the flame which I had not been able to restore to its
original source in the too short distance from Testaccio to Rome. It was
consuming me. Oh! unhappy are those who believe that the pleasures of
Cythera are worth having, unless they are enjoyed in the most perfect
accord by two hearts overflowing with love!
I only rose in time for my French lesson. My teacher had a pretty
daughter, named Barbara, who was always present during my lessons, and
who sometimes taught me herself with even more exactitude than her
father. A good-looking young man, who likewise took lessons, was courting
her, and I soon perceived that she loved him. This young man called often
upon me, and I liked him, especially on account of his reserve, for,
although I made him confess his love for Barbara, he always changed the
subject, if I mentioned it in our conversation.
I had made up my mind to respect his reserve, and had not alluded to his
affection for several days. But all at once I remarked that he had ceased
his visits both to me and to his teacher, and at the same time I observed
that the young girl was no longer present at my lessons; I felt some
curiosity to know what had happened, although it was not, after all, any
concern of mine.
A few days after, as I was returning from church, I met the young man,
and reproached him for keeping away from us all. He told me that great
sorrow had befallen him, which had fairly turned his brain, and that he
was a prey to the most intense despair. His eyes were wet with tears. As
I was leaving him, he held me back, and I told him that I would no longer
be his friend unless he opened his heart to me. He took me to one of the
cloisters, and he spoke thus:
"I have loved Barbara for the last six months, and for three months she
has given me indisputable proofs of her affection. Five days ago, we were
betrayed by the servant, and the father caught us in a rather delicate
position. He left the room without saying one word, and I followed him,
thinking of throwing myself at his feet; but, as I appeared before him,
he took hold of me by the arm, pushed me roughly to the door, and forbade
me ever to present myself again at his house. I cannot claim her hand in
marriage, because one of my brothers is married, and my father is not
rich; I have no profession, and my mistress has nothing. Alas, now that I
have confessed all to you, tell me, I entreat you, how she is. I am
certain that she is as miserable as I am myself. I cannot manage to get a
letter delivered to her, for she does not leave the house, even to attend
church. Unhappy wretch! What shall I do?"
I could but pity him, for, as a man of honour, it was impossible for me
to interfere in such a business. I told him that I had not seen Barbara
for five days, and, not knowing what to say, I gave him the advice which
is tendered by all fools under similar circumstances; I advised him to
forget his mistress.
We had then reached the quay of Ripetta, and, observing that he was
casting dark looks towards the Tiber, I feared his despair might lead him
to commit some foolish attempt against his own life, and, in order to
calm his excited feelings, I promised to make some enquiries from the
father about his mistress, and to inform him of all I heard. He felt
quieted by my promise, and entreated me not to forget him.
In spite of the fire which had been raging through my veins ever since
the excursion to Testaccio, I had not seen my Lucrezia for four days. I
dreaded Father Georgi's suave manner, and I was still more afraid of
finding he had made up his mind to give me no more advice. But, unable to
resist my desires, I called upon Lucrezia after my French lesson, and
found her alone, sad and dispirited.
"Ah!" she exclaimed, as soon as I was by her side, "I think you might
find time to come and see me!"
"My beloved one, it is not that I cannot find time, but I am so jealous
of my love that I would rather die than let it be known publicly. I have
been thinking of inviting you all to dine with me at Frascati. I will
send you a phaeton, and I trust that some lucky accident will smile upon
our love."
"Oh! yes, do, dearest! I am sure your invitation will be accepted:"
In a quarter of an hour the rest of the family came in, and I proffered
my invitation for the following Sunday, which happened to be the Festival
of St. Ursula, patroness of Lucrezia's youngest sister. I begged Donna
Cecilia to bring her as well as her son. My proposal being readily
accepted, I gave notice that the phaeton would be at Donna Cecilia's door
at seven o'clock, and that I would come myself with a carriage for two
persons.
The next day I went to M. Dalacqua, and, after my lesson, I saw Barbara
who, passing from one room to another, dropped a paper and earnestly
looked at me. I felt bound to pick it up, because a servant, who was at
hand, might have seen it and taken it. It was a letter, enclosing another
addressed to her lover. The note for me ran thus: "If you think it to be
a sin to deliver the enclosed to your friend, burn it. Have pity on an
unfortunate girl, and be discreet."
The enclosed letter which was unsealed, ran as follows: "If you love me
as deeply as 'I love you, you cannot hope to be happy without me; we
cannot correspond in any other way than the one I am bold enough to
adopt. I am ready to do anything to unite our lives until death. Consider
and decide."
The cruel situation of the poor girl moved me almost to tears; yet I
determined to return her letter the next day, and I enclosed it in a note
in which I begged her to excuse me if I could not render her the service
she required at my hands. I put it in my pocket ready for delivery. The
next day I went for my lesson as usual, but, not seeing Barbara, I had no
opportunity of returning her letter, and postponed its delivery to the
following day. Unfortunately, just after I had returned to my room, the
unhappy lover made his appearance. His eyes were red from weeping, his
voice hoarse; he drew such a vivid picture of his misery, that, dreading
some mad action counselled by despair, I could not withhold from him the
consolation which I knew it was in my power to give. This was my first
error in this fatal business; I was the victim of my own kindness.
The poor fellow read the letter over and over; he kissed it with
transports of joy; he wept, hugged me, and thanked me for saving his
life, and finally entreated me to take charge of his answer, as his
beloved mistress must be longing for consolation as much as he had been
himself, assuring me that his letter could not in any way implicate me,
and that I was at liberty to read it.
And truly, although very long, his letter contained nothing but the
assurance of everlasting love, and hopes which could not be realized. Yet
I was wrong to accept the character of Mercury to the two young lovers.
To refuse, I had only to recollect that Father Georgi would certainly
have disapproved of my easy compliance.
The next day I found M. Dalacqua ill in bed; his daughter gave me my
lesson in his room, and I thought that perhaps she had obtained her
pardon. I contrived to give her her lover's letter, which she dextrously
conveyed to her pocket, but her blushes would have easily betrayed her if
her father had been looking that way. After the lesson I gave M. Dalacqua
notice that I would not come on the morrow, as it was the Festival of St.
Ursula, one of the eleven thousand princesses and martyr-virgins.
In the evening, at the reception of his eminence, which I attended
regularly, although persons of distinction seldom spoke to me, the
cardinal beckoned to me. He was speaking to the beautiful Marchioness
G----, to whom Gama had indiscreetly confided that I thought her the
handsomest woman amongst his eminence's guests.
"Her grace," said the Cardinal, "wishes to know whether you are making
rapid progress in the French language, which she speaks admirably."
I answered in Italian that I had learned a great deal, but that I was not
yet bold enough to speak.
"You should be bold," said the marchioness, "but without showing any
pretension. It is the best way to disarm criticism."
My mind having almost unwittingly lent to the words "You should be bold"
a meaning which had very likely been far from the idea of the
marchioness, I turned very red, and the handsome speaker, observing it,
changed the conversation and dismissed me.
The next morning, at seven o'clock, I was at Donna Cecilia's door. The
phaeton was there as well as the carriage for two persons, which this
time was an elegant vis-a-vis, so light and well-hung that Donna Cecilia
praised it highly when she took her seat.
"I shall have my turn as we return to Rome," said Lucrezia; and I bowed
to her as if in acceptance of her promise.
Lucrezia thus set suspicion at defiance in order to prevent suspicion
arising. My happiness was assured, and I gave way to my natural flow of
spirits. I ordered a splendid dinner, and we all set out towards the
Villa Ludovisi. As we might have missed each other during our ramblings,
we agreed to meet again at the inn at one o'clock. The discreet widow
took the arm of her son-in-law, Angelique remained with her sister, and
Lucrezia was my delightful share; Ursula and her brother were running
about together, and in less than a quarter of an hour I had Lucrezia
entirely to myself.
"Did you remark," she said, "with what candour I secured for us two hours
of delightful 'tete-a-tete', and a 'tete-a-tete' in a 'vis-a-vis', too!
How clever Love is!"
"Yes, darling, Love has made but one of our two souls. I adore you, and
if I have the courage to pass so many days without seeing you it is in
order to be rewarded by the freedom of one single day like this."
"I did not think it possible. But you have managed it all very well. You
know too much for your age, dearest."
"A month ago, my beloved, I was but an ignorant child, and you are the
first woman who has initiated me into the mysteries of love. Your
departure will kill me, for I could not find another woman like you in
all Italy."
"What! am I your first love? Alas! you will never be cured of it. Oh! why
am I not entirely your own? You are also the first true love of my heart,
and you will be the last. How great will be the happiness of my
successor! I should not be jealous of her, but what suffering would be
mine if I thought that her heart was not like mine!"
Lucrezia, seeing my eyes wet with tears, began to give way to her own,
and, seating ourselves on the grass, our lips drank our tears amidst the
sweetest kisses. How sweet is the nectar of the tears shed by love, when
that nectar is relished amidst the raptures of mutual ardour! I have
often tasted them--those delicious tears, and I can say knowingly that
the ancient physicians were right, and that the modern are wrong.
In a moment of calm, seeing the disorder in which we both were, I told
her that we might be surprised.
"Do not fear, my best beloved," she said, "we are under the guardianship
of our good angels."
We were resting and reviving our strength by gazing into one another's
eyes, when suddenly Lucrezia, casting a glance to the right, exclaimed,
"Look there! idol of my heart, have I not told you so? Yes, the angels
are watching over us! Ah! how he stares at us! He seems to try to give us
confidence. Look at that little demon; admire him! He must certainly be
your guardian spirit or mine."
I thought she was delirious.
"What are you saying, dearest? I do not understand you. What am I to
admire?"
"Do you not see that beautiful serpent with the blazing skin, which lifts
its head and seems to worship us?"
I looked in the direction she indicated, and saw a serpent with
changeable colours about three feet in length, which did seem to be
looking at us. I was not particularly pleased at the sight, but I could
not show myself less courageous than she was.
"What!" said I, "are you not afraid?"
"I tell you, again, that the sight is delightful to me, and I feel
certain that it is a spirit with nothing but the shape, or rather the
appearance, of a serpent."
"And if the spirit came gliding along the grass and hissed at you?"
"I would hold you tighter against my bosom, and set him at defiance. In
your arms Lucrezia is safe. Look! the spirit is going away. Quick, quick!
He is warning us of the approach of some profane person, and tells us to
seek some other retreat to renew our pleasures. Let us go."
We rose and slowly advanced towards Donna Cecilia and the advocate, who
were just emerging from a neighbouring alley. Without avoiding them, and
without hurrying, just as if to meet one another was a very natural
occurrence, I enquired of Donna Cecilia whether her daughter had any fear
of serpents.
"In spite of all her strength of mind," she answered, "she is dreadfully
afraid of thunder, and she will scream with terror at the sight of the
smallest snake. There are some here, but she need not be frightened, for
they are not venomous."
I was speechless with astonishment, for I discovered that I had just
witnessed a wonderful love miracle. At that moment the children came up,
and, without ceremony, we again parted company.
"Tell me, wonderful being, bewitching woman, what would you have done if,
instead of your pretty serpent, you had seen your husband and your
mother?"
"Nothing. Do you not know that, in moments of such rapture, lovers see
and feel nothing but love? Do you doubt having possessed me wholly,
entirely?"
Lucrezia, in speaking thus, was not composing a poetical ode; she was not
feigning fictitious sentiments; her looks, the sound of her voice, were
truth itself!
"Are you certain," I enquired, "that we are not suspected?"
"My husband does not believe us to be in love with each other, or else he
does not mind such trifling pleasures as youth is generally wont to
indulge in. My mother is a clever woman, and perhaps she suspects the
truth, but she is aware that it is no longer any concern of hers. As to
my sister, she must know everything, for she cannot have forgotten the
broken-down bed; but she is prudent, and besides, she has taken it into
her head to pity me. She has no conception of the nature of my feelings
towards you. If I had not met you, my beloved, I should probably have
gone through life without realizing such feelings myself; for what I feel
for my husband.... well, I have for him the obedience which my position
as a wife imposes upon me."
"And yet he is most happy, and I envy him! He can clasp in his arms all
your lovely person whenever he likes! There is no hateful veil to hide
any of your charms from his gaze."
"Oh! where art thou, my dear serpent? Come to us, come and protect us
against the surprise of the uninitiated, and this very instant I fulfil
all the wishes of him I adore!"
We passed the morning in repeating that we loved each other, and in
exchanging over and over again substantial proofs of our mutual passion.
We had a delicious dinner, during which I was all attention for the
amiable Donna Cecilia. My pretty tortoise-shell box, filled with
excellent snuff, went more than once round the table. As it happened to
be in the hands of Lucrezia who was sitting on my left, her husband told
her that, if I had no objection, she might give me her ring and keep the
snuff-box in exchange. Thinking that the ring was not of as much value as
my box, I immediately accepted, but I found the ring of greater value.
Lucrezia would not, however, listen to anything on that subject. She put
the box in her pocket, and thus compelled me to keep her ring.
Dessert was nearly over, the conversation was very animated, when
suddenly the intended husband of Angelique claimed our attention for the
reading of a sonnet which he had composed and dedicated to me. I thanked
him, and placing the sonnet in my pocket promised to write one for him.
This was not, however, what he wished; he expected that, stimulated by
emulation, I would call for paper and pen, and sacrifice to Apollo hours
which it was much more to my taste to employ in worshipping another god
whom his cold nature knew only by name. We drank coffee, I paid the bill,
and we went about rambling through the labyrinthine alleys of the Villa
Aldobrandini.
What sweet recollections that villa has left in my memory! It seemed as
if I saw my divine Lucrezia for the first time. Our looks were full of
ardent love, our hearts were beating in concert with the most tender
impatience, and a natural instinct was leading us towards a solitary
asylum which the hand of Love seemed to have prepared on purpose for the
mysteries of its secret worship. There, in the middle of a long avenue,
and under a canopy of thick foliage, we found a wide sofa made of grass,
and sheltered by a deep thicket; from that place our eyes could range
over an immense plain, and view the avenue to such a distance right and
left that we were perfectly secure against any surprise. We did not
require to exchange one word at the sight of this beautiful temple so
favourable to our love; our hearts spoke the same language.
Without a word being spoken, our ready hands soon managed to get rid of
all obstacles, and to expose in a state of nature all the beauties which
are generally veiled by troublesome wearing apparel. Two whole hours were
devoted to the most delightful, loving ecstasies. At last we exclaimed
together in mutual ecstasy, "O Love, we thank thee!"
We slowly retraced our steps towards the carriages, revelling in our
intense happiness. Lucrezia informed me that Angelique's suitor was
wealthy, that he owned a splendid villa at Tivoli, and that most likely
he would invite us all to dine and pass the night there. "I pray the god
of love," she added, "to grant us a night as beautiful as this day has
been." Then, looking sad, she said, "But alas! the ecclesiastical lawsuit
which has brought my husband to Rome is progressing so favourably that I
am mortally afraid he will obtain judgment all too soon."
The journey back to the city lasted two hours; we were alone in my
vis-a-vis and we overtaxed nature, exacting more than it can possibly
give. As we were getting near Rome we were compelled to let the curtain
fall before the denouement of the drama which we had performed to the
complete satisfaction of the actors.
I returned home rather fatigued, but the sound sleep which was so natural
at my age restored my full vigour, and in the morning I took my French
lesson at the usual hour.
CHAPTER X
Benedict XIV--Excursion to Tivoli--Departure of Lucrezia--
The Marchioness G.--Barbara Dalacqua--My Misfortunes--
I Leave Rome
M. Dalacqua being very ill, his daughter Barbara gave me my lesson. When
it was over, she seized an opportunity of slipping a letter into my
pocket, and immediately disappeared, so that I had no chance of refusing.
The letter was addressed to me, and expressed feelings of the warmest
gratitude. She only desired me to inform her lover that her father had
spoken to her again, and that most likely he would engage a new servant
as soon as he had recovered from his illness, and she concluded her
letter by assuring me that she never would implicate me in this business.
Her father was compelled to keep his bed for a fortnight, and Barbara
continued to give me my lesson every day. I felt for her an interest
which, from me towards a young and pretty girl, was, indeed, quite a new
sentiment. It was a feeling of pity, and I was proud of being able to
help and comfort her. Her eyes never rested upon mine, her hand never met
mine, I never saw in her toilet the slightest wish to please me. She was
very pretty, and I knew she had a tender, loving nature; but nothing
interfered with the respect and the regard which I was bound in honour
and in good faith to feel towards her, and I was proud to remark that she
never thought me capable of taking advantage of her weakness or of her
position.
When the father had recovered he dismissed his servant and engaged
another. Barbara entreated me to inform her friend of the circumstance,
and likewise of her hope to gain the new servant to their interests, at
least sufficiently to secure the possibility of carrying on some
correspondence. I promised to do so, and as a mark of her gratitude she
took my hand to carry it to her lips, but quickly withdrawing it I tried
to kiss her; she turned her face away, blushing deeply. I was much
pleased with her modesty.
Barbara having succeeded in gaining the new servant over, I had nothing
more to do with the intrigue, and I was very glad of it, for I knew my
interference might have brought evil on my own head. Unfortunately, it
was already too late.
I seldom visited Don Gaspar; the study of the French language took up all
my mornings, and it was only in the morning that I could see him; but I
called every evening upon Father Georgi, and, although I went to him only
as one of his 'proteges', it gave me some reputation. I seldom spoke
before his guests, yet I never felt weary, for in his circle his friends
would criticise without slandering, discuss politics without
stubbornness, literature without passion, and I profited by all. After my
visit to the sagacious monk, I used to attend the assembly of the
cardinal, my master, as a matter of duty. Almost every evening, when she
happened to see me at her card-table, the beautiful marchioness would
address to me a few gracious words in French, and I always answered in
Italian, not caring to make her laugh before so many persons. My feelings
for her were of a singular kind. I must leave them to the analysis of the
reader. I thought that woman charming, yet I avoided her; it was not
because I was afraid of falling in love with her; I loved Lucrezia, and I
firmly believed that such an affection was a shield against any other
attachment, but it was because I feared that she might love me or have a
passing fancy for me. Was it self-conceit or modesty, vice or virtue?
Perhaps neither one nor the other.
One evening she desired the Abbe Gama to call me to her; she was standing
near the cardinal, my patron, and the moment I approached her she caused
me a strange feeling of surprise by asking me in Italian a question which
I was far from anticipating:
"How did you like Frascati?"
"Very much, madam; I have never seen such a beautiful place."
"But your company was still more beautiful, and your vis-a-vis was very
smart."
I only bowed low to the marchioness, and a moment after Cardinal
Acquaviva said to me, kindly,
"You are astonished at your adventure being known?"
"No, my lord; but I am surprised that people should talk of it. I could
not have believed Rome to be so much like a small village."
"The longer you live in Rome," said his eminence, "the more you will find
it so. You have not yet presented yourself to kiss the foot of our Holy
Father?"
"Not yet, my lord."
"Then you must do so."
I bowed in compliance to his wishes.
The Abbe Gama told me to present myself to the Pope on the morrow, and he
added,
"Of course you have already shewn yourself in the Marchioness G.'s
palace?"
"No, I have never been there."
"You astonish me; but she often speaks to you!"
"I have no objection to go with you."
"I never visit at her palace."
"Yet she speaks to you likewise."
"Yes, but.... You do not know Rome; go alone; believe me, you ought to
go."
"Will she receive me?"
"You are joking, I suppose. Of course it is out of the question for you
to be announced. You will call when the doors are wide open to everybody.
You will meet there all those who pay homage to her."
"Will she see me?"
"No doubt of it."
On the following day I proceeded to Monte-Cavallo, and I was at once led
into the room where the Pope was alone. I threw myself on my knees and
kissed the holy cross on his most holy slipper. The Pope enquiring who I
was, I told him, and he answered that he knew me, congratulating me upon
my being in the service of so eminent a cardinal. He asked me how I had
succeeded in gaining the cardinal's favour; I answered with a faithful
recital of my adventures from my arrival at Martorano. He laughed
heartily at all I said respecting the poor and worthy bishop, and
remarked that, instead of trying to address him in Tuscan, I could speak
in the Venetian dialect, as he was himself speaking to me in the dialect
of Bologna. I felt quite at my ease with him, and I told him so much news
and amused him so well that the Holy Father kindly said that he would be
glad to see me whenever I presented myself at Monte-Cavallo. I begged his
permission to read all forbidden books, and he granted it with his
blessing, saying that I should have the permission in writing, but he
forgot it.
Benedict XIV, was a learned man, very amiable, and fond of a joke. I saw
him for the second time at the Villa Medicis. He called me to him, and
continued his walk, speaking of trifling things. He was then accompanied
by Cardinal Albani and the ambassador from Venice. A man of modest
appearance approached His Holiness, who asked what he required; the man
said a few words in a low voice, and, after listening to him, the Pope
answered, "You are right, place your trust in God;" and he gave him his
blessing. The poor fellow went away very dejected, and the Holy Father
continued his walk.
"This man," I said, "most Holy Father, has not been pleased with the
answer of Your Holiness."
"Why?"
"Because most likely he had already addressed himself to God before he
ventured to apply to you; and when Your Holiness sends him to God again,
he finds himself sent back, as the proverb says, from Herod to Pilate."
The Pope, as well as his two companions, laughed heartily; but I kept a
serious countenance.
"I cannot," continued the Pope, "do any good without God's assistance."
"Very true, Holy Father; but the man is aware that you are God's prime
minister, and it is easy to imagine his trouble now that the minister
sends him again to the master. His only resource is to give money to the
beggars of Rome, who for one 'bajocco' will pray for him. They boast of
their influence before the throne of the Almighty, but as I have faith
only in your credit, I entreat Your Holiness to deliver me of the heat
which inflames my eyes by granting me permission to eat meat."
"Eat meat, my son."
"Holy Father, give me your blessing."
He blessed me, adding that I was not dispensed from fasting.
That very evening, at the cardinal's assembly, I found that the news of
my dialogue with the Pope was already known. Everybody was anxious to
speak to me. I felt flattered, but I was much more delighted at the joy
which Cardinal Acquaviva tried in vain to conceal.
As I wished not to neglect Gama's advice, I presented myself at the
mansion of the beautiful marchioness at the hour at which everyone had
free access to her ladyship. I saw her, I saw the cardinal and a great
many abbes; but I might have supposed myself invisible, for no one
honoured me with a look, and no one spoke to me. I left after having
performed for half an hour the character of a mute. Five or six days
afterwards, the marchioness told me graciously that she had caught a
sight of me in her reception-rooms.
"I was there, it is true, madam; but I had no idea that I had had the
honour to be seen by your ladyship."
"Oh! I see everybody. They tell me that you have wit."
"If it is not a mistake on the part of your informants, your ladyship
gives me very good news."
"Oh! they are excellent judges."
"Then, madam, those persons must have honoured me with their
conversation; otherwise, it is not likely that they would have been able
to express such an opinion."
"No doubt; but let me see you often at my receptions."
Our conversation had been overheard by those who were around; his
excellency the cardinal told me that, when the marchioness addressed
herself particularly to me in French, my duty was to answer her in the
same language, good or bad. The cunning politician Gama took me apart,
and remarked that my repartees were too smart, too cutting, and that,
after a time, I would be sure to displease. I had made considerable
progress in French; I had given up my lessons, and practice was all I
required. I was then in the habit of calling sometimes upon Lucrezia in
the morning, and of visiting in the evening Father Georgi, who was
acquainted with the excursion to Frascati, and had not expressed any
dissatisfaction.
Two days after the sort of command laid upon me by the marchioness, I
presented myself at her reception. As soon as she saw me, she favoured me
with a smile which I acknowledged by a deep reverence; that was all. In a
quarter of an hour afterwards I left the mansion. The marchioness was
beautiful, but she was powerful, and I could not make up my mind to crawl
at the feet of power, and, on that head, I felt disgusted with the
manners of the Romans.
One morning towards the end of November the advocate, accompanied by
Angelique's intended, called on me. The latter gave me a pressing
invitation to spend twenty-four hours at Tivoli with the friends I had
entertained at Frascati. I accepted with great pleasure, for I had found
no opportunity of being alone with Lucrezia since the Festival of St.
Ursula. I promised to be at Donna Cecilia's house at day-break with the
same 'is-a-vis'. It was necessary to start very early, because Tivoli is
sixteen miles from Rome, and has so many objects of interest that it
requires many hours to see them all. As I had to sleep out that night, I
craved permission to do so from the cardinal himself, who, hearing with
whom I was going, told me that I was quite right not to lose such an
opportunity of visiting that splendid place in such good society.
The first dawn of day found me with my 'vis-a-vis' and four at the door
of Donna Cecilia, who came with me as before. The charming widow,
notwithstanding her strict morality, was delighted at my love for her
daughter. The family rode in a large phaeton hired by Don Francisco,
which gave room for six persons.
At half-past seven in the morning we made a halt at a small place where
had been prepared, by Don Franciso's orders, an excellent breakfast,
which was intended to replace the dinner, and we all made a hearty meal,
as we were not likely to find time for anything but supper at Tivoli. I
wore on my finger the beautiful ring which Lucrezia had given me. At the
back of the ring I had had a piece of enamel placed, on it was delineated
a saduceus, with one serpent between the letters Alpha and Omega. This
ring was the subject of conversation during breakfast, and Don Francisco,
as well as the advocate, exerted himself in vain to guess the meaning of
the hieroglyphs; much to the amusement of Lucrezia, who understood the
mysterious secret so well. We continued our road, and reached Tivoli at
ten o'clock.
We began by visiting Don Francisco's villa. It was a beautiful little
house, and we spent the following six hours in examining together the
antiquities of Tivoli. Lucrezia having occasion to whisper a few words to
Don Francisco, I seized the opportunity of telling Angelique that after
her marriage I should be happy to spend a few days of the fine season
with her.
"Sir," she answered, "I give you fair notice that the moment I become
mistress in this house you will be the very first person to be excluded."
"I feel greatly obliged to you, signora, for your timely notice."
But the most amusing part of the affair was that I construed Angelique's
wanton insult into a declaration of love. I was astounded. Lucrezia,
remarking the state I was in, touched my arm, enquiring what ailed me. I
told her, and she said at once,
"My darling, my happiness cannot last long; the cruel moment of our
separation is drawing near. When I have gone, pray undertake the task of
compelling her to acknowledge her error. Angelique pities me, be sure to
avenge me."
I have forgotten to mention that at Don Francisco's villa I happened to
praise a very pretty room opening upon the orange-house, and the amiable
host, having heard me, came obligingly to me, and said that it should be
my room that night. Lucrezia feigned not to hear, but it was to her
Ariadne's clue, for, as we were to remain altogether during our visit to
the beauties of Tivoli, we had no chance of a tete-a-tete through the
day.
I have said that we devoted six hours to an examination of the
antiquities of Tivoli, but I am bound to confess here that I saw, for my
part, very little of them, and it was only twenty-eight years later that
I made a thorough acquaintance with the beautiful spot.
We returned to the villa towards evening, fatigued and very hungry, but
an hour's rest before supper--a repast which lasted two hours, the most
delicious dishes, the most exquisite wines, and particularly the
excellent wine of Tivoli--restored us so well that everybody wanted
nothing more than a good bed and the freedom to enjoy the bed according
to his own taste.
As everybody objected to sleep alone, Lucrezia said that she would sleep
with Angelique in one of the rooms leading to the orange-house, and
proposed that her husband should share a room with the young abbe, his
brother-in-law, and that Donna Cecilia should take her youngest daughter
with her.
The arrangement met with general approbation, and Don Francisco, taking a
candle, escorted me to my pretty little room adjoining the one in which
the two sisters were to sleep, and, after shewing me how I could lock
myself in, he wished me good night and left me alone.
Angelique had no idea that I was her near neighbour, but Lucrezia and I,
without exchanging a single word on the subject, had perfectly understood
each other.
I watched through the key-hole and saw the two sisters come into their
room, preceded by the polite Don Francisco, who carried a taper, and,
after lighting a night-lamp, bade them good night and retired. Then my
two beauties, their door once locked, sat down on the sofa and completed
their night toilet, which, in that fortunate climate, is similar to the
costume of our first mother. Lucrezia, knowing that I was waiting to come
in, told her sister to lie down on the side towards the window, and the
virgin, having no idea that she was exposing her most secret beauties to
my profane eyes, crossed the room in a state of complete nakedness.
Lucrezia put out the lamp and lay down near her innocent sister.
Happy moments which I can no longer enjoy, but the sweet remembrance of
which death alone can make me lose! I believe I never undressed myself as
quickly as I did that evening.
I open the door and fall into the arms of my Lucrezia, who says to her
sister, "It is my angel, my love; never mind him, and go to sleep."
What a delightful picture I could offer to my readers if it were possible
for me to paint voluptuousness in its most enchanting colours! What
ecstasies of love from the very onset! What delicious raptures succeed
each other until the sweetest fatigue made us give way to the soothing
influence of Morpheus!
The first rays of the sun, piercing through the crevices of the shutters,
wake us out of our refreshing slumbers, and like two valorous knights who
have ceased fighting only to renew the contest with increased ardour, we
lose no time in giving ourselves up to all the intensity of the flame
which consumes us.
"Oh, my beloved Lucrezia! how supremely happy I am! But, my darling, mind
your sister; she might turn round and see us."
"Fear nothing, my life; my sister is kind, she loves me, she pities me;
do you not love me, my dear Angelique? Oh! turn round, see how happy your
sister is, and know what felicity awaits you when you own the sway of
love."
Angelique, a young maiden of seventeen summers, who must have suffered
the torments of Tantalus during the night, and who only wishes for a
pretext to shew that she has forgiven her sister, turns round, and
covering her sister with kisses, confesses that she has not closed her
eyes through the night.
"Then forgive likewise, darling Angelique, forgive him who loves me, and
whom I adore," says Lucrezia.
Unfathomable power of the god who conquers all human beings!
"Angelique hates me," I say, "I dare not...."
"No, I do not hate you!" answers the charming girl.
"Kiss her, dearest," says Lucrezia, pushing me towards her sister, and
pleased to see her in my arms motionless and languid.
But sentiment, still more than love, forbids me to deprive Lucrezia of
the proof of my gratitude, and I turn to her with all the rapture of a
beginner, feeling that my ardour is increased by Angelique's ecstasy, as
for the first time she witnesses the amorous contest. Lucrezia, dying of
enjoyment, entreats me to stop, but, as I do not listen to her prayer,
she tricks me, and the sweet Angelique makes her first sacrifice to the
mother of love. It is thus, very likely, that when the gods inhabited
this earth, the voluptuous Arcadia, in love with the soft and pleasing
breath of Zephyrus, one day opened her arms, and was fecundated.
Lucrezia was astonished and delighted, and covered us both with kisses.
Angelique, as happy as her sister, expired deliciously in my arms for the
third time, and she seconded me with so much loving ardour, that it
seemed to me I was tasting happiness for the first time.
Phoebus had left the nuptial couch, and his rays were already diffusing
light over the universe; and that light, reaching us through the closed
shutters, gave me warning to quit the place; we exchanged the most loving
adieus, I left my two divinities and retired to my own room. A few
minutes afterwards, the cheerful voice of the advocate was heard in the
chamber of the sisters; he was reproaching them for sleeping too long!
Then he knocked at my door, threatening to bring the ladies to me, and
went away, saying that he would send me the hair-dresser.
After many ablutions and a careful toilet, I thought I could skew my
face, and I presented myself coolly in the drawing-room. The two sisters
were there with the other members of our society, and I was delighted
with their rosy cheeks. Lucrezia was frank and gay, and beamed with
happiness; Angelique, as fresh as the morning dew, was more radiant than
usual, but fidgety, and carefully avoided looking me in the face. I saw
that my useless attempts to catch her eyes made her smile, and I remarked
to her mother, rather mischievously, that it was a pity Angelique used
paint for her face. She was duped by this stratagem, and compelled me to
pass a handkerchief over her face, and was then obliged to look at me. I
offered her my apologies, and Don Francisco appeared highly pleased that
the complexion of his intended had met with such triumph.
After breakfast we took a walk through the garden, and, finding myself
alone with Lucrezia, I expostulated tenderly with her for having almost
thrown her sister in my arms.
"Do not reproach me," she said, "when I deserve praise. I have brought
light into the darkness of my charming sister's soul; I have initiated
her in the sweetest of mysteries, and now, instead of pitying me, she
must envy me. Far from having hatred for you, she must love you dearly,
and as I am so unhappy as to have to part from you very soon, my beloved,
I leave her to you; she will replace me."
"Ah, Lucrezia! how can I love her?"
"Is she not a charming girl?"
"No doubt of it; but my adoration for you is a shield against any other
love. Besides Don Francisco must, of course, entirely monopolize her, and
I do not wish to cause coolness between them, or to ruin the peace of
their home. I am certain your sister is not like you, and I would bet
that, even now, she upbraids herself for having given way to the ardour
of her temperament:"
"Most likely; but, dearest, I am sorry to say my husband expects to
obtain judgment in the course of this week, and then the short instants
of happiness will for ever be lost to me."
This was sad news indeed, and to cause a diversion at the breakfast-table
I took much notice of the generous Don Francisco, and promised to compose
a nuptial song for his wedding-day, which had been fixed for the early
part of January.
We returned to Rome, and for the three hours that she was with me in my
vis-a-vis, Lucrezia had no reason to think that my ardour was at all
abated. But when we reached the city I was rather fatigued, and proceeded
at once to the palace.
Lucrezia had guessed rightly; her husband obtained his judgment three or
four days afterwards, and called upon me to announce their departure for
the day after the morrow; he expressed his warm friendship for me, and by
his invitation I spent the two last evenings with Lucrezia, but we were
always surrounded by the family. The day of her departure, wishing to
cause her an agreeable surprise, I left Rome before them and waited for
them at the place where I thought they would put up for the night, but
the advocate, having been detained by several engagements, was detained
in Rome, and they only reached the place next day for dinner. We dined
together, we exchanged a sad, painful farewell, and they continued their
journey while I returned to Rome.
After the departure of this charming woman, I found myself in sort of
solitude very natural to a young man whose heart is not full of hope.
I passed whole days in my room, making extracts from the French letters
written by the cardinal, and his eminence was kind enough to tell me that
my extracts were judiciously made, but that he insisted upon my not
working so hard. The beautiful marchioness was present when he paid me
that compliment.
Since my second visit to her, I had not presented myself at her house;
she was consequently rather cool to me, and, glad of an opportunity of
making me feel her displeasure, she remarked to his eminence that very
likely work was a consolation to me in the great void caused by the
departure of Donna Lucrezia.
"I candidly confess, madam, that I have felt her loss deeply. She was
kind and generous; above all, she was indulgent when I did not call often
upon her. My friendship for her was innocent."
"I have no doubt of it, although your ode was the work of a poet deeply
in love."
"Oh!" said the kindly cardinal, "a poet cannot possibly write without
professing to be in love."
"But," replied the marchioness, "if the poet is really in love, he has no
need of professing a feeling which he possesses."
As she was speaking, the marchioness drew out of her pocket a paper which
she offered to his eminence.
"This is the ode," she said, "it does great honour to the poet, for it is
admitted to be a masterpiece by all the literati in Rome, and Donna
Lucrezia knows it by heart."
The cardinal read it over and returned it, smiling, and remarking that,
as he had no taste for Italian poetry, she must give herself the pleasure
of translating it into French rhyme if she wished him to admire it.
"I only write French prose," answered the marchioness, "and a prose
translation destroys half the beauty of poetry. I am satisfied with
writing occasionally a little Italian poetry without any pretension to
poetical fame."
Those words were accompanied by a very significant glance in my
direction.
"I should consider myself fortunate, madam, if I could obtain the
happiness of admiring some of your poetry."
"Here is a sonnet of her ladyship's," said Cardinal S. C.
I took it respectfully, and I prepared to read it, but the amiable
marchioness told me to put it in my pocket and return it to the cardinal
the next day, although she did not think the sonnet worth so much
trouble. "If you should happen to go out in the morning," said Cardinal
S. C., "you could bring it back, and dine with me." Cardinal Aquaviva
immediately answered for me: "He will be sure to go out purposely."
With a deep reverence, which expressed my thanks, I left the room quietly
and returned to my apartment, very impatient to read the sonnet. Yet,
before satisfying my wish, I could not help making some reflections on
the situation. I began to think myself somebody since the gigantic stride
I had made this evening at the cardinal's assembly. The Marchioness de G.
had shewn in the most open way the interest she felt in me, and, under
cover of her grandeur, had not hesitated to compromise herself publicly
by the most flattering advances. But who would have thought of
disapproving? A young abbe like me, without any importance whatever, who
could scarcely pretend to her high protection! True, but she was
precisely the woman to grant it to those who, feeling themselves unworthy
of it, dared not shew any pretensions to her patronage. On that head, my
modesty must be evident to everyone, and the marchioness would certainly
have insulted me had she supposed me capable of sufficient vanity to
fancy that she felt the slightest inclination for me. No, such a piece of
self-conceit was not in accordance with my nature. Her cardinal himself
had invited me to dinner. Would he have done so if he had admitted the
possibility of the beautiful marchioness feeling anything for me? Of
course not, and he gave me an invitation to dine with him only because he
had understood, from the very words of the lady, that I was just the sort
of person with whom they could converse for a few hours without any risk;
to be sure, without any risk whatever. Oh, Master Casanova! do you really
think so?
Well, why should I put on a mask before my readers? They may think me
conceited if they please, but the fact of the matter is that I felt sure
of having made a conquest of the marchioness. I congratulated myself
because she had taken the first, most difficult, and most important step.
Had she not done so, I should never have dared-to lay siege to her even
in the most approved fashion; I should never have even ventured to dream
of winning her. It was only this evening that I thought she might replace
Lucrezia. She was beautiful, young, full of wit and talent; she was fond
of literary pursuits, and very powerful in Rome; what more was necessary?
Yet I thought it would be good policy to appear ignorant of her
inclination for me, and to let her suppose from the very next day that I
was in love with her, but that my love appeared to me hopeless. I knew
that such a plan was infallible, because it saved her dignity. It seemed
to me that Father Georgi himself would be compelled to approve such an
undertaking, and I had remarked with great satisfaction that Cardinal
Acquaviva had expressed his delight at Cardinal S. C.'s invitation--an
honour which he had never yet bestowed on me himself. This affair might
have very important results for me.
I read the marchioness's sonnet, and found it easy, flowing, and well
written. It was composed in praise of the King of Prussia, who had just
conquered Silesia by a masterly stroke. As I was copying it, the idea
struck me to personify Silesia, and to make her, in answer to the sonnet,
bewail that Love (supposed to be the author of the sonnet of the
marchioness) could applaud the man who had conquered her, when that
conqueror was the sworn enemy of Love.
It is impossible for a man accustomed to write poetry to abstain when a
happy subject smiles upon his delighted imagination. If he attempted to
smother the poetical flame running through his veins it would consume
him. I composed my sonnet, keeping the same rhymes as in the original,
and, well pleased with my muse, I went to bed.
The next morning the Abbe Gama came in just as I had finished recopying
my sonnet, and said he would breakfast with me. He complimented me upon
the honour conferred on me by the invitation of Cardinal S. C.
"But be prudent," he added, "for his eminence has the reputation of being
jealous:"
I thanked him for his friendly advice, taking care to assure him that I
had nothing to fear, because I did not feel the slightest inclination for
the handsome marchioness.
Cardinal S. C. received me with great kindness mingled with dignity, to
make me realize the importance of the favour he was bestowing upon me.
"What do you think," he enquired, "of the sonnet?"
"Monsignor, it is perfectly written, and, what is more, it is a charming
composition. Allow me to return it to you with my thanks."
"She has much talent. I wish to shew you ten stanzas of her composition,
my dear abbe, but you must promise to be very discreet about it."
"Your eminence may rely on me."
He opened his bureau and brought forth the stanzas of which he was the
subject. I read them, found them well written, but devoid of enthusiasm;
they were the work of a poet, and expressed love in the words of passion,
but were not pervaded by that peculiar feeling by which true love is so
easily discovered. The worthy cardinal was doubtless guilty of a very
great indiscretion, but self-love is the cause of so many injudicious
steps! I asked his eminence whether he had answered the stanzas.
"No," he replied, "I have not; but would you feel disposed to lend me
your poetical pen, always under the seal of secrecy?"
"As to secrecy, monsignor, I promise it faithfully; but I am afraid the
marchioness will remark the difference between your style and mine."
"She has nothing of my composition," said the cardinal; "I do not think
she supposes me a fine poet, and for that reason your stanzas must be
written in such a manner that she will not esteem them above my
abilities."
"I will write them with pleasure, monsignor, and your eminence can form
an opinion; if they do not seem good enough to be worthy of you, they
need not be given to the marchioness."
"That is well said. Will you write them at once?"
"What! now, monsignor? It is not like prose."
"Well, well! try to let me have them to-morrow."
We dined alone, and his eminence complimented me upon my excellent
appetite, which he remarked was as good as his own; but I was beginning
to understand my eccentric host, and, to flatter him, I answered that he
praised me more than I deserved, and that my appetite was inferior to
his. The singular compliment delighted him, and I saw all the use I could
make of his eminence.
Towards the end of the dinner, as we were conversing, the marchioness
made her appearance, and, as a matter of course, without being announced.
Her looks threw me into raptures; I thought her a perfect beauty. She did
not give the cardinal time to meet her, but sat down near him, while I
remained standing, according to etiquette.
Without appearing to notice me, the marchioness ran wittily over various
topics until coffee was brought in. Then, addressing herself to me, she
told me to sit down, just as if she was bestowing charity upon me.
"By-the-by, abbe," she said, a minute after, "have you read my sonnet?"
"Yes, madam, and I have had the honour to return it to his eminence. I
have found it so perfect that I am certain it must have cost you a great
deal of time."
"Time?" exclaimed the cardinal; "Oh! you do not know the marchioness."
"Monsignor," I replied, "nothing can be done well without time, and that
is why I have not dared to chew to your eminence an answer to the sonnet
which I have written in half an hour."
"Let us see it, abbe," said the marchioness; "I want to read it."
"Answer of Silesia to Love." This title brought the most fascinating
blushes on her countenance. "But Love is not mentioned in the sonnet,"
exclaimed the cardinal. "Wait," said the marchioness, "we must respect
the idea of the poet:"
She read the sonnet over and over, and thought that the reproaches
addressed by Silesia to Love were very just. She explained my idea to the
cardinal, making him understand why Silesia was offended at having been
conquered by the King of Prussia.
"Ah, I see, I see!" exclaimed the cardinal, full of joy; "Silesia is a
woman.... and the King of Prussia.... Oh! oh! that is really a fine
idea!" And the good cardinal laughed heartily for more than a quarter of
an hour. "I must copy that sonnet," he added, "indeed I must have it."
"The abbe," said the obliging marchioness, "will save you the trouble: I
will dictate it to him."
I prepared to write, but his eminence suddenly exclaimed, "My dear
marchioness, this is wonderful; he has kept the same rhymes as in your
own sonnet: did you observe it?"
The beautiful marchioness gave me then a look of such expression that she
completed her conquest. I understood that she wanted me to know the
cardinal as well as she knew him; it was a kind of partnership in which I
was quite ready to play my part.
As soon as I had written the sonnet under the charming woman's dictation,
I took my leave, but not before the cardinal had told me that he expected
me to dinner the next day.
I had plenty of work before me, for the ten stanzas I had to compose were
of the most singular character, and I lost no time in shutting myself up
in my room to think of them. I had to keep my balance between two points
of equal difficulty, and I felt that great care was indispensable. I had
to place the marchioness in such a position that she could pretend to
believe the cardinal the author of the stanzas, and, at the same time,
compel her to find out that I had written them, and that I was aware of
her knowing it. It was necessary to speak so carefully that not one
expression should breathe even the faintest hope on my part, and yet to
make my stanzas blaze with the ardent fire of my love under the thin veil
of poetry. As for the cardinal, I knew well enough that the better the
stanzas were written, the more disposed he would be to sign them. All I
wanted was clearness, so difficult to obtain in poetry, while a little
doubtful darkness would have been accounted sublime by my new Midas. But,
although I wanted to please him, the cardinal was only a secondary
consideration, and the handsome marchioness the principal object.
As the marchioness in her verses had made a pompous enumeration of every
physical and moral quality of his eminence, it was of course natural that
he should return the compliment, and here my task was easy. At last
having mastered my subject well, I began my work, and giving full career
to my imagination and to my feelings I composed the ten stanzas, and gave
the finishing stroke with these two beautiful lines from Ariosto:
Le angelicche bellezze nate al cielo
Non si ponno celar sotto alcum velo.
Rather pleased with my production, I presented it the next day to the
cardinal, modestly saying that I doubted whether he would accept the
authorship of so ordinary a composition. He read the stanzas twice over
without taste or expression, and said at last that they were indeed not
much, but exactly what he wanted. He thanked me particularly for the two
lines from Ariosto, saying that they would assist in throwing the
authorship upon himself, as they would prove to the lady for whom they
were intended that he had not been able to write them without borrowing.
And, as to offer me some consolation, he told me that, in recopying the
lines, he would take care to make a few mistakes in the rhythm to
complete the illusion.
We dined earlier than the day before, and I withdrew immediately after
dinner so as to give him leisure to make a copy of the stanzas before the
arrival of the lady.
The next evening I met the marchioness at the entrance of the palace, and
offered her my arm to come out of her carriage. The instant she alighted,
she said to me,
"If ever your stanzas and mine become known in Rome, you may be sure of
my enmity."
"Madam, I do not understand what you mean."
"I expected you to answer me in this manner," replied the marchioness,
"but recollect what I have said."
I left her at the door of the reception-room, and thinking that she was
really angry with me, I went away in despair. "My stanzas," I said to
myself, "are too fiery; they compromise her dignity, and her pride is
offended at my knowing the secret of her intrigue with Cardinal S. C.
Yet, I feel certain that the dread she expresses of my want of discretion
is only feigned, it is but a pretext to turn me out of her favour. She
has not understood my reserve! What would she have done, if I had painted
her in the simple apparel of the golden age, without any of those veils
which modesty imposes upon her sex!" I was sorry I had not done so. I
undressed and went to bed. My head was scarcely on the pillow when the
Abbe Gama knocked at my door. I pulled the door-string, and coming in, he
said,
"My dear sir, the cardinal wishes to see you, and I am sent by the
beautiful marchioness and Cardinal S. C., who desire you to come down."
"I am very sorry, but I cannot go; tell them the truth; I am ill in bed."
As the abbe did not return, I judged that he had faithfully acquitted
himself of the commission, and I spent a quiet night. I was not yet
dressed in the morning, when I received a note from Cardinal S. C.
inviting me to dinner, saying that he had just been bled, and that he
wanted to speak to me: he concluded by entreating me to come to him
early, even if I did not feel well.
The invitation was pressing; I could not guess what had caused it, but
the tone of the letter did not forebode anything unpleasant. I went to
church, where I was sure that Cardinal Acquaviva would see me, and he
did. After mass, his eminence beckoned to me.
"Are you truly ill?" he enquired.
"No, monsignor, I was only sleepy."
"I am very glad to hear it; but you are wrong, for you are loved.
Cardinal S. C. has been bled this morning."
"I know it, monsignor. The cardinal tells me so in this note, in which he
invites me to dine with him, with your excellency's permission."
"Certainly. But this is amusing! I did not know that he wanted a third
person."
"Will there be a third person?"
"I do not know, and I have no curiosity about it."
The cardinal left me, and everybody imagined that his eminence had spoken
to me of state affairs.
I went to my new Maecenas, whom I found in bed.
"I am compelled to observe strict diet," he said to me; "I shall have to
let you dine alone, but you will not lose by it as my cook does not know
it. What I wanted to tell you is that your stanzas are, I am afraid, too
pretty, for the marchioness adores them. If you had read them to me in
the same way that she does, I could never have made up my mind to offer
them." "But she believes them to be written by your eminence?"
"Of course."
"That is the essential point, monsignor."
"Yes; but what should I do if she took it into her head to compose some
new stanzas for me?"
"You would answer through the same pen, for you can dispose of me night
and day, and rely upon the utmost secrecy."
"I beg of you to accept this small present; it is some negrillo snuff
from Habana, which Cardinal Acquaviva has given me."
The snuff was excellent, but the object which contained it was still
better. It was a splendid gold-enamelled box. I received it with respect,
and with the expression of the deepest gratitude.
If his eminence did not know how to write poetry, at least he knew how to
be generous, and in a delicate manner, and that science is, at least in
my estimation, superior to the other for a great nobleman.
At noon, and much to my surprise, the beautiful marchioness made her
appearance in the most elegant morning toilet.
"If I had known you were in good company," she said to the cardinal, "I
would not have come."
"I am sure, dear marchioness, you will not find our dear abbe in the
way."
"No, for I believe him to be honest and true."
I kept at a respectful distance, ready to go away with my splendid
snuff-box at the first jest she might hurl at me.
The cardinal asked her if she intended to remain to dinner.
"Yes," she answered; "but I shall not enjoy my dinner, for I hate to eat
alone."
"If you would honour him so far, the abbe would keep you company."
She gave me a gracious look, but without uttering one word.
This was the first time I had anything to do with a woman of quality, and
that air of patronage, whatever kindness might accompany it, always put
me out of temper, for I thought it made love out of the question.
However, as we were in the presence of the cardinal, I fancied that she
might be right in treating me in that fashion.
The table was laid out near the cardinal's bed, and the marchioness, who
ate hardly anything, encouraged me in my good appetite.
"I have told you that the abbe is equal to me in that respect," said S.
C.
"I truly believe," answered the marchioness, "that he does not remain far
behind you; but," added she with flattery, "you are more dainty in your
tastes."
"Would her ladyship be so good as to tell me in what I have appeared to
her to be a mere glutton? For in all things I like only dainty and
exquisite morsels."
"Explain what you mean by saying in all things," said the cardinal.
Taking the liberty of laughing, I composed a few impromptu verses in
which I named all I thought dainty and exquisite. The marchioness
applauded, saying that she admired my courage.
"My courage, madam, is due to you, for I am as timid as a hare when I am
not encouraged; you are the author of my impromptu."
"I admire you. As for myself, were I encouraged by Apollo himself, I
could not compose four lines without paper and ink."
"Only give way boldly to your genius, madam, and you will produce poetry
worthy of heaven."
"That--is my opinion, too," said the cardinal. "I entreat you to give me
permission to skew your ten stanzas to the abbe."
"They are not very good, but I have no objection provided it remains
between us."
The cardinal gave me, then, the stanzas composed by the marchioness, and
I read them aloud with all the expression, all the feeling necessary to
such reading.
"How well you have read those stanzas!" said the marchioness; "I can
hardly believe them to be my own composition; I thank you very much. But
have the goodness to give the benefit of your reading to the stanzas
which his eminence has written in answer to mine. They surpass them
much."
"Do not believe it, my dear abbe," said the cardinal, handing them to me.
"Yet try not to let them lose anything through your reading."
There was certainly no need of his eminence enforcing upon me such a
recommendation; it was my own poetry. I could not have read it otherwise
than in my best style, especially when I had before me the beautiful
woman who had inspired them, and when, besides, Bacchus was in me giving
courage to Apollo as much as the beautiful eyes of the marchioness were
fanning into an ardent blaze the fire already burning through my whole
being.
I read the stanzas with so much expression that the cardinal was
enraptured, but I brought a deep carnation tint upon the cheeks of the
lovely marchioness when I came to the description of those beauties which
the imagination of the poet is allowed to guess at, but which I could
not, of course, have gazed upon. She snatched the paper from my hands
with passion, saying that I was adding verses of my own; it was true, but
I did not confess it. I was all aflame, and the fire was scorching her as
well as me.
The cardinal having fallen asleep, she rose and went to take a seat on
the balcony; I followed her. She had a rather high seat; I stood opposite
to her, so that her knee touched the fob-pocket in which was my watch.
What a position! Taking hold gently of one of her hands, I told her that
she had ignited in my soul a devouring flame, that I adored her, and
that, unless some hope was left to me of finding her sensible to my
sufferings, I was determined to fly away from her for ever.
"Yes, beautiful marchioness, pronounce my sentence."
"I fear you are a libertine and an unfaithful lover."
"I am neither one nor the other."
With these words I folded her in my arms, and I pressed upon her lovely
lips, as pure as a rose, an ardent kiss which she received with the best
possible grace. This kiss, the forerunner of the most delicious
pleasures, had imparted to my hands the greatest boldness; I was on the
point of.... but the marchioness, changing her position, entreated me so
sweetly to respect her, that, enjoying new voluptuousness through my very
obedience, I not only abandoned an easy victory, but I even begged her
pardon, which I soon read in the most loving look.
She spoke of Lucrezia, and was pleased with my discretion. She then
alluded to the cardinal, doing her best to make me believe that there was
nothing between them but a feeling of innocent friendship. Of course I
had my opinion on that subject, but it was my interest to appear to
believe every word she uttered. We recited together lines from our best
poets, and all the time she was still sitting down and I standing before
her, with my looks rapt in the contemplation of the most lovely charms,
to which I remained insensible in appearance, for I had made up my mind
not to press her that evening for greater favours than those I had
already received.
The cardinal, waking from his long and peaceful siesta, got up and joined
us in his night-cap, and good-naturedly enquired whether we had not felt
impatient at his protracted sleep. I remained until dark and went home
highly pleased with my day's work, but determined to keep my ardent
desires in check until the opportunity for complete victory offered
itself.
From that day, the charming marchioness never ceased to give me the marks
of her particular esteem, without the slightest constraint; I was
reckoning upon the carnival, which was close at hand, feeling certain
that the more I should spare her delicacy, the more she would endeavour
to find the opportunity of rewarding my loyalty, and of crowning with
happiness my loving constancy. But fate ordained otherwise; Dame Fortune
turned her back upon me at the very moment when the Pope and Cardinal
Acquaviva were thinking of giving me a really good position.
The Holy Father had congratulated me upon the beautiful snuff-box
presented to me by Cardinal S. C., but he had been careful never to name
the marchioness. Cardinal Acquaviva expressed openly his delight at his
brother-cardinal having given me a taste of his negrillo snuff in so
splendid an envelope; the Abbe Gama, finding me so forward on the road to
success, did not venture to counsel me any more, and the virtuous Father
Georgi gave me but one piece of advice-namely, to cling to the lovely
marchioness and not to make any other acquaintances.
Such was my position-truly a brilliant one, when, on Christmas Day, the
lover of Barbara Dalacqua entered my room, locked the door, and threw
himself on the sofa, exclaiming that I saw him for the last time.
"I only come to beg of you some good advice."
"On what subject can I advise you?"
"Take this and read it; it will explain everything."
It was a letter from his mistress; the contents were these:
"I am pregnant of a child, the pledge of our mutual love; I can no longer
have any doubt of it, my beloved, and I forewarn you that I have made up
my mind to quit Rome alone, and to go away to die where it may please
God, if you refuse to take care of me and save me. I would suffer
anything, do anything, rather than let my father discover the truth."
"If you are a man of honour," I said, "you cannot abandon the poor girl.
Marry her in spite of your father, in spite of her own, and live together
honestly. The eternal Providence of God will watch over you and help you
in your difficulties:"
My advice seemed to bring calm to his mind, and he left me more composed.
At the beginning of January, 1744, he called again, looking very
cheerful. "I have hired," he said, "the top floor of the house next to
Barbara's dwelling; she knows it, and to-night I will gain her apartment
through one of the windows of the garret, and we will make all our
arrangements to enable me to carry her off. I have made up my mind; I
have decided upon taking her to Naples, and I will take with us the
servant who, sleeping in the garret, had to be made a confidante of."
"God speed you, my friend!"
A week afterwards, towards eleven o'clock at night, he entered my room
accompanied by an abbe.
"What do you want so late?"
"I wish to introduce you to this handsome abbe."
I looked up, and to my consternation I recognized Barbara.
"Has anyone seen you enter the house?" I enquired.
"No; and if we had been seen, what of it? It is only an abbe. We now pass
every night together."
"I congratulate you."
"The servant is our friend; she has consented to follow us, and all our
arrangements are completed."
"I wish you every happiness. Adieu. I beg you to leave me."
Three or four days after that visit, as I was walking with the Abbe Gama
towards the Villa Medicis, he told me deliberately that there would be an
execution during the night in the Piazza di Spagna.
"What kind of execution?"
"The bargello or his lieutenant will come to execute some 'ordine
santissimo', or to visit some suspicious dwelling in order to arrest and
carry off some person who does not expect anything of the sort."
"How do you know it?"
"His eminence has to know it, for the Pope would not venture to encroach
upon his jurisdiction without asking his permission."
"And his eminence has given it?"
"Yes, one of the Holy Father's auditors came for that purpose this
morning."
"But the cardinal might have refused?"
"Of course; but such a permission is never denied."
"And if the person to be arrested happened to be under the protection of
the cardinal--what then?"
"His eminence would give timely warning to that person."
We changed the conversation, but the news had disturbed me. I fancied
that the execution threatened Barbara and her lover, for her father's
house was under the Spanish jurisdiction. I tried to see the young man
but I could not succeed in meeting him, and I was afraid lest a visit at
his home or at M. Dalacqua's dwelling might implicate me. Yet it is
certain that this last consideration would not have stopped me if I had
been positively sure that they were threatened; had I felt satisfied of
their danger, I would have braved everything.
About midnight, as I was ready to go to bed, and just as I was opening my
door to take the key from outside, an abbe rushed panting into my room
and threw himself on a chair. It was Barbara; I guessed what had taken
place, and, foreseeing all the evil consequences her visit might have for
me, deeply annoyed and very anxious, I upbraided her for having taken
refuge in my room, and entreated her to go away.
Fool that I was! Knowing that I was only ruining myself without any
chance of saving her, I ought to have compelled her to leave my room, I
ought to have called for the servants if she had refused to withdraw. But
I had not courage enough, or rather I voluntarily obeyed the decrees of
destiny.
When she heard my order to go away, she threw herself on her knees, and
melting into tears, she begged, she entreated my pity!
Where is the heart of steel which is not softened by the tears, by the
prayers of a pretty and unfortunate woman? I gave way, but I told her
that it was ruin for both of us.
"No one," she replied, "has seen me, I am certain, when I entered the
mansion and came up to your room, and I consider my visit here a week ago
as most fortunate; otherwise, I never could have known which was your
room."
"Alas! how much better if you had never come! But what has become of your
lover?"
"The 'sbirri' have carried him off, as well as the servant. I will tell
you all about it. My lover had informed me that a carriage would wait
to-night at the foot of the flight of steps before the Church of Trinita
del Monte, and that he would be there himself. I entered his room through
the garret window an hour ago. There I put on this disguise, and,
accompanied by the servant, proceeded to meet him. The servant walked a
few yards before me, and carried a parcel of my things. At the corner of
the street, one of the buckles of my shoes being unfastened, I stopped an
instant, and the servant went on, thinking that I was following her. She
reached the carriage, got into it, and, as I was getting nearer, the
light from a lantern disclosed to me some thirty sbirri; at the same
instant, one of them got on the driver's box and drove off at full speed,
carrying off the servant, whom they must have mistaken for me, and my
lover who was in the coach awaiting me. What could I do at such a fearful
moment? I could not go back to my father's house, and I followed my first
impulse which brought me here. And here I am! You tell me that my
presence will cause your ruin; if it is so, tell me what to do; I feel I
am dying; but find some expedient and I am ready to do anything, even to
lay my life down, rather than be the cause of your ruin."
But she wept more bitterly than ever.
Her position was so sad that I thought it worse even than mine, although
I could almost fancy I saw ruin before me despite my innocence.
"Let me," I said, "conduct you to your father; I feel sure of obtaining
your pardon."
But my proposal only enhanced her fears.
"I am lost," she exclaimed; "I know my father. Ah! reverend sir, turn me
out into the street, and abandon me to my miserable fate."
No doubt I ought to have done so, and I would have done it if the
consciousness of what was due to my own interest had been stronger than
my feeling of pity. But her tears! I have often said it, and those
amongst my readers who have experienced it, must be of the same opinion;
there is nothing on earth more irresistible than two beautiful eyes
shedding tears, when the owner of those eyes is handsome, honest, and
unhappy. I found myself physically unable to send her away.
"My poor girl," I said at last, "when daylight comes, and that will not
be long, for it is past midnight, what do you intend to do?"
"I must leave the palace," she replied, sobbing. "In this disguise no one
can recognize me; I will leave Rome, and I will walk straight before me
until I fall on the ground, dying with grief and fatigue."
With these words she fell on the floor. She was choking; I could see her
face turn blue; I was in the greatest distress.
I took off her neck-band, unlaced her stays under the abbe's dress, I
threw cold water in her face, and I finally succeeded in bringing her
back to consciousness.
The night was extremely cold, and there was no fire in my room. I advised
her to get into my bed, promising to respect her.
"Alas! reverend sir, pity is the only feeling with which I can now
inspire anyone."
And, to speak the truth I was too deeply moved, and, at the same time,
too full of anxiety, to leave room in me for any desire. Having induced
her to go to bed, and her extreme weakness preventing her from doing
anything for herself, I undressed her and put her to bed, thus proving
once more that compassion will silence the most imperious requirements of
nature, in spite of all the charms which would, under other
circumstances, excite to the highest degree the senses of a man. I lay
down near her in my clothes, and woke her at day-break. Her strength was
somewhat restored, she dressed herself alone, and I left my room, telling
her to keep quiet until my return. I intended to proceed to her father's
house, and to solicit her pardon, but, having perceived some
suspicious-looking men loitering about the palace, I thought it wise to
alter my mind, and went to a coffeehouse.
I soon ascertained that a spy was watching my movements at a distance;
but I did not appear to notice him, and having taken some chocolate and
stored a few biscuits in my pocket, I returned towards the palace,
apparently without any anxiety or hurry, always followed by the same
individual. I judged that the bargello, having failed in his project, was
now reduced to guesswork, and I was strengthened in that view of the case
when the gate-keeper of the palace told me, without my asking any
question, as I came in, that an arrest had been attempted during the
night, and had not succeeded. While he was speaking, one of the auditors
of the Vicar-General called to enquire when he could see the Abby Gama. I
saw that no time was to be lost, and went up to my room to decide upon
what was to be done.
I began by making the poor girl eat a couple of biscuits soaked in some
Canary wine, and I took her afterwards to the top story of the palace,
where, leaving her in a not very decent closet which was not used by
anyone, I told her to wait for me.
My servant came soon after, and I ordered him to lock the door of my room
as soon as he finished cleaning it, and to bring me the key at the Abbe
Gama's apartment, where I was going. I found Gama in conversation with
the auditor sent by the Vicar-General. As soon as he had dismissed him,
he came to me, and ordered his servant to serve the chocolate. When we
were left alone he gave me an account of his interview with the auditor,
who had come to entreat his eminence to give orders to turn out of his
palace a person who was supposed to have taken refuge in it about
midnight. "We must wait," said the abbe, "until the cardinal is visible,
but I am quite certain that, if anyone has taken refuge here unknown to
him, his eminence will compel that person to leave the palace." We then
spoke of the weather and other trifles until my servant brought my key.
Judging that I had at least an hour to spare, I bethought myself of a
plan which alone could save Barbara from shame and misery.
Feeling certain that I was unobserved, I went up to my poor prisoner and
made her write the following words in French:
"I am an honest girl, monsignor, though I am disguised in the dress of an
abbe. I entreat your eminence to allow me to give my name only to you and
in person. I hope that, prompted by the great goodness of your soul, your
eminence will save me from dishonour." I gave her the necessary
instructions, as to sending the note to the cardinal, assuring her that
he would have her brought to him as soon as he read it.
"When you are in his presence," I added, "throw yourself on your knees,
tell him everything without any concealment, except as regards your
having passed the night in my room. You must be sure not to mention that
circumstance, for the cardinal must remain in complete ignorance of my
knowing anything whatever of this intrigue. Tell him that, seeing your
lover carried off, you rushed to his palace and ran upstairs as far as
you could go, and that after a most painful night Heaven inspired you
with the idea of writing to him to entreat his pity. I feel certain that,
one way or the other, his eminence will save you from dishonour, and it
certainly is the only chance you have of being united to the man you love
so dearly."
She promised to follow 'my instructions faithfully, and, coming down, I
had my hair dressed and went to church, where the cardinal saw me. I then
went out and returned only for dinner, during which the only subject of
conversation was the adventure of the night. Gama alone said nothing, and
I followed his example, but I understood from all the talk going on round
the table that the cardinal had taken my poor Barbara under his
protection. That was all I wanted, and thinking that I had nothing more
to fear I congratulated myself, in petto, upon my stratagem, which had, I
thought, proved a master-stroke. After dinner, finding myself alone with
Gama, I asked him what was the meaning of it all, and this is what he
told me:
"A father, whose name I do not know yet, had requested the assistance of
the Vicar-General to prevent his son from carrying off a young girl, with
whom he intended to leave the States of the Church; the pair had arranged
to meet at midnight in this very square, and the Vicar, having previously
obtained the consent of our cardinal, as I told you yesterday, gave
orders to the bargello to dispose his men in such a way as to catch the
young people in the very act of running away, and to arrest them. The
orders were executed, but the 'sbirri' found out, when they returned to
the bargello, that they had met with only a half success, the woman who
got out of the carriage with the young man not belonging to that species
likely to be carried off. Soon afterwards a spy informed the bargello
that, at the very moment the arrest was executed, he had seen a young
abbe run away very rapidly and take refuge in this palace, and the
suspicion immediately arose that it might be the missing young lady in
the disguise of an ecclesiastic. The bargello reported to the
Vicar-General the failure of his men, as well as the account given by the
spy, and the Prelate, sharing the suspicion of the police, sent to his
eminence, our master, requesting him to have the person in question, man
or woman, turned out of the palace, unless such persons should happen to
be known to his excellency, and therefore above suspicion. Cardinal
Acquaviva was made acquainted with these circumstances at nine this
morning through the auditor you met in my room, and he promised to have
the person sent away unless she belonged to his household.
"According to his promise, the cardinal ordered the palace to be
searched, but, in less than a quarter of an hour, the major-domo received
orders to stop, and the only reason for these new instructions must be
this:
"I am told by the major-domo that at nine o'clock exactly a very
handsome, young abbe, whom he immediately judged to be a girl in
disguise, asked him to deliver a note to his eminence, and that the
cardinal, after reading it, had desired the said abbe be brought to his
apartment, which he has not left since. As the order to stop searching
the palace was given immediately after the introduction of the abbe to
the cardinal, it is easy enough to suppose that this ecclesiastic is no
other than the young girl missed by the police, who took refuge in the
palace in which she must have passed the whole night."
"I suppose," said I, "that his eminence will give her up to-day, if not
to the bargello, at least to the Vicar-General."
"No, not even to the Pope himself," answered Gama. "You have not yet a
right idea of the protection of our cardinal, and that protection is
evidently granted to her, since the young person is not only in the
palace of his eminence, but also in his own apartment and under his own
guardianship."
The whole affair being in itself very interesting, my attention could not
appear extraordinary to Gama, however suspicious he might be naturally,
and I was certain that he would not have told me anything if he had
guessed the share I had taken in the adventure, and the interest I must
have felt in it.
The next day, Gama came to my room with a radiant countenance, and
informed me that the Cardinal-Vicar was aware of the ravisher being my
friend, and supposed that I was likewise the friend of the girl, as she
was the daughter of my French teacher. "Everybody," he added, "is
satisfied that you knew the whole affair, and it is natural to suspect
that the poor girl spent the night in your room. I admire your prudent
reserve during our conversation of yesterday. You kept so well on your
guard that I would have sworn you knew nothing whatever of the affair."
"And it is the truth," I answered, very seriously; "I have only learned
all the circumstances from you this moment. I know the girl, but I have
not seen her for six weeks, since I gave up my French lessons; I am much
better acquainted with the young man, but he never confided his project
to me. However, people may believe whatever they please. You say that it
is natural for the girl to have passed the night in my room, but you will
not mind my laughing in the face of those who accept their own
suppositions as realities."
"That, my dear friend," said the abbe, "is one of the vices of the
Romans; happy those who can afford to laugh at it; but this slander may
do you harm, even in the mind of our cardinal."
As there was no performance at the Opera that night, I went to the
cardinal's reception; I found no difference towards me either in the
cardinal's manners, or in those of any other person, and the marchioness
was even more gracious than usual.
After dinner, on the following day, Gama informed me that the cardinal
had sent the young girl to a convent in which she would be well treated
at his eminence's expense, and that he was certain that she would leave
it only to become the wife of the young doctor.
"I should be very happy if it should turn out so," I replied; "for they
are both most estimable people."
Two days afterwards, I called upon Father Georgi, and he told me, with an
air of sorrow, that the great news of the day in Rome was the failure of
the attempt to carry off Dalacqua's daughter, and that all the honour of
the intrigue was given to me, which displeased him much. I told him what
I had already told Gama, and he appeared to believe me, but he added that
in Rome people did not want to know things as they truly were, but only
as they wished them to be.
"It is known, that you have been in the habit of going every morning to
Dalacqua's house; it is known that the young man often called on you;
that is quite enough. People do not care, to know the circumstances which
might counteract the slander, but only those, likely to give it new force
for slander is vastly relished in the Holy City. Your innocence will not
prevent the whole adventure being booked to your account, if, in forty
years time you were proposed as pope in the conclave."
During the following days the fatal adventure began to cause me more
annoyance than I could express, for everyone mentioned it to me, and I
could see clearly that people pretended to believe what I said only
because they did not dare to do otherwise. The marchioness told me
jeeringly that the Signora Dalacqua had contracted peculiar obligations
towards me, but my sorrow was very great when, during the last days of
the carnival, I remarked that Cardinal Acquaviva's manner had become
constrained, although I was the only person who observed the change.
The noise made by the affair was, however, beginning to subside, when, in
the first days of Lent, the cardinal desired me to come to his private
room, and spoke as follows:
"The affair of the girl Dalacqua is now over; it is no longer spoken of,
but the verdict of the public is that you and I have profited by the
clumsiness of the young man who intended to carry her off. In reality I
care little for such a verdict, for, under similar circumstances, I
should always act in a similar manner, and I do not wish to know that
which no one can compel you to confess, and which, as a man of honour,
you must not admit. If you had no previous knowledge of the intrigue, and
had actually turned the girl out of your room (supposing she did come to
you), you would have been guilty of a wrong and cowardly action, because
you would have sealed her misery for the remainder of her days, and it
would not have caused you to escape the suspicion of being an accomplice,
while at the same time it would have attached to you the odium of
dastardly treachery. Notwithstanding all I have just said, you can easily
imagine that, in spite of my utter contempt for all gossiping fools, I
cannot openly defy them. I therefore feel myself compelled to ask you not
only to quit my service, but even to leave Rome. I undertake to supply
you with an honourable pretext for your departure, so as to insure you
the continuation of the respect which you may have secured through the
marks of esteem I have bestowed upon you. I promise you to whisper in the
ear of any person you may choose, and even to inform everybody, that you
are going on an important mission which I have entrusted to you. You have
only to name the country where you want to go; I have friends everywhere,
and can recommend you to such purpose that you will be sure to find
employment. My letters of recommendation will be in my own handwriting,
and nobody need know where you are going. Meet me to-morrow at the Villa
Negroni, and let me know where my letters are to be addressed. You must
be ready to start within a week. Believe me, I am sorry to lose you; but
the sacrifice is forced upon me by the most absurd prejudice. Go now, and
do not let me witness your grief."
He spoke the last words because he saw my eyes filling with tears, and he
did not give me time to answer. Before leaving his room, I had the
strength of mind to compose myself, and I put on such an air of
cheerfulness that the Abbe Gama, who took me to his room to drink some
coffee, complimented me upon my happy looks.
"I am sure," he said, "that they are caused by the conversation you have
had with his eminence."
"You are right; but you do not know the sorrow at my heart which I try
not to shew outwardly."
"What sorrow?"
"I am afraid of failing in a difficult mission which the cardinal has
entrusted me with this morning. I am compelled to conceal how little
confidence I feel in myself in order not to lessen the good opinion his
eminence is pleased to entertain of me."
"If my advice can be of any service to you, pray dispose of me; but you
are quite right to chew yourself calm and cheerful. Is it any business to
transact in Rome?"
"No; it is a journey I shall have to undertake in a week or ten days."
"Which way?"
"Towards the west."
"Oh! I am not curious to know."
I went out alone and took a walk in the Villa Borghese, where I spent two
hours wrapped in dark despair. I liked Rome, I was on the high road to
fortune, and suddenly I found myself in the abyss, without knowing where
to go, and with all my hopes scattered to the winds. I examined my
conduct, I judged myself severely, I could not find myself guilty of any
crime save of too much kindness, but I perceived how right the good
Father Georgi had been. My duty was not only to take no part in the
intrigue of the two love, but also to change my French teacher the moment
I beard of it; but this was like calling in a doctor after death has
struck the patient. Besides, young as I was, having no experience yet of
misfortune, and still less of the wickedness of society, it was very
difficult for me to have that prudence which a man gains only by long
intercourse with the world.
"Where shall I go?" This was the question which seemed to me impossible
of solution. I thought of it all through the night, and through the
morning, but I thought in vain; after Rome, I was indifferent where I
went to!
In the evening, not caring for any supper, I had gone to my room; the
Abbe Gama came to me with a request from the cardinal not to accept any
invitation to dinner for the next day, as he wanted to speak to me. I
therefore waited upon his eminence the next day at the Villa Negroni; he
was walking with his secretary, whom he dismissed the moment he saw me.
As soon as we were alone, I gave him all the particulars of the intrigue
of the two lovers, and I expressed in the most vivid manner the sorrow I
felt at leaving his service.
"I have no hope of success," I added, "for I am certain that Fortune will
smile upon me only as long as I am near your eminence."
For nearly an hour I told him all the grief with which my heart was
bursting, weeping bitterly; yet I could not move him from his decision.
Kindly, but firmly he pressed me to tell him to what part of Europe I
wanted to go, and despair as much as vexation made me name
Constantinople.
"Constantinople!" he exclaimed, moving back a step or two.
"Yes, monsignor, Constantinople," I repeated, wiping away my tears.
The prelate, a man of great wit, but a Spaniard to the very back-bone,
after remaining silent a few minutes, said, with a smile,
"I am glad you have not chosen Ispahan, as I should have felt rather
embarrassed. When do you wish to go?"
"This day week, as your eminence has ordered me."
"Do you intend to sail from Naples or from Venice?"
"From Venice."
"I will give you such a passport as will be needed, for you will find two
armies in winter-quarters in the Romagna. It strikes me that you may tell
everybody that I sent you to Constantinople, for nobody will believe
you."
This diplomatic suggestion nearly made me smile. The cardinal told me
that I should dine with him, and he left me to join his secretary.
When I returned to the palace, thinking of the choice I had made, I said
to myself, "Either I am mad, or I am obeying the impulse of a mysterious
genius which sends me to Constantinople to work out my fate." I was only
astonished that the cardinal had so readily accepted my choice. "Without
any doubt," I thought, "he did not wish me to believe that he had boasted
of more than he could achieve, in telling me that he had friends
everywhere. But to whom can he recommend me in Constantinople? I have not
the slightest idea, but to Constantinople I must go."
I dined alone with his eminence; he made a great show of peculiar
kindness and I of great satisfaction, for my self-pride, stronger even
than my sorrow, forbade me to let anyone guess that I was in disgrace. My
deepest grief was, however, to leave the marchioness, with whom I was in
love, and from whom I had not obtained any important favour.
Two days afterwards, the cardinal gave me a passport for Venice, and a
sealed letter addressed to Osman Bonneval, Pacha of Caramania, in
Constantinople. There was no need of my saying anything to anyone, but,
as the cardinal had not forbidden me to do it, I shewed the address on
the letter to all my acquaintances.
The Chevalier de Lezze, the Venetian Ambassador, gave me a letter for a
wealthy Turk, a very worthy man who had been his friend; Don Gaspar and
Father Georgi asked me to write to them, but the Abbe Gams, laughed, and
said he was quite sure I was not going to Constantinople.
I went to take my farewell of Donna Cecilia, who had just received a
letter from Lucrezia, imparting the news that she would soon be a mother.
I also called upon Angelique and Don Francisco, who had lately been
married and had not invited me to the wedding.
When I called to take Cardinal Acquaviva's final instructions he gave me
a purse containing one hundred ounces, worth seven hundred sequins. I had
three hundred more, so that my fortune amounted to one thousand sequins;
I kept two hundred, and for the rest I took a letter of exchange upon a
Ragusan who was established in Ancona. I left Rome in the coach with a
lady going to Our Lady of Loretto, to fulfil a vow made during a severe
illness of her daughter, who accompanied her. The young lady was ugly; my
journey was a rather tedious one.
CHAPTER XI
My Short But Rather Too Gay Visit To Ancona--Cecilia,
Marina, Bellino--the Greek Slave of the Lazzaretto--Bellino
Discovers Himself
I arrived in Ancona on the 25th of February, 1744, and put up at the best
inn. Pleased with my room, I told mine host to prepare for me a good meat
dinner; but he answered that during Lent all good Catholics eat nothing
but fish.
"The Holy Father has granted me permission to eat meat."
"Let me see your permission."
"He gave it to me by word of mouth."
"Reverend sir, I am not obliged to believe you."
"You are a fool."
"I am master in my own house, and I beg you will go to some other inn."
Such an answer, coupled to a most unexpected notice to quit, threw me
into a violent passion. I was swearing, raving, screaming, when suddenly
a grave-looking individual made his appearance in my room, and said to
me:
"Sir, you are wrong in calling for meat, when in Ancona fish is much
better; you are wrong in expecting the landlord to believe you on your
bare word; and if you have obtained the permission from the Pope, you
have been wrong in soliciting it at your age; you have been wrong in not
asking for such permission in writing; you are wrong in calling the host
a fool, because it is a compliment that no man is likely to accept in his
own house; and, finally, you are wrong in making such an uproar."
Far from increasing my bad temper, this individual, who had entered my
room only to treat me to a sermon, made me laugh.
"I willingly plead guilty, sir," I answered, "to all the counts which you
allege against me; but it is raining, it is getting late, I am tired and
hungry, and therefore you will easily understand that I do not feel
disposed to change my quarters. Will you give me some supper, as the
landlord refuses to do so?"
"No," he replied, with great composure, "because I am a good Catholic and
fast. But I will undertake to make it all right for you with the
landlord, who will give you a good supper."
Thereupon he went downstairs, and I, comparing my hastiness to his calm,
acknowledged the man worthy of teaching me some lessons. He soon came up
again, informed me that peace was signed, and that I would be served
immediately.
"Will you not take supper with me?"
"No, but I will keep you company."
I accepted his offer, and to learn who he was, I told him my name, giving
myself the title of secretary to Cardinal Acquaviva.
"My name is Sancio Pico," he said; "I am a Castilian, and the
'proveditore' of the army of H. C. M., which is commanded by Count de
Gages under the orders of the generalissimo, the Duke of Modem."
My excellent appetite astonished him, and he enquired whether I had
dined. "No," said I; and I saw his countenance assume an air of
satisfaction.
"Are you not afraid such a supper will hurt you?" he said.
"On the contrary, I hope it will do me a great deal of good."
"Then you have deceived the Pope?"
"No, for I did not tell him that I had no appetite, but only that I liked
meat better than fish."
"If you feel disposed to hear some good music," he said a moment after,
"follow me to the next room; the prima donna of Ancona lives there."
The words prima donna interested me at once, and I followed him. I saw,
sitting before a table, a woman already somewhat advanced in age, with
two young girls and two boys, but I looked in vain for the actress, whom
Don Sancio Pico at last presented to me in the shape of one of the two
boys, who was remarkably handsome and might have been seventeen. I
thought he was a 'castrato' who, as is the custom in Rome, performed all
the parts of a prima donna. The mother presented to, me her other son,
likewise very good-looking, but more manly than the 'castrato', although
younger. His name was Petronio, and, keeping up the transformations of
the family, he was the first female dancer at the opera. The eldest girl,
who was also introduced to me, was named Cecilia, and studied music; she
was twelve years old; the youngest, called Marina, was only eleven, and
like her brother Petronio was consecrated to the worship of Terpsichore.
Both the girls were very pretty.
The family came from Bologna and lived upon the talent of its members;
cheerfulness and amiability replaced wealth with them. Bellino, such was
the name of the castrato, yielding to the entreaties of Don Sancio, rose
from the table, went to the harpiscord, and sang with the voice of an
angel and with delightful grace. The Castilian listened with his eyes
closed in an ecstasy of enjoyment, but I, far from closing my eyes, gazed
into Bellino's, which seemed to dart amorous lightnings upon me. I could
discover in him some of the features of Lucrezia and the graceful manner
of the marchioness, and everything betrayed a beautiful woman, for his
dress concealed but imperfectly the most splendid bosom. The consequence
was that, in spite of his having been introduced as a man, I fancied that
the so-called Bellino was a disguised beauty, and, my imagination taking
at once the highest flight, I became thoroughly enamoured.
We spent two very pleasant hours, and I returned to my room accompanied
by the Castilian. "I intend to leave very early to-morrow morning," he
said, "for Sinigaglia, with the Abbe Vilmarcati, but I expect to return
for supper the day after to-morrow." I wished him a happy journey, saying
that we would most 'likely meet on the road, as I should probably leave
Ancona myself on the same day, after paying a visit to my banker.
I went to bed thinking of Bellino and of the impression he had made upon
me; I was sorry to go away without having proved to him that I was not
the dupe of his disguise. Accordingly, I was well pleased to see him
enter my room in the morning as soon as I had opened my door. He came to
offer me the services of his young brother Petronio during my stay in
Ancona, instead of my engaging a valet de place. I willingly agreed to
the proposal, and sent Petronio to get coffee for all the family.
I asked Bellino to sit on my bed with the intention of making love to
him, and of treating him like a girl, but the two young sisters ran into
my room and disturbed my plans. Yet the trio formed before me a very
pleasing sight; they represented natural beauty and artless cheerfulness
of three different kinds; unobtrusive familiarity, theatrical wit,
pleasing playfulness, and pretty Bolognese manners which I witnessed for
the first time; all this would have sufficed to cheer me if I had been
downcast. Cecilia and Marina were two sweet rosebuds, which, to bloom in
all their beauty, required only the inspiration of love, and they would
certainly have had the preference over Bellino if I had seen in him only
the miserable outcast of mankind, or rather the pitiful victim of
sacerdotal cruelty, for, in spite of their youth, the two amiable girls
offered on their dawning bosom the precious image of womanhood.
Petronio came with the coffee which he poured out, and I sent some to the
mother, who never left her room. Petronio was a true male harlot by taste
and by profession. The species is not scare in Italy, where the offence
is not regarded with the wild and ferocious intolerance of England and
Spain. I had given him one sequin to pay for the coffee, and told him to
keep the change, and, to chew me his gratitude, he gave me a voluptuous
kiss with half-open lips, supposing in me a taste which I was very far
from entertaining. I disabused him, but he did not seem the least
ashamed. I told him to order dinner for six persons, but he remarked that
he would order it only for four, as he had to keep his dear mother
company; she always took her dinner in bed. Everyone to his taste, I
thought, and I let him do as he pleased.
Two minutes after he had gone, the landlord came to my room and said,
"Reverend sir, the persons you have invited here have each the appetite
of two men at least; I give you notice of it, because I must charge
accordingly." "All right," I replied, "but let us have a good dinner."
When I was dressed, I thought I ought to pay my compliments to the
compliant mother. I went to her room, and congratulated her upon her
children. She thanked me for the present I had given to Petronio, and
began to make me the confidant of her distress. "The manager of the
theatre," she said, "is a miser who has given us only fifty Roman crowns
for the whole carnival. We have spent them for our living, and, to return
to Bologna, we shall have to walk and beg our way." Her confidence moved
my pity, so I took a gold quadruple from my purse and offered it to her;
she wept for joy and gratitude.
"I promise you another gold quadruple, madam," I said, "if you will
confide in me entirely. Confess that Bellino is a pretty woman in
disguise."
"I can assure you it is not so, although he has the appearance of a
woman."
"Not only the appearance, madam, but the tone, the manners; I am a good
judge."
"Nevertheless, he is a boy, for he has had to be examined before he could
sing on the stage here."
"And who examined him?"
"My lord bishop's chaplain."
"A chaplain?"
"Yes, and you may satisfy yourself by enquiring from him."
"The only way to clear my doubts would be to examine him myself."
"You may, if he has no objection, but truly I cannot interfere, as I do
not know what your intentions are."
"They are quite natural."
I returned to my room and sent Petronio for a bottle of Cyprus wine. He
brought the wine and seven sequins, the change for the doubloon I had
given him. I divided them between Bellino, Cecilia and Marina, and begged
the two young girls to leave me alone with their brother.
"Bellino, I am certain that your natural conformation is different from
mine; my dear, you are a girl."
"I am a man, but a castrato; I have been examined."
"Allow me to examine you likewise, and I will give you a doubloon."
"I cannot, for it is evident that you love me, and such love is condemned
by religion."
"You did not raise these objections with the bishop's chaplain."
"He was an elderly priest, and besides, he only just glanced at me."
"I will know the truth," said I, extending my hand boldly.
But he repulsed me and rose from his chair. His obstinacy vexed me, for I
had already spent fifteen or sixteen sequins to satisfy my curiosity.
I began my dinner with a very bad humour, but the excellent appetite of
my pretty guests brought me round, and I soon thought that, after all,
cheerfulness was better than sulking, and I resolved to make up for my
disappointment with the two charming sisters, who seemed well disposed to
enjoy a frolic.
I began by distributing a few innocent kisses right and left, as I sat
between them near a good fire, eating chestnuts which we wetted with
Cyprus wine. But very soon my greedy hands touched every part which my
lips could not kiss, and Cecilia, as well as Marina, delighted in the
game. Seeing that Bellino was smiling, I kissed him likewise, and his
half-open ruffle attracting my hand, I ventured and went in without
resistance. The chisel of Praxiteles had never carved a finer bosom!
"Oh! this is enough," I exclaimed; "I can no longer doubt that you are a
beautifully-formed woman!"
"It is," he replied, "the defect of all castrati."
"No, it is the perfection of all handsome women. Bellino, believe me, I
am enough of a good judge to distinguish between the deformed breast of a
castrato, and that of a beautiful woman; and your alabaster bosom belongs
to a young beauty of seventeen summers."
Who does not know that love, inflamed by all that can excite it, never
stops in young people until it is satisfied, and that one favour granted
kindles the wish for a greater one? I had begun well, I tried to go
further and to smother with burning kisses that which my hand was
pressing so ardently, but the false Bellino, as if he had only just been
aware of the illicit pleasure I was enjoying, rose and ran away. Anger
increased in me the ardour of love, and feeling the necessity of calming
myself either by satisfying my ardent desires or by evaporating them, I
begged Cecilia, Bellino's pupil, to sing a few Neapolitan airs.
I then went out to call upon the banker, from whom I took a letter of
exchange at sight upon Bologna, for the amount I had to receive from him,
and on my return, after a light supper with the two young sisters, I
prepared to go to bed, having previously instructed Petronio to order a
carriage for the morning.
I was just locking my door when Cecilia, half undressed, came in to say
that Bellino begged me to take him to Rimini, where he was engaged to
sing in an opera to be performed after Easter.
"Go and tell him, my dear little seraph, that I am ready to do what he
wishes, if he will only grant me in your presence what I desire; I want
to know for a certainty whether he is a man or a woman."
She left me and returned soon, saying that Bellino had gone to bed, but
that if I would postpone my departure for one day only he promised to
satisfy me on the morrow.
"Tell me the truth, Cecilia, and I will give you six sequins."
"I cannot earn them, for I have never seen him naked, and I cannot swear
to his being a girl. But he must be a man, otherwise he would not have
been allowed to perform here."
"Well, I will remain until the day after to-morrow, provided you keep me
company tonight."
"Do you love me very much?"
"Very much indeed, if you shew yourself very kind."
"I will be very kind, for I love you dearly likewise. I will go and tell
my mother."
"Of course you have a lover?"
"I never had one."
She left my room, and in a short time came back full of joy, saying that
her mother believed me an honest man; she of course meant a generous one.
Cecilia locked the door, and throwing herself in my arms covered me with
kisses. She was pretty, charming, but I was not in love with her, and I
was not able to say to her as to Lucrezia: "You have made me so happy!"
But she said it herself, and I did not feel much flattered, although I
pretended to believe her. When I woke up in the morning I gave her a
tender salutation, and presenting her with three doubloons, which must
have particularly delighted the mother, I sent her away without losing my
time in promising everlasting constancy--a promise as absurd as it is
trifling, and which the most virtuous man ought never to make even to the
most beautiful of women.
After breakfast I sent for mine host and ordered an excellent supper for
five persons, feeling certain that Don Sancio, whom I expected in the
evening, would not refuse to honour me by accepting my invitation, and
with that idea I made up my mind to go without my dinner. The Bolognese
family did not require to imitate my diet to insure a good appetite for
the evening.
I then summoned Bellino to my room, and claimed the performance of his
promise but he laughed, remarked that the day was not passed yet, and
said that he was certain of traveling with me.
"I fairly warn you that you cannot accompany me unless I am fully
satisfied."
"Well, I will satisfy you."
"Shall we go and take a walk together?"
"Willingly; I will dress myself."
While I was waiting for him, Marina came in with a dejected countenance,
enquiring how she had deserved my contempt.
"Cecilia has passed the night with you, Bellino will go with you
to-morrow, I am the most unfortunate of us all."
"Do you want money?"
"No, for I love you."
"But, Marinetta, you are too young."
"I am much stronger than my sister."
"Perhaps you have a lover."
"Oh! no."
"Very well, we can try this evening."
"Good! Then I will tell mother to prepare clean sheets for to-morrow
morning; otherwise everybody here would know that I slept with you."
I could not help admiring the fruits of a theatrical education, and was
much amused.
Bellino came back, we went out together, and we took our walk towards the
harbour. There were several vessels at anchor, and amongst them a
Venetian ship and a Turkish tartan. We went on board the first which we
visited with interest, but not seeing anyone of my acquaintance, we rowed
towards the Turkish tartan, where the most romantic surprise awaited me.
The first person I met on board was the beautiful Greek woman I had left
in Ancona, seven months before, when I went away from the lazzaretto. She
was seated near the old captain, of whom I enquired, without appearing to
notice his handsome slave, whether he had any fine goods to sell. He took
us to his cabin, but as I cast a glance towards the charming Greek, she
expressed by her looks all her delight at such an unexpected meeting.
I pretended not to be pleased with the goods shewn by the Turk, and under
the impulse of inspiration I told him that I would willingly buy
something pretty which would take the fancy of his better-half. He
smiled, and the Greek slave-having whispered a few words to him, he left
the cabin. The moment he was out of sight, this new Aspasia threw herself
in my arms, saying, "Now is your time!" I would not be found wanting in
courage, and taking the most convenient position in such a place, I did
to her in one instant that which her old master had not done in five
years. I had not yet reached the goal of my wishes, when the unfortunate
girl, hearing her master, tore herself from my arms with a deep sigh, and
placing herself cunningly in front of me, gave me time to repair the
disorder of my dress, which might have cost me my life, or at least all I
possessed to compromise the affair. In that curious situation, I was
highly amused at the surprise of Bellino, who stood there trembling like
an aspen leaf.
The trifles chosen by the handsome slave cost me only thirty sequins.
'Spolaitis', she said to me in her own language, and the Turk telling her
that she ought to kiss me, she covered her face with her hands, and ran
away. I left the ship more sad than pleased, for I regretted that, in
spite of her courage, she should have enjoyed only an incomplete
pleasure. As soon as we were in our row boat, Bellino, who had recovered
from his fright, told me that I had just made him acquainted with a
phenomenon, the reality of which he could not admit, and which gave him a
very strange idea of my nature; that, as far as the Greek girl was
concerned, he could not make her out, unless I should assure him that
every woman in her country was like her. "How unhappy they must be!" he
added.
"Do you think," I asked, "that coquettes are happier?"
"No, but I think that when a woman yields to love, she should not be
conquered before she has fought with her own desires; she should not give
way to the first impulse of a lustful desire and abandon herself to the
first man who takes her fancy, like an animal--the slave of sense. You
must confess that the Greek woman has given you an evident proof that you
had taken her fancy, but that she has at the same time given you a proof
not less certain of her beastly lust, and of an effrontery which exposed
her to the shame of being repulsed, for she could not possibly know
whether you would feel as well disposed for her as she felt for you. She
is very handsome, and it all turned out well, but the adventure has
thrown me into a whirlpool of agitation which I cannot yet control."
I might easily have put a stop to Bellino's perplexity, and rectified the
mistake he was labouring under; but such a confession would not have
ministered to my self-love, and I held my peace, for, if Bellino happened
to be a girl, as I suspected, I wanted her to be convinced that I
attached, after all, but very little importance to the great affair, and
that it was not worth while employing cunning expedients to obtain it.
We returned to the inn, and, towards evening, hearing Don Sancio's
travelling carriage roll into the yard, I hastened to meet him, and told
him that I hoped he would excuse me if I had felt certain that he would
not refuse me the honour of his company to supper with Bellino. He
thanked me politely for the pleasure I was so delicately offering him,
and accepted my invitation.
The most exquisite dishes, the most delicious wines of Spain, and, more
than everything else, the cheerfulness and the charming voices of Bellino
and of Cecilia, gave the Castilian five delightful hours. He left me at
midnight, saying that he could not declare himself thoroughly pleased
unless I promised to sup with him the next evening with the same guests.
It would compel me to postpone my departure for another day, but I
accepted.
As soon as Don Sancio had gone, I called upon Bellino to fulfil his
promise, but he answered that Marinetta was waiting for me, and that, as
I was not going away the next day, he would find an opportunity of
satisfying my doubts; and wishing me a good night, he left the room.
Marinetta, as cheerful as a lark, ran to lock the door and came back to
me, her eyes beaming with ardour. She was more formed than Cecilia,
although one year younger, and seemed anxious to convince me of her
superiority, but, thinking that the fatigue of the preceding night might
have exhausted my strength, she unfolded all the amorous ideas of her
mind, explained at length all she knew of the great mystery she was going
to enact with me, and of all the contrivances she had had recourse to in
order to acquire her imperfect knowledge, the whole interlarded with the
foolish talk natural to her age. I made out that she was afraid of my not
finding her a maiden, and of my reproaching her about it. Her anxiety
pleased me, and I gave her a new confidence by telling her that nature
had refused to many young girls what is called maidenhood, and that only
a fool could be angry with a girl for such a reason.
My science gave her courage and confidence, and I was compelled to
acknowledge that she was very superior to her sister.
"I am delighted you find me so," she said; "we must not sleep at all
throughout the night."
"Sleep, my darling, will prove our friend, and our strength renewed by
repose will reward you in the morning for what you may suppose lost
time."
And truly, after a quiet sleep, the morning was for her a succession of
fresh triumphs, and I crowned her happiness by sending her away with
three doubloons, which she took to her mother, and which gave the good
woman an insatiable desire to contract new obligations towards
Providence.
I went out to get some money from the banker, as I did not know what
might happen during my journey. I had enjoyed myself, but I had spent too
much: yet there was Bellino who, if a girl, was not to find me less
generous than I had been with the two young sisters. It was to be decided
during the day, and I fancied that I was sure of the result.
There are some persons who pretend that life is only a succession of
misfortunes, which is as much as to say that life itself is a misfortune;
but if life is a misfortune, death must be exactly the reverse and
therefore death must be happiness, since death is the very reverse of
life. That deduction may appear too finely drawn. But those who say that
life is a succession of misfortunes are certainly either ill or poor;
for, if they enjoyed good health, if they had cheerfulness in their heart
and money in their purse, if they had for their enjoyment a Cecilia, a
Marinetta, and even a more lovely beauty in perspective, they would soon
entertain a very different opinion of life! I hold them to be a race of
pessimists, recruited amongst beggarly philosophers and knavish,
atrabilious theologians. If pleasure does exist, and if life is necessary
to enjoy pleasure, then life is happiness. There are misfortunes, as I
know by experience; but the very existence of such misfortunes proves
that the sum-total of happiness is greater. Because a few thorns are to
be found in a basket full of roses, is the existence of those beautiful
flowers to be denied? No; it is a slander to deny that life is happiness.
When I am in a dark room, it pleases me greatly to see through a window
an immense horizon before me.
As supper-time was drawing near, I went to Don Sancio, whom I found in
magnificently-furnished apartments. The table was loaded with silver
plate, and his servants were in livery. He was alone, but all his guests
arrived soon after me--Cecilia, Marina, and Bellino, who, either by
caprice or from taste, was dressed as a woman. The two young sisters,
prettily arranged, looked charming, but Bellino, in his female costume,
so completely threw them into the shade, that my last doubt vanished.
"Are you satisfied," I said to Don Sancio, "that Bellino is a woman?"
"Woman or man, what do I care! I think he is a very pretty 'castrato',
and 'I have seen many as good-looking as he is."
"But are you sure he is a 'castrato'?"
"'Valgame Dios'!" answered the grave Castilian, "I have not the slightest
wish to ascertain the truth."
Oh, how widely different our thoughts were! I admired in him the wisdom
of which I was so much in need, and did not venture upon any more
indiscreet questions. During the supper, however, my greedy eyes could
not leave that charming being; my vicious nature caused me to feel
intense voluptuousness in believing him to be of that sex to which I
wanted him to belong.
Don Sancio's supper was excellent, and, as a matter of course, superior
to mine; otherwise the pride of the Castilian would have felt humbled. As
a general rule, men are not satisfied with what is good; they want the
best, or, to speak more to the point, the most. He gave us white
truffles, several sorts of shell-fish, the best fish of the Adriatic, dry
champagne, peralta, sherry and pedroximenes wines.
After that supper worthy of Lucullus, Bellino sang with a voice of such
beauty that it deprived us of the small amount of reason left in us by
the excellent wine. His movements, the expression of his looks, his gait,
his walk, his countenance, his voice, and, above all, my own instinct,
which told me that I could not possibly feel for a castrato what I felt
for Bellino, confirmed me in my hopes; yet it was necessary that my eyes
should ascertain the truth.
After many compliments and a thousand thanks, we took leave of the grand
Spaniard, and went to my room, where the mystery was at last to be
unravelled. I called upon Bellino to keep his word, or I threatened to
leave him alone the next morning at day-break.
I took him by the hand, and we seated ourselves near the fire. I
dismissed Cecilia and Marina, and I said to him,
"Bellino, everything must have an end; you have promised: it will soon be
over. If you are what you represent yourself to be, I will let you go
back to your own room; if you are what I believe you to be, and if you
consent to remain with me to-night, I will give you one hundred sequins,
and we will start together tomorrow morning."
"You must go alone, and forgive me if I cannot fulfil my promise. I am
what I told you, and I can neither reconcile myself to the idea of
exposing my shame before you, nor lay myself open to the terrible
consequences that might follow the solution of your doubts."
"There can be no consequences, since there will be an end to it at the
moment I have assured myself that you are unfortunate enough to be what
you say, and without ever mentioning the circumstances again, I promise
to take you with me to-morrow and to leave you at Rimini."
"No, my mind is made up; I cannot satisfy your curiosity."
Driven to madness by his words, I was very near using violence, but
subduing my angry feelings, I endeavored to succeed by gentle means and
by going straight to the spot where the mystery could be solved. I was
very near it, when his hand opposed a very strong resistance. I repeated
my efforts, but Bellino, rising suddenly, repulsed me, and I found myself
undone. After a few moments of calm, thinking I should take him by
surprise, I extended my hand, but I drew back terrified, for I fancied
that I had recognized in him a man, and a degraded man, contemptible less
on account of his degradation than for the want of feeling I thought I
could read on his countenance. Disgusted, confused, and almost blushing
for myself, I sent him away.
His sisters came to my room, but I dismissed them, sending word to their
brother that he might go with me, without any fear of further
indiscretion on my part. Yet, in spite of the conviction I thought I had
acquired, Bellino, even such as I believe him to be, filled my thoughts;
I could not make it out.
Early the next morning I left Ancona with him, distracted by the tears of
the two charming sisters and loaded with the blessings of the mother who,
with beads in hand, mumbled her 'paternoster', and repeated her constant
theme: 'Dio provedera'.
The trust placed in Providence by most of those persons who earn their
living by some profession forbidden by religion is neither absurd, nor
false, nor deceitful; it is real and even godly, for it flows from an
excellent source. Whatever may be the ways of Providence, human beings
must always acknowledge it in its action, and those who call upon
Providence independently of all external consideration must, at the
bottom, be worthy, although guilty of transgressing its laws.
'Pulchra Laverna,
Da mihi fallere; da justo sanctoque videri;
Noctem peccatis, et fraudibus objice nubem.'
Such was the way in which, in the days of Horace, robbers addressed their
goddess, and I recollect a Jesuit who told me once that Horace would not
have known his own language, if he had said justo sanctoque: but there
were ignorant men even amongst the Jesuits, and robbers most likely have
but little respect for the rules of grammar.
The next morning I started with Bellino, who, believing me to be
undeceived, could suppose that I would not shew any more curiosity about
him, but we had not been a quarter of an hour together when he found out
his mistake, for I could not let my looks fall upon his splendid eyes
without feeling in me a fire which the sight of a man could not have
ignited. I told him that all his features were those of a woman, and that
I wanted the testimony of my eyes before I could feel perfectly
satisfied, because the protuberance I had felt in a certain place might
be only a freak of nature. "Should it be the case," I added, "I should
have no difficulty in passing over a deformity which, in reality, is only
laughable. Bellino, the impression you produce upon me, this sort of
magnetism, your bosom worthy of Venus herself, which you have once
abandoned to my eager hand, the sound of your voice, every movement of
yours, assure me that you do not belong to my sex. Let me see for myself,
and, if my conjectures are right, depend upon my faithful love; if, on
the contrary, I find that I have been mistaken, you can rely upon my
friendship. If you refuse me, I shall be compelled to believe that you
are cruelly enjoying my misery, and that you have learned in the most
accursed school that the best way of preventing a young man from curing
himself of an amorous passion is to excite it constantly; but you must
agree with me that, to put such tyranny in practice, it is necessary to
hate the person it is practised upon, and, if that be so, I ought to call
upon my reason to give me the strength necessary to hate you likewise."
I went on speaking for a long time; Bellino did not answer, but he seemed
deeply moved. At last I told him that, in the fearful state to which I
was reduced by his resistance, I should be compelled to treat him without
any regard for his feelings, and find out the truth by force. He answered
with much warmth and dignity: "Recollect that you are not my master, that
I am in your hands, because I had faith in your promise, and that, if you
use violence, you will be guilty of murder. Order the postillion to stop,
I will get out of the carriage, and you may rely upon my not complaining
of your treatment."
Those few words were followed by a torrent of tears, a sight which I
never could resist. I felt myself moved in the inmost recesses of my
soul, and I almost thought that I had been wrong. I say almost, because,
had I been convinced of it, I would have thrown myself at his feet
entreating pardon; but, not feeling myself competent to stand in judgment
in my own cause, I satisfied myself by remaining dull and silent, and I
never uttered one word until we were only half a mile from Sinigaglia,
where I intended to take supper and to remain for the night. Having
fought long enough with my own feelings, I said to him;
"We might have spent a little time in Rimini like good friends, if you
had felt any friendship for me, for, with a little kind compliance, you
could have easily cured me of my passion."
"It would not cure you," answered Bellino, courageously, but with a
sweetness of tone which surprised me; "no, you would not be cured,
whether you found me to be man or woman, for you are in love with me
independently of my sex, and the certainty you would acquire would make
you furious. In such a state, should you find me inexorable, you would
very likely give way to excesses which would afterwards cause you deep
sorrow."
"You expect to make me admit that you are right, but you are completely
mistaken, for I feel that I should remain perfectly calm, and that by
complying with my wishes you would gain my friendship."
"I tell you again that you would become furious."
"Bellino, that which has made me furious is the sight of your charms,
either too real or too completely deceiving, the power of which you
cannot affect to ignore. You have not been afraid to ignite my amorous
fury, how can you expect me to believe you now, when you pretend to fear
it, and when I am only asking you to let me touch a thing, which, if it
be as you say, will only disgust me?"
"Ah! disgust you; I am quite certain of the contrary. Listen to me. Were
I a girl, I feel I could not resist loving you, but, being a man, it is
my duty not to grant what you desire, for your passion, now very natural,
would then become monstrous. Your ardent nature would be stronger than
your reason, and your reason itself would easily come to the assistance
of your senses and of your nature. That violent clearing-up of the
mystery, were you to obtain it, would leave you deprived of all control
over yourself. Disappointed in not finding what you had expected, you
would satisfy your passion upon that which you would find, and the result
would, of course, be an abomination. How can you, intelligent as you are,
flatter yourself that, finding me to be a man, you could all at once
cease to love me? Would the charms which you now see in me cease to exist
then? Perhaps their power would, on the contrary, be enhanced, and your
passion, becoming brutal, would lead you to take any means your
imagination suggested to gratify it. You would persuade yourself that you
might change me into a woman, or, what is worse, that you might change
yourself into one. Your passion would invent a thousand sophisms to
justify your love, decorated with the fine appellation of friendship, and
you would not fail to allege hundreds of similarly disgusting cases in
order to excuse your conduct. You would certainly never find me
compliant; and how am I to know that you would not threaten me with
death?"
"Nothing of the sort would happen, Bellino," I answered, rather tired of
the length of his argument, "positively nothing, and I am sure you are
exaggerating your fears. Yet I am bound to tell you that, even if all you
say should happen, it seems to me that to allow what can strictly be
considered only as a temporary fit of insanity, would prove a less evil
than to render incurable a disease of the mind which reason would soon
cut short."
Thus does a poor philosopher reason when he takes it into his head to
argue at those periods during which a passion raging in his soul makes
all its faculties wander. To reason well, we must be under the sway
neither of love nor of anger, for those two passions have one thing in
common which is that, in their excess, they lower us to the condition of
brutes acting only under the influence of their predominating instinct,
and, unfortunately, we are never more disposed to argue than when we feel
ourselves under the influence of either of those two powerful human
passions.
We arrived at Sinigaglia late at night, and I went to the best inn, and,
after choosing a comfortable room, ordered supper. As there was but one
bed in the room, I asked Bellino, in as calm a tone as I could assume,
whether he would have a fire lighted in another chamber, and my surprise
may be imagined when he answered quietly that he had no objection to
sleep in the same bed with me. Such an answer, however, unexpected, was
necessary to dispel the angry feelings under which I was labouring. I
guessed that I was near the denouement of the romance, but I was very far
from congratulating myself, for I did not know whether the denouement
would prove agreeable or not. I felt, however, a real satisfaction at
having conquered, and was sure of my self-control, in case the senses, my
natural instinct, led me astray. But if I found myself in the right, I
thought I could expect the most precious favours.
We sat down to supper opposite each other, and during the meal, his
words, his countenance, the expression of his beautiful eyes, his sweet
and voluptuous smile, everything seemed to announce that he had had
enough of playing a part which must have proved as painful to him as to
me.
A weight was lifted off my mind, and I managed to shorten the supper as
much as possible. As soon as we had left the table, my amiable companion
called for a night-lamp, undressed himself, and went to bed. I was not
long in following him, and the reader will soon know the nature of a
denouement so long and so ardently desired; in the mean time I beg to
wish him as happy a night as the one which was then awaiting me.
CHAPTER XII
Bellino's History--I Am Put Under Arrest--I Run Away Against
My Will--My Return To Rimini, and My Arrival In Bologna
Dear reader, I said enough at the end of the last chapter to make you
guess what happened, but no language would be powerful enough to make you
realize all the voluptuousness which that charming being had in store for
me. She came close to me the moment I was in bed. Without uttering one
word our lips met, and I found myself in the ecstasy of enjoyment before
I had had time to seek for it. After so complete a victory, what would my
eyes and my fingers have gained from investigations which could not give
me more certainty than I had already obtained? I could not take my gaze
off that beautiful face, which was all aflame with the ardour of love.
After a moment of quiet rapture, a spark lighted up in our veins a fresh
conflagration which we drowned in a sea of new delights. Bellino felt
bound to make me forget my sufferings, and to reward me by an ardour
equal to the fire kindled by her charms.
The happiness I gave her increased mine twofold, for it has always been
my weakness to compose the four-fifths of my enjoyment from the sum-total
of the happiness which I gave the charming being from whom I derived it.
But such a feeling must necessarily cause hatred for old age which can
still receive pleasure, but can no longer give enjoyment to another. And
youth runs away from old age, because it is its most cruel enemy.
An interval of repose became necessary, in consequence of the activity of
our enjoyment. Our senses were not tired out, but they required the rest
which renews their sensitiveness and restores the buoyancy necessary to
active service.
Bellino was the first to break our silence.
"Dearest," she said, "are you satisfied now? Have you found me truly
loving?"
"Truly loving? Ah! traitress that you are! Do you, then, confess that I
was not mistaken when I guessed that you were a charming woman? And if
you truly loved me, tell me how you could contrive to defer your
happiness and mine so long? But is it quite certain that I did not make a
mistake?"
"I am yours all over; see for yourself."
Oh, what delightful survey! what charming beauties! what an ocean of
enjoyment! But I could not find any trace of the protuberance which had
so much terrified and disgusted me.
"What has become," I said, "of that dreadful monstrosity?"
"Listen to me," she replied, "and I will tell you everything.
"My name is Therese. My father, a poor clerk in the Institute of Bologna,
had let an apartment in his house to the celebrated Salimberi, a
castrato, and a delightful musician. He was young and handsome, he became
attached to me, and I felt flattered by his affection and by the praise
he lavished upon me. I was only twelve years of age; he proposed to teach
me music, and finding that I had a fine voice, he cultivated it
carefully, and in less than a year I could accompany myself on the
harpsichord. His reward was that which his love for me induced him to
ask, and I granted the reward without feeling any humiliation, for I
worshipped him. Of course, men like yourself are much above men of his
species, but Salimberi was an exception. His beauty, his manners, his
talent, and the rare qualities of his soul, made him superior in my eyes
to all the men I had seen until then. He was modest and reserved, rich
and generous, and I doubt whether he could have found a woman able to
resist him; yet I never heard him boast of having seduced any. The
mutilation practised upon his body had made him a monster, but he was an
angel by his rare qualities and endowments.
"Salimberi was at that time educating a boy of the same age as myself,
who was in Rimini with a music teacher. The father of the boy, who was
poor and had a large family, seeing himself near death, had thought of
having his unfortunate son maimed so that he should become the support of
his brothers with his voice. The name of the boy was Bellino; the good
woman whom you have just seen in Ancona was his mother, and everybody
believes that she is mine.
"I had belonged to Salimberi for about a year, when he announced to me
one day, weeping bitterly, that he was compelled to leave me to go to
Rome, but he promised to see me again. The news threw me into despair. He
had arranged everything for the continuation of my musical education,
but, as he was preparing himself for his departure, my father died very
suddenly, after a short illness, and I was left an orphan.
"Salimberi had not courage enough to resist my tears and my entreaties;
he made up his mind to take me to Rimini, and to place me in the same
house where his young 'protege' was educated. We reached Rimini, and put
up at an inn; after a short rest, Salimberi left me to call upon the
teacher of music, and to make all necessary arrangements respecting me
with him; but he soon returned, looking sad and unhappy; Bellino had died
the day before.
"As he was thinking of the grief which the loss of the young man would
cause his mother, he was struck with the idea of bringing me back to
Bologna under the name of Bellino, where he could arrange for my board
with the mother of the deceased Bellino, who, being very poor, would find
it to her advantage to keep the secret. 'I will give her,' he said,
'everything necessary for the completion of your musical education, and
in four years, I will take you to Dresden (he was in the service of the
Elector of Saxony, King of Poland), not as a girl, but as a castrato.
There we will live together without giving anyone cause for scandal, and
you will remain with me and minister to my happiness until I die. All we
have to do is to represent you as Bellino, and it is very easy, as nobody
knows you in Bologna. Bellino's mother will alone know the secret; her
other children have seen their brother only when he was very young, and
can have no suspicion. But if you love me you must renounce your sex,
lose even the remembrance of it, and leave immediately for Bologna,
dressed as a boy, and under the name of Bellino. You must be very careful
lest anyone should find out that you are a girl; you must sleep alone,
dress yourself in private, and when your bosom is formed, as it will be
in a year or two, it will only be thought a deformity not uncommon
amongst 'castrati'. Besides, before leaving you, I will give you a small
instrument, and teach how to fix it in such manner that, if you had at
any time to submit to an examination, you would easily be mistaken for a
man. If you accept my plan, I feel certain that we can live together in
Dresden without losing the good graces of the queen, who is very
religious. Tell me, now, whether you will accept my proposal?
"He could not entertain any doubt of my consent, for I adored him. As
soon as he had made a boy of me we left Rimini for Bologna, where we
arrived late in the evening. A little gold made everything right with
Bellino's mother; I gave her the name of mother, and she kissed me,
calling me her dear son. Salimberi left us, and returned a short time
afterwards with the instrument which would complete my transformation. He
taught me, in the presence of my new mother, how to fix it with some
tragacanth gum, and I found myself exactly like my friend. I would have
laughed at it, had not my heart been deeply grieved at the departure of
my beloved Salimberi, for he bade me farewell as soon as the curious
operation was completed. People laugh at forebodings; I do not believe in
them myself, but the foreboding of evil, which almost broke my heart as
he gave me his farewell kiss, did not deceive me. I felt the cold
shivering of death run through me; I felt I was looking at him for the
last time, and I fainted away. Alas! my fears proved only too prophetic.
Salimberi died a year ago in the Tyrol in the prime of life, with the
calmness of a true philosopher. His death compelled me to earn my living
with the assistance of my musical talent. My mother advised me to
continue to give myself out as a castrato, in the hope of being able to
take me to Rome. I agreed to do so, for I did not feel sufficient energy
to decide upon any other plan. In the meantime she accepted an offer for
the Ancona Theatre, and Petronio took the part of first female dancer; in
this way we played the comedy of 'The World Turned Upside Down.'
"After Salimberi, you are the only man I have known, and, if you like,
you can restore me to my original state, and make me give up the name of
Bellino, which I hate since the death of my protector, and which begins
to inconvenience me. I have only appeared at two theatres, and each time
I have been compelled to submit to the scandalous, degrading examination,
because everywhere I am thought to have too much the appearance of a
girl, and I am admitted only after the shameful test has brought
conviction. Until now, fortunately, I have had to deal only with old
priests who, in their good faith, have been satisfied with a very slight
examination, and have made a favourable report to the bishop; but I might
fall into the hands of some young abbe, and the test would then become a
more severe one. Besides, I find myself exposed to the daily persecutions
of two sorts of beings: those who, like you, cannot and will not believe
me to be a man, and those who, for the satisfaction of their disgusting
propensities, are delighted at my being so, or find it advantageous to
suppose me so. The last particularly annoy me! Their tastes are so
infamous, their habits so low, that I fear I shall murder one of them
some day, when I can no longer control the rage in which their obscene
language throws me. Out of pity, my beloved angel, be generous; and, if
you love me, oh! free me from this state of shame and degradation! Take
me with you. I do not ask to become your wife, that would be too much
happiness; I will only be your friend, your mistress, as I would have
been Salimberi's; my heart is pure and innocent, I feel that I can remain
faithful to my lover through my whole life. Do not abandon me. The love I
have for you is sincere; my affection for Salimberi was innocent; it was
born of my inexperience and of my gratitude, and it is only with you that
I have felt myself truly a woman."
Her emotion, an inexpressible charm which seemed to flow from her lips
and to enforce conviction, made me shed tears of love and sympathy. I
blended my tears with those falling from her beautiful eyes, and deeply
moved, I promised not to abandon her and to make her the sharer of my
fate. Interested in the history, as singular as extraordinary, that she
had just narrated, and having seen nothing in it that did not bear the
stamp of truth, I felt really disposed to make her happy but I could not
believe that I had inspired her with a very deep passion during my short
stay in Ancona, many circumstances of which might, on the contrary, have
had an opposite effect upon her heart.
"If you loved me truly," I said, "how could you let me sleep with your
sisters, out of spite at your resistance?"
"Alas, dearest! think of our great poverty, and how difficult it was for
me to discover myself. I loved you; but was it not natural that I should
suppose your inclination for me only a passing caprice? When I saw you go
so easily from Cecilia to Marinetta, I thought that you would treat me in
the same manner as soon as your desires were satisfied, I was likewise
confirmed in my opinion of your want of constancy and of the little
importance you attached to the delicacy of the sentiment of love, when I
witnessed what you did on board the Turkish vessel without being hindered
by my presence; had you loved me, I thought my being present would have
made you uncomfortable. I feared to be soon despised, and God knows how
much I suffered! You have insulted me, darling, in many different ways,
but my heart pleaded in your favour, because I knew you were excited,
angry, and thirsting for revenge. Did you not threaten me this very day
in your carriage? I confess you greatly frightened me, but do not fancy
that I gave myself to you out of fear. No, I had made up my mind to be
yours from the moment you sent me word by Cecilia that you would take me
to Rimini, and your control over your own feelings during a part of our
journey confirmed me in my resolution, for I thought I could trust myself
to your honour, to your delicacy."
"Throw up," I said, "the engagement you have in Rimini; let us proceed on
our journey, and, after remaining a couple of days in Bologna, you will
go with me to Venice; dressed as a woman, and with another name, I would
challenge the manager here to find you out."
"I accept. Your will shall always be my law. I am my own mistress, and I
give myself to you without any reserve or restriction; my heart belongs
to you, and I trust to keep yours."
Man has in himself a moral force of action which always makes him
overstep the line on which he is standing. I had obtained everything, I
wanted more. "Shew me," I said, "how you were when I mistook you for a
man." She got out of bed, opened her trunk, took out the instrument and
fixed it with the gum: I was compelled to admire the ingenuity of the
contrivance. My curiosity was satisfied, and I passed a most delightful
night in her arms.
When I woke up in the morning, I admired her lovely face while she was
sleeping: all I knew of her came back to my mind; the words which had
been spoken by her bewitching mouth, her rare talent, her candour, her
feelings so full of delicacy, and her misfortunes, the heaviest of which
must have been the false character she had been compelled to assume, and
which exposed her to humiliation and shame, everything strengthened my
resolution to make her the companion of my destiny, whatever it might be,
or to follow her fate, for our positions were very nearly the same; and
wishing truly to attach myself seriously to that interesting being, I
determined to give to our union the sanction of religion and of law, and
to take her legally for my wife. Such a step, as I then thought, could
but strengthen our love, increase our mutual esteem, and insure the
approbation of society which could not accept our union unless it was
sanctioned in the usual manner.
The talents of Therese precluded the fear of our being ever in want of
the necessaries of life, and, although I did not know in what way my own
talents might be made available, I had faith in myself. Our love might
have been lessened, she would have enjoyed too great advantages over me,
and my self-dignity would have too deeply suffered if I had allowed
myself to be supported by her earnings only. It might, after a time, have
altered the nature of our feelings; my wife, no longer thinking herself
under any obligation to me, might have fancied herself the protecting,
instead of the protected party, and I felt that my love would soon have
turned into utter contempt, if it had been my misfortune to find her
harbouring such thoughts. Although I trusted it would not be so, I
wanted, before taking the important step of marriage, to probe her heart,
and I resolved to try an experiment which would at once enable me to
judge the real feelings of her inmost soul. As soon as she was awake, I
spoke to her thus:
"Dearest Therese, all you have told me leaves me no doubt of your love
for me, and the consciousness you feel of being the mistress of my heart
enhances my love for you to such a degree, that I am ready to do
everything to convince you that you were not mistaken in thinking that
you had entirely conquered me. I wish to prove to you that I am worthy of
the noble confidence you have reposed in me by trusting you with equal
sincerity.
"Our hearts must be on a footing of perfect equality. I know you, my
dearest Therese, but you do not know me yet. I can read in your eyes that
you do not mind it, and it proves our great love, but that feeling places
me too much below you, and I do not wish you to have so great an
advantage over me. I feel certain that my confidence is not necessary to
your love; that you only care to be mine, that your only wish is to
possess my heart, and I admire you, my Therese; but I should feel
humiliated if I found myself either too much above or too much below you.
You have entrusted your secrets to me, now listen to mine; but before I
begin, promise me that, when you know everything that concerns me, you
will tell me candidly if any change has taken place either in your
feelings or in your hopes."
"I promise it faithfully; I promise not to conceal anything from you; but
be upright enough not to tell me anything that is not perfectly true, for
I warn you that it would be useless. If you tried any artifice in order
to find me less worthy of you than I am in reality, you would only
succeed in lowering yourself in my estimation. I should be very sorry to
see you guilty of any cunning towards me. Have no more suspicion of me
than I have of you; tell me the whole truth."
"Here it is. You suppose me wealthy, and I am not so; as soon as what
there is now in my purse is spent I shall have nothing left. You may
fancy that I was born a patrician, but my social condition is really
inferior to your own. I have no lucrative talents, no profession, nothing
to give me the assurance that I am able to earn my living. I have neither
relatives nor friends, nor claims upon anyone, and I have no serious plan
or purpose before me. All I possess is youth, health, courage, some
intelligence, honour, honesty, and some tincture of letters. My greatest
treasure consists in being my own master, perfectly independent, and not
afraid of misfortune. With all that, I am naturally inclined to
extravagance. Lovely Therese, you have my portrait. What is your answer?"
"In the first place, dearest, let me assure you that I believe every word
you have just uttered, as I would believe in the Gospel; in the second,
allow me to tell you that several times in Ancona I have judged you such
as you have just described yourself, but far from being displeased at
such a knowledge of your nature, I was only afraid of some illusion on my
part, for I could hope to win you if you were what I thought you to be.
In one word, dear one, if it is true that you are poor and a very bad
hand at economy, allow me to tell you that I feel delighted, because, if
you love me, you will not refuse a present from me, or despise me for
offering it. The present consists of myself, such as I am, and with all
my faculties. I give myself to you without any condition, with no
restriction; I am yours, I will take care of you. For the future think
only of your love for me, but love me exclusively. From this moment I am
no longer Bellino. Let us go to Venice, where my talent will keep us both
comfortably; if you wish to go anywhere else, let us go where you
please."
"I must go to Constantinople."
"Then let us proceed to Constantinople. If you are afraid to lose me
through want of constancy, marry me, and your right over me will be
strengthened by law. I should not love you better than I do now, but I
should be happy to be your wife."
"It is my intention to marry you, and I am delighted that we agree in
that respect. The day after to-morrow, in Bologna, you shall be made my
legal-wife before the altar of God; I swear it to you here in the
presence of Love. I want you to be mine, I want to be yours, I want us to
be united by the most holy ties."
"I am the happiest of women! We have nothing to do in Rimini; suppose we
do not get up; we can have our dinner in bed, and go away to-morrow well
rested after our fatigues."
We left Rimini the next day, and stayed for breakfast at Pesaro. As we
were getting into the carriage to leave that place, an officer,
accompanied by two soldiers, presented himself, enquired for our names,
and demanded our passports. Bellino had one and gave it, but I looked in
vain for mine; I could not find it.
The officer, a corporal, orders the postillion to wait and goes to make
his report. Half an hour afterwards, he returns, gives Bellino his
passport, saying that he can continue his journey, but tells me that his
orders are to escort me to the commanding officer, and I follow him.
"What have you done with your passport?" enquires that officer.
"I have lost it."
"A passport is not so easily lost."
"Well, I have lost mine."
"You cannot proceed any further."
"I come from Rome, and I am going to Constantinople, bearing a letter
from Cardinal Acquaviva. Here is the letter stamped with his seal."
"All I can do for you is to send you to M. de Gages."
I found the famous general standing, surrounded by his staff. I told him
all I had already explained to the officer, and begged him to let me
continue my journey.
"The only favour I can grant you is to put you under arrest till you
receive another passport from Rome delivered under the same name as the
one you have given here. To lose a passport is a misfortune which befalls
only a thoughtless, giddy man, and the cardinal will for the future know
better than to put his confidence in a giddy fellow like you."
With these words, he gave orders to take me to the guard-house at St.
Mary's Gate, outside the city, as soon as I should have written to the
cardinal for a new passport. His orders were executed. I was brought back
to the inn, where I wrote my letter, and I sent it by express to his
eminence, entreating him to forward the document, without loss of time,
direct to the war office. Then I embraced Therese who was weeping, and,
telling her to go to Rimini and to wait there for my return, I made her
take one hundred sequins. She wished to remain in Pesaro, but I would not
hear of it; I had my trunk brought out, I saw Therese go away from the
inn, and was taken to the place appointed by the general.
It is undoubtedly under such circumstances that the most determined
optimist finds himself at a loss; but an easy stoicism can blunt the too
sharp edge of misfortune.
My greatest sorrow was the heart-grief of Therese who, seeing me torn
from her arms at the very moment of our union, was suffocated by the
tears which she tried to repress. She would not have left me if I had not
made her understand that she could not remain in Pesaro, and if I had not
promised to join her within ten days, never to be parted again. But fate
had decided otherwise.
When we reached the gate, the officer confined me immediately in the
guard-house, and I sat down on my trunk. The officer was a taciturn
Spaniard who did not even condescend to honour me with an answer, when I
told him that I had money and would like to have someone to wait on me. I
had to pass the night on a little straw, and without food, in the midst
of the Spanish soldiers. It was the second night of the sort that my
destiny had condemned me to, immediately after two delightful nights. My
good angel doubtless found some pleasure in bringing such conjunctions
before my mind for the benefit of my instruction. At all events,
teachings of that description have an infallible effect upon natures of a
peculiar stamp.
If you should wish to close the lips of a logician calling himself a
philosopher, who dares to argue that in this life grief overbalances
pleasure, ask him whether he would accept a life entirely without sorrow
and happiness. Be certain that he will not answer you, or he will
shuffle, because, if he says no, he proves that he likes life such as it
is, and if he likes it, he must find it agreeable, which is an utter
impossibility, if life is painful; should he, on the contrary, answer in
the affirmative, he would declare himself a fool, for it would be as much
as to say that he can conceive pleasure arising from indifference, which
is absurd nonsense.
Suffering is inherent in human nature; but we never suffer without
entertaining the hope of recovery, or, at least, very seldom without such
hope, and hope itself is a pleasure. If it happens sometimes that man
suffers without any expectation of a cure, he necessarily finds pleasure
in the complete certainty of the end of his life; for the worst, in all
cases, must be either a sleep arising from extreme dejection, during
which we have the consolation of happy dreams or the loss of all
sensitiveness. But when we are happy, our happiness is never disturbed by
the thought that it will be followed by grief. Therefore pleasure, during
its active period, is always complete, without alloy; grief is always
soothed by hope.
I suppose you, dear reader, at the age of twenty, and devoting yourself
to the task of making a man of yourself by furnishing your mind with all
the knowledge necessary to render you a useful being through the activity
of your brain. Someone comes in and tells you, "I bring you thirty years
of existence; it is the immutable decree of fate; fifteen consecutive
years must be happy, and fifteen years unhappy. You are at liberty to
choose the half by which you wish to begin."
Confess it candidly, dear reader, you will not require much more
consideration to decide, and you will certainly begin by the unhappy
series of years, because you will feel that the expectation of fifteen
delightful years cannot fail to brace you up with the courage necessary
to bear the unfortunate years you have to go through, and we can even
surmise, with every probability of being right, that the certainty of
future happiness will soothe to a considerable extent the misery of the
first period.
You have already guessed, I have no doubt, the purpose of this lengthy
argument. The sagacious man, believe me, can never be utterly miserable,
and I most willingly agree with my friend Horace, who says that, on the
contrary, such a man is always happy.
'Nisi quum pituita molesta est.'
But, pray where is the man who is always suffering from a rheum?
The fact is that the fearful night I passed in the guardhouse of St. Mary
resulted for me in a slight loss and in a great gain. The small loss was
to be away from my dear Therese, but, being certain of seeing her within
ten days, the misfortune was not very great: as to the gain, it was in
experience the true school for a man. I gained a complete system against
thoughtlessness, a system of foresight. You may safely bet a hundred to
one that a young man who has once lost his purse or his passport, will
not lose either a second time. Each of those misfortunes has befallen me
once only, and I might have been very often the victim of them, if
experience had not taught me how much they were to be dreaded. A
thoughtless fellow is a man who has not yet found the word dread in the
dictionary of his life.
The officer who relieved my cross-grained Castilian on the following day
seemed of a different nature altogether; his prepossessing countenance
pleased me much. He was a Frenchman, and I must say that I have always
liked the French, and never the Spaniards; there is in the manners of the
first something so engaging, so obliging, that you feel attracted towards
them as towards a friend, whilst an air of unbecoming haughtiness gives
to the second a dark, forbidding countenance which certainly does not
prepossess in their favour. Yet I have often been duped by Frenchmen, and
never by Spaniards--a proof that we ought to mistrust our tastes.
The new officer, approaching me very politely, said to me,--
"To what chance, reverend sir, am I indebted for the honour of having you
in my custody?"
Ah! here was a way of speaking which restored to my lungs all their
elasticity! I gave him all the particulars of my misfortune, and he found
the mishap very amusing. But a man disposed to laugh at my disappointment
could not be disagreeable to me, for it proved that the turn of his mind
had more than one point of resemblance with mine. He gave me at once a
soldier to serve me, and I had very quickly a bed, a table, and a few
chairs. He was kind enough to have my bed placed in his own room, and I
felt very grateful to him for that delicate attention.
He gave me an invitation to share his dinner, and proposed a game of
piquet afterwards, but from the very beginning he saw that I was no match
for him; he told me so, and he warned me that the officer who would
relieve him the next day was a better player even than he was himself; I
lost three or four ducats. He advised me to abstain from playing on the
following day, and I followed his advice. He told me also that he would
have company to supper, that there would be a game of faro, but that the
banker being a Greek and a crafty player, I ought not to play. I thought
his advice very considerate, particularly when I saw that all the punters
lost, and that the Greek, very calm in the midst of the insulting
treatment of those he had duped, was pocketing his money, after handing a
share to the officer who had taken an interest in the bank. The name of
the banker was Don Pepe il Cadetto, and by his accent I knew he was a
Neapolitan. I communicated my discovery to the officer, asking him why he
had told me that the man was a Greek. He explained to me the meaning of
the word greek applied to a gambler, and the lesson which followed his
explanation proved very useful to me in after years.
During the five following days, my life was uniform and rather dull, but
on the sixth day the same French officer was on guard, and I was very
glad to see him. He told me, with a hearty laugh, that he was delighted
to find me still in the guard-house, and I accepted the compliment for
what it was worth. In the evening, we had the same bank at faro, with the
same result as the first time, except a violent blow from the stick of
one of the punters upon the back of the banker, of which the Greek
stoically feigned to take no notice. I saw the same man again nine years
afterwards in Vienna, captain in the service of Maria Theresa; he then
called himself d'Afflisso. Ten years later, I found him a colonel, and
some time after worth a million; but the last time I saw him, some
thirteen or fourteen years ago, he was a galley slave. He was handsome,
but (rather a singular thing) in spite of his beauty, he had a gallows
look. I have seen others with the same stamp--Cagliostro, for instance,
and another who has not yet been sent to the galleys, but who cannot fail
to pay them a visit. Should the reader feel any curiosity about it, I can
whisper the name in his ear.
Towards the ninth or tenth day everyone in the army knew and liked me,
and I was expecting the passport, which could not be delayed much longer.
I was almost free, and I would often walk about even out of sight of the
sentinel. They were quite right not to fear my running away, and I should
have been wrong if I had thought of escaping, but the most singular
adventure of my life happened to me then, and most unexpectedly.
It was about six in the morning. I was taking a walk within one hundred
yards of the sentinel, when an officer arrived and alighted from his
horse, threw the bridle on the neck of his steed, and walked off.
Admiring the docility of the horse, standing there like a faithful
servant to whom his master has given orders to wait for him I got up to
him, and without any purpose I get hold of the bridle, put my foot in the
stirrup, and find myself in the saddle. I was on horseback for the first
time in my life. I do not know whether I touched the horse with my cane
or with my heels, but suddenly the animal starts at full speed. My right
foot having slipped out of the stirrup, I press against the horse with my
heels, and, feeling the pressure, it gallops faster and faster, for I did
not know how to check it. At the last advanced post the sentinels call
out to me to stop; but I cannot obey the order, and the horse carrying me
away faster than ever, I hear the whizzing of a few musket balls, the
natural consequence of my involuntary disobedience. At last, when I
reach the first advanced picket of the Austrians, the horse is stopped,
and I get off his back thanking God.
An officer of Hussars asks where I am running so fast, and my tongue,
quicker than my thought, answers without any privity on my part, that I
can render no account but to Prince Lobkowitz, commander-in-chief of the
army, whose headquarters were at Rimini. Hearing my answer, the officer
gave orders for two Hussars to get on horseback, a fresh one is given me,
and I am taken at full gallop to Rimini, where the officer on guard has
me escorted at once to the prince.
I find his highness alone, and I tell him candidly what has just happened
to me. My story makes him laugh, although he observes that it is hardly
credible.
"I ought," he says, "to put you under arrest, but I am willing to save
you that unpleasantness." With that he called one of his officers and
ordered him to escort me through the Cesena Gate. "Then you can go
wherever you please," he added, turning round to me; "but take care not
to again enter the lines of my army without a passport, or you might fare
badly."
I asked him to let me have the horse again, but he answered that the
animal did not belong to me. I forgot to ask him to send me back to the
place I had come from, and I regretted it; but after all perhaps I did
for the best.
The officer who accompanied me asked me, as we were passing a
coffee-house, whether I would like to take some chocolate, and we went
in. At that moment I saw Petronio going by, and availing myself of a
moment when the officer was talking to someone, I told him not to appear
to be acquainted with me, but to tell me where he lived. When we had
taken our chocolate the officer paid and we went out. Along the road we
kept up the conversation; he told me his name, I gave him mine, and I
explained how I found myself in Rimini. He asked me whether I had not
remained some time in Ancona; I answered in the affirmative, and he
smiled and said I could get a passport in Bologna, return to Rimini and
to Pesaro without any fear, and recover my trunk by paying the officer
for the horse he had lost. We reached the gate, he wished me a pleasant
journey, and we parted company.
I found myself free, with gold and jewels, but without my trunk. Therese
was in Rimini, and I could not enter that city. I made up my mind to go
to Bologna as quickly as possible in order to get a passport, and to
return to Pesaro, where I should find my passport from Rome, for I could
not make up my mind to lose my trunk, and I did not want to be separated
from Therese until the end of her engagement with the manager of the
Rimini Theatre.
It was raining; I had silk stockings on, and I longed for a carriage. I
took shelter under the portal of a church, and turned my fine overcoat
inside out, so as not to look like an abbe. At that moment a peasant
happened to come along, and I asked him if a carriage could be had to
drive me to Cesena. "I have one, sir," he said, "but I live half a league
from here."
"Go and get it, I will wait for you here."
While I was waiting for the return of the peasant with his vehicle, some
forty mules laden with provisions came along the road towards Rimini. It
was still raining fast, and the mules passing close by me, I placed my
hand mechanically upon the neck of one of them, and following the slow
pace of the animals I re-entered Rimini without the slightest notice
being taken of me, even by the drivers of the mules. I gave some money to
the first street urchin I met, and he took me to Therese's house.
With my hair fastened under a night-cap, my hat pulled down over my face,
and my fine cane concealed under my coat, I did not look a very elegant
figure. I enquired for Bellino's mother, and the mistress of the house
took me to a room where I found all the family, and Therese in a woman's
dress. I had reckoned upon surmising them, but Petronio had told them of
our meeting, and they were expecting me. I gave a full account of my
adventures, but Therese, frightened at the danger that threatened me, and
in spite of her love, told me that it was absolutely necessary for me to
go to Bologna, as I had been advised by M. Vais, the officer.
"I know him," she said, "and he is a worthy man, but he comes here every
evening, and you must conceal yourself."
It was only eight o'clock in the morning; we had the whole day before us,
and everyone promised to be discreet. I allayed Therese's anxiety by
telling her that I could easily contrive to leave the city without being
observed.
Therese took me to her own room, where she told me that she had met the
manager of the theatre on her arrival in Rimini, and that he had taken
her at once to the apartments engaged for the family. She had informed
him that she was a woman, and that she had made up her mind not to appear
as a castrato any more; he had expressed himself delighted at such news,
because women could appear on the stage at Rimini, which was not under
the same legate as Ancona. She added that her engagement would be at an
end by the 1st of May, and that she would meet me wherever it would be
agreeable to me to wait for her.
"As soon as I can get a passport," I said, "there is nothing to hinder me
from remaining near you until the end of your engagement. But as M. Vais
calls upon you, tell me whether you have informed him of my having spent
a few days in Ancona?"
"I did, and I even told him that you had been arrested because you had
lost your passport."
I understood why the officer had smiled as he was talking with me. After
my conversation with Therese, I received the compliments of the mother
and of the young sisters who appeared to me less cheerful and less free
than they had been in Ancona. They felt that Bellino, transformed into
Therese, was too formidable a rival. I listened patiently to all the
complaints of the mother who maintained that, in giving up the character
of castrato, Therese had bidden adieu to fortune, because she might have
earned a thousand sequins a year in Rome.
"In Rome, my good woman," I said, "the false Bellino would have been
found out, and Therese would have been consigned to a miserable convent
for which she was never made."
Notwithstanding the danger of my position, I spent the whole of the day
alone with my beloved mistress, and it seemed that every moment gave her
fresh beauties and increased my love. At eight o'clock in the evening,
hearing someone coming in, she left me, and I remained in the dark, but
in such a position that I could see everything and hear every word. The
Baron Vais came in, and Therese gave him her hand with the grace of a
pretty woman and the dignity of a princess. The first thing he told her
was the news about me; she appeared to be pleased, and listened with
well-feigned indifference, when he said that he had advised me to return
with a passport. He spent an hour with her, and I was thoroughly well
pleased with her manners and behaviour, which had been such as to leave
me no room for the slightest feeling of jealousy. Marina lighted him out
and Therese returned to me. We had a joyous supper together, and, as we
were getting ready to go to bed, Petronio came to inform me that ten
muleteers would start for Cesena two hours before day-break, and that he
was sure I could leave the city with them if I would go and meet them a
quarter of an hour before their departure, and treat them to something to
drink. I was of the same opinion, and made up my mind to make the
attempt. I asked Petronio to sit up and to wake me in good time. It
proved an unnecessary precaution, for I was ready before the time, and
left Therese satisfied with my love, without any doubt of my constancy,
but rather anxious as to my success in attempting to leave Rimini. She
had sixty sequins which she wanted to force back upon me, but I asked her
what opinion she would have of me if I accepted them, and we said no more
about it.
I went to the stable, and having treated one of the muleteers to some
drink I told him that I would willingly ride one of his mules as far as
Sarignan.
"You are welcome to the ride," said the good fellow, "but I would advise
you not to get on the mule till we are outside the city, and to pass
through the gate on foot as if you were one of the drivers."
It was exactly what I wanted. Petronio accompanied me as far as the gate,
where I gave him a substantial proof of my gratitude. I got out of the
city without the slightest difficulty, and left the muleteers at
Sarignan, whence I posted to Bologna.
I found out that I could not obtain a passport, for the simple reason
that the authorities of the city persisted that it was not necessary; but
I knew better, and it was not for me to tell them why. I resolved to
write to the French officer who had treated me so well at the guardhouse.
I begged him to enquire at the war office whether my passport had arrived
from Rome, and, if so, to forward it to me. I also asked him to find out
the owner of the horse who had run away with me, offering to pay for it.
I made up my mind to wait for Therese in Bologna, and I informed her of
my decision, entreating her to write very often. The reader will soon
know the new resolution I took on the very same day.
EPISODE 3 -- MILITARY CAREER
CHAPTER XIII
I Renounce the Clerical Profession, and Enter the Military
Service--Therese Leaves for Naples, and I Go to Venice--I Am
Appointed Ensign in the Army of My Native Country--I Embark
for Corfu, and Land at Orsera to Take a Walk
I had been careful, on my arrival in Bologna, to take up my quarters at a
small inn, so as not to attract any notice, and as soon as I had
dispatched my letters to Therese and the French officer, I thought of
purchasing some linen, as it was at least doubtful whether I should ever
get my trunk. I deemed it expedient to order some clothes likewise. I was
thus ruminating, when it suddenly struck me that I was not likely now to
succeed in the Church, but feeling great uncertainty as to the profession
I ought to adopt, I took a fancy to transform myself into an officer, as
it was evident that I had not to account to anyone for my actions. It was
a very natural fancy at my age, for I had just passed through two armies
in which I had seen no respect paid to any garb but to the military
uniform, and I did not see why I should not cause myself to be respected
likewise. Besides, I was thinking of returning to Venice, and felt great
delight at the idea of shewing myself there in the garb of honour, for I
had been rather ill-treated in that of religion.
I enquired for a good tailor: death was brought to me, for the tailor
sent to me was named Morte. I explained to him how I wanted my uniform
made, I chose the cloth, he took my measure, and the next day I was
transformed into a follower of Mars. I procured a long sword, and with my
fine cane in hand, with a well-brushed hat ornamented with a black
cockade, and wearing a long false pigtail, I sallied forth and walked all
over the city.
I bethought myself that the importance of my new calling required a
better and more showy lodging than the one I had secured on my arrival,
and I moved to the best inn. I like even now to recollect the pleasing
impression I felt when I was able to admire myself full length in a large
mirror. I was highly pleased with my own person! I thought myself made by
nature to wear and to honour the military costume, which I had adopted
through the most fortunate impulse. Certain that nobody knew me, I
enjoyed by anticipation all the conjectures which people would indulge in
respecting me, when I made my first appearance in the most fashionable
cafe of the town.
My uniform was white, the vest blue, a gold and silver shoulder-knot, and
a sword-knot of the same material. Very well pleased with my grand
appearance, I went to the coffee-room, and, taking some chocolate, began
to read the newspapers, quite at my ease, and delighted to see that
everybody was puzzled. A bold individual, in the hope of getting me into
conversation, came to me and addressed me; I answered him with a
monosyllable, and I observed that everyone was at a loss what to make of
me. When I had sufficiently enjoyed public admiration in the coffee-room,
I promenaded in the busiest thoroughfares of the city, and returned to
the inn, where I had dinner by myself.
I had just concluded my repast when my landlord presented himself with
the travellers' book, in which he wanted to register my name.
"Casanova."
"Your profession, if you please, sir?"
"Officer."
"In which service?"
"None."
"Your native place?"
"Venice."
"Where do you come from?"
"That is no business of yours."
This answer, which I thought was in keeping with my external appearance,
had the desired effect: the landlord bowed himself out, and I felt highly
pleased with myself, for I knew that I should enjoy perfect freedom in
Bologna, and I was certain that mine host had visited me at the instance
of some curious person eager to know who I was.
The next day I called on M. Orsi, the banker, to cash my bill of
exchange, and took another for six hundred sequins on Venice, and one
hundred sequins in gold after which I again exhibited myself in the
public places. Two days afterwards, whilst I was taking my coffee after
dinner, the banker Orsi was announced. I desired him to be shewn in, and
he made his appearance accompanied my Monsignor Cornaro, whom I feigned
not to know. M. Orsi remarked that he had called to offer me his services
for my letters of exchange, and introduced the prelate. I rose and
expressed my gratification at making his acquaintance. "But we have met
before," he replied, "at Venice and Rome." Assuming an air of blank
surprise, I told him he must certainly be mistaken. The prelate, thinking
he could guess the reason of my reserve, did not insist, and apologized.
I offered him a cup of coffee, which he accepted, and, on leaving me, he
begged the honour of my company to breakfast the next day.
I made up my mind to persist in my denials, and called upon the prelate,
who gave me a polite welcome. He was then apostolic prothonotary in
Bologna. Breakfast was served, and as we were sipping our chocolate, he
told me that I had most likely some good reasons to warrant my reserve,
but that I was wrong not to trust him, the more so that the affair in
question did me great honour. "I do not know," said I, "what affair you
are alluding to." He then handed me a newspaper, telling me to read a
paragraph which he pointed out. My astonishment may be imagined when I
read the following correspondence from Pesaro: "M. de Casanova, an
officer in the service of the queen, has deserted after having killed his
captain in a duel; the circumstances of the duel are not known; all that
has been ascertained is that M. de Casanova has taken the road to Rimini,
riding the horse belonging to the captain, who was killed on the spot."
In spite of my surprise, and of the difficulty I had in keeping my
gravity at the reading of the paragraph, in which so much untruth was
blended with so little that was real, I managed to keep a serious
countenance, and I told the prelate that the Casanova spoken of in the
newspaper must be another man.
"That may be, but you are certainly the Casanova I knew a month ago at
Cardinal Acquaviva's, and two years ago at the house of my sister, Madame
Lovedan, in Venice. Besides the Ancona banker speaks of you as an
ecclesiastic in his letter of advice to M. Orsi:"
"Very well, monsignor; your excellency compels me to agree to my being
the same Casanova, but I entreat you not to ask me any more questions as
I am bound in honour to observe the strictest reserve."
"That is enough for me, and I am satisfied. Let us talk of something
else."
I was amused at the false reports which were being circulated about me,
and, I became from that moment a thorough sceptic on the subject of
historical truth. I enjoyed, however, very great pleasure in thinking
that my reserve had fed the belief of my being the Casanova mentioned in
the newspaper. I felt certain that the prelate would write the whole
affair to Venice, where it would do me great honour, at least until the
truth should be known, and in that case my reserve would be justified,
besides, I should then most likely be far away. I made up my mind to go
to Venice as soon as I heard from Therese, as I thought that I could wait
for her there more comfortably than in Bologna, and in my native place
there was nothing to hinder me from marrying her openly. In the mean time
the fable from Pesaro amused me a good deal, and I expected every day to
see it denied in some newspaper. The real officer Casanova must have
laughed at the accusation brought against him of having run away with the
horse, as much as I laughed at the caprice which had metamorphosed me
into an officer in Bologna, just as if I had done it for the very purpose
of giving to the affair every appearance of truth.
On the fourth day of my stay in Bologna, I received by express a long
letter from Therese. She informed me that, on the day after my escape
from Rimini, Baron Vais had presented to her the Duke de Castropignano,
who, having heard her sing, had offered her one thousand ounces a year,
and all travelling expenses paid, if she would accept an engagement as
prima-donna at the San Carlo Theatre, at Naples, where she would have to
go immediately after her Rimini engagement. She had requested and
obtained a week to come to a decision. She enclosed two documents, the
first was the written memorandum of the duke's proposals, which she sent
in order that I should peruse it, as she did not wish to sign it without
my consent; the second was a formal engagement, written by herself, to
remain all her life devoted to me and at my service. She added in her
letter that, if I wished to accompany her to Naples, she would meet me
anywhere I might appoint, but that, if I had any objection to return to
that city, she would immediately refuse the brilliant offer, for her only
happiness was to please me in all things.
For the first time in my life I found myself in need of thoughtful
consideration before I could make up my mind. Therese's letter had
entirely upset all my ideas, and, feeling that I could not answer it a
once, I told the messenger to call the next day.
Two motives of equal weight kept the balance wavering; self-love and love
for Therese. I felt that I ought not to require Therese to give up such
prospects of fortune; but I could not take upon myself either to let her
go to Naples without me, or to accompany her there. On one side, I
shuddered at the idea that my love might ruin Therese's prospects; on the
other side, the idea of the blow inflicted on my self-love, on my pride,
if I went to Naples with her, sickened me.
How could I make up my mind to reappear in that city, in the guise of a
cowardly fellow living at the expense of his mistress or his wife? What
would my cousin Antonio, Don Polo and his dear son, Don Lelio Caraffa,
and all the patricians who knew me, have said? The thought of Lucrezia
and of her husband sent a cold shiver through me. I considered that, in
spite of my love for Therese, I should become very miserable if everyone
despised me. Linked to her destiny as a lover or as a husband, I would be
a degraded, humbled, and mean sycophant. Then came the thought, Is this
to be the end of all my hopes? The die was cast, my head had conquered my
heart. I fancied that I had hit upon an excellent expedient, which at all
events made me gain time, and I resolved to act upon it. I wrote to
Therese, advising her to accept the engagement for Naples, where she
might expect me to join her in the month of July, or after my return from
Constantinople. I cautioned her to engage an honest-looking
waiting-woman, so as to appear respectably in the world, and, to lead
such a life as would permit me to make her my wife, on my return, without
being ashamed of myself. I foresaw that her success would be insured by
her beauty even more than by her talent, and, with my nature, I knew that
I could never assume the character of an easy-going lover or of a
compliant husband.
Had I received Therese's letter one week sooner, it is certain that she
would not have gone to Naples, for my love would then have proved
stronger than my reason; but in matters of love, as well as in all
others, Time is a great teacher.
I told Therese to direct her answer to Bologna, and, three days after, I
received from her a letter loving, and at the same time sad, in which she
informed me that she had signed the engagement. She had secured the
services of a woman whom she could present as her mother; she would reach
Naples towards the middle of May, and she would wait for me there till
she heard from me that I no longer wanted her.
Four days after the receipt of that letter, the last but one that Therese
wrote me, I left Bologna for Venice. Before my departure I had received
an answer form the French officer, advising me that my passport had
reached Pesaro, and that he was ready to forward it to me with my trunk,
if I would pay M. Marcello Birna, the proveditore of the Spanish army,
whose address he enclosed, the sum of fifty doubloons for the horse which
I had run away with, or which had run away with me. I repaired at once to
the house of the proveditore, well pleased to settle that affair, and I
received my trunk and my passport a few hours before leaving Bologna. But
as my paying for the horse was known all over the town, Monsignor Cornaro
was confirmed in his belief that I had killed my captain in a duel.
To go to Venice, it was necessary to submit to a quarantine, which had
been adhered to only because the two governments had fallen out. The
Venetians wanted the Pope to be the first in giving free passage through
his frontiers, and the Pope insisted that the Venetians should take the
initiative. The result of this trifling pique between the two governments
was great hindrance to commerce, but very often that which bears only
upon the private interest of the people is lightly treated by the rulers.
I did not wish to be quarantined, and determined on evading it. It was
rather a delicate undertaking, for in Venice the sanitary laws are very
strict, but in those days I delighted in doing, if not everything that
was forbidden, at least everything which offered real difficulties.
I knew that between the state of Mantua and that of Venice the passage
was free, and I knew likewise that there was no restriction in the
communication between Mantua and Modena; if I could therefore penetrate
into the state of Mantua by stating that I was coming from Modena, my
success would be certain, because I could then cross the Po and go
straight to Venice. I got a carrier to drive me to Revero, a city
situated on the river Po, and belonging to the state of Mantua.
The driver told me that, if he took the crossroads, he could go to
Revero, and say that we came from Mantua, and that the only difficulty
would be in the absence of the sanitary certificate which is delivered in
Mantua, and which was certain to be asked for in Revero. I suggested that
the best way to manage would be for him to say that he had lost it, and a
little money removed every objection on his part.
When we reached the gates of Revero, I represented myself as a Spanish
officer going to Venice to meet the Duke of Modena (whom I knew to be
there) on business of the greatest importance. The sanitary certificate
was not even demanded, military honours were duly paid to me, and I was
most civilly treated. A certificate was immediately delivered to me,
setting forth that I was travelling from Revero, and with it I crossed
the Po, without any difficulty, at Ostiglia, from which place I proceeded
to Legnago. There I left my carrier as much pleased with my generosity as
with the good luck which had attended our journey, and, taking
post-horses, I reached Venice in the evening. I remarked that it was the
and of April, 1744, the anniversary of my birth, which, ten times during
my life, has been marked by some important event.
The very next morning I went to the exchange in order to procure a
passage to Constantinople, but I could not find any passenger ship
sailing before two or three months, and I engaged a berth in a Venetian
ship called, Our Lady of the Rosary, Commander Zane, which was to sail
for Corfu in the course of the month.
Having thus prepared myself to obey my destiny, which, according to my
superstitious feelings, called me imperiously to Constantinople, I went
to St: Mark's Square in order to see and to be seen, enjoying by
anticipation the surprise of my acquaintances at not finding me any
longer an abbe. I must not forget to state that at Revero I had decorated
my hat with a red cockade.
I thought that my first visit was, by right, due to the Abbe Grimani. The
moment he saw me he raised a perfect shriek of astonishment, for he
thought I was still with Cardinal Acquaviva, on the road to a political
career, and he saw standing before him a son of Mars. He had just left
the dinner-table as I entered, and he had company. I observed amongst the
guests an officer wearing the Spanish uniform, but I was not put out of
countenance. I told the Abbe Grimani that I was only passing through
Venice, and that I had felt it a duty and a pleasure to pay my respects
to him.
"I did not expect to see you in such a costume."
"I have resolved to throw off the garb which could not procure me a
fortune likely to satisfy my ambition."
"Where are you going?"
"To Constantinople; and I hope to find a quick passage to Corfu, as I
have dispatches from Cardinal Acquaviva."
"Where do you come from now?"
"From the Spanish army, which I left ten days ago."
These words were hardly spoken, when I heard the voice of a young
nobleman exclaiming;
"That is not true."
"The profession to which I belong," I said to him with great animation,
"does not permit me to let anyone give me the lie."
And upon that, bowing all round, I went away, without taking any notice
of those who were calling me back.
I wore an uniform; it seemed to me that I was right in showing that
sensitive and haughty pride which forms one of the characteristics of
military men. I was no longer a priest: I could not bear being given the
lie, especially when it had been given to me in so public a manner.
I called upon Madame Manzoni, whom I was longing to see. She was very
happy to see me, and did not fail to remind me of her prediction. I told
her my history, which amused her much; but she said that if I went to
Constantinople I should most likely never see her again.
After my visit to Madame Manzoni I went to the house of Madame Orio,
where I found worthy M. Rosa, Nanette, and Marton. They were all greatly
surprised, indeed petrified at seeing me. The two lovely sisters looked
more beautiful than ever, but I did not think it necessary to tell them
the history of my nine months absence, for it would not have edified the
aunt or pleased the nieces. I satisfied myself with telling them as much
as I thought fit, and amused them for three hours. Seeing that the good
old lady was carried away by her enthusiasm, I told her that I should be
very happy to pass under her roof the four or five weeks of my stay in
Venice, if she could give me a room and supper, but on condition that I
should not prove a burden to her or to her charming nieces.
"I should be only too happy," she answered, "to have you so long, but I
have no room to offer you."
"Yes, you have one, my dear," exclaimed M. Rosa, "and I undertake to put
it to rights within two hours."
It was the room adjoining the chamber of the two sisters. Nanette said
immediately that she would come downstairs with her sister, but Madame
Orio answered that it was unnecessary, as they could lock themselves in
their room.
"There would be no need for them to do that, madam," I said, with a
serious and modest air; "and if I am likely to occasion the slightest
disturbance, I can remain at the inn."
"There will be no disturbance whatever; but forgive my nieces, they are
young prudes, and have a very high opinion of themselves:"
Everything being satisfactorily arranged, I forced upon Madame Orio a
payment of fifteen sequins in advance, assuring her that I was rich, and
that I had made a very good bargain, as I should spend a great deal more
if I kept my room at the inn. I added that I would send my luggage, and
take up my quarters in her house on the following day. During the whole
of the conversation, I could see the eyes of my two dear little wives
sparkling with pleasure, and they reconquered all their influence over my
heart in spite of my love for Therese, whose image was, all the same,
brilliant in my soul: this was a passing infidelity, but not inconstancy.
On the following day I called at the war office, but, to avoid every
chance of unpleasantness, I took care to remove my cockade. I found in
the office Major Pelodoro, who could not control his joy when he saw me
in a military uniform, and hugged me with delight. As soon as I had
explained to him that I wanted to go to Constantinople, and that,
although in uniform, I was free, he advised me earnestly to seek the
favour of going to Turkey with the bailo, who intended to leave within
two months, and even to try to obtain service in the Venetian army.
His advice suited me exactly, and the secretary of war, who had known me
the year before, happening to see me, summoned me to him. He told me that
he had received letters from Bologna which had informed him of a certain
adventure entirely to my honour, adding that he knew that I would not
acknowledge it. He then asked me if I had received my discharge before
leaving the Spanish army.
"I could not receive my discharge, as I was never in the service."
"And how did you manage to come to Venice without performing quarantine?"
"Persons coming from Mantua are not subject to it."
"True; but I advise you to enter the Venetian service like Major
Pelodoro."
As I was leaving the ducal palace, I met the Abbe Grimani who told me
that the abrupt manner in which I had left his house had displeased
everybody.
"Even the Spanish officer?"
"No, for he remarked that, if you had truly been with the army, you could
not act differently, and he has himself assured me that you were there,
and to prove what he asserted he made me read an article in the
newspaper, in which it is stated that you killed your captain in a duel.
Of course it is only a fable?"
"How do you know that it is not a fact?"
"Is it true, then?"
"I do not say so, but it may be true, quite as true as my having been
with the Spanish army ten days ago."
"But that is impossible, unless you have broken through the quarantine."
"I have broken nothing. I have openly crossed the Po at Revero, and here
I am. I am sorry not to be able to present myself at your excellency's
palace, but I cannot do so until I have received the most complete
satisfaction from the person who has given me the lie. I could put up
with an insult when I wore the livery of humility, but I cannot bear one
now that I wear the garb of honour."
"You are wrong to take it in such a high tone. The person who attacked
your veracity is M. Valmarana, the proveditore of the sanitary
department, and he contends that, as nobody can pass through the cordon,
it would be impossible for you to be here. Satisfaction, indeed! Have you
forgotten who you are?"
"No, I know who I am; and I know likewise that, if I was taken for a
coward before leaving Venice, now that I have returned no one shall
insult me without repenting it."
"Come and dine with me."
"No, because the Spanish officer would know it."
"He would even see you, for he dines with me every day."
"Very well, then I will go, and I will let him be the judge of my quarrel
with M. Valmarana."
I dined that day with Major Pelodoro and several other officers, who
agreed in advising me to enter the service of the Republic, and I
resolved to do so. "I am acquainted," said the major, "with a young
lieutenant whose health is not sufficiently strong to allow him to go to
the East, and who would be glad to sell his commission, for which he
wants one hundred sequins. But it would be necessary to obtain the
consent of the secretary of war." "Mention the matter to him," I replied,
"the one hundred sequins are ready." The major undertook the commission.
In the evening I went to Madame Orio, and I found myself very comfortably
lodged. After supper, the aunt told her nieces to shew me, to my room,
and, as may well be supposed, we spent a most delightful night. After
that they took the agreeable duty by turns, and in order to avoid any
surprise in case the aunt should take it into her head to pay them a
visit, we skilfully displaced a part of the partition, which allowed them
to come in and out of my room without opening the door. But the good lady
believed us three living specimens of virtue, and never thought of
putting us to the test.
Two or three days afterwards, M. Grimani contrived an interview between
me and M. Valmarana, who told me that, if he had been aware that the
sanitary line could be eluded, he would never have impugned my veracity,
and thanked me for the information I had given him. The affair was thus
agreeably arranged, and until my departure I honoured M. Grimani's
excellent dinner with my presence every day.
Towards the end of the month I entered the service of the Republic in the
capacity of ensign in the Bala regiment, then at Corfu; the young man who
had left the regiment through the magical virtue of my one hundred
sequins was lieutenant, but the secretary of war objected to my having
that rank for reasons to which I had to submit, if I wished to enter the
army; but he promised me that, at the end of the year, I would be
promoted to the grade of lieutenant, and he granted me a furlough to go
to Constantinople. I accepted, for I was determined to serve in the army.
M. Pierre Vendramin, an illustrious senator, obtained me the favour of a
passage to Constantinople with the Chevalier Venier, who was proceeding
to that city in the quality of bailo, but as he would arrive in Corfu a
month after me, the chevalier very kindly promised to take me as he
called at Corfu.
A few days before my departure, I received a letter from Therese, who
informed me that the Duke de Castropignano escorted her everywhere. "The
duke is old," she wrote, "but even if he were young, you would have no
cause for uneasiness on my account. Should you ever want any money, draw
upon me from any place where you may happen to be, and be quite certain
that your letters of exchange will be paid, even if I had to sell
everything I possess to honour your signature."
There was to be another passenger on board the ship of the line on which
I had engaged my passage, namely, a noble Venetian, who was going to
Zante in the quality of counsellor, with a numerous and brilliant
retinue. The captain of the ship told me that, if I was obliged to take
my meals alone, I was not likely to fare very well, and he advised me to
obtain an introduction to the nobleman, who would not fail to invite me
to share his table. His name was Antonio Dolfin, and he had been
nicknamed Bucentoro, in consequence of his air of grandeur and the
elegance of his toilet. Fortunately I did not require to beg an
introduction, for M. Grimani offered, of his own accord, to present me to
the magnificent councillor, who received me in the kindest manner, and
invited me at once to take my meals at his table. He expressed a desire
that I should make the acquaintance of his wife, who was to accompany him
in the journey. I called upon her the next day, and I found a lady
perfect in manners, but already of a certain age and completely deaf. I
had therefore but little pleasure to expect from her conversation. She
had a very charming young daughter whom she left in a convent. She became
celebrated afterwards, and she is still alive, I believe, the widow of
Procurator Iron, whose family is extinct.
I have seldom seen a finer-looking man, or a man of more imposing
appearance than M. Dolfin. He was eminently distinguished for his wit and
politeness. He was eloquent, always cheerful when he lost at cards, the
favourite of ladies, whom he endeavoured to please in everything, always
courageous, and of an equal temper, whether in good or in adverse
fortune.
He had ventured on travelling without permission, and had entered a
foreign service, which had brought him into disgrace with the government,
for a noble son of Venice cannot be guilty of a greater crime. For this
offence he had been imprisoned in the Leads--a favour which destiny kept
also in reserve for me.
Highly gifted, generous, but not wealthy, M. Dolfin had been compelled to
solicit from the Grand Council a lucrative governorship, and had been
appointed to Zante; but he started with such a splendid suite that he was
not likely to save much out of his salary. Such a man as I have just
portrayed could not make a fortune in Venice, because an aristocratic
government can not obtain a state of lasting, steady peace at home unless
equality is maintained amongst the nobility, and equality, either moral
or physical, cannot be appreciated in any other way than by appearances.
The result is that the man who does not want to lay himself open to
persecution, and who happens to be superior or inferior to the others,
must endeavour to conceal it by all possible means. If he is ambitious,
he must feign great contempt for dignities; if he seeks employment, he
must not appear to want any; if his features are handsome, he must be
careless of his physical appearance; he must dress badly, wear nothing in
good taste, ridicule every foreign importation, make his bow without
grace, be careless in his manner; care nothing for the fine arts, conceal
his good breeding, have no foreign cook, wear an uncombed wig, and look
rather dirty. M. Dolfin was not endowed with any of those eminent
qualities, and therefore he had no hope of a great fortune in his native
country.
The day before my departure from Venice I did not go out; I devoted the
whole of the day to friendship. Madame Orio and her lovely nieces shed
many tears, and I joined them in that delightful employment. During the
last night that I spent with both of them, the sisters repeated over and
over, in the midst of the raptures of love, that they never would see me
again. They guessed rightly; but if they had happened to see me again
they would have guessed wrongly. Observe how wonderful prophets are!
I went on board, on the 5th of May, with a good supply of clothing,
jewels, and ready cash. Our ship carried twenty-four guns and two hundred
Sclavonian soldiers. We sailed from Malamacca to the shores of Istria
during the night, and we came to anchor in the harbour of Orsera to take
ballast. I landed with several others to take a stroll through the
wretched place where I had spent three days nine months before, a
recollection which caused me a pleasant sensation when I compared my
present position to what it was at that time. What a difference in
everything--health, social condition, and money! I felt quite certain
that in the splendid uniform I was now wearing nobody would recognize the
miserable-looking abbe who, but for Friar Stephano, would have
become--God knows what!
CHAPTER XIV
An Amusing Meeting in Orsera--Journey to Corfu--My Stay in
Constantinople--Bonneval--My Return to Corfu--Madame F.--The
False Prince--I Run Away from Corfu--My Frolics at Casopo--I
Surrender My self a Prisoner--My Speedy Release and Triumph--
My Success with Madame F.
[Illustration: 1c14.jpg]
I affirm that a stupid servant is more dangerous than a bad one, and a
much greater plague, for one can be on one's guard against a wicked
person, but never against a fool. You can punish wickedness but not
stupidity, unless you send away the fool, male or female, who is guilty
of it, and if you do so you generally find out that the change has only
thrown you out of the frying-pan into the fire.
This chapter and the two following ones were written; they gave at full
length all the particulars which I must now abridge, for my silly servant
has taken the three chapters for her own purposes. She pleaded as an
excuse that the sheets of paper were old, written upon, covered with
scribbling and erasures, and that she had taken them in preference to
nice, clean paper, thinking that I would care much more for the last than
for the first. I flew into a violent passion, but I was wrong, for the
poor girl had acted with a good intent; her judgment alone had misled
her. It is well known that the first result of anger is to deprive the
angry man of the faculty of reason, for anger and reason do not belong to
the same family. Luckily, passion does not keep me long under its sway:
'Irasci, celerem tamen et placabilem esse'. After I had wasted my time in
hurling at her bitter reproaches, the force of which did not strike her,
and in proving to her that she was a stupid fool, she refuted all my
arguments by the most complete silence. There was nothing to do but to
resign myself, and, although not yet in the best of tempers, I went to
work. What I am going to write will probably not be so good as what I had
composed when I felt in the proper humour, but my readers must be
satisfied with it they will, like the engineer, gain in time what they
lose in strength.
I landed at Orsera while our ship was taking ballast, as a ship cannot
sail well when she is too light, and I was walking about when I remarked
a man who was looking at me very attentively. As I had no dread of any
creditor, I thought that he was interested by my fine appearance; I could
not find fault with such a feeling, and kept walking on, but as I passed
him, he addressed me:
"Might I presume to enquire whether this is your first visit to Orsera,
captain?"
"No, sir, it is my second visit to this city."
"Were you not here last year?"
"I was."
"But you were not in uniform then?"
"True again; but your questions begin to sound rather indiscreet."
"Be good enough to forgive me, sir, for my curiosity is the offspring of
gratitude. I am indebted to you for the greatest benefits, and I trust
that Providence has brought you here again only to give me the
opportunity of making greater still my debt of gratitude to you."
"What on earth have I done, and what can I do for you? I am at a loss to
guess your meaning."
"Will you be so kind as to come and breakfast with me? My house is near
at hand; my refosco is delicious, please to taste it, and I will convince
you in a few words that you are truly my benefactor, and that I have a
right to expect that you have returned Orsera to load me with fresh
benefits."
I could not suspect the man of insanity; but, as I could not make him
out, I fancied that he wanted to make me purchase some of his refosco,
and I accepted his invitation. We went up to his room, and he left me for
a few moments to order breakfast. I observed several surgical
instruments, which made me suppose that he was a surgeon, and I asked him
when he returned.
"Yes, captain; I have been practising surgery in this place for twenty
years, and in a very poor way, for I had nothing to do, except a few
cases of bleeding, of cupping, and occasionally some slight excoriation
to dress or a sprained ankle to put to rights. I did not earn even the
poorest living. But since last year a great change has taken place; I
have made a good deal of money, I have laid it out advantageously, and it
is to you, captain, to you (may God bless you!) that I am indebted for my
present comforts."
"But how so?"
"In this way, captain. You had a connection with Don Jerome's
housekeeper, and you left her, when you went away, a certain souvenir
which she communicated to a friend of hers, who, in perfect good faith,
made a present of it to his wife. This lady did not wish, I suppose, to
be selfish, and she gave the souvenir to a libertine who, in his turn,
was so generous with it that, in less than a month, I had about fifty
clients. The following months were not less fruitful, and I gave the
benefit of my attendance to everybody, of course, for a consideration.
There are a few patients still under my care, but in a short time there
will be no more, as the souvenir left by you has now lost all its virtue.
You can easily realize now the joy I felt when I saw you; you are a bird
of good omen. May I hope that your visit will last long enough to enable
you to renew the source of my fortune?"
I laughed heartily, but he was grieved to hear that I was in excellent
health. He remarked, however, that I was not likely to be so well off on
my return, because, in the country to which I was going, there was
abundance of damaged goods, but that no one knew better than he did how
to root out the venom left by the use of such bad merchandise. He begged
that I would depend upon him, and not trust myself in the hands of
quacks, who would be sure to palm their remedies upon me. I promised him
everything, and, taking leave of him with many thanks, I returned to the
ship. I related the whole affair to M. Dolfin, who was highly amused. We
sailed on the following day, but on the fourth day, on the other side of
Curzola, we were visited by a storm which very nearly cost me my life.
This is how it happened:
The chaplain of the ship was a Sclavonian priest, very ignorant, insolent
and coarse-mannered, and, as I turned him into ridicule whenever the
opportunity offered, he had naturally become my sworn enemy. 'Tant de
fiel entre-t-il dans l'ame d'un devot!' When the storm was at its height,
he posted himself on the quarter-deck, and, with book in hand, proceeded
to exorcise all the spirits of hell whom he thought he could see in the
clouds, and to whom he pointed for the benefit of the sailors who,
believing themselves lost, were crying, howling, and giving way to
despair, instead of attending to the working of the ship, then in great
danger on account of the rocks and of the breakers which surrounded us.
Seeing the peril of our position, and the evil effect of his stupid,
incantations upon the minds of the sailors whom the ignorant priest was
throwing into the apathy of despair, instead of keeping up their courage,
I thought it prudent to interfere. I went up the rigging, calling upon
the sailors to do their duty cheerfully, telling them that there were no
devils, and that the priest who pretended to see them was a fool. But it
was in vain that I spoke in the most forcible manner, in vain that I went
to work myself, and shewed that safety was only to be insured by active
means, I could not prevent the priest declaring that I was an Atheist,
and he managed to rouse against me the anger of the greatest part of the
crew. The wind continued to lash the sea into fury for the two following
days, and the knave contrived to persuade the sailors who listened to him
that the hurricane would not abate as long as I was on board. Imbued with
that conviction, one of the men, thinking he had found a good opportunity
of fulfilling the wishes of the priest, came up to me as I was standing
at the extreme end of the forecastle, and pushed me so roughly that I was
thrown over. I should have been irretrievably lost, but the sharp point
of an anchor, hanging along the side of the ship, catching in my clothes,
prevented me from falling in the sea, and proved truly my sheet-anchor.
Some men came to my assistance, and I was saved. A corporal then pointed
out to me the sailor who had tried to murder me, and taking a stout stick
I treated the scoundrel to a sound thrashing; but the sailors, headed by
the furious priest, rushed towards us when they heard his screams, and I
should have been killed if the soldiers had not taken my part. The
commander and M. Dolfin then came on deck, but they were compelled to
listen to the chaplain, and to promise, in order to pacify the vile
rabble, that they would land me at the first opportunity. But even this
was not enough; the priest demanded that I should give up to him a
certain parchment that I had purchased from a Greek at Malamocco just
before sailing. I had no recollection of it, but it was true. I laughed,
and gave it to M. Dolfin; he handed it to the fanatic chaplain, who,
exulting in his victory, called for a large pan of live coals from the
cook's galley, and made an auto-da-fe of the document. The unlucky
parchment, before it was entirely consumed, kept writhing on the fire for
half an hour, and the priest did not fail to represent those contortions
as a miracle, and all the sailors were sure that it was an infernal
manuscript given to me by the devil. The virtue claimed for that piece of
parchment by the man who had sold it to me was that it insured its lucky
possessor the love of all women, but I trust my readers will do me the
justice to believe that I had no faith whatever in amorous philtres,
talismans, or amulets of any kind: I had purchased it only for a joke.
You can find throughout Italy, in Greece, and generally in every country
the inhabitants of which are yet wrapped up in primitive ignorance, a
tribe of Greeks, of Jews, of astronomers, and of exorcists, who sell
their dupes rags and toys to which they boastingly attach wonderful
virtues and properties; amulets which render invulnerable, scraps of
cloth which defend from witchcraft, small bags filled with drugs to keep
away goblins, and a thousand gewgaws of the same description. These
wonderful goods have no marketable value whatever in France, in England,
in Germany, and throughout the north of Europe generally, but, in
revenge, the inhabitants of those countries indulge in knavish practices
of a much worse kind.
The storm abated just as the innocent parchment was writhing on the fire,
and the sailors, believing that the spirits of hell had been exorcised,
thought no more of getting rid of my person, and after a prosperous
voyage of a week we cast anchor at Corfu. As soon as I had found a
comfortable lodging I took my letters to his eminence the
proveditore-generale, and to all the naval commanders to whom I was
recommended; and after paying my respects to my colonel, and making the
acquaintance of the officers of my regiment, I prepared to enjoy myself
until the arrival of the Chevalier Venier, who had promised to take me to
Constantinople. He arrived towards the middle of June, but in the mean
time I had been playing basset, and had lost all my money, and sold or
pledged all my jewellery.
Such must be the fate awaiting every man who has a taste for gambling,
unless he should know how to fix fickle fortune by playing with a real
advantage derived from calculation or from adroitness, which defies
chance. I think that a cool and prudent player can manage both without
exposing himself to censure, or deserving to be called a cheat.
During the month that I spent in Corfu, waiting for the arrival of M.
Venier, I did not devote any time to the study, either moral or physical,
of the country, for, excepting the days on which I was on duty, I passed
my life at the coffee-house, intent upon the game, and sinking, as a
matter of course, under the adverse fortune which I braved with
obstinacy. I never won, and I had not the moral strength to stop till all
my means were gone. The only comfort I had, and a sorry one truly, was to
hear the banker himself call me--perhaps sarcastically--a fine player,
every time I lost a large stake. My misery was at its height, when new
life was infused in me by the booming of the guns fired in honour of the
arrival of the bailo. He was on board the Europa, a frigate of
seventy-two guns, and he had taken only eight days to sail from Venice to
Corfu. The moment he cast anchor, the bailo hoisted his flag of
captain-general of the Venetian navy, and the proveditore hauled down his
own colours. The Republic of Venice has not on the sea any authority
greater than that of Bailo to the Porte. The Chevalier Venier had with
him a distinguished and brilliant suite; Count Annibal Gambera, Count
Charles Zenobio, both Venetian noblemen of the first class, and the
Marquis d'Anchotti of Bressan, accompanied him to Constantinople for
their own amusement. The bailo remained a week in Corfu, and all the
naval authorities entertained him and his suite in turn, so that there
was a constant succession of balls and suppers. When I presented myself
to his excellency, he informed me that he had already spoken to the
proveditore, who had granted me a furlough of six months to enable me to
accompany him to Constantinople as his adjutant; and as soon as the
official document for my furlough had been delivered to me, I sent my
small stock of worldly goods on board the Europa, and we weighed anchor
early the next day.
We sailed with a favourable wind which remained steady and brought us in
six days to Cerigo, where we stopped to take in some water. Feeling some
curiosity to visit the ancient Cythera, I went on shore with the sailors
on duty, but it would have been better for me if I had remained on board,
for in Cerigo I made a bad acquaintance. I was accompanied by the captain
of marines.
The moment we set foot on shore, two men, very poorly dressed and of
unprepossessing appearance, came to us and begged for assistance. I asked
them who they were, and one, quicker than the other, answered;
"We are sentenced to live, and perhaps to die, in this island by the
despotism of the Council of Ten. There are forty others as unfortunate as
ourselves, and we are all born subjects of the Republic.
"The crime of which we have been accused, which is not considered a crime
anywhere, is that we were in the habit of living with our mistresses,
without being jealous of our friends, when, finding our ladies handsome,
they obtained their favours with our ready consent. As we were not rich,
we felt no remorse in availing ourselves of the generosity of our friends
in such cases, but it was said that we were carrying on an illicit trade,
and we have been sent to this place, where we receive every day ten sous
in 'moneta lunga'. We are called 'mangia-mayroni', and are worse off than
galley slaves, for we are dying of ennui, and we are often starving
without knowing how to stay our hunger. My name is Don Antonio Pocchini,
I am of a noble Paduan family, and my mother belongs to the illustrious
family of Campo San-Piero."
We gave them some money, and went about the island, returning to the ship
after we had visited the fortress. I shall have to speak of that Pocchini
in a few years.
The wind continued in our favour, and we reached the Dardanelles in eight
or ten days; the Turkish barges met us there to carry us to
Constantinople. The sight offered by that city at the distance of a
league is truly wonderful; and I believe that a more magnificent panorama
cannot be found in any part of the world. It was that splendid view which
was the cause of the fall of the Roman, and of the rise of the Greek
empire. Constantine the Great, arriving at Byzantium by sea, was so much
struck with the wonderful beauty of its position, that he exclaimed,
"Here is the proper seat of the empire of the whole world!" and in order
to secure the fulfilment of his prediction, he left Rome for Byzantium.
If he had known the prophecy of Horace, or rather if he had believed in
it, he would not have been guilty of such folly. The poet had said that
the downfall of the Roman empire would begin only when one of the
successors of Augustus bethought him removing the capital of the empire
to where it had originated. The road is not far distant from Thrace.
We arrived at the Venetian Embassy in Pera towards the middle of July,
and, for a wonder, there was no talk of the plague in Constantinople just
then. We were all provided with very comfortable lodgings, but the
intensity of the heat induced the baili to seek for a little coolness in
a country mansion which had been hired by the Bailo Dona. It was situated
at Bouyoudere. The very first order laid upon me was never to go out
unknown to the bailo, and without being escorted by a janissary, and this
order I obeyed to the letter. In those days the Russians had not tamed
the insolence of the Turkish people. I am told that foreigners can now go
about as much as they please in perfect security.
The day after our arrival, I took a janissary to accompany me to Osman
Pacha, of Caramania, the name assumed by Count de Bonneval ever since he
had adopted the turban. I sent in my letter, and was immediately shewn
into an apartment on the ground floor, furnished in the French fashion,
where I saw a stout elderly gentleman, dressed like a Frenchman, who, as
I entered the room, rose, came to meet me with a smiling countenance, and
asked me how he could serve the 'protege' of a cardinal of the Roman
Catholic Church, which he could no longer call his mother. I gave him all
the particulars of the circumstances which, in a moment of despair, had
induced me to ask the cardinal for letters of introduction for
Constantinople, and I added that, the letters once in my possession, my
superstitious feelings had made me believe that I was bound to deliver
them in person.
"Then, without this letter," he said, "you never would have come to
Constantinople, and you have no need of me?"
"True, but I consider myself fortunate in having thus made the
acquaintance of a man who has attracted the attention of the whole of
Europe, and who still commands that attention."
His excellency made some remark respecting the happiness of young men
who, like me, without care, without any fixed purpose, abandon themselves
to fortune with that confidence which knows no fear, and telling me that
the cardinal's letter made it desirable that he should do something for
me, he promised to introduce me to three or four of his Turkish friends
who deserved to be known. He invited me to dine with him every Thursday,
and undertook to send me a janissary who would protect me from the
insults of the rabble and shew me everything worth seeing.
The cardinal's letter representing me as a literary man, the pacha
observed that I ought to see his library. I followed him through the
garden, and we entered a room furnished with grated cupboards; curtains
could be seen behind the wirework; the books were most likely behind the
curtains.
Taking a key out of his pocket, he opened one of the cupboards, and,
instead of folios, I saw long rows of bottles of the finest wines. We
both laughed heartily.
"Here are," said the pacha, "my library and my harem. I am old, women
would only shorten my life but good wine will prolong it, or at least,
make it more agreeable.
"I imagine your excellency has obtained a dispensation from the mufti?"
"You are mistaken, for the Pope of the Turks is very far from enjoying as
great a power as the Christian Pope. He cannot in any case permit what is
forbidden by the Koran; but everyone is at liberty to work out his own
damnation if he likes. The Turkish devotees pity the libertines, but they
do not persecute them; there is no inquisition in Turkey. Those who do
not know the precepts of religion, say the Turks, will suffer enough in
the life to come; there is no need to make them suffer in this life. The
only dispensation I have asked and obtained, has been respecting
circumcision, although it can hardly be called so, because, at my age, it
might have proved dangerous. That ceremony is generally performed, but it
is not compulsory."
During the two hours that we spent together, the pacha enquired after
several of his friends in Venice, and particularly after Marc Antonio
Dieto. I told him that his friends were still faithful to their affection
for him, and did not find fault with his apostasy. He answered that he
was a Mahometan as he had been a Christian, and that he was not better
acquainted with the Koran than he had been with the Gospel. "I am
certain," he added, "that I shall die-calmer and much happier than Prince
Eugene. I have had to say that God is God, and that Mahomet is the
prophet. I have said it, and the Turks care very little whether I believe
it or not. I wear the turban as the soldier wears the uniform. I was
nothing but a military man; I could not have turned my hand to any other
profession, and I made up my mind to become lieutenant-general of the
Grand Turk only when I found myself entirely at a loss how to earn my
living. When I left Venice, the pitcher had gone too often to the well,
it was broken at last, and if the Jews had offered me the command of an
army of fifty thousand men, I would have gone and besieged Jerusalem."
Bonneval was handsome, but too stout. He had received a sabre-cut in the
lower part of the abdomen, which compelled him to wear constantly a
bandage supported by a silver plate. He had been exiled to Asia, but only
for a short time, for, as he told me, the cabals are not so tenacious in
Turkey as they are in Europe, and particularly at the court of Vienna. As
I was taking leave of him, he was kind enough to say that, since his
arrival in Turkey, he had never passed two hours as pleasantly as those
he had just spent with me, and that he would compliment the bailo about
me.
The Bailo Dona, who had known him intimately in Venice, desired me to be
the bearer of all his friendly compliments for him, and M. Venier
expressed his deep regret at not being able to make his acquaintance.
The second day after my first visit to him being a Thursday, the pacha
did not forget to send a janissary according to his promise. It was about
eleven in the morning when the janissary called for me, I followed him,
and this time I found Bonneval dressed in the Turkish style. His guests
soon arrived, and we sat down to dinner, eight of us, all well disposed
to be cheerful and happy. The dinner was entirely French, in cooking and
service; his steward and his cook were both worthy French renegades.
He had taken care to introduce me to all his guests and at the same time
to let me know who they were, but he did not give me an opportunity of
speaking before dinner was nearly over. The conversation was entirely
kept up in Italian, and I remarked that the Turks did not utter a single
word in their own language, even to say the most ordinary thing. Each
guest had near him a bottle which might have contained either white wine
or hydromel; all I know is that I drank, as well as M. de Bonneval, next
to whom I was seated, some excellent white Burgundy.
The guests got me on the subject of Venice, and particularly of Rome, and
the conversation very naturally fell upon religion, but not upon dogmatic
questions; the discipline of religion and liturgical questions were alone
discussed.
One of the guests, who was addressed as effendi, because he had been
secretary for foreign affairs, said that the ambassador from Venice to
Rome was a friend of his, and he spoke of him in the highest manner. I
told him that I shared his admiration for that ambassador, who had given
me a letter of introduction for a Turkish nobleman, whom he had
represented as an intimate friend. He enquired for the name of the person
to whom the letter was addressed, but I could not recollect it, and took
the letter out of my pocket-book. The effendi was delighted when he found
that the letter was for himself. He begged leave to read it at once, and
after he had perused it, he kissed the signature and came to embrace me.
This scene pleased M. de Bonneval and all his friends. The effendi, whose
name was Ismail, entreated the pacha to come to dine with him, and to
bring me; Bonneval accepted, and fixed a day.
Notwithstanding all the politeness of the effendi, I was particularly
interested during our charming dinner in a fine elderly man of about
sixty, whose countenance breathed at the same time the greatest sagacity
and the most perfect kindness. Two years afterwards I found again the
same features on the handsome face of M. de Bragadin, a Venetian senator
of whom I shall have to speak at length when we come to that period of my
life. That elderly gentleman had listened to me with the greatest
attention, but without uttering one word. In society, a man whose face
and general appearance excite your interest, stimulates strongly your
curiosity if he remains silent. When we left the dining-room I enquired
from de Bonneval who he was; he answered that he was wealthy, a
philosopher, a man of acknowledged merit, of great purity of morals, and
strongly attached to his religion. He advised me to cultivate his
acquaintance if he made any advances to me.
I was pleased with his advice, and when, after a walk under the shady
trees of the garden, we returned to a drawing-room furnished in the
Turkish fashion, I purposely took a seat near Yusuf Ali. Such was the
name of the Turk for whom I felt so much sympathy. He offered me his pipe
in a very graceful manner; I refused it politely, and took one brought to
me by one of M. de Bonneval's servants. Whenever I have been amongst
smokers I have smoked or left the room; otherwise I would have fancied
that I was swallowing the smoke of the others, and that idea which is
true and unpleasant, disgusted me. I have never been able to understand
how in Germany the ladies, otherwise so polite and delicate, could inhale
the suffocating fumes of a crowd of smokers.
Yusuf, pleased to have me near him, at once led the conversation to
subjects similar to those which had been discussed at table, and
particularly to the reasons which had induced me to give up the peaceful
profession of the Church and to choose a military life; and in order to
gratify his curiosity without losing his good opinion, I gave him, but
with proper caution, some of the particulars of my life, for I wanted him
to be satisfied that, if I had at first entered the career of the holy
priesthood, it had not been through any vocation of mine. He seemed
pleased with my recital, spoke of natural vocations as a Stoic
philosopher, and I saw that he was a fatalist; but as I was careful not
to attack his system openly, he did not dislike my objections, most
likely because he thought himself strong enough to overthrow them.
I must have inspired the honest Mussulman with very great esteem, for he
thought me worthy of becoming his disciple; it was not likely that he
could entertain the idea of becoming himself the disciple of a young man
of nineteen, lost, as he thought, in a false religion.
After spending an hour in examining me, in listening to my principles, he
said that he believed me fit to know the real truth, because he saw that
I was seeking for it, and that I was not certain of having obtained it so
far. He invited me to come and spend a whole day with him, naming the
days when I would be certain to find him at home, but he advised me to
consult the Pacha Osman before accepting his invitation. I told him that
the pacha had already mentioned him to me and had spoken very highly of
his character; he seemed much pleased. I fixed a day for my visit, and
left him.
I informed M. de Bonneval of all that had occurred; he was delighted, and
promised that his janissary would be every day at the Venetian palace,
ready to execute my orders.
I received the congratulations of the baili upon the excellent
acquaintances I had already made, and M. Venier advised me not to neglect
such friends in a country where weariness of life was more deadly to
foreigners than the plague.
On the day appointed, I went early to Yusuf's palace, but he was out. His
gardener, who had received his instructions, shewed me every attention,
and entertained me very agreeably for two hours in doing the honours of
his master's splendid garden, where I found the most beautiful flowers.
This gardener was a Neapolitan, and had belonged to Yusuf for thirty
years. His manners made me suspect that he was well born and well
educated, but he told me frankly that he had never been taught even to
read, that he was a sailor when he, was taken in slavery, and that he was
so happy in the service of Yusuf that liberty would be a punishment to
him. Of course I did not venture to address him any questions about his
master, for his reserve might have put my curiosity to the blush.
Yusuf had gone out on horseback; he returned, and, after the usual
compliments, we dined alone in a summerhouse, from which we had a fine
view of the sea, and in which the heat was cooled by a delightful breeze,
which blows regularly at the same hour every day from the north-west; and
is called the mistral. We had a good dinner; there was no prepared dish
except the cauroman, a peculiar delicacy of the Turks. I drank water and
hydromel, and I told Yusuf that I preferred the last to wine, of which I
never took much at that time. "Your hydromel," I said, "is very good, and
the Mussulmans who offend against the law by drinking wine do not deserve
any indulgence; I believe they drink wine only because it is forbidden."
"Many of the true believers," he answered, "think that they can take it
as a medicine. The Grand Turk's physician has brought it into vogue as a
medicine, and it has been the cause of his fortune, for he has captivated
the favour of his master who is in reality constantly ill, because he is
always in a state of intoxication." I told Yusuf that in my country
drunkards were scarce, and that drunkenness was a vice to be found only
among the lowest people; he was much astonished. "I cannot understand,"
he said, "why wine is allowed by all religions, when its use deprives man
of his reason."--"All religions," I answered, "forbid excess in drinking
wine, and the crime is only in the abuse." I proved him the truth of what
I had said by telling him that opium produced the same results as wine,
but more powerfully, and consequently Mahomet ought to have forbidden the
use of it. He observed that he had never taken either wine or opium in
the course of his life.
After dinner, pipes were brought in and we filled them ourselves. I was
smoking with pleasure, but, at the same time, was expectorating. Yusuf,
who smoked like a Turk, that is to say, without spitting, said,--
"The tobacco you are now smoking is of a very fine quality, and you ought
to swallow its balsam which is mixed with the saliva."
"I suppose you are right; smoking cannot be truly enjoyed without the
best tobacco."
"That is true to a certain extent, but the enjoyment found in smoking
good tobacco is not the principal pleasure, because it only pleases our
senses; true enjoyment is that which works upon the soul, and is
completely independent of the senses."
"I cannot realize pleasures enjoyed by the soul without the
instrumentality of the senses."
"Listen to me. When you fill your pipe do you feel any pleasure?"
"Yes."
"Whence does that pleasure arise, if it is not from your soul? Let us go
further. Do you not feel pleased when you give up your pipe after having
smoked all the tobacco in it--when you see that nothing is left but some
ashes?"
"It is true."
"Well, there are two pleasures in which your senses have certainly
nothing to do, but I want you to guess the third, and the most
essential."
"The most essential? It is the perfume."
"No; that is a pleasure of the organ of smelling--a sensual pleasure."
"Then I do not know."
"Listen. The principal pleasure derived from tobacco smoking is the sight
of a smoke itself. You must never see it go out of the bowl of your
pipe,--but only from the corner o your mouth, at regular intervals which
must not be too frequent. It is so truly the greatest pleasure connected
with the pipe, that you cannot find anywhere a blind man who smokes. Try
yourself the experiment of smoking a pipe in your room, at night and
without a light; you will soon lay the pipe down."
"It is all perfectly true; yet you must forgive me if I give the
preference to several pleasures, in which my senses are interested, over
those which afford enjoyment only to my soul."
"Forty years ago I was of the same opinion, and in forty years, if you
succeed in acquiring wisdom, you will think like me. Pleasures which give
activity to our senses, my dear son, disturb the repose of our soul--a
proof that they do not deserve the name of real enjoyments."
"But if I feel them to be real enjoyments, it is enough to prove that
they are truly so."
"Granted; but if you would take the trouble of analyzing them after you
have tasted them, you would not find them unalloyed."
"It may be so, but why should I take a trouble which would only lessen my
enjoyment."
"A time will come when you will feel pleasure in that very trouble."
"It strikes me, dear father, that you prefer mature age to youth."
"You may boldly say old age."
"You surprise me. Must I believe that your early life has been unhappy?"
"Far from it. It was always fortunate in good health, and the master of
my own passions; but all I saw in my equals was for me a good school in
which I have acquired the knowledge of man, and learned the real road to
happiness. The happiest of men is not the most voluptuous, but the one
who knows how to choose the highest standards of voluptuousness, which
can be found, I say again, not in the pleasures which excite our senses,
but in those which give greater repose to the soul."
"That is the voluptuousness which you consider unalloyed."
"Yes, and such is the sight of a vast prairie all covered with grass. The
green colour, so strongly recommended by our divine prophet, strikes my
eyes, and at the same moment I feel that my soul is wrapped up in a calm
so delightful that I fancy myself nearer the Creator. I enjoy the same
peace, the same repose, when I am seated on the banks of a river, when I
look upon the water so quiet, yet always moving, which flows constantly,
yet never disappears from my sight, never loses any of its clearness in
spite of its constant motion. It strikes me as the image of my own
existence, and of the calm which I require for my life in order to reach,
like the water I am gazing upon, the goal which I do not see, and which
can only be found at the other end of the journey."
Thus did the Turk reason, and we passed four hours in this sort of
conversation. He had buried two wives, and he had two sons and one
daughter. The eldest son, having received his patrimony, had established
himself in the city of Salonica, where he was a wealthy merchant; the
other was in the seraglio, in the service of the Grand Turk and his
fortune was in the hands of a trustee. His daughter, Zelmi, then fifteen
years of age, was to inherit all his remaining property. He had given her
all the accomplishments which could minister to the happiness of the man
whom heaven had destined for her husband. We shall hear more of that
daughter anon. The mother of the three children was dead, and five years
previous to the time of my visit, Yusuf had taken another wife, a native
of Scio, young and very beautiful, but he told me himself that he was now
too old, and could not hope to have any child by her. Yet he was only
sixty years of age. Before I left, he made me promise to spend at least
one day every week with him.
At supper, I told the baili how pleasantly the day had passed.
"We envy you," they said, "the prospect you have before you of spending
agreeably three or four months in this country, while, in our quality of
ministers, we must pine away with melancholy."
A few days afterwards, M. de Bonneval took me with him to dine at
Ismail's house, where I saw Asiatic luxury on a grand scale, but there
were a great many guests, and the conversation was held almost entirely
in the Turkish language--a circumstance which annoyed me and M. de
Bonneval also. Ismail saw it, and he invited me to breakfast whenever I
felt disposed, assuring me that he would have much pleasure in receiving
me. I accepted the invitation, and I went ten or twelve days afterwards.
When we reach that period my readers must kindly accompany me to the
breakfast. For the present I must return to Yusuf who, during my second
visit, displayed a character which inspired, me with the greatest esteem
and the warmest affection.
We had dined alone as before, and, conversation happening to turn upon
the fine arts, I gave my opinion upon one of the precepts in the Koran,
by which the Mahometans are deprived of the innocent enjoyment of
paintings and statues. He told me that Mahomet, a very sagacious
legislator, had been right in removing all images from the sight of the
followers of Islam.
"Recollect, my son, that the nations to which the prophet brought the
knowledge of the true God were all idolators. Men are weak; if the
disciples of the prophet had continued to see the same objects, they
might have fallen back into their former errors."
"No one ever worshipped an image as an image; the deity of which the
image is a representation is what is worshipped."
"I may grant that, but God cannot be matter, and it is right to remove
from the thoughts of the vulgar the idea of a material divinity. You are
the only men, you Christians, who believe that you see God."
"It is true, we are sure of it, but observe that faith alone gives us
that certainty."
"I know it; but you are idolators, for you see nothing but a material
representation, and yet you have a complete certainty that you see God,
unless you should tell me that faith disaffirms it."
"God forbid I should tell you such a thing! Faith, on the contrary,
affirms our certainty."
"We thank God that we have no need of such self-delusion, and there is
not one philosopher in the world who could prove to me that you require
it."
"That would not be the province of philosophy, dear father, but of
theology--a very superior science."
"You are now speaking the language of our theologians, who differ from
yours only in this; they use their science to make clearer the truths we
ought to know, whilst your theologians try to render those truths more
obscure."
"Recollect, dear father, that they are mysteries."
"The existence of God is a sufficiently important mystery to prevent men
from daring to add anything to it. God can only be simple; any kind of
combination would destroy His essence; such is the God announced by our
prophet, who must be the same for all men and in all times. Agree with me
that we can add nothing to the simplicity of God. We say that God is one;
that is the image of simplicity. You say that He is one and three at the
same time, and such a definition strikes us as contradictory, absurd, and
impious."
"It is a mystery."
"Do you mean God or the definition? I am speaking only of the definition,
which ought not to be a mystery or absurd. Common sense, my son, must
consider as absurd an assertion which substantiallv nonsensical. Prove to
me that three is not a compound, that it cannot be a compound and I will
become a Christian at once."
"My religion tells me to believe without arguing, and I shudder, my dear
Yusuf, when I think that, through some specious reasoning, I might be led
to renounce the creed of my fathers. I first must be convinced that they
lived in error. Tell me whether, respecting my father's memory, I ought
to have such a good opinion of myself as to sit in judgement over him,
with the intention of giving my sentence against him?"
My lively remonstrance moved Yusuf deeply, but after a few instants of
silence he said to me,--
"With such feelings, my son, you are sure to find grace in the eyes of
God, and you are, therefore, one of the elect. If you are in error, God
alone can convince you of it, for no just man on earth can refute the
sentiment you have just given expression to."
We spoke of many other things in a friendly manner, and in the evening we
parted with the often repeated assurance of the warmest affection and of
the most perfect devotion.
But my mind was full of our conversation, and as I went on pondering over
the matter, I thought that Yusuf might be right in his opinion as to the
essence of God, for it seemed evident that the Creator of all beings
ought to be perfectly simple; but I thought at the same time how
impossible it would be for me, because the Christian religion had made a
mistake, to accept the Turkish creed, which might perhaps have just a
conception of God, but which caused me to smile when I recollected that
the man who had given birth to it had been an arrant imposter. I had not
the slightest idea, however, that Yusuf wished to make a convert of me.
The third time I dined with him religion was again the subject of
conversation.
"Do you believe, dear father, that the religion of Mahomet is the only
one in which salvation can be secured?"
"No, my dear son, I am not certain of it, and no man can have such a
certainty; but I am sure that the Christian religion is not the true one,
because it cannot be universal."
"Why not?"
"Because there is neither bread nor wine to be found in three-fourths of
the world. Observe that the precepts of the Koran can be followed
everywhere."
I did not know how to answer, and I would not equivocate.
"If God cannot be matter," I said, "then He must be a spirit?"
"We know what He is not but we do not know what He is: man cannot affirm
that God is a spirit, because he can only realize the idea in an abstract
manner. God immaterial; that is the extent of our knowledge and it can
never be greater."
I was reminded of Plato, who had said exactly the same an most certainly
Yusuf never read Plato.
He added that the existence of God could be useful only to those who did
not entertain a doubt of that existence, and that, as a natural
consequence, Atheists must be the most miserable of men. God has made in
man His own image in order that, amongst all the animals created by Him,
there should be one that can understand and confess the existence of the
Creator. Without man, God would have no witness of His own glory, and man
must therefore understand that his first and highest duty is to glorify
God by practising justice and trusting to His providence.
"Observe, my son, that God never abandons the man who, in the midst of
misfortunes, falls down in prayer before Him, and that He often allows
the wretch who has no faith in prayer to die miserably."
"Yet we meet with Atheists who are fortunate and happy."
"True; but, in spite of their tranquillity, I pity them because they have
no hope beyond this life, and are on a level with animals. Besides, if
they are philosophers, they must linger in dark ignorance, and, if they
never think, they have no consolation, no resource, when adversity
reaches them. God has made man in such a manner that he cannot be happy
unless he entertains no doubt of the existence of his Divine Creator; in
all stations of life man is naturally prone to believe in that existence,
otherwise man would never have admitted one God, Creator of all beings
and of all things."
"I should like to know why Atheism has only existed in the systems of the
learned, and never as a national creed."
"Because the poor feel their wants much more than the rich, There are
amongst us a great many impious men who deride the true believers because
they have faith in the pilgrimage to Mecca. Wretches that they are, they
ought to respect the ancient customs which, exciting the devotion of
fervent souls, feed religious principles, and impart courage under all
misfortunes. Without such consolation, people would give way to all the
excess of despair."
Much pleased with the attention I gave to all he said, Yusuf would thus
yield to the inclination he felt to instruct me, and, on my side, feeling
myself drawn towards him by the charm which amiable goodness exerts upon
all hearts, I would often go and spend the day with him, even without any
previous invitation, and Yusuf's friendship soon became one of my most
precious treasures.
One morning, I told my janissary to take me to the palace of Ismail
Effendi, in order to fulfil my promise to breakfast with him. He gave me
the most friendly welcome, and after an excellent breakfast he invited me
to take a walk in his garden. We found there a pretty summer-house which
we entered, and Ismail attempted some liberties which were not at all to
my taste, and which I resented by rising in a very abrupt manner. Seeing
that I was angry, the Turk affected to approve my reserve, and said that
he had only been joking. I left him after a few minutes, with the
intention of not visiting him again, but I was compelled to do so, as I
will explain by-and-by.
When I saw M. de Bonneval I told him what had happened and he said that,
according to Turkish manners, Ismail had intended to give me a great
proof of his friendship, but that I need not be afraid of the offence
being repeated. He added that politeness required that I should visit him
again, and that Ismail was, in spite of his failing, a perfect gentleman,
who had at his disposal the most beautiful female slaves in Turkey.
Five or six weeks after the commencement of our intimacy, Yusuf asked me
one day whether I was married. I answered that I was not; the
conversation turned upon several moral questions, and at last fell upon
chastity, which, in his opinion, could be accounted a virtue only if
considered from one point of view, namely, that of total abstinence, but
he added that it could not be acceptable to God; because it transgressed
against the very first precept He had given to man.
"I would like to know, for instance," he said, "what name can be given to
the chastity of your knights of Malta. They take a vow of chastity, but
it does not mean that they will renounce women altogether, they renounce
marriage only. Their chastity, and therefore chastity in general, is
violated only by marriage; yet I observe that marriage is one of your
sacraments. Therefore, those knights of Malta promise not to give way to
lustful incontinence in the only case in which God might forgive it, but
they reserve the license of being lustful unlawfully as often as they
please, and whenever an opportunity may offer itself; and that immoral,
illicit license is granted to them to such an extent, that they are
allowed to acknowledge legally a child which can be born to them only
through a double crime! The most revolting part of it all is that these
children of crime, who are of course perfectly innocent themselves, are
called natural children, as if children born in wedlock came into the
world in an unnatural manner! In one word, my dear son, the vow of
chastity is so much opposed to Divine precepts and to human nature that
it can be agreeable neither to God nor to society, nor to those who
pledge themselves to keep it, and being in such opposition to every
divine and human law, it must be a crime."
He enquired for the second time whether I was married; I replied in the
negative, and added that I had no idea of ever getting married.
"What!" he exclaimed; "I must then believe that you are not a perfect
man, or that you intend to work out your own damnation; unless you should
tell me that you are a Christian only outwardly."
"I am a man in the very strongest sense of the word, and I am a true
Christian. I must even confess that I adore women, and that I have not
the slightest idea of depriving myself of the most delightful of all
pleasures."
"According to your religion, damnation awaits you."
"I feel certain of the contrary, because, when we confess our sins, our
priests are compelled to give us absolution."
"I know it, but you must agree with me that it is absurd to suppose that
God will forgive a crime which you would, perhaps, not commit, if you did
not think that, after confession, a priest, a man like you, will give you
absolution. God forgives only the repenting sinner."
"No doubt of it, and confession supposes repentance; without it,
absolution has no effect."
"Is onanism a crime amongst you?"
"Yes, even greater than lustful and illegitimate copulation."
"I was aware of it, and it has always caused me great surprise, for the
legislator who enacts a law, the execution of which is impossible, is a
fool. A man in good health, if he cannot have a woman, must necessarily
have recourse to onanism, whenever imperious nature demands it, and the
man who, from fear of polluting his soul, would abstain from it, would
only draw upon himself a mortal disease."
"We believe exactly the reverse; we think that young people destroy their
constitutions, and shorten their lives through self-abuse. In several
communities they are closely watched, and are as much as possible
deprived of every opportunity of indulging in that crime."
"Those who watch them are ignorant fools, and those who pay the watchers
for such a service are even more stupid, because prohibition must excite
the wish to break through such a tyrannical law, to set at nought an
interdiction so contrary to nature."
"Yet it seems to me that self-abuse in excess must be injurious to
health, for it must weaken and enervate."
"Certainly, because excess in everything is prejudicial and pernicious;
but all such excess is the result of our severe prohibition. If girls are
not interfered with in the matter of self-abuse, I do not see why boys
should be."
"Because girls are very far from running the same risk; they do not lose
a great deal in the action of self-abuse, and what they lose does not
come from the same source whence flows the germinal liquid in men."
"I do not know, but we have some physicians who say that chlorosis in
girls is the result of that pleasure indulged in to excess."
After many such conversations, in which he seemed to consider me as
endowed with reason and talent, even when I was not of his opinion, Yusuf
Ali surprised me greatly one day by the following proposition:
"I have two sons and a daughter. I no longer think of my sons, because
they have received their share of my fortune. As far as my daughter is
concerned she will, after my death, inherit all my possessions, and I am,
besides, in a position while I am alive to promote the fortune of the man
who may marry her. Five years ago I took a young wife, but she has not
given me any progeny, and I know to a certainty that no offspring will
bless our union. My daughter, whose name is Zelmi, is now fifteen; she is
handsome, her eyes are black and lovely like her mother's, her hair is of
the colour of the raven's wing, her complexion is animated alabaster; she
is tall, well made, and of a sweet disposition; I have given her an
education which would make her worthy of our master, the Sultan. She
speaks Greek and Italian fluently, she sings delightfully, and
accompanies herself on the harp; she can draw and embroider, and is
always contented and cheerful. No living man can boast of having seen her
features, and she loves me so dearly that my will is hers. My daughter is
a treasure, and I offer her to you if you will consent to go for one year
to Adrianople to reside with a relative of mine, who will teach you our
religion, our language, and our manners. You will return at the end of
one year, and as soon as you have become a Mussulman my daughter shall be
your wife. You will find a house ready furnished, slaves of your own, and
an income which will enable you to live in comfort. I have no more to say
at present. I do not wish you to answer me either to-day, or to-morrow,
or on any fixed day. You will give me your decision whenever you feel
yourself called upon by your genius to give it, and you need not give me
any answer unless you accept my offer, for, should you refuse it, it is
not necessary that the subject should be again mentioned. I do not ask
you to give full consideration to my proposal, for now that I have thrown
the seed in your soul it must fructify. Without hurry, without delay,
without anxiety, you can but obey the decrees of God and follow the
immutable decision of fate. Such as I know you, I believe that you only
require the possession of Zelmi to be completely happy, and that you will
become one of the pillars of the Ottoman Empire."
Saying those words, Yusuf pressed me affectionately in his arms, and left
me by myself to avoid any answer I might be inclined to make. I went away
in such wonder at all I had just heard, that I found myself at the
Venetian Embassy without knowing how I had reached it. The baili thought
me very pensive, and asked whether anything was the matter with me, but I
did not feel disposed to gratify their curiosity. I found that Yusuf had
indeed spoken truly: his proposal was of such importance that it was my
duty, not only not to mention it to anyone, but even to abstain from
thinking it over, until my mind had recovered its calm sufficiently to
give me the assurance that no external consideration would weigh in the
balance and influence my decision. I had to silence all my passions;
prejudices, principles already formed, love, and even self-interest were
to remain in a state of complete inaction.
When I awoke the next morning I began to think the matter over, and I
soon discovered that, if I wanted to come to a decision, I ought not to
ponder over it, as the more I considered the less likely I should be to
decide. This was truly a case for the 'sequere Deum' of the Stoics.
I did not visit Yusuf for four days, and when I called on him on the
fifth day, we talked cheerfully without once mentioning his proposal,
although it was very evident that we were both thinking of it. We
remained thus for a fortnight, without ever alluding to the matter which
engrossed all our thoughts, but our silence was not caused by
dissimulation, or by any feeling contrary to our mutual esteem and
friendship; and one day Yusuf suggested that very likely I had
communicated his proposal to some wise friend, in order to obtain good
advice. I immediately assured him it was not so, and that in a matter of
so delicate a nature I thought I ought not to ask anybody's advice.
"I have abandoned myself to God, dear Yusuf, and, full of confidence in
Him, I feel certain that I shall decide for the best, whether I make up
my mind to become your son, or believe that I ought to remain what I am
now. In the mean time, my mind ponders over it day and night, whenever I
am quiet and feel myself composed and collected. When I come to a
decision, I will impart it to you alone, and from that moment you shall
have over me the authority of a father."
At these words the worthy Yusuf, his eyes wet with tears, placed his left
hand over my head, and the first two fingers of the right hand on my
forehead, saying:
"Continue to act in that way, my dear son, and be certain that you can
never act wrongly."
"But," I said to him, "one thing might happen, Zelmi might not accept
me."
"Have no anxiety about that. My daughter loves you; she, as well as my
wife and her nurse, sees you every time that we dine together, and she
listens to you with pleasure."
"Does she know that you are thinking of giving her to me as my wife?"
"She knows that I ardently wish you to become a true believer, so as to
enable me to link her destiny to yours."
"I am glad that your habits do not permit you to let me see her, because
she might dazzle me with her beauty, and then passion would soon have too
much weight in the scale; I could no longer flatter myself that my
decision had been taken in all the unbiased, purity of my soul."
Yusuf was highly delighted at hearing me speak in that manner, and I
spoke in perfect good faith. The mere idea of seeing Zelmi caused me to
shudder. I felt that, if I had fallen in love with her, I would have
become a Mussulman in order to possess her, and that I might soon have
repented such a step, for the religion of Mahomet presented to my eyes
and to my mind nothing but a disagreeable picture, as well for this life
as for a future one. As for wealth, I did not think it deserved the
immense sacrifice demanded from me. I could find equal wealth in Europe,
without stamping my forehead with the shameful brand of apostasy. I cared
deeply for the esteem of the persons of distinction who knew me, and did
not want to render myself unworthy of it. Besides, I felt an immense
desire to obtain fame amongst civilized and polite nations, either in the
fine arts or in literature, or in any other honourable profession, and I
could not reconcile myself to the idea of abandoning to my equals the
triumph which I might win if I lived amongst them. It seemed to me, and I
am still of the same opinion, that the decision of wearing the turban
befits only a Christian despairing of himself and at the end of his wits,
and fortunately I was lost not in that predicament. My greatest objection
was to spend a year in Adrianople to learn a language for which I did not
feel any liking, and which I should therefore have learned but
imperfectly. How could I, at my age, renounce the prerogative, so
pleasant to my vanity, of being reputed a fine talker? and I had secured
that reputation wherever I was known. Then I would often think that
Zelmi, the eighth wonder of creation in the eyes of her father might not
appear such in my eyes, and it would have been enough to make me
miserable, for Yusuf was likely to live twenty years longer, and I felt
that gratitude, as well as respect, would never have permitted me to give
that excellent man any cause for unhappiness by ceasing to shew myself a
devoted and faithful husband to his daughter. Such were my thoughts, and,
as Yusuf could not guess them, it was useless to make a confidant of him.
A few days afterwards, I dined with the Pacha Osman and met my Effendi
Ismail. He was very friendly to me, and I reciprocated his attentions,
though I paid no attention to the reproaches he addressed to me for not
having come to breakfast with him for such a long time. I could not
refuse to dine at his house with Bonneval, and he treated me to a very
pleasing sight; Neapolitan slaves, men and women, performed a pantomime
and some Calabrian dances. M. de Bonneval happened to mention the dance
called forlana, and Ismail expressing a great wish to know it, I told him
that I could give him that pleasure if I had a Venetian woman to dance
with and a fiddler who knew the time. I took a violin, and played the
forlana, but, even if the partner had been found, I could not play and
dance at the same time.
Ismail whispered a few words to one of his eunuchs, who went out of the
room and returned soon with some message that he delivered to him. The
effendi told me that he had found the partner I wanted, and I answered
that the musician could be had easily, if he would send a note to the
Venetian Embassy, which was done at once. The Bailo Dona sent one of his
men who played the violin well enough for dancing purposes. As soon as
the musician was ready, a door was thrown open, and a fine looking woman
came in, her face covered with a black velvet mask, such as we call
moretta in Venice. The appearance of that beautiful masked woman
surprised and delighted every one of the guests, for it was impossible to
imagine a more interesting object, not only on account of the beauty of
that part of the face which the mask left exposed, but also for the
elegance of her shape, the perfection of her figure, and the exquisite
taste displayed in her costume. The nymph took her place, I did the same,
and we danced the forlana six times without stopping.
I was in perspiration and out of breath, for the foylana is the most
violent of our national dances; but my beautiful partner stood near me
without betraying the slightest fatigue, and seemed to challenge me to a
new performance. At the round of the dance, which is the most difficult
step, she seemed to have wings. I was astounded, for I had never seen
anyone, even in Venice, dance the forlana so splendidly. After a few
minutes rest, rather ashamed of my feeling tired, I went up to her, and
said, 'Ancora sei, a poi basta, se non volete vedermi a morire.' She
would have answered me if she had been able, but she wore one of those
cruel masks which forbid speech. But a pressure of her hand which nobody
could see made me guess all I wanted to know. The moment we finished
dancing the eunuch opened the door, and my lovely partner disappeared.
Ismail could not thank me enough, but it was I who owed him my thanks,
for it was the only real pleasure which I enjoyed in Constantinople. I
asked him whether the lady was from Venice, but he only answered by a
significant smile.
"The worthy Ismail," said M. de Bonneval to me, as we were leaving the
house late in the evening, "has been to-day the dupe of his vanity, and I
have no doubt that he is sorry already for what he has done. To bring out
his beautiful slave to dance with you! According to the prejudices of
this country it is injurious to his dignity, for you are sure to have
kindled an amorous flame in the poor girl's breast. I would advise you to
be careful and to keep on your guard, because she will try to get up some
intrigue with you; but be prudent, for intrigues are always dangerous in
Turkey."
I promised to be prudent, but I did not keep my promise; for, three or
four days afterwards, an old slave woman met me in the street, and
offered to sell me for one piaster a tobacco-bag embroidered in gold; and
as she put it in my hand she contrived to make me feel that there was a
letter in the bag.
I observed that she tried to avoid the eyes of the janissary who was
walking behind me; I gave her one piaster, she left me, and I proceeded
toward Yusuf's house. He was not at home, and I went to his garden to
read the letter with perfect freedom. It was sealed and without any
address, and the slave might have made a mistake; but my curiosity was
excited to the highest pitch; I broke the seal, and found the following
note written in good enough Italian:
"Should you wish to see the person with whom you danced the forlana, take
a walk towards evening in the garden beyond the fountain, and contrive to
become acquainted with the old servant of the gardener by asking her for
some lemonade. You may perchance manage to see your partner in the
forlana without running any risk, even if you should happen to meet
Ismail; she is a native of Venice. Be careful not to mention this
invitation to any human being."
"I am not such a fool, my lovely countrywoman," I exclaimed, as if she
had been present, and put the letter in my pocket. But at that very
moment, a fine-looking elderly woman came out of a thicket, pronounced my
name, and enquired what I wanted and how I had seen her. I answered that
I had been speaking to the wind, not supposing that anyone could hear me,
and without any more preparation, she abruptly told me that she was very
glad of the opportunity of speaking with me, that she was from Rome, that
she had brought up Zelmi, and had taught her to sing and to play the
harp. She then praised highly the beauty and the excellent qualities of
her pupil, saying that, if I saw her, I would certainly fall in love with
her, and expressing how much she regretted that the law should not allow
it.
"She sees us at this very moment," she added, "from behind that green
window-blind, and we love you ever since Yusuf has informed us that you
may, perhaps, become Zelmi's husband."
"May I mention our conversation to Yusuf?" I enquired.
"No."
Her answering in the negative made me understand that, if I had pressed
her a little, she would have allowed me to see her lovely pupil, and
perhaps it was with that intention that she had contrived to speak to me,
but I felt great reluctance to do anything to displease my worthy host. I
had another reason of even greater importance: I was afraid of entering
an intricate maze in which the sight of a turban hovering over me made me
shudder.
Yusuf came home, and far from being angry when he saw me with the woman,
he remarked that I must have found much pleasure in conversing with a
native of Rome, and he congratulated me upon the delight I must have felt
in dancing with one of the beauties from the harem of the voluptuous
Ismail.
"Then it must be a pleasure seldom enjoyed, if it is so much talked of?"
"Very seldom indeed, for there is amongst us an invincible prejudice
against exposing our lovely women to the eyes of other men; but everyone
may do as he pleases in his own house: Ismail is a very worthy and a very
intelligent man."
"Is the lady with whom I danced known?"
"I believe not. She wore a mask, and everybody knows that Ismail
possesses half a dozen slaves of surpassing beauty."
I spent a pleasant day with Yusuf, and when I left him, I ordered my
janissary to take me to Ismail's. As I was known by his servants, they
allowed me to go in, and I proceeded to the spot described in the letter.
The eunuch came to me, informed me that his master was out, but that he
would be delighted to hear of my having taken a walk in the garden. I
told him that I would like a glass of lemonade, and he took me to the
summerhouse, where I recognized the old woman who had sold me the
tobacco-pouch. The eunuch told her to give me a glass of some liquid
which I found delicious, and would not allow me to give her any money. We
then walked together towards the fountain, but he told me abruptly that
we were to go back, as he saw three ladies to whom he pointed, adding
that, for the sake of decency, it was necessary to avoid them. I thanked
him for his attentions, left my compliments for Ismail, and went away not
dissatisfied with my first attempt, and with the hope of being more
fortunate another time.
The next morning I received a letter from Ismail inviting me to go
fishing with him on the following day, and stating that he intended to
enjoy the sport by moonlight. I immediately gave way to my suppositions,
and I went so far as to fancy that Ismail might be capable of arranging
an interview between me and the lovely Venetian. I did not mind his being
present. I begged permission of Chevalier Venier to stop out of the
palace for one night, but he granted it with the greatest difficulty,
because he was afraid of some love affair and of the results it might
have. I took care to calm his anxiety as much as I could, but without
acquainting him with all the circumstances of the case, for I thought I
was wise in being discreet.
I was exact to the appointed time, and Ismail received me with the utmost
cordiality, but I was surprised when I found myself alone with him in the
boat. We had two rowers and a man to steer; we took some fish, fried in
oil, and ate it in the summer-house. The moon shone brightly, and the
night was delightful. Alone with Ismail, and knowing his unnatural
tastes, I did not feel very comfortable for, in spite of what M. de
Bonneval had told me, I was afraid lest the Turk should take a fancy to
give me too great a proof of his friendship, and I did not relish our
tete-a-tete. But my fears were groundless.
"Let us leave this place quietly," said Ismail, "I have just heard a
slight noise which heralds something that will amuse us."
He dismissed his attendants, and took my hand, saying,
"Let us go to a small room, the key of which I luckily have with me, but
let us be careful not to make any noise. That room has a window
overlooking the fountain where I think that two or three of my beauties
have just gone to bathe. We will see them and enjoy a very pleasing
sight, for they do not imagine that anyone is looking at them. They know
that the place is forbidden to everybody except me."
We entered the room, we went to the window, and, the moon shining right
over the basin of the fountain, we saw three nymphs who, now swimming,
now standing or sitting on the marble steps, offered themselves to our
eyes in every possible position, and in all the attitudes of graceful
voluptuousness. Dear reader, I must not paint in too vivid colours the
details of that beautiful picture, but if nature has endowed you with an
ardent imagination and with equally ardent senses, you will easily
imagine the fearful havoc which that unique, wonderful, and enchanting
sight must have made upon my poor body.
A few days after that delightful fishing and bathing party by moonlight,
I called upon Yusuf early in the morning; as it was raining, I could not
go to the garden, and I went into the dining-room, in which I had never
seen anyone. The moment I entered the room, a charming female form rose,
covering her features with a thick veil which fell to the feet. A slave
was sitting near the window, doing some tambour-work, but she did not
move. I apologized, and turned to leave the room, but the lady stopped
me, observing, with a sweet voice, that Yusuf had commanded her to
entertain me before going out. She invited me to be seated, pointing to a
rich cushion placed upon two larger ones, and I obeyed, while, crossing
her legs, she sat down upon another cushion opposite to me. I thought I
was looking upon Zelmi, and fancied that Yusuf had made up his mind to
shew me that he was not less courageous than Ismail. Yet I was surprised,
for, by such a proceeding, he strongly contradicted his maxims, and ran
the risk of impairing the unbiased purity of my consent by throwing love
in the balance. But I had no fear of that, because, to become enamoured,
I should have required to see her face.
"I suppose," said the veiled beauty, "that you do not know who I am?"
"I could not guess, if I tried."
"I have been for the last five years the wife of your friend, and I am a
native of Scio. I was thirteen years of age when I became his wife."
I was greatly astonished to find that my Mussulman philosopher had gone
so far as to allow me to converse with his wife, but I felt more at ease
after I had received that information, and fancied that I might carry the
adventure further, but it would be necessary to see the lady's face, for
a finely-dressed body, the head of which is not seen, excites but feeble
desires. The fire lighted by amorous desires is like a fire of straw; the
moment it burns up it is near its end. I had before me a magnificent
appearance, but I could not see the soul of the image, for a thick gauze
concealed it from my hungry gaze. I could see arms as white as alabaster,
and hands like those of Alcina, 'dove ne nodo appasisce ne vena accede',
and my active imagination fancied that all the rest was in harmony with
those beautiful specimens, for the graceful folds of the muslin, leaving
the outline all its perfection, hid from me only the living satin of the
surface; there was no doubt that everything was lovely, but I wanted to
see, in the expression of her eyes, that all that my imagination created
had life and was endowed with feeling. The Oriental costume is a
beautiful varnish placed upon a porcelain vase to protect from the touch
the colours of the flowers and of the design, without lessening the
pleasure of the eyes. Yusuf's wife was not dressed like a sultana; she
wore the costume of Scio, with a short skirt which concealed neither the
perfection of the leg nor the round form of the thigh, nor the voluptuous
plump fall of the hips, nor the slender, well-made waist encompassed in a
splendid band embroidered in silver and covered with arabesques. Above
all those beauties, I could see the shape of two globes which Apelles
would have taken for the model of those of his lovely Venus, and the
rapid, inequal movement of which proved to me that those ravishing
hillocks were animated. The small valley left between them, and which my
eyes greedily feasted upon, seemed to me a lake of nectar, in which my
burning lips longed to quench their thirst with more ardour than they
would have drunk from the cup of the gods.
Enraptured, unable to control myself, I thrust my arm forward by a
movement almost independent of my will, and my hand, too audacious, was
on the point of lifting the hateful veil, but she prevented me by raising
herself quickly on tiptoe, upbraiding me at the same time for my
perfidious boldness, with a voice as commanding as her attitude.
"Dost thou deserve," she said, "Yusuf's friendship, when thou abusest the
sacred laws of hospitality by insulting his wife?"
"Madam, you must kindly forgive me, for I never had any intention to
insult you. In my country the lowest of men may fix his eyes upon the
face of a queen."
"Yes, but he cannot tear off her veil, if she chooses to wear it. Yusuf
shall avenge me."
The threat, and the tone in which it was pronounced, frightened me. I
threw myself at her feet, and succeeded in calming her anger.
"Take a seat," she said.
And she sat down herself, crossing her legs with so much freedom that I
caught a glimpse of charms which would have caused me to lose all control
over myself if the delightful sight had remained one moment longer
exposed to my eyes. I then saw that I had gone the wrong way to work, and
I felt vexed with myself; but it was too late.
"Art thou excited?" she said.
"How could I be otherwise," I answered, "when thou art scorching me with
an ardent fire?"
I had become more prudent, and I seized her hand without thinking any
more of her face.
"Here is my husband," she said, and Yusuf came into the room. We rose,
Yusuf embraced me, I complimented him, the slave left the room. Yusuf
thanked his wife for having entertained me, and offered her his arm to
take her to her own apartment. She took it, but when she reached the
door, she raised her veil, and kissing her husband she allowed me to see
her lovely face as if it had been done unwittingly. I followed her with
my eyes as long as I could, and Yusuf, coming back to me, said with a
laugh that his wife had offered to dine with us.
"I thought," I said to him, "that I had Zelmi before me."
"That would have been too much against our established rules. What I have
done is not much, but I do not know an honest man who would be bold
enough to bring his daughter into the presence of a stranger."
"I think your wife must be handsome; is she more beautiful than Zelmi?"
"My daughter's beauty is cheerful, sweet, and gentle; that of Sophia is
proud and haughty. She will be happy after my death. The man who will
marry her will find her a virgin."
I gave an account of my adventure to M. de Bonneval, somewhat
exaggerating the danger I had run in trying to raise the veil of the
handsome daughter of Scio.
"She was laughing at you," said the count, "and you ran no danger. She
felt very sorry, believe me, to have to deal with a novice like you. You
have been playing the comedy in the French fashion, when you ought to
have gone straight to the point. What on earth did you want to see her
nose for? She knew very well that she would have gained nothing by
allowing you to see her. You ought to have secured the essential point.
If I were young I would perhaps manage to give her a revenge, and to
punish my friend Yusuf. You have given that lovely woman a poor opinion
of Italian valour. The most reserved of Turkish women has no modesty
except on her face, and, with her veil over it, she knows to a certainty
that she will not blush at anything. I am certain that your beauty keeps
her face covered whenever our friend Yusuf wishes to joke with her."
"She is yet a virgin."
"Rather a difficult thing to admit, my good friend; but I know the
daughters of Scio; they have a talent for counterfeiting virginity."
Yusuf never paid me a similar compliment again, and he was quite right.
A few days after, I happened to be in the shop of an Armenian merchant,
looking at some beautiful goods, when Yusuf entered the shop and praised
my taste; but, although I had admired a great many things, I did not buy,
because I thought they were too dear. I said so to Yusuf, but he remarked
that they were, on the contrary, very cheap, and he purchased them all.
We parted company at the door, and the next morning I received all the
beautiful things he had bought; it was a delicate attention of my friend,
and to prevent my refusal of such a splendid present, he had enclosed a
note stating that, on my arrival in Corfu, he would let me know to whom
the goods were to be delivered. He had thus sent me gold and silver
filigrees from Damascus, portfolios, scarfs, belts, handkerchiefs and
pipes, the whole worth four or five hundred piasters. When I called to
thank him, I compelled him to confess that it was a present offered by
his friendship.
The day before my departure from Constantinople, the excellent man burst
into tears as I bade him adieu, and my grief was as great as his own. He
told me that, by not accepting the offer of his daughter's hand, I had so
strongly captivated his esteem that his feelings for me could not have
been warmer if I had become his son. When I went on board ship with the
Bailo Jean Dona, I found another case given to me by him, containing two
quintals of the best Mocha coffee, one hundred pounds of tobacco leaves,
two large flagons filled, one with Zabandi tobacco, the other with
camussa, and a magnificent pipe tube of jessamine wood, covered with gold
filigrane, which I sold in Corfu for one hundred sequins. I had not it in
my power to give my generous Turk any mark of my gratitude until I
reached Corfu, but there I did not fail to do so. I sold all his
beautiful presents, which made me the possessor of a small fortune.
Ismail gave me a letter for the Chevalier de Lezze, but I could not
forward it to him because I unfortunately lost it; he presented me with a
barrel of hydromel, which I turned likewise into money. M. de Bonneval
gave me a letter for Cardinal Acquaviva, which I sent to Rome with an
account of my journey, but his eminence did not think fit to acknowledge
the receipt of either. Bonneval made me a present of twelve bottles of
malmsey from Ragusa, and of twelve bottles of genuine scopolo--a great
rarity, with which I made a present in Corfu which proved very useful to
me, as the reader will discover.
The only foreign minister I saw much in Constantinople was the lord
marshal of Scotland, the celebrated Keith, who represented the King of
Prussia, and who, six years later was of great service to me in Paris.
We sailed from Constantinople in the beginning of September in the same
man-of-war which had brought us, and we reached Corfu in fourteen days.
The Bailo Dona did not land. He had with him eight splendid Turkish
horses; I saw two of them still alive in Gorizia in the year 1773.
As soon as I had landed with my luggage, and had engaged a rather mean
lodging, I presented myself to M. Andre Dolfin, the proveditore-generale,
who promised me again that I should soon be promoted to a lieutenancy.
After my visit to him, I called upon M. Camporese, my captain, and was
well received by him. My third visit was to the commander of galleases,
M. D---- R-----, to whom M. Antonio Dolfin, with whom I had travelled from
Venice to Corfu, had kindly recommended me. After a short conversation,
he asked me if I would remain with him with the title of adjutant. I did
not hesitate one instant, but accepted, saying how deeply honoured I felt
by his offer, and assuring him that he would always find me ready to
carry out his orders. He immediately had me taken to my room, and, the
next day, I found myself established in his house. I obtained from my
captain a French soldier to serve me, and I was well pleased when I found
that the man was a hairdresser by trade, and a great talker by nature,
for he could take care of my beautiful head of hair, and I wanted to
practise French conversation. He was a good-for-nothing fellow, a
drunkard and a debauchee, a peasant from Picardy, and he could hardly
read or write, but I did not mind all that; all I wanted from him was to
serve me, and to talk to me, and his French was pretty good. He was an
amusing rogue, knowing by heart a quantity of erotic songs and of smutty
stories which he could tell in the most laughable manner.
When I had sold my stock of goods from Constantinople (except the wines),
I found myself the owner of nearly five hundred sequins. I redeemed all
the articles which I had pledged in the hands of Jews, and turned into
money everything of which I had no need. I was determined not to play any
longer as a dupe, but to secure in gambling all the advantages which a
prudent young man could obtain without sullying his honour.
I must now make my readers acquainted with the sort of life we were at
that time leading in Corfu. As to the city itself, I will not describe
it, because there are already many descriptions better than the one I
could offer in these pages.
We had then in Corfu the 'proveditore-generale' who had sovereign
authority, and lived in a style of great magnificence. That post was then
filled by M. Andre Dolfin, a man sixty years of age, strict, headstrong,
and ignorant. He no longer cared for women, but liked to be courted by
them. He received every evening, and the supper-table was always laid for
twenty-four persons.
We had three field-officers of the marines who did duty on the galleys,
and three field-officers for the troops of the line on board the
men-of-war. Each galeass had a captain called 'sopracomito', and we had
ten of those captains; we had likewise ten commanders, one for each
man-of-war, including three 'capi di mare', or admirals. They all
belonged to the nobility of Venice. Ten young Venetian noblemen, from
twenty to twenty-two years of age, were at Corfu as midshipmen in the
navy. We had, besides, about a dozen civil clerks in the police of the
island, or in the administration of justice, entitled 'grandi offciali di
terra'. Those who were blessed with handsome wives had the pleasure of
seeing their houses very much frequented by admirers who aspired to win
the favours of the ladies, but there was not much heroic love-making,
perhaps for the reason that there were then in Corfu many Aspasias whose
favours could be had for money. Gambling was allowed everywhere, and that
all absorbing passion was very prejudicial to the emotions of the heart.
The lady who was then most eminent for beauty and gallantry was Madame
F----. Her husband, captain of a galley, had come to Corfu with her the
year before, and madam had greatly astonished all the naval officers.
Thinking that she had the privilege of the choice, she had given the
preference to M. D---- R-----, and had dismissed all the suitors who
presented themselves. M. F---- had married her on the very day she had
left the convent; she was only seventeen years of age then, and he had
brought her on board his galley immediately after the marriage ceremony.
I saw her for the first time at the dinner-table on the very day of my
installation at M. D---- R-----'s, and she made a great impression upon
me. I thought I was gazing at a supernatural being, so infinitely above
all the women I had ever seen, that it seemed impossible to fall in love
with her She appeared to me of a nature different and so greatly superior
to mine that I did not see the possibility of rising up to her. I even
went so far as to persuade myself that nothing but a Platonic friendship
could exist between her and M. D---- R-----, and that M. F---- was quite
right now not to shew any jealousy. Yet, that M. F---- was a perfect fool,
and certainly not worthy of such a woman. The impression made upon me by
Madame F---- was too ridiculous to last long, and the nature of it soon
changed, but in a novel manner, at least as far as I was concerned.
My position as adjutant procured me the honour of dining at M.
D---- R-----'s table, but nothing more. The other adjutant, like me, an
ensign in the army, but the greatest fool I had ever seen, shared that
honour with me. We were not, however, considered as guests, for nobody
ever spoke to us, and, what is more, no one ever honoured us with a look.
It used to put me in a rage. I knew very well that people acted in that
manner through no real contempt for us, but it went very hard with me. I
could very well understand that my colleague, Sanzonio, should not
complain of such treatment, because he was a blockhead, but I did not
feel disposed to allow myself to be put on a par with him. At the end of
eight or ten days, Madame F----, not having con descended to cast one
glance upon my person, began to appear disagreeable to me. I felt piqued,
vexed, provoked, and the more so because I could not suppose that the
lady acted in that manner wilfully and purposely; I would have been
highly pleased if there had been premeditation on her part. I felt
satisfied that I was a nobody in her estimation, and as I was conscious
of being somebody, I wanted her to know it. At last a circumstance
offered itself in which, thinking that she could address me, she was
compelled to look at me.
M. D---- R---- having observed that a very, very fine turkey had been
placed before me, told me to carve it, and I immediately went to work. I
was not a skilful carver, and Madame F----, laughing at my want of
dexterity, told me that, if I had not been certain of performing my task
with credit to myself, I ought not to have undertaken it. Full of
confusion, and unable to answer her as my anger prompted, I sat down,
with my heart overflowing with spite and hatred against her. To crown my
rage, having one day to address me, she asked me what was my name. She
had seen me every day for a fortnight, ever since I had been the adjutant
of M. D---- R----; therefore she ought to have known my name. Besides, I
had been very lucky at the gaming-table, and I had become rather famous
in Corfu. My anger against Madame F was at its height.
I had placed my money in the hands of a certain Maroli, a major in the
army and a gamester by profession, who held the faro bank at the
coffee-house. We were partners; I helped him when he dealt, and he
rendered me the same office when I held the cards, which was often the
case, because he was not generally liked. He used to hold the cards in a
way which frightened the punters; my manners were very different, and I
was very lucky. Besides I was easy and smiling when my bank was losing,
and I won without shewing any avidity, and that is a manner which always
pleases the punters.
This Maroli was the man who had won all my money during my first stay in
Corfu, and finding, when I returned, that I was resolved not to be duped
any more, he judged me worthy of sharing the wise maxims without which
gambling must necessarily ruin all those who meddle with it. But as
Maroli had won my confidence only to a very slight extent, I was very
careful. We made up our accounts every night, as soon as playing was
over; the cashier kept the capital of the bank, the winnings were
divided, and each took his share away. Lucky at play, enjoying good
health and the friendship of my comrades, who, whenever the opportunity
offered, always found me generous and ready to serve them, I would have
been well pleased with my position if I had been a little more considered
at the table of M. D---- R-----, and treated with less haughtiness by his
lady who, without any reason, seemed disposed to humiliate me. My
self-love was deeply hurt, I hated her, and, with such a disposition of
mind, the more I admired the perfection of her charms, the more I found
her deficient in wit and intelligence. She might have made the conquest
of my heart without bestowing hers upon me, for all I wanted was not to
be compelled to hate her, and I could not understand what pleasure it
could be for her to be detested, while with only a little kindness she
could have been adored. I could not ascribe her manner to a spirit of
coquetry, for I had never given her the slightest proof of the opinion I
entertained of her beauty, and I could not therefore attribute her
behaviour to a passion which might have rendered me disagreeable in her
eyes; M. D---- R---- seemed to interest her only in a very slight manner,
and as to her husband, she cared nothing for him. In short, that charming
woman made me very unhappy, and I was angry with myself because I felt
that, if it had not been for the manner in which she treated me, I would
not have thought of her, and my vexation was increased by the feeling of
hatred entertained by my heart against her, a feeling which until then I
had never known to exist in me, and the discovery of which overwhelmed me
with confusion.
One day a gentleman handed me, as we were leaving the dinner-table, a
roll of gold that he had lost upon trust; Madame F---- saw it, and she
said to me very abruptly,--
"What do you do with your money?"
"I keep it, madam, as a provision against possible losses."
"But as you do not indulge in any expense it would be better for you not
to play; it is time wasted."
"Time given to pleasure is never time lost, madam; the only time which a
young man wastes is that which is consumed in weariness, because when he
is a prey to ennui he is likely to fall a prey to love, and to be
despised by the object of his affection."
"Very likely; but you amuse yourself with hoarding up your money, and
shew yourself to be a miser, and a miser is not less contemptible than a
man in love. Why do you not buy yourself a pair of gloves?"
You may be sure that at these words the laughter was all on her side, and
my vexation was all the greater because I could not deny that she was
quite right. It was the adjutant's business to give the ladies an arm to
their carriages, and it was not proper to fulfil that duty without
gloves. I felt mortified, and the reproach of avarice hurt me deeply. I
would a thousand times rather that she had laid my error to a want of
education; and yet, so full of contradictions is the human heart, instead
of making amends by adopting an appearance of elegance which the state of
my finances enabled me to keep up, I did not purchase any gloves, and I
resolved to avoid her and to abandon her to the insipid and dull
gallantry of Sanzonio, who sported gloves, but whose teeth were rotten,
whose breath was putrid, who wore a wig, and whose face seemed to be
covered with shrivelled yellow parchment.
I spent my days in a continual state of rage and spite, and the most
absurd part of it all was that I felt unhappy because I could not control
my hatred for that woman whom, in good conscience, I could not find
guilty of anything. She had for me neither love nor dislike, which was
quite natural; but being young and disposed to enjoy myself I had become,
without any wilful malice on her part, an eye-sore to her and the butt of
her bantering jokes, which my sensitiveness exaggerated greatly. For all
that I had an ardent wish to punish her and to make her repent. I thought
of nothing else. At one time I would think of devoting all my
intelligence and all my money to kindling an amorous passion in her
heart, and then to revenge myself by treating her with contempt. But I
soon realized the impracticability of such a plan, for even supposing
that I should succeed in finding my way to her heart, was I the man to
resist my own success with such a woman? I certainly could not flatter
myself that I was so strong-minded. But I was the pet child of fortune,
and my position was suddenly altered.
M. D---- R---- having sent me with dispatches to M. de Condulmer, captain
of a 'galeazza', I had to wait until midnight to deliver them, and when I
returned I found that M. D---- R---- had retired to his apartment for the
night. As soon as he was visible in the morning I went to him to render
an account of my mission. I had been with him only a few minutes when his
valet brought a letter saying that Madame F----'s adjutant was waiting
for an answer. M. D---- R---- read the note, tore it to pieces, and in his
excitement stamped with his foot upon the fragments. He walked up and
down the room for a little time, then wrote an answer and rang for the
adjutant, to whom he delivered it. He then recovered his usual composure,
concluded the perusal of the dispatch sent by M. de Condulmer, and told
me to write a letter. He was looking it over when the valet came in,
telling me that Madame F---- desired to see me. M. D---- R---- told me that
he did not require my services any more for the present, and that I might
go. I left the room, but I had not gone ten yards when he called me back
to remind me that my duty was to know nothing; I begged to assure him
that I was well aware of that. I ran to Madame F-----'s house, very eager
to know what she wanted with me. I was introduced immediately, and I was
greatly surprised to find her sitting up in bed, her countenance flushed
and excited, and her eyes red from the tears she had evidently just been
shedding. My heart was beating quickly, yet I did not know why.
"Pray be seated," she said, "I wish to speak with you."
"Madam," I answered, "I am not worthy of so great a favour, and I have
not yet done anything to deserve it; allow me to remain standing."
She very likely recollected that she had never been so polite before, and
dared not press me any further. She collected her thoughts for an instant
or two, and said to me:
"Last evening my husband lost two hundred sequins upon trust at your faro
bank; he believed that amount to be in my hands, and I must therefore
give it to him immediately, as he is bound in honour to pay his losses
to-day. Unfortunately I have disposed of the money, and I am in great
trouble. I thought you might tell Maroli that I have paid you the amount
lost by my husband. Here is a ring of some value; keep it until the 1st
of January, when I will return the two hundred sequins for which I am
ready to give you my note of hand."
"I accept the note of hand, madam, but I cannot consent to deprive you of
your ring. I must also tell you that M. F---- must go himself to the bank,
or send some one there, to redeem his debt. Within ten minutes you shall
have the amount you require."
I left her without waiting for an answer, and I returned within a few
minutes with the two hundred ducats, which I handed to her, and putting
in my pocket her note of hand which she had just written, I bowed to take
my leave, but she addressed to me these precious words:
"I believe, sir, that if I had known that you were so well disposed to
oblige me, I could not have made up my mind to beg that service from
you."
"Well, madam, for the future be quite certain that there is not a man in
the world capable of refusing you such an insignificant service whenever
you will condescend to ask for it in person."
"What you say is very complimentary, but I trust never to find myself
again under the necessity of making such a cruel experiment."
I left Madame F-----, thinking of the shrewdness of her answer. She had
not told me that I was mistaken, as I had expected she would, for that
would have caused her some humiliation: she knew that I was with M.
D---- R---- when the adjutant had brought her letter, and she could not
doubt that I was aware of the refusal she had met with. The fact of her
not mentioning it proved to me that she was jealous of her own dignity;
it afforded me great gratification, and I thought her worthy of
adoration. I saw clearly that she could have no love for M. D---- R-----,
and that she was not loved by him, and the discovery made me leap for
joy. From that moment I felt I was in love with her, and I conceived the
hope that she might return my ardent affection.
The first thing I did, when I returned to my room, was to cross out with
ink every word of her note of hand, except her name, in such a manner
that it was impossible to guess at the contents, and putting it in an
envelope carefully sealed, I deposited it in the hands of a public notary
who stated, in the receipt he gave me of the envelope, that he would
deliver it only to Madame F-----, whenever she should request its
delivery.
The same evening M. F---- came to the bank, paid me, played with cash in
hand, and won some fifty ducats. What caused me the greatest surprise was
that M. D---- R---- continued to be very gracious to Madame F----, and
that she remained exactly the same towards him as she used to be before.
He did not even enquire what she wanted when she had sent for me. But if
she did not seem to change her manner towards my master, it was a very
different case with me, for whenever she was opposite to me at dinner,
she often addressed herself to me, and she thus gave me many
opportunities of shewing my education and my wit in amusing stories or in
remarks, in which I took care to blend instruction with witty jests. At
that time F---- had the great talent of making others laugh while I kept a
serious countenance myself. I had learnt that accomplishment from M. de
Malipiero, my first master in the art of good breeding, who used to say
to me,--
"If you wish your audience to cry, you must shed tears yourself, but if
you wish to make them laugh you must contrive to look as serious as a
judge."
In everything I did, in every word I uttered, in the presence of Madame
F----, the only aim I had was to please her, but I did not wish her to
suppose so, and I never looked at her unless she spoke to me. I wanted to
force her curiosity, to compel her to suspect nay, to guess my secret,
but without giving her any advantage over me: it was necessary for me to
proceed by slow degrees. In the mean time, and until I should have a
greater happiness, I was glad to see that my money, that magic talisman,
and my good conduct, obtained me a consideration much greater than I
could have hoped to obtain either through my position, or from my age, or
in consequence of any talent I might have shewn in the profession I had
adopted.
Towards the middle of November, the soldier who acted as my servant was
attacked with inflammation of the chest; I gave notice of it to the
captain of his company, and he was carried to the hospital. On the fourth
day I was told that he would not recover, and that he had received the
last sacraments; in the evening I happened to be at his captain's when
the priest who had attended him came to announce his death, and to
deliver a small parcel which the dying man had entrusted to him to be
given up to his captain only after his death. The parcel contained a
brass seal engraved with ducal arms, a certificate of baptism, and a
sheet of paper covered with writing in French. Captain Camporese, who
only spoke Italian, begged me to translate the paper, the contents of
which were as follows:
"My will is that this paper, which I have written and signed with my own
hand, shall be delivered to my captain only after I have breathed my
last: until then, my confessor shall not make any use of it, for I
entrust it to his hands only under the seal of confession. I entreat my
captain to have me buried in a vault from which my body can be exhumed in
case the duke, my father, should request its exhumation. I entreat him
likewise to forward my certificate of baptism, the seal with the armorial
bearings of my family, and a legal certificate of my birth to the French
ambassador in Venice, who will send the whole to the duke, my father, my
rights of primogeniture belonging, after my demise, to the prince, my
brother. In faith of which I have signed and sealed these presents:
Francois VI. Charles Philippe Louis Foucaud, Prince de la Rochefoucault."
The certificate of baptism, delivered at St. Sulpice gave the same names,
and the title of the father was Francois V. The name of the mother was
Gabrielle du Plessis.
As I was concluding my translation I could not help bursting into loud
laughter; but the foolish captain, who thought my mirth out of
place, hurried out to render an account of the affair to the
proveditore-generale, and I went to the coffee-house, not doubting for
one moment that his excellency would laugh at the captain, and that the
post-mortem buffoonery would greatly amuse the whole of Corfu.
I had known in Rome, at Cardinal Acquaviva's, the Abbe de Liancourt,
great-grandson of Charles, whose sister, Gabrielle du Plessis, had been
the wife of Francois V., but that dated from the beginning of the last
century. I had made a copy from the records of the cardinal of the
account of certain circumstances which the Abbe de Liancourt wanted to
communicate to the court of Spain, and in which there were a great many
particulars respecting the house of Du Plessis. I thought at the same
time that the singular imposture of La Valeur (such was the name by which
my soldier generally went) was absurd and without a motive, since it was
to be known only after his death, and could not therefore prove of any
advantage to him.
Half an hour afterwards, as I was opening a fresh pack of cards, the
Adjutant Sanzonio came in, and told the important news in the most
serious manner. He had just come from the office of the proveditore,
where Captain Camporese had run in the utmost hurry to deposit in the
hands of his excellency the seal and the papers of the deceased prince.
His excellency had immediately issued his orders for the burial of the
prince in a vault with all the honours due to his exalted rank. Another
half hour passed, and M. Minolto, adjutant of the proveditore-generale,
came to inform me that his excellency wanted to see me. I passed the
cards to Major Maroli, and went to his excellency's house. I found him at
supper with several ladies, three or four naval commanders, Madame F----,
and M. D---- R-----.
"So, your servant was a prince!" said the old general to me.
"Your excellency, I never would have suspected it, and even now that he
is dead I do not believe it."
"Why? He is dead, but he was not insane. You have seen his armorial
bearings, his certificate of baptism, as well as what he wrote with his
own hand. When a man is so near death, he does not fancy practical
jokes."
"If your excellency is satisfied of the truth of the story, my duty is to
remain silent."
"The story cannot be anything but true, and your doubts surprise me."
"I doubt, monsignor, because I happen to have positive information
respecting the families of La Rochefoucault and Du Plessis. Besides, I
have seen too much of the man. He was not a madman, but he certainly was
an extravagant jester. I have never seen him write, and he has told me
himself a score of times that he had never learned."
"The paper he has written proves the contrary. His arms have the ducal
bearings; but perhaps you are not aware that M. de la Rochefoucault is a
duke and peer of the French realm?"
"I beg your eminence's pardon; I know all about it; I know even more, for
I know that Francois VI. married a daughter of the house of Vivonne."
"You know nothing."
When I heard this remark, as foolish as it was rude, I resolved on
remaining silent, and it was with some pleasure that I observed the joy
felt by all the male guests at what they thought an insult and a blow to
my vanity. An officer remarked that the deceased was a fine man, a witty
man, and had shewn wonderful cleverness in keeping up his assumed
character so well that no one ever had the faintest suspicion of what he
really was. A lady said that, if she had known him, she would have been
certain to find him out. Another flatterer, belonging to that mean,
contemptible race always to be found near the great and wealthy of the
earth, assured us that the late prince had always shewn himself cheerful,
amiable, obliging, devoid of haughtiness towards his comrades, and that
he used to sing beautifully. "He was only twenty-five years of age," said
Madame Sagredo, looking me full in the face, "and if he was endowed with
all those qualities, you must have discovered them."
"I can only give you, madam, a true likeness of the man, such as I have
seen him. Always gay, often even to folly, for he could throw a
somersault beautifully; singing songs of a very erotic kind, full of
stories and of popular tales of magic, miracles, and ghosts, and a
thousand marvellous feats which common-sense refused to believe, and
which, for that very reason, provoked the mirth of his hearers. His
faults were that he was drunken, dirty, quarrelsome, dissolute, and
somewhat of a cheat. I put up with all his deficiences, because he
dressed my hair to my taste, and his constant chattering offered me the
opportunity of practising the colloquial French which cannot be acquired
from books. He has always assured me that he was born in Picardy, the son
of a common peasant, and that he had deserted from the French army. He
may have deceived me when he said that he could not write."
Just then Camporese rushed into the room, and announced that La Veleur
was yet breathing. The general, looking at me significantly, said that he
would be delighted if the man could be saved.
"And I likewise, monsignor, but his confessor will certainly kill him
to-night."
"Why should the father confessor kill him?"
"To escape the galleys to which your excellency would not fail to send
him for having violated the secrecy of the confessional."
Everybody burst out laughing, but the foolish old general knitted his
brows. The guests retired soon afterwards, and Madame F-----, whom I had
preceded to the carriage, M. D---- R---- having offered her his arm,
invited me to get in with her, saying that it was raining. It was the
first time that she had bestowed such an honour upon me.
"I am of your opinion about that prince," she said, "but you have
incurred the displeasure of the proveditore."
"I am very sorry, madam, but it could not have been avoided, for I cannot
help speaking the truth openly."
"You might have spared him," remarked M. D---- R-----, "the cutting jest
of the confessor killing the false prince."
"You are right, sir, but I thought it would make him laugh as well as it
made madam and your excellency. In conversation people generally do not
object to a witty jest causing merriment and laughter."
"True; only those who have not wit enough to laugh do not like the jest."
"I bet a hundred sequins that the madman will recover, and that, having
the general on his side, he will reap all the advantages of his
imposture. I long to see him treated as a prince, and making love to
Madame Sagredo."
Hearing the last words, Madame F-----, who did not like Madame Sagredo,
laughed heartily, and, as we were getting out of the carriage, M.
D---- R---- invited me to accompany them upstairs. He was in the habit of
spending half an hour alone with her at her own house when they had taken
supper together with the general, for her husband never shewed himself.
It was the first time that the happy couple admitted a third person to
their tete-a-tete. I felt very proud of the compliment thus paid to me,
and I thought it might have important results for me. My satisfaction,
which I concealed as well as I could, did not prevent me from being very
gay and from giving a comic turn to every subject brought forward by the
lady or by her lord.
We kept up our pleasant trio for four hours; and returned to the mansion
of M. D---- R---- only at two o'clock in the morning. It was during that
night that Madame F---- and M. D---- R---- really made my acquaintance.
Madame F---- told him that she had never laughed so much, and that she had
never imagined that a conversation, in appearance so simple, could afford
so much pleasure and merriment. On my side, I discovered in her so much
wit and cheerfulness, that I became deeply enamoured, and went to bed
fully satisfied that, in the future, I could not keep up the show of
indifference which I had so far assumed towards her.
When I woke up the next morning, I heard from the new soldier who served
me that La Valeur was better, and had been pronounced out of danger by
the physician. At dinner the conversation fell upon him, but I did not
open my lips. Two days afterwards, the general gave orders to have him
removed to a comfortable apartment, sent him a servant, clothed him, and
the over-credulous proveditore having paid him a visit, all the naval
commanders and officers thought it their duty to imitate him, and to
follow his example: the general curiosity was excited, there was a rush
to see the new prince. M. D---- R---- followed his leaders, and Madame
Sagredo, having set the ladies in motion, they all called upon him, with
the exception of Madame F----, who told me laughingly that she would not
pay him a visit unless I would consent to introduce her. I begged to be
excused. The knave was called your highness, and the wonderful prince
styled Madame Sagredo his princess. M. D---- R---- tried to persuade me to
call upon the rogue, but I told him that I had said too much, and that I
was neither courageous nor mean enough to retract my words. The whole
imposture would soon have been discovered if anyone had possessed a
peerage, but it just happened that there was not a copy in Corfu, and the
French consul, a fat blockhead, like many other consuls, knew nothing of
family trees. The madcap La Valeur began to walk out a week after his
metamorphosis into a prince. He dined and had supper every day with the
general, and every evening he was present at the reception, during which,
owing to his intemperance, he always went fast asleep. Yet, there were
two reasons which kept up the belief of his being a prince: the first was
that he did not seem afraid of the news expected from Venice, where the
proveditore had written immediately after the discovery; the second was
that he solicited from the bishop the punishment of the priest who had
betrayed his secret by violating the seal of confession. The poor priest
had already been sent to prison, and the proveditore had not the courage
to defend him. The new prince had been invited to dinner by all the naval
officers, but M. D---- R---- had not made up his mind to imitate them so
far, because Madame F---- had clearly warned him that she would dine at
her own house on the day he was invited. I had likewise respectfully
intimated that, on the same occasion, I would take the liberty of dining
somewhere else.
I met the prince one day as I was coming out of the old fortress leading
to the esplanade. He stopped, and reproached me for not having called
upon him. I laughed, and advised him to think of his safety before the
arrival of the news which would expose all the imposture, in which case
the proveditore was certain to treat him very severely. I offered to help
him in his flight from Corfu, and to get a Neapolitan captain, whose ship
was ready to sail, to conceal him on board; but the fool, instead of
accepting my offer, loaded me with insults.
He was courting Madame Sagredo, who treated him very well, feeling proud
that a French prince should have given her the preference over all the
other ladies. One day that she was dining in great ceremony at M.
D---- R-----'s house, she asked me why I had advised the prince to run
away.
"I have it from his own lips," she added, "and he cannot make out your
obstinacy in believing him an impostor."
"I have given him that advice, madam, because my heart is good, and my
judgment sane."
"Then we are all of us as many fools, the proveditore included?"
"That deduction would not be right, madam. An opinion contrary to that of
another does not necessarily make a fool of the person who entertains it.
It might possibly turn out, in ten or twelve days, that I have been
entirely mistaken myself, but I should not consider myself a fool in
consequence. In the mean time, a lady of your intelligence must have
discovered whether that man is a peasant or a prince by his education and
manners. For instance, does he dance well?"
"He does not know one step, but he is the first to laugh about it; he
says he never would learn dancing."
"Does he behave well at table?"
"Well, he doesn't stand on ceremony. He does not want his plate to be
changed, he helps himself with his spoon out of the dishes; he does not
know how to check an eructation or a yawn, and if he feels tired he
leaves the table. It is evident that he has been very badly brought up."
"And yet he is very pleasant, I suppose. Is he clean and neat?"
"No, but then he is not yet well provided with linen."
"I am told that he is very sober."
"You are joking. He leaves the table intoxicated twice a day, but he
ought to be pitied, for he cannot drink wine and keep his head clear.
Then he swears like a trooper, and we all laugh, but he never takes
offence."
"Is he witty?"
"He has a wonderful memory, for he tells us new stories every day."
"Does he speak of his family?"
"Very often of his mother, whom he loved tenderly. She was a Du Plessis."
"If his mother is still alive she must be a hundred and fifty years old."
"What nonsense!"
"Not at all; she was married in the days of Marie de Medicis."
"But the certificate of baptism names the prince's mother, and his
seal--"
"Does he know what armorial bearings he has on that seal?"
"Do you doubt it?"
"Very strongly, or rather I am certain that he knows nothing about it."
We left the table, and the prince was announced. He came in, and Madame
Sagredo lost no time in saying to him, "Prince, here is M. Casanova; he
pretends that you do not know your own armorial bearings." Hearing these
words, he came up to me, sneering, called me a coward, and gave me a
smack on the face which almost stunned me. I left the room very slowly,
not forgetting my hat and my cane, and went downstairs, while M.
D---- R---- was loudly ordering the servants to throw the madman out of
the window.
I left the palace and went to the esplanade in order to wait for him. The
moment I saw him, I ran to meet him, and I beat him so violently with my
cane that one blow alone ought to have killed him. He drew back, and
found himself brought to a stand between two walls, where, to avoid being
beaten to death, his only resource was to draw his sword, but the
cowardly scoundrel did not even think of his weapon, and I left him, on
the ground, covered with blood. The crowd formed a line for me to pass,
and I went to the coffee-house, where I drank a glass of lemonade,
without sugar to precipitate the bitter saliva which rage had brought up
from my stomach. In a few minutes, I found myself surrounded by all the
young officers of the garrison, who joined in the general opinion that I
ought to have killed him, and they at last annoyed me, for it was not my
fault if I had not done so, and I would certainly have taken his life if
he had drawn his sword.
I had been in the coffee-house for half an hour when the general's
adjutant came to tell me that his excellency ordered me to put myself
under arrest on board the bastarda, a galley on which the prisoners had
their legs in irons like galley slaves. The dose was rather too strong to
be swallowed, and I did not feel disposed to submit to it. "Very good,
adjutant," I replied, "it shall be done." He went away, and I left the
coffee-house a moment after him, but when I reached the end of the
street, instead of going towards the esplanade, I proceeded quickly
towards the sea. I walked along the beach for a quarter of an hour, and
finding a boat empty, but with a pair of oars, I got in her, and
unfastening her, I rowed as hard as I could towards a large caicco,
sailing against the wind with six oars. As soon as I had come up to her,
I went on board and asked the carabouchiri to sail before the wind and to
take me to a large wherry which could be seen at some distance, going
towards Vido Rock. I abandoned the row-boat, and, after paying the master
of the caicco generously, I got into the wherry, made a bargain with the
skipper who unfurled three sails, and in less than two hours we were
fifteen miles away from Corfu. The wind having died away, I made the men
row against the current, but towards midnight they told me that they
could not row any longer, they were worn out with fatigue. They advised
me to sleep until day-break, but I refused to do so, and for a trifle I
got them to put me on shore, without asking where I was, in order not to
raise their suspicions. It was enough for me to know that I was at a
distance of twenty miles from Corfu, and in a place where nobody could
imagine me to be. The moon was shining, and I saw a church with a house
adjoining, a long barn opened on both sides, a plain of about one hundred
yards confined by hills, and nothing more. I found some straw in the
barn, and laying myself down, I slept until day-break in spite of the
cold. It was the 1st of December, and although the climate is very mild
in Corfu I felt benumbed when I awoke, as I had no cloak over my thin
uniform.
The bells begin to toll, and I proceed towards the church. The
long-bearded papa, surprised at my sudden apparition, enquires whether I
am Romeo (a Greek); I tell him that I am Fragico (Italian), but he turns
his back upon me and goes into his house, the door of which he shuts
without condescending to listen to me.
I then turned towards the sea, and saw a boat leaving a tartan lying at
anchor within one hundred yards of the island; the boat had four oars and
landed her passengers. I come up to them and meet a good-looking Greek, a
woman and a young boy ten or twelve years old. Addressing myself to the
Greek, I ask him whether he has had a pleasant passage, and where he
comes from. He answers in Italian that he has sailed from Cephalonia with
his wife and his son, and that he is bound for Venice; he had landed to
hear mass at the Church of Our Lady of Casopo, in order to ascertain
whether his father-in-law was still alive, and whether he would pay the
amount he had promised him for the dowry of his wife.
"But how can you find it out?"
"The Papa Deldimopulo will tell me; he will communicate faithfully the
oracle of the Holy Virgin." I say nothing and follow him into the church;
he speaks to the priest, and gives him some money. The papa says the
mass, enters the sanctum sanctorum, comes out again in a quarter of an
hour, ascends the steps of the altar, turns towards his audience, and,
after meditating for a minute and stroking his long beard, he delivers
his oracle in a dozen words. The Greek of Cephalonia, who certainly could
not boast of being as wise as Ulysses, appears very well pleased, and
gives more money to the impostor. We leave the church, and I ask him
whether he feels satisfied with the oracle.
"Oh! quite satisfied. I know now that my father-in-law is alive, and that
he will pay me the dowry, if I consent to leave my child with him. I am
aware that it is his fancy and I will give him the boy."
"Does the papa know you?"
"No; he is not even acquainted with my name."
"Have you any fine goods on board your tartan?"
"Yes; come and breakfast with me; you can see all I have."
"Very willingly."
Delighted at hearing that oracles were not yet defunct, and satisfied
that they will endure as long as there are in this world simple-minded
men and deceitful, cunning priests, I follow the good man, who took me to
his tartan and treated me to an excellent breakfast. His cargo consisted
of cotton, linen, currants, oil, and excellent wines. He had also a stock
of night-caps, stockings, cloaks in the Eastern fashion, umbrellas, and
sea biscuits, of which I was very fond; in those days I had thirty teeth,
and it would have been difficult to find a finer set. Alas! I have but
two left now, the other twenty-eight are gone with other tools quite as
precious; but 'dum vita super est, bene est.' I bought a small stock of
everything he had except cotton, for which I had no use, and without
discussing his price I paid him the thirty-five or forty sequins he
demanded, and seeing my generosity he made me a present of six beautiful
botargoes.
I happened during our conversation to praise the wine of Xante, which he
called generoydes, and he told me that if I would accompany him to Venice
he would give me a bottle of that wine every day including the
quarantine. Always superstitious, I was on the point of accepting, and
that for the most foolish reason-namely, that there would be no
premeditation in that strange resolution, and it might be the impulse of
fate. Such was my nature in those days; alas; it is very different now.
They say that it is because wisdom comes with old age, but I cannot
reconcile myself to cherish the effect of a most unpleasant cause.
Just as I was going to accept his offer he proposes to sell me a very
fine gun for ten sequins, saying that in Corfu anyone would be glad of it
for twelve. The word Corfu upsets all my ideas on the spot! I fancy I
hear the voice of my genius telling me to go back to that city. I
purchase the gun for the ten sequins, and my honest Cephalonian, admiring
my fair dealing, gives me, over and above our bargain, a beautiful
Turkish pouch well filled with powder and shot. Carrying my gun, with a
good warm cloak over my uniform and with a large bag containing all my
purchases, I take leave of the worthy Greek, and am landed on the shore,
determined on obtaining a lodging from the cheating papa, by fair means
or foul. The good wine of my friend the Cephalonian had excited me just
enough to make me carry my determination into immediate execution. I had
in my pockets four or five hundred copper gazzette, which were very
heavy, but which I had procured from the Greek, foreseeing that I might
want them during my stay on the island.
I store my bag away in the barn and I proceed, gun in hand, towards the
house of the priest; the church was closed.
I must give my readers some idea of the state I was in at that moment. I
was quietly hopeless. The three or four hundred sequins I had with me did
not prevent me from thinking that I was not in very great security on the
island; I could not remain long, I would soon be found out, and, being
guilty of desertion, I should be treated accordingly. I did not know what
to do, and that is always an unpleasant predicament. It would be absurd
for me to return to Corfu of my own accord; my flight would then be
useless, and I should be thought a fool, for my return would be a proof
of cowardice or stupidity; yet I did not feel the courage to desert
altogether. The chief cause of my decision was not that I had a thousand
sequins in the hands of the faro banker, or my well-stocked wardrobe, or
the fear of not getting a living somewhere else, but the unpleasant
recollection that I should leave behind me a woman whom I loved to
adoration, and from whom I had not yet obtained any favour, not even that
of kissing her hand. In such distress of mind I could not do anything
else but abandon myself to chance, whatever the result might be, and the
most essential thing for the present was to secure a lodging and my daily
food.
I knock at the door of the priest's dwelling. He looks out of a window
and shuts it without listening to me, I knock again, I swear, I call out
loudly, all in vain, Giving way to my rage, I take aim at a poor sheep
grazing with several others at a short distance, and kill it. The
herdsman begins to scream, the papa shows himself at the window, calling
out, "Thieves! Murder!" and orders the alarm-bell to be rung. Three bells
are immediately set in motion, I foresee a general gathering: what is
going to happen? I do not know, but happen what will, I load my gun and
await coming events.
In less than eight or ten minutes, I see a crowd of peasants coming down
the hills, armed with guns, pitchforks, or cudgels: I withdraw inside of
the barn, but without the slightest fear, for I cannot suppose that,
seeing me alone, these men will murder me without listening to me.
The first ten or twelve peasants come forward, gun in hand and ready to
fire: I stop them by throwing down my gazzette, which they lose no time
in picking up from the ground, and I keep on throwing money down as the
men come forward, until I had no more left. The clowns were looking at
each other in great astonishment, not knowing what to make out of a
well-dressed young man, looking very peaceful, and throwing his money to
them with such generosity. I could not speak to them until the deafening
noise of the bells should cease. I quietly sit down on my large bag, and
keep still, but as soon as I can be heard I begin to address the men. The
priest, however, assisted by his beadle and by the herdsman, interrupts
me, and all the more easily that I was speaking Italian. My three
enemies, who talked all at once, were trying to excite the crowd against
me.
One of the peasants, an elderly and reasonable-looking man, comes up to
me and asks me in Italian why I have killed the sheep.
"To eat it, my good fellow, but not before I have paid for it."
"But his holiness, the papa, might choose to charge one sequin for it."
"Here is one sequin."
The priest takes the money and goes away: war is over. The peasant tells
me that he has served in the campaign of 1716, and that he was at the
defence of Corfu. I compliment him, and ask him to find me a lodging and
a man able to prepare my meals. He answers that he will procure me a
whole house, that he will be my cook himself, but I must go up the hill.
No matter! He calls two stout fellows, one takes my bag, the other
shoulders my sheep, and forward! As we are walking along, I tell him,--
"My good man, I would like to have in my service twenty-four fellows like
these under military discipline. I would give each man twenty gazzette a
day, and you would have forty as my lieutenant."
"I will," says the old soldier, "raise for you this very day a body-guard
of which you will be proud."
We reach a very convenient house, containing on the ground floor three
rooms and a stable, which I immediately turned into a guard-room.
My lieutenant went to get what I wanted, and particularly a needlewoman
to make me some shirts. In the course of the day I had furniture,
bedding, kitchen utensils, a good dinner, twenty-four well-equipped
soldiers, a super-annuated sempstress and several young girls to make my
shirts. After supper, I found my position highly pleasant, being
surrounded with some thirty persons who looked upon me as their
sovereign, although they could not make out what had brought me to their
island. The only thing which struck me as disagreeable was that the young
girls could not speak Italian, and I did not know Greek enough to enable
me to make love to them.
The next morning my lieutenant had the guard relieved, and I could not
help bursting into a merry laugh. They were like a flock of sheep: all
fine men, well-made and strong; but without uniform and without
discipline the finest band is but a herd. However, they quickly learned
how to present arms and to obey the orders of their officer. I caused
three sentinels to be placed, one before the guardroom, one at my door,
and the third where he could have a good view of the sea. This sentinel
was to give me warning of the approach of any armed boat or vessel. For
the first two or three days I considered all this as mere amusement, but,
thinking that I might really want the men to repel force by force, I had
some idea of making my army take an oath of allegiance. I did not do so,
however, although my lieutenant assured me that I had only to express my
wishes, for my generosity had captivated the love of all the islanders.
My sempstress, who had procured some young needlewomen to sew my shirts,
had expected that I would fall in love with one and not with all, but my
amorous zeal overstepped her hopes, and all the pretty ones had their
turn; they were all well satisfied with me, and the sempstress was
rewarded for her good offices. I was leading a delightful life, for my
table was supplied with excellent dishes, juicy mutton, and snipe so
delicious that I have never tasted their like except in St. Petersburg. I
drank scopolo wine or the best muscatel of the Archipelago. My lieutenant
was my only table companion. I never took a walk without him and two of
my body-guard, in order to defend myself against the attacks of a few
young men who had a spite against me because they fancied, not without
some reason, that my needlewomen, their mistresses, had left them on my
account. I often thought while I was rambling about the island, that
without money I should have been unhappy, and that I was indebted to my
gold for all the happiness I was enjoying; but it was right to suppose at
the same time that, if I had not felt my purse pretty heavy, I would not
have been likely to leave Corfu.
I had thus been playing the petty king with success for a week or ten
days, when, towards ten o'clock at night I heard the sentinel's
challenge. My lieutenant went out, and returned announcing that an
honest-looking man, who spoke Italian, wished to see me on important
business. I had him brought in, and, in the presence of my lieutenant, he
told me in Italian:
"Next Sunday, the Papa Deldimopulo will fulminate against you the
'cataramonachia'. If you do not prevent him, a slow fever will send you
into the next world in six weeks."
"I have never heard of such a drug."
"It is not a drug. It is a curse pronounced by a priest with the Host in
his hands, and it is sure to be fulfilled."
"What reason can that priest have to murder me?"
"You disturb the peace and discipline of his parish. You have seduced
several young girls, and now their lovers refuse to marry them."
I made him drink, and thanking him heartily, wished him good night. His
warning struck me as deserving my attention, for, if I had no fear of the
'cataramonachia', in which I had not the slightest faith, I feared
certain poisons which might be by far more efficient. I passed a very
quiet night, but at day-break I got up, and without saying anything to my
lieutenant, I went straight to the church where I found the priest, and
addressed him in the following words, uttered in a tone likely to enforce
conviction:
"On the first symptom of fever, I will shoot you like a dog. Throw over
me a curse which will kill me instantly, or make your will. Farewell!"
Having thus warned him, I returned to my royal palace. Early on the
following Monday, the papa called on me. I had a slight headache; he
enquired after my health, and when I told him that my head felt rather
heavy, he made me laugh by the air of anxiety with which he assured me
that it could be caused by nothing else than the heavy atmosphere of the
island of Casopo.
Three days after his visit, the advanced sentinel gave the war-cry. The
lieutenant went out to reconnoitre, and after a short absence he gave me
notice that the long boat of an armed vessel had just landed an officer.
Danger was at hand.
I go out myself, I call my men to arms, and, advancing a few steps, I see
an officer, accompanied by a guide, who was walking towards my dwelling.
As he was alone, I had nothing to fear. I return to my room, giving
orders to my lieutenant to receive him with all military honours and to
introduce him. Then, girding my sword, I wait for my visitor.
In a few minutes, Adjutant Minolto, the same who had brought me the order
to put myself under arrest, makes his appearance.
"You are alone," I say to him, "and therefore you come as a friend. Let
us embrace."
"I must come as a friend, for, as an enemy, I should not have enough men.
But what I see seems a dream."
"Take a seat, and dine with me. I will treat you splendidly."
"Most willingly, and after dinner we will leave the island together."
"You may go alone, if you like; but I will not leave this place until I
have the certainty, not only that I shall not be sent to the 'bastarda',
but also that I shall have every satisfaction from the knave whom the
general ought to send to the galleys."
"Be reasonable, and come with me of your own accord. My orders are to
take you by force, but as I have not enough men to do so, I shall make my
report, and the general will, of course, send a force sufficient to
arrest you."
"Never; I will not be taken alive."
"You must be mad; believe me, you are in the wrong. You have disobeyed
the order I brought you to go to the 'bastarda; in that you have acted
wrongly, and in that alone, for in every other respect you were perfectly
right, the general himself says so."
"Then I ought to have put myself under arrest?"
"Certainly; obedience is necessary in our profession."
"Would you have obeyed, if you had been in my place?"
"I cannot and will not tell you what I would have done, but I know that
if I had disobeyed orders I should have been guilty of a crime:"
"But if I surrendered now I should be treated like a criminal, and much
more severely than if I had obeyed that unjust order."
"I think not. Come with me, and you will know everything."
"What! Go without knowing what fate may be in store for me? Do not expect
it. Let us have dinner. If I am guilty of such a dreadful crime that
violence must be used against me, I will surrender only to irresistible
force. I cannot be worse off, but there may be blood spilled."
"You are mistaken, such conduct would only make you more guilty. But I
say like you, let us have dinner. A good meal will very likely render you
more disposed to listen to reason."
Our dinner was nearly over, when we heard some noise outside. The
lieutenant came in, and informed me that the peasants were gathering in
the neighbourhood of my house to defend me, because a rumour had spread
through the island that the felucca had been sent with orders to arrest
me and take me to Corfu. I told him to undeceive the good fellows, and to
send them away, but to give them first a barrel of wine.
The peasants went away satisfied, but, to shew their devotion to me, they
all fired their guns.
"It is all very amusing," said the adjutant, "but it will turn out very
serious if you let me go away alone, for my duty compels me to give an
exact account of all I have witnessed."
"I will follow you, if you will give me your word of honour to land me
free in Corfu."
"I have orders to deliver your person to M. Foscari, on board the
bastarda."
"Well, you shall not execute your orders this time."
"If you do not obey the commands of the general, his honour will compel
him to use violence against you, and of course he can do it. But tell me,
what would you do if the general should leave you in this island for the
sake of the joke? There is no fear of that, however, and, after the
report which I must give, the general will certainly make up his mind to
stop the affair without shedding blood."
"Without a fight it will be difficult to arrest me, for with five hundred
peasants in such a place as this I would not be afraid of three thousand
men."
"One man will prove enough; you will be treated as a leader of rebels.
All these peasants may be devoted to you, but they cannot protect you
against one man who will shoot you for the sake of earning a few pieces
of gold. I can tell you more than that: amongst all those men who
surround you there is not one who would not murder you for twenty
sequins. Believe me, go with me. Come to enjoy the triumph which is
awaiting you in Corfu. You will be courted and applauded. You will
narrate yourself all your mad frolics, people will laugh, and at the same
time will admire you for having listened to reason the moment I came
here. Everybody feels esteem for you, and M. D---- R---- thinks a great
deal of you. He praises very highly the command you have shewn over your
passion in refraining from thrusting your sword through that insolent
fool, in order not to forget the respect you owed to his house. The
general himself must esteem you, for he cannot forget what you told him
of that knave."
"What has become of him?"
"Four days ago Major Sardina's frigate arrived with dispatches, in which
the general must have found all the proof of the imposture, for he has
caused the false duke or prince to disappear very suddenly. Nobody knows
where he has been sent to, and nobody ventures to mention the fellow
before the general, for he made the most egregious blunder respecting
him."
"But was the man received in society after the thrashing I gave him?"
"God forbid! Do you not recollect that he wore a sword? From that moment
no one would receive him. His arm was broken and his jaw shattered to
pieces.
"But in spite of the state he was in, in spite of what he must have
suffered, his excellency had him removed a week after you had treated him
so severely. But your flight is what everyone has been wondering over. It
was thought for three days that M. D---- R---- had concealed you in his
house, and he was openly blamed for doing so. He had to declare loudly at
the general's table that he was in the most complete ignorance of your
whereabouts. His excellency even expressed his anxiety about your escape,
and it was only yesterday that your place of refuge was made known by a
letter addressed by the priest of this island to the Proto-Papa Bulgari,
in which he complained that an Italian officer had invaded the island of
Casopo a week before, and had committed unheard-of violence. He accused
you of seducing all the girls, and of threatening to shoot him if he
dared to pronounce 'cataramonachia' against you. This letter, which was
read publicly at the evening reception, made the general laugh, but he
ordered me to arrest you all the same."
"Madame Sagredo is the cause of it all."
"True, but she is well punished for it. You ought to call upon her with
me to-morrow."
"To-morrow? Are you then certain that I shall not be placed under
arrest?"
"Yes, for I know that the general is a man of honour."
"I am of the same opinion. Well, let us go on board your felucca. We will
embark together after midnight."
"Why not now?"
"Because I will not run the risk of spending the night on board M.
Foscari's bastarda. I want to reach Corfu by daylight, so as to make your
victory more brilliant."
"But what shall we do for the next eight hours?"
"We will pay a visit to some beauties of a species unknown in Corfu, and
have a good supper."
I ordered my lieutenant to send plenty to eat and to drink to the men on
board the felucca, to prepare a splendid supper, and to spare nothing, as
I should leave the island at midnight. I made him a present of all my
provisions, except such as I wanted to take with me; these I sent on
board. My janissaries, to whom I gave a week's pay, insisted upon
escorting me, fully equipped, as far as the boat, which made the adjutant
laugh all the way.
We reached Corfu by eight o'clock in the morning, and we went alongside
the 'bastarda. The adjutant consigned me to M. Foscari, assuring me that
he would immediately give notice of my arrival to M. D---- R-----, send my
luggage to his house, and report the success of his expedition to the
general.
M. Foscari, the commander of the bastarda, treated me very badly. If he
had been blessed with any delicacy of feeling, he would not have been in
such a hurry to have me put in irons. He might have talked to me, and
have thus delayed for a quarter of an hour that operation which greatly
vexed me. But, without uttering a single word, he sent me to the 'capo di
scalo' who made me sit down, and told me to put my foot forward to
receive the irons, which, however, do not dishonour anyone in that
country, not even the galley slaves, for they are better treated than
soldiers.
My right leg was already in irons, and the left one was in the hands of
the man for the completion of that unpleasant ceremony, when the adjutant
of his excellency came to tell the executioner to set me at liberty and
to return me my sword. I wanted to present my compliments to the noble M.
Foscari, but the adjutant, rather ashamed, assured me that his excellency
did not expect me to do so. The first thing I did was to pay my respects
to the general, without saying one word to him, but he told me with a
serious countenance to be more prudent for the future, and to learn that
a soldier's first duty was to obey, and above all to be modest and
discreet. I understood perfectly the meaning of the two last words, and
acted accordingly.
When I made my appearance at M. D---- R-----'s, I could see pleasure on
everybody's face. Those moments have always been so dear to me that I
have never forgotten them, they have afforded me consolation in the time
of adversity. If you would relish pleasure you must endure pain, and
delights are in proportion to the privations we have suffered. M.
D---- R---- was so glad to see me that he came up to me and warmly
embraced me. He presented me with a beautiful ring which he took from his
own finger, and told me that I had acted quite rightly in not letting
anyone, and particularly himself, know where I had taken refuge.
"You can't think," he added, frankly, "how interested Madame F---- was in
your fate. She would be really delighted if you called on her
immediately."
How delightful to receive such advice from his own lips! But the word
"immediately" annoyed me, because, having passed the night on board the
felucca, I was afraid that the disorder of my toilet might injure me in
her eyes. Yet I could neither refuse M. D---- R-----, nor tell him the
reason of my refusal, and I bethought myself that I could make a merit of
it in the eyes of Madame F---- I therefore went at once to her house; the
goddess was not yet visible, but her attendant told me to come in,
assuring me that her mistress's bell would soon be heard, and that she
would be very sorry if I did not wait to see her. I spent half an hour
with that young and indiscreet person, who was a very charming girl, and
learned from her many things which caused me great pleasure, and
particularly all that had been said respecting my escape. I found that
throughout the affair my conduct had met with general approbation.
[Illustration: 1c14b.jpg]
As soon as Madame F---- had seen her maid, she desired me to be shewn in.
The curtains were drawn aside, and I thought I saw Aurora surrounded with
the roses and the pearls of morning. I told her that, if it had not been
for the order I received from M. D---- R---- I would not have presumed to
present myself before her in my travelling costume; and in the most
friendly tone she answered that M. D---- R-----, knowing all the interest
she felt in me, had been quite right to tell me to come, and she assured
me that M. D---- R----- had the greatest esteem for me.
"I do not know, madam, how I have deserved such great happiness, for all
I dared aim at was toleration."
"We all admired the control you kept over your feelings when you
refrained from killing that insolent madman on the spot; he would have
been thrown out of the window if he had not beat a hurried retreat."
"I should certainly have killed him, madam, if you had not been present."
"A very pretty compliment, but I can hardly believe that you thought of
me in such a moment."
I did not answer, but cast my eyes down, and gave a deep sigh. She
observed my new ring, and in order to change the subject of conversation
she praised M. D---- R----- very highly, as soon as I had told her how he
had offered it to me. She desired me to give her an account of my life on
the island, and I did so, but allowed my pretty needlewomen to remain
under a veil, for I had already learnt that in this world the truth must
often remain untold.
All my adventures amused her much, and she greatly admired my conduct.
"Would you have the courage," she said, "to repeat all you have just told
me, and exactly in the same terms, before the proveditore-generale?"
"Most certainly, madam, provided he asked me himself."
"Well, then, prepare to redeem your promise. I want our excellent general
to love you and to become your warmest protector, so as to shield you
against every injustice and to promote your advancement. Leave it all to
me."
Her reception fairly overwhelmed me with happiness, and on leaving her
house I went to Major Maroli to find out the state of my finances. I was
glad to hear that after my escape he had no longer considered me a
partner in the faro bank. I took four hundred sequins from the cashier,
reserving the right to become again a partner, should circumstances prove
at any time favourable.
In the evening I made a careful toilet, and called for the Adjutant
Minolto in order to pay with him a visit to Madame Sagredo, the general's
favourite. With the exception of Madame F---- she was the greatest beauty
of Corfu. My visit surprised her, because, as she had been the cause of
all that had happened, she was very far from expecting it. She imagined
that I had a spite against her. I undeceived her, speaking to her very
candidly, and she treated me most kindly, inviting me to come now and
then to spend the evening at her house.
But I neither accepted nor refused her amiable invitation, knowing that
Madame F---- disliked her; and how could I be a frequent guest at her
house with such a knowledge! Besides, Madame Sagredo was very fond of
gambling, and, to please her, it was necessary either to lose or make her
win, but to accept such conditions one must be in love with the lady or
wish to make her conquest, and I had not the slightest idea of either.
The Adjutant Minolto never played, but he had captivated the lady's good
graces by his services in the character of Mercury.
When I returned to the palace I found Madame F---- alone, M.
D---- R---- being engaged with his correspondence. She asked me to sit
near her, and to tell her all my adventures in Constantinople. I did so,
and I had no occasion to repent it. My meeting with Yusuf's wife pleased
her extremely, but the bathing scene by moonlight made her blush with
excitement. I veiled as much as I could the too brilliant colours of my
picture, but, if she did not find me clear, she would oblige me to be
more explicit, and if I made myself better understood by giving to my
recital a touch of voluptuousness which I borrowed from her looks more
than from my recollection, she would scold me and tell me that I might
have disguised a little more. I felt that the way she was talking would
give her a liking for me, and I was satisfied that the man who can give
birth to amorous desires is easily called upon to gratify them it was the
reward I was ardently longing for, and I dared to hope it would be mine,
although I could see it only looming in the distance.
It happened that, on that day, M. D---- R---- had invited a large company
to supper. I had, as a matter of course, to engross all conversation, and
to give the fullest particulars of all that had taken place from the
moment I received the order to place myself under arrest up to the time
of my release from the 'bastarda'. M. Foscari was seated next to me, and
the last part of my narrative was not, I suppose, particularly agreeable
to him.
The account I gave of my adventures pleased everybody, and it was decided
that the proveditore-generale must have the pleasure of hearing my tale
from my own lips. I mentioned that hay was very plentiful in Casopo, and
as that article was very scarce in Corfu, M. D---- R---- told me that I
ought to seize the opportunity of making myself agreeable to the general
by informing him of that circumstance without delay. I followed his
advice the very next day, and was very well received, for his excellency
immediately ordered a squad of men to go to the island and bring large
quantities of hay to Corfu.
A few days later the Adjutant Minolto came to me in the coffee-house, and
told me that the general wished to see me: this time I promptly obeyed
his commands.
CHAPTER XV
Progress of My Amour--My Journey to Otranto--I Enter the
Service of Madame F.--A Fortunate Excoriation
The room I entered was full of people. His excellency, seeing me, smiled
and drew upon me the attention of all his guests by saying aloud, "Here
comes the young man who is a good judge of princes."
"My lord, I have become a judge of nobility by frequenting the society of
men like you."
"The ladies are curious to know all you have done from the time of your
escape from Corfu up to your return."
"Then you sentence me, monsignor, to make a public confession?"
"Exactly; but, as it is to be a confession, be careful not to omit the
most insignificant circumstance, and suppose that I am not in the room."
"On the contrary, I wish to receive absolution only from your excellency.
But my history will be a long one."
"If such is the case, your confessor gives you permission to be seated."
I gave all the particulars of my adventures, with the exception of my
dalliance with the nymphs of the island.
"Your story is a very instructive one," observed the general.
"Yes, my lord, for the adventures shew that a young man is never so near
his utter ruin than when, excited by some great passion, he finds himself
able to minister to it, thanks to the gold in his purse."
I was preparing to take my leave, when the majordomo came to inform me
that his excellency desired me to remain to supper. I had therefore the
honour of a seat at his table, but not the pleasure of eating, for I was
obliged to answer the questions addressed to me from all quarters, and I
could not contrive to swallow a single mouthful. I was seated next to the
Proto-Papa Bulgari, and I entreated his pardon for having ridiculed
Deldimopulo's oracle. "It is nothing else but regular cheating," he said,
"but it is very difficult to put a stop to it; it is an old custom."
A short time afterwards, Madame F---- whispered a few words to the
general, who turned to me and said that he would be glad to hear me
relate what had occurred to me in Constantinople with the wife of the
Turk Yusuf, and at another friend's house, where I had seen bathing by
moonlight. I was rather surprised at such an invitation, and told him
that such frolics were not worth listening to, and the general not
pressing me no more was said about it. But I was astonished at Madame
F----'s indiscretion; she had no business to make my confidences public.
I wanted her to be jealous of her own dignity, which I loved even more
than her person.
Two or three days later, she said to me,
"Why did you refuse to tell your adventures in Constantinople before the
general?"
"Because I do not wish everybody to know that you allow me to tell you
such things. What I may dare, madam, to say to you when we are alone, I
would certainly not say to you in public."
"And why not? It seems to me, on the contrary, that if you are silent in
public out of respect for me, you ought to be all the more silent when we
are alone."
"I wanted to amuse you, and have exposed myself to the danger of
displeasing you, but I can assure you, madam, that I will not run such a
risk again."
"I have no wish to pry into your intentions, but it strikes me that if
your wish was to please me, you ought not to have run the risk of
obtaining the opposite result. We take supper with the general this
evening, and M. D---- R----- has been asked to bring you. I feel certain
that the general will ask you again for your adventures in
Constantinople, and this time you cannot refuse him."
M. D---- R---- came in and we went to the general's. I thought as we were
driving along that, although Madame F---- seemed to have intended to
humiliate me, I ought to accept it all as a favour of fortune, because,
by compelling me to explain my refusal to the general; Madame F---- had,
at the same time, compelled me to a declaration of my feelings, which was
not without importance.
The 'proveditore-generale' gave me a friendly welcome, and kindly handed
me a letter which had come with the official dispatches from
Constantinople. I bowed my thanks, and put the letter in my pocket: but
he told me that he was himself a great lover of news, and that I could
read my letter. I opened it; it was from Yusuf, who announced the death
of Count de Bonneval. Hearing the name of the worthy Yusuf, the general
asked me to tell him my adventure with his wife. I could not now refuse,
and I began a story which amused and interested the general and his
friends for an hour or so, but which was from beginning to end the work
of my imagination.
Thus I continued to respect the privacy of Yusuf, to avoid implicating
the good fame of Madame F----, and to shew myself in a light which was
tolerably advantageous to me. My story, which was full of sentiment, did
me a great deal of honour, and I felt very happy when I saw from the
expression of Madame F----'s face that she was pleased with me, although
somewhat surprised.
When we found ourselves again in her house she told me, in the presence
of M. D---- R-----, that the story I had related to the general was
certainly very pretty, although purely imaginary, that she was not angry
with me, because I had amused her, but that she could not help remarking
my obstinacy in refusing compliance with her wishes. Then, turning to M.
D---- R-----, she said,
"M. Casanova pretends that if he had given an account of his meeting with
Yusuf's wife without changing anything everybody would think that I
allowed him to entertain me with indecent stories. I want you to give
your opinion about it. Will you," she added, speaking to me, "be so good
as to relate immediately the adventure in the same words which you have
used when you told me of it?"
"Yes, madam, if you wish me to do so."
Stung to the quick by an indiscretion which, as I did not yet know women
thoroughly, seemed to me without example, I cast all fears of displeasing
to the winds, related the adventure with all the warmth of an impassioned
poet, and without disguising or attenuating in the least the desires
which the charms of the Greek beauty had inspired me with.
"Do you think," said M. D---- R---- to Madame F-----, "that he ought to
have related that adventure before all our friends as he has just related
it to us?"
"If it be wrong for him to tell it in public, it is also wrong to tell it
to me in private."
"You are the only judge of that: yes, if he has displeased you; no, if he
has amused you. As for my own opinion, here it is: He has just now amused
me very much, but he would have greatly displeased me if he had related
the same adventure in public."
"Then," exclaimed Madame F----, "I must request you never to tell me in
private anything that you cannot repeat in public."
"I promise, madam, to act always according to your wishes."
"It being understood," added M. D---- R-----, smiling, "that madam
reserves all rights of repealing that order whenever she may think fit."
I was vexed, but I contrived not to show it. A few minutes more, and we
took leave of Madame F----.
I was beginning to understand that charming woman, and to dread the
ordeal to which she would subject me. But love was stronger than fear,
and, fortified with hope, I had the courage to endure the thorns, so as
to gather the rose at the end of my sufferings. I was particularly
pleased to find that M. D---- R---- was not jealous of me, even when she
seemed to dare him to it. This was a point of the greatest importance.
A few days afterwards, as I was entertaining her on various subjects, she
remarked how unfortunate it had been for me to enter the lazzaretto at
Ancona without any money.
"In spite of my distress," I said, "I fell in love with a young and
beautiful Greek slave, who very nearly contrived to make me break through
all the sanitary laws."
"How so?"
"You are alone, madam, and I have not forgotten your orders."
"Is it a very improper story?"
"No: yet I would not relate it to you in public."
"Well," she said, laughing, "I repeal my order, as M. D---- R---- said I
would. Tell me all about it."
I told my story, and, seeing that she was pensive, I exaggerated the
misery I had felt at not being able to complete my conquest.
"What do you mean by your misery? I think that the poor girl was more to
be pitied than you. You have never seen her since?"
"I beg your pardon, madam; I met her again, but I dare not tell you when
or how."
"Now you must go on; it is all nonsense for you to stop. Tell me all; I
expect you have been guilty of some black deed."
"Very far from it, madam, for it was a very sweet, although incomplete,
enjoyment."
"Go on! But do not call things exactly by their names. It is not
necessary to go into details."
Emboldened by the renewal of her order, I told her, without looking her
in the face, of my meeting with the Greek slave in the presence of
Bellino, and of the act which was cut short by the appearance of her
master. When I had finished my story, Madame F---- remained silent, and I
turned the conversation into a different channel, for though I felt
myself on an excellent footing with her, I knew likewise that I had to
proceed with great prudence. She was too young to have lowered herself
before, and she would certainly look upon a connection with me as a
lowering of her dignity.
Fortune which had always smiled upon me in the most hopeless cases, did
not intend to ill-treat me on this occasion, and procured me, on that
very same day, a favour of a very peculiar nature. My charming ladylove
having pricked her finger rather severely, screamed loudly, and stretched
her hand towards me, entreating me to suck the blood flowing from the
wound. You may judge, dear reader, whether I was long in seizing that
beautiful hand, and if you are, or if you have ever been in love, you
will easily guess the manner in which I performed my delightful work.
What is a kiss? Is it not an ardent desire to inhale a portion of the
being we love? Was not the blood I was sucking from that charming wound a
portion of the woman I worshipped? When I had completed my work, she
thanked me affectionately, and told me to spit out the blood I had
sucked.
"It is here," I said, placing my hand on my heart, "and God alone knows
what happiness it has given me."
"You have drunk my blood with happiness! Are you then a cannibal?"
"I believe not, madam; but it would have been sacrilege in my eyes if I
had suffered one single drop of your blood to be lost."
One evening, there was an unusually large attendance at M. D---- R-----'s
assembly, and we were talking of the carnival which was near at hand.
Everybody was regretting the lack of actors, and the impossibility of
enjoying the pleasures of the theatre. I immediately offered to procure a
good company at my expense, if the boxes were at once subscribed for, and
the monopoly of the faro bank granted to me. No time was to be lost, for
the carnival was approaching, and I had to go to Otranto to engage a
troop. My proposal was accepted with great joy, and the
proveditore-generale placed a felucca at my disposal. The boxes were all
taken in three days, and a Jew took the pit, two nights a week excepted,
which I reserved for my own profit.
The carnival being very long that year, I had every chance of success. It
is said generally that the profession of theatrical manager is difficult,
but, if that is the case, I have not found it so by experience, and am
bound to affirm the contrary.
I left Corfu in the evening, and having a good breeze in my favour, I
reached Otranto by day-break the following morning, without the oarsmen
having had to row a stroke. The distance from Corfu to Otranto is only
about fifteen leagues.
I had no idea of landing, owing to the quarantine which is always
enforced for any ship or boat coming to Italy from the east. I only went
to the parlour of the lazaretto, where, placed behind a grating, you can
speak to any person who calls, and who must stand behind another grating
placed opposite, at a distance of six feet.
As soon as I announced that I had come for the purpose of engaging a
troupe of actors to perform in Corfu, the managers of the two companies
then in Otranto came to the parlour to speak to me. I told them at once
that I wished to see all the performers, one company at a time.
The two rival managers gave me then a very comic scene, each manager
wanting the other to bring his troupe first. The harbour-master told me
that the only way to settle the matter was to say myself which of the two
companies I would see first: one was from Naples, the other from Sicily.
Not knowing either I gave the preference to the first. Don Fastidio, the
manager, was very vexed, while Battipaglia, the director of the second,
was delighted because he hoped that, after seeing the Neapolitan troupe,
I would engage his own.
An hour afterwards, Fastidio returned with all his performers, and my
surprise may be imagined when amongst them I recognized Petronio and his
sister Marina, who, the moment she saw me, screamed for joy, jumped over
the grating, and threw herself in my arms. A terrible hubbub followed,
and high words passed between Fastidio and the harbour-master. Marina
being in the service of Fastidio, the captain compelled him to confine
her to the lazaretto, where she would have to perform quarantine at his
expense. The poor girl cried bitterly, but I could not remedy her
imprudence.
I put a stop to the quarrel by telling Fastidio to shew me all his
people, one after the other. Petronio belonged to his company, and
performed the lovers. He told me that he had a letter for me from
Therese. I was also glad to see a Venetian of my acquaintance who played
the pantaloon in the pantomime, three tolerably pretty actresses, a
pulcinella, and a scaramouch. Altogether, the troupe was a decent one.
I told Fastidio to name the lowest salary he wanted for all his company,
assuring him that I would give the preference to his rival, if he should
ask me too much.
"Sir," he answered, "we are twenty, and shall require six rooms with ten
beds, one sitting-room for all of us, and thirty Neapolitan ducats a day,
all travelling expenses paid. Here is my stock of plays, and we will
perform those that you may choose."
Thinking of poor Marina who would have to remain in the lazaretto before
she could reappear on the stage at Otranto, I told Fastidio to get the
contract ready, as I wanted to go away immediately.
I had scarcely pronounced these words than war broke out again between
the manager-elect and his unfortunate competitor. Battipaglia, in his
rage, called Marina a harlot, and said that she had arranged beforehand
with Fastidio to violate the rules of the lazaretto in order to compel me
to choose their troupe. Petronio, taking his sister's part, joined
Fastidio, and the unlucky Battipaglia was dragged outside and treated to
a generous dose of blows and fisticuffs, which was not exactly the thing
to console him for a lost engagement.
Soon afterwards, Petronio brought me Therese's letter. She was ruining
the duke, getting rich accordingly, and waiting for me in Naples.
Everything being ready towards evening, I left Otranto with twenty
actors, and six large trunks containing their complete wardrobes. A light
breeze which was blowing from the south might have carried us to Corfu in
ten hours, but when we had sailed about one hour my cayabouchiri informed
me that he could see by the moonlight a ship which might prove to be a
corsair, and get hold of us. I was unwilling to risk anything, so I
ordered them to lower the sails and return to Otranto. At day-break we
sailed again with a good westerly wind, which would also have taken us to
Corfu; but after we had gone two or three hours, the captain pointed out
to me a brigantine, evidently a pirate, for she was shaping her course so
as to get to windward of us. I told him to change the course, and to go
by starboard, to see if the brigantine would follow us, but she
immediately imitated our manoeuvre. I could not go back to Otranto, and I
had no wish to go to Africa, so I ordered the men to shape our course, so
as to land on the coast of Calabria, by hard rowing and at the nearest
point. The sailors, who were frightened to death, communicated their
fears to my comedians, and soon I heard nothing but weeping and sobbing.
Every one of them was calling earnestly upon some saint, but not one
single prayer to God did I hear. The bewailings of scaramouch, the dull
and spiritless despair of Fastidio, offered a picture which would have
made me laugh heartily if the danger had been imaginary and not real.
Marina alone was cheerful and happy, because she did not realize the
danger we were running, and she laughed at the terror of the crew and of
her companions.
A strong breeze sprang up towards evening, so I ordered them to clap on
all sail and scud before the wind, even if it should get stronger. In
order to escape the pirate, I had made up my mind to cross the gulf. We
took the wind through the night, and in the morning we were eighty miles
from Corfu, which I determined to reach by rowing. We were in the middle
of the gulf, and the sailors were worn out with fatigue, but I had no
longer any fear. A gale began to blow from the north, and in less than an
hour it was blowing so hard that we were compelled to sail close to the
wind in a fearful manner. The felucca looked every moment as if it must
capsize. Every one looked terrified but kept complete silence, for I had
enjoined it on penalty of death. In spite of our dangerous position, I
could not help laughing when I heard the sobs of the cowardly scaramouch.
The helmsman was a man of great nerve, and the gale being steady I felt
we would reach Corfu without mishap. At day-break we sighted the town,
and at nine in the morning we landed at Mandrachia. Everybody was
surprised to see us arrive that way.
As soon as my company was landed, the young officers naturally came to
inspect the actresses, but they did not find them very desirable, with
the exception of Marina, who received uncomplainingly the news that I
could not renew my acquaintance with her. I felt certain that she would
not lack admirers. But my actresses, who had appeared ugly at the
landing, produced a very different effect on the stage, and particularly
the pantaloon's wife. M. Duodo, commander of a man-of-war, called upon
her, and, finding master pantaloon intolerant on the subject of his
better-half, gave him a few blows with his cane. Fastidio informed me the
next day that the pantaloon and his wife refused to perform any more, but
I made them alter their mind by giving them a benefit night.
The pantaloon's wife was much applauded, but she felt insulted because,
in the midst of the applause, the pit called out, "Bravo, Duodo!" She
presented herself to the general in his own box, in which I was
generally, and complained of the manner in which she was treated. The
general promised her, in my name, another benefit night for the close of
the carnival, and I was of course compelled to ratify his promise. The
fact is, that, to satisfy the greedy actors, I abandoned to my comedians,
one by one, the seventeen nights I had reserved for myself. The benefit I
gave to Marina was at the special request of Madame F----, who had taken
her into great favour since she had had the honour of breakfasting alone
with M. D---- R---- in a villa outside of the city.
My generosity cost me four hundred sequins, but the faro bank brought me
a thousand and more, although I never held the cards, my management of
the theatre taking up all my time. My manner with the actresses gained me
great kindness; it was clearly seen that I carried on no intrigue with
any of them, although I had every facility for doing so. Madame
F---- complimented me, saying that she had not entertained such a good
opinion of my discretion. I was too busy through the carnival to think of
love, even of the passion which filled my heart. It was only at the
beginning of Lent, and after the departure of the comedians, that I could
give rein to my feelings.
One morning Madame F---- sent, a messenger who, summoned me to her
presence. It was eleven o'clock; I immediately went to her, and enquired
what I could do for her service.
"I wanted to see you," she said, "to return the two hundred sequins which
you lent me so nobly. Here they are; be good enough to give me back my
note of hand."
"Your note of hand, madam, is no longer in my possession. I have
deposited it in a sealed envelope with the notary who, according to this
receipt of his, can return it only to you."
"Why did you not keep it yourself?"
"Because I was afraid of losing it, or of having it stolen. And in the
event of my death I did not want such a document to fall into any other
hands but yours."
"A great proof of your extreme delicacy, certainly, but I think you ought
to have reserved the right of taking it out of the notary's custody
yourself."
"I did not forsee the possibility of calling for it myself."
"Yet it was a very likely thing. Then I can send word to the notary to
transmit it to me?"
"Certainly, madam; you alone can claim it."
She sent to the notary, who brought the himself.
She tore the envelope open, and found only a piece of paper besmeared
with ink, quite illegible, except her own name, which had not been
touched.
"You have acted," she said, "most nobly; but you must agree with me that
I cannot be certain that this piece of paper is really my note of hand,
although I see my name on it."
"True, madam; and if you are not certain of it, I confess myself in the
wrong."
"I must be certain of it, and I am so; but you must grant that I could
not swear to it."
"Granted, madam."
During the following days it struck me that her manner towards me was
singularly altered. She never received me in her dishabille, and I had to
wait with great patience until her maid had entirely dressed her before
being admitted into her presence.
If I related any story, any adventure, she pretended not to understand,
and affected not to see the point of an anecdote or a jest; very often
she would purposely not look at me, and then I was sure to relate badly.
If M. D---- R---- laughed at something I had just said, she would ask what
he was laughing for, and when he had told her, she would say it was
insipid or dull. If one of her bracelets became unfastened, I offered to
fasten it again, but either she would not give me so much trouble, or I
did not understand the fastening, and the maid was called to do it. I
could not help shewing my vexation, but she did not seem to take the
slightest notice of it. If M. D---- R---- excited me to say something
amusing or witty, and I did not speak immediately, she would say that my
budget was empty, laughing, and adding that the wit of poor M. Casanova
was worn out. Full of rage, I would plead guilty by my silence to her
taunting accusation, but I was thoroughly miserable, for I did not see
any cause for that extraordinary change in her feelings, being conscious
that I had not given her any motive for it. I wanted to shew her openly
my indifference and contempt, but whenever an opportunity offered, my
courage would forsake me, and I would let it escape.
One evening M. D---- R---- asking me whether I had often been in love, I
answered,
"Three times, my lord."
"And always happily, of course."
"Always unhappily. The first time, perhaps, because, being an
ecclesiastic, I durst not speak openly of my love. The second, because a
cruel, unexpected event compelled me to leave the woman I loved at the
very moment in which my happiness would have been complete. The third
time, because the feeling of pity, with which I inspired the beloved
object, induced her to cure me of my passion, instead of crowning my
felicity."
"But what specific remedies did she use to effect your cure?"
"She has ceased to be kind."
"I understand she has treated you cruelly, and you call that pity, do
you? You are mistaken."
"Certainly," said Madame F----, "a woman may pity the man she loves, but
she would not think of ill-treating him to cure him of his passion. That
woman has never felt any love for you."
"I cannot, I will not believe it, madam."
"But are you cured?"
"Oh! thoroughly; for when I happen to think of her, I feel nothing but
indifference and coldness. But my recovery was long."
"Your convalescence lasted, I suppose, until you fell in love with
another."
"With another, madam? I thought I had just told you that the third time I
loved was the last."
A few days after that conversation, M. D---- R---- told me that Madame
F---- was not well, that he could not keep her company, and that I ought
to go to her, as he was sure she would be glad to see me. I obeyed, and
told Madame F---- what M. D---- R---- had said. She was lying on a sofa.
Without looking at me, she told me she was feverish, and would not ask me
to remain with her, because I would feel weary.
"I could not experience any weariness in your society, madam; at all
events, I can leave you only by your express command, and, in that case,
I must spend the next four hours in your ante-room, for M. D--- R---- has
told me to wait for him here."
"If so, you may take a seat."
Her cold and distant manner repelled me, but I loved her, and I had never
seen her so beautiful, a slight fever animating her complexion which was
then truly dazzling in its beauty. I kept where I was, dumb and as
motionless as a statue, for a quarter of an hour. Then she rang for her
maid, and asked me to leave her alone for a moment. I was called back
soon after, and she said to me,
"What has become of your cheerfulness?"
"If it has disappeared, madam, it can only be by your will. Call it back,
and you will see it return in full force."
"What must I do to obtain that result?"
"Only be towards me as you were when I returned from Casopo. I have been
disagreeable to you for the last four months, and as I do not know why, I
feel deeply grieved."
"I am always the same: in what do you find me changed?"
"Good heavens! In everything, except in beauty. But I have taken my
decision."
"And what is it?"
"To suffer in silence, without allowing any circumstance to alter the
feelings with which you have inspired me; to wish ardently to convince
you of my perfect obedience to your commands; to be ever ready to give
you fresh proofs of my devotion."
"I thank you, but I cannot imagine what you can have to suffer in silence
on my account. I take an interest in you, and I always listen with
pleasure to your adventures. As a proof of it, I am extremely curious to
hear the history of your three loves."
I invented on the spot three purely imaginary stories, making a great
display of tender sentiments and of ardent love, but without alluding to
amorous enjoyment, particularly when she seemed to expect me to do so.
Sometimes delicacy, sometimes respect or duty, interfered to prevent the
crowning pleasure, and I took care to observe, at such moments of
disappointment, that a true lover does not require that all important
item to feel perfectly happy. I could easily see that her imagination was
travelling farther than my narrative, and that my reserve was agreeable
to her. I believed I knew her nature well enough to be certain that I was
taking the best road to induce her to follow me where I wished to lead
her. She expressed a sentiment which moved me deeply, but I was careful
not to shew it. We were talking of my third love, of the woman who, out
of pity, had undertaken to cure me, and she remarked,
"If she truly loved you, she may have wished not to cure you, but to cure
herself."
On the day following this partial reconciliation, M. F----, her husband,
begged my commanding officer, D---- R-----, to let me go with him to
Butintro for an excursion of three days, his own adjutant being seriously
ill.
Butintro is seven miles from Corfu, almost opposite to that city; it is
the nearest point to the island from the mainland. It is not a fortress,
but only a small village of Epirus, or Albania, as it is now called, and
belonging to the Venetians. Acting on the political axiom that "neglected
right is lost right," the Republic sends every year four galleys to
Butintro with a gang of galley slaves to fell trees, cut them, and load
them on the galleys, while the military keep a sharp look-out to prevent
them from escaping to Turkey and becoming Mussulmans. One of the four
galleys was commanded by M. F---- who, wanting an adjutant for the
occasion, chose me.
I went with him, and on the fourth day we came back to Corfu with a large
provision of wood. I found M. D---- R---- alone on the terrace of his
palace. It was Good Friday. He seemed thoughtful, and, after a silence of
a few minutes, he spoke the following words, which I can never forget:
"M. F-----, whose adjutant died yesterday, has just been entreating me to
give you to him until he can find another officer. I have told him that I
had no right to dispose of your person, and that he, ought to apply to
you, assuring him that, if you asked me leave to go with him, I would not
raise any objection, although I require two adjutants. Has he not
mentioned the matter to you?"
"No, monsignor, he has only tendered me his thanks for having accompanied
him to Butintro, nothing else."
"He is sure to speak to you about it. What do you intend to say?"
"Simply that I will never leave the service of your excellency without
your express command to do so."
"I never will give you such an order."
As M. D---- R---- was saying the last word, M. and Madame F---- came in.
Knowing that the conversation would most likely turn upon the subject
which had just been broached, I hurried out of the room. In less than a
quarter of an hour I was sent for, and M. F---- said to me,
confidentially,
"Well, M. Casanova, would you not be willing to live with me as my
adjutant?"
"Does his excellency dismiss me from his service?"
"Not at all," observed M. D---- R----, "but I leave you the choice."
"My lord, I could not be guilty of ingratitude."
And I remained there standing, uneasy, keeping my eyes on the ground, not
even striving to conceal my mortification, which was, after all, very
natural in such a position. I dreaded looking at Madame F----, for I knew
that she could easily guess all my feelings. An instant after, her
foolish husband coldly remarked that I should certainly have a more
fatiguing service with him than with M. D---- R----, and that, of course,
it was more honourable to serve the general governor of the galeazze than
a simple sopra-committo. I was on the point of answering, when Madame
F---- said, in a graceful and easy manner, "M. Casanova is right," and she
changed the subject. I left the room, revolving in my mind all that had
just taken place.
My conclusion was that M. F---- had asked M. D---- R---- to let me go with
him at the suggestion of his wife, or, at least with her consent, and it
was highly flattering to my love and to my vanity. But I was bound in
honour not to accept the post, unless I had a perfect assurance that it
would not be disagreeable to my present patron. "I will accept," I said
to myself, "if M. D---- R---- tells me positively that I shall please him
by doing so. It is for M. F to make him say it."
On the same night I had the honour of offering my arm to Madame
F---during the procession which takes place in commemoration of the death
of our Lord and Saviour, which was then attended on foot by all the
nobility. I expected she would mention the matter, but she did not. My
love was in despair, and through the night I could not close my eyes. I
feared she had been offended by my refusal, and was overwhelmed with
grief. I passed the whole of the next day without breaking my fast, and
did not utter a single word during the evening reception. I felt very
unwell, and I had an attack of fever which kept me in bed on Easter
Sunday. I was very weak on the Monday, and intended to remain in my room,
when a messenger from Madame F---- came to inform me that she wished to
see me. I told the messenger not to say that he had found me in bed, and
dressing myself rapidly I hurried to her house. I entered her room, pale,
looking very ill: yet she did not enquire after my health, and kept
silent a minute or two, as if she had been trying to recollect what she
had to say to me.
"Ah! yes, you are aware that our adjutant is dead, and that we want to
replace him. My husband, who has a great esteem for you, and feels that
M. D---- R---- leaves you perfectly free to make your choice, has taken
the singular fancy that you will come, if I ask you myself to do us that
pleasure. Is he mistaken? If you would come to us, you would have that
room."
She was pointing to a room adjoining the chamber in which she slept, and
so situated that, to see her in every part of her room, I should not even
require to place myself at the window.
"M. D---- R-----," she continued, "will not love you less, and as he will
see you here every day, he will not be likely to forget his interest in
your welfare. Now, tell me, will you come or not?"
"I wish I could, madam, but indeed I cannot."
"You cannot? That is singular. Take a seat, and tell me what there is to
prevent you, when, in accepting my offer, you are sure to please M.
D---- R---- as well as us."
"If I were certain of it, I would accept immediately; but all I have
heard from his lips was that he left me free to make a choice."
"Then you are afraid to grieve him, if you come to us?"
"It might be, and for nothing on earth...."
"I am certain of the contrary."
"Will you be so good as to obtain that he says so to me himself?"
"And then you will come?"
"Oh, madam! that very minute!"
But the warmth of my exclamation might mean a great deal, and I turned my
head round so as not to embarrass her. She asked me to give her her
mantle to go to church, and we went out. As we were going down the
stairs, she placed her ungloved hand upon mine. It was the first time
that she had granted me such a favour, and it seemed to me a good omen.
She took off her hand, asking me whether I was feverish. "Your hand," she
said, "is burning."
When we left the church, M. D---- R-----'s carriage happened to pass, and
I assisted her to get in, and as soon as she had gone, hurried to my room
in order to breathe freely and to enjoy all the felicity which filled my
soul; for I no longer doubted her love for me, and I knew that, in this
case, M. D---- R---- was not likely to refuse her anything.
What is love? I have read plenty of ancient verbiage on that subject, I
have read likewise most of what has been said by modern writers, but
neither all that has been said, nor what I have thought about it, when I
was young and now that I am no longer so, nothing, in fact, can make me
agree that love is a trifling vanity. It is a sort of madness, I grant
that, but a madness over which philosophy is entirely powerless; it is a
disease to which man is exposed at all times, no matter at what age, and
which cannot be cured, if he is attacked by it in his old age. Love being
sentiment which cannot be explained! God of all nature!--bitter and sweet
feeling! Love!--charming monster which cannot be fathomed! God who, in
the midst of all the thorns with which thou plaguest us, strewest so many
roses on our path that, without thee, existence and death would be united
and blended together!
Two days afterwards, M. D---- R-----, told me to go and take orders from
M. F---- on board his galley, which was ready for a five or six days'
voyage. I quickly packed a few things, and called for my new patron who
received me with great joy. We took our departure without seeing madam,
who was not yet visible. We returned on the sixth day, and I went to
establish myself in my new home, for, as I was preparing to go to M.
D---- R-----, to take his orders, after our landing, he came himself, and
after asking M. F---- and me whether we were pleased with each other, he
said to me,
"Casanova, as you suit each other so well, you may be certain that you
will greatly please me by remaining in the service of M. F."
I obeyed respectfully, and in less than one hour I had taken possession
of my new quarters. Madame F---- told me how delighted she was to see that
great affair ended according to her wishes, and I answered with a deep
reverence.
I found myself like the salamander, in the very heart of the fire for
which I had been longing so ardently.
Almost constantly in the presence of Madame F----, dining often alone
with her, accompanying her in her walks, even when M. D---- R---- was not
with us, seeing her from my room, or conversing with her in her chamber,
always reserved and attentive without pretension, the first night passed
by without any change being brought about by that constant intercourse.
Yet I was full of hope, and to keep up my courage I imagined that love
was not yet powerful enough to conquer her pride. I expected everything
from some lucky chance, which I promised myself to improve as soon as it
should present itself, for I was persuaded that a lover is lost if he
does not catch fortune by the forelock.
But there was one circumstance which annoyed me. In public, she seized
every opportunity of treating me with distinction, while, when we were
alone, it was exactly the reverse. In the eyes of the world I had all the
appearance of a happy lover, but I would rather have had less of the
appearance of happiness and more of the reality. My love for her was
disinterested; vanity had no share in my feelings.
One day, being alone with me, she said,
"You have enemies, but I silenced them last night."
"They are envious, madam, and they would pity me if they could read the
secret pages of my heart. You could easily deliver me from those
enemies."
"How can you be an object of pity for them, and how could I deliver you
from them?"
"They believe me happy, and I am miserable; you would deliver me from
them by ill-treating me in their presence."
"Then you would feel my bad treatment less than the envy of the wicked?"
"Yes, madam, provided your bad treatment in public were compensated by
your kindness when we are alone, for there is no vanity in the happiness
I feel in belonging to you. Let others pity me, I will be happy on
condition that others are mistaken."
"That's a part that I can never play."
I would often be indiscreet enough to remain behind the curtain of the
window in my room, looking at her when she thought herself perfectly
certain that nobody saw her; but the liberty I was thus guilty of never
proved of great advantage to me. Whether it was because she doubted my
discretion or from habitual reserve, she was so particular that, even
when I saw her in bed, my longing eyes never could obtain a sight of
anything but her head.
One day, being present in her room while her maid was cutting off the
points of her long and beautiful hair, I amused myself in picking up all
those pretty bits, and put them all, one after the other, on her
toilettable, with the exception of one small lock which I slipped into my
pocket, thinking that she had not taken any notice of my keeping it; but
the moment we were alone she told me quietly, but rather too seriously,
to take out of my pocket the hair I had picked up from the floor.
Thinking she was going too far, and such rigour appearing to me as cruel
as it was unjust and absurd, I obeyed, but threw the hair on the
toilet-table with an air of supreme contempt.
"Sir, you forget yourself."
"No, madam, I do not, for you might have feigned not to have observed
such an innocent theft."
"Feigning is tiresome."
"Was such petty larceny a very great crime?"
"No crime, but it was an indication of feelings which you have no right
to entertain for me."
"Feelings which you are at liberty not to return, madam, but which hatred
or pride can alone forbid my heart to experience. If you had a heart you
would not be the victim of either of those two fearful passions, but you
have only head, and it must be a very wicked head, judging by the care it
takes to heap humiliation upon me. You have surprised my secret, madam,
you may use it as you think proper, but in the meantime I have learned to
know you thoroughly. That knowledge will prove more useful than your
discovery, for perhaps it will help me to become wiser."
After this violent tirade I left her, and as she did not call me back
retired to my room. In the hope that sleep would bring calm, I undressed
and went to bed. In such moments a lover hates the object of his love,
and his heart distils only contempt and hatred. I could not go to sleep,
and when I was sent for at supper-time I answered that I was ill. The
night passed off without my eyes being visited by sleep, and feeling weak
and low I thought I would wait to see what ailed me, and refused to have
my dinner, sending word that I was still very unwell. Towards evening I
felt my heart leap for joy when I heard my beautiful lady-love enter my
room. Anxiety, want of food and sleep, gave me truly the appearance of
being ill, and I was delighted that it should be so. I sent her away very
soon, by telling her with perfect indifference that it was nothing but a
bad headache, to which I was subject, and that repose and diet would
effect a speedy cure.
But at eleven o'clock she came back with her friend, M. D---- R-----, and
coming to my bed she said, affectionately,
"What ails you, my poor Casanova?"
"A very bad headache, madam, which will be cured to-morrow."
"Why should you wait until to-morrow? You must get better at once. I have
ordered a basin of broth and two new-laid eggs for you."
"Nothing, madam; complete abstinence can alone cure me."
"He is right," said M. D---- R-----, "I know those attacks."
I shook my head slightly. M. D---- R---- having just then turned round to
examine an engraving, she took my hand, saying that she would like me to
drink some broth, and I felt that she was giving me a small parcel. She
went to look at the engraving with M. D---- R-----.
I opened the parcel, but feeling that it contained hair, I hurriedly
concealed it under the bed-clothes: at the same moment the blood rushed
to my head with such violence that it actually frightened me. I begged
for some water, she came to me, with M. D---- R-----, and then were both
frightened to see me so red, when they had seen me pale and weak only one
minute before.
Madame F---- gave me a glass of water in which she put some Eau des carmes
which instantly acted as a violent emetic. Two or three minutes after I
felt better, and asked for something to eat. Madame F---- smiled. The
servant came in with the broth and the eggs, and while I was eating I
told the history of Pandolfin. M. D---- R---- thought it was all a
miracle, and I could read, on the countenance of the charming woman,
love, affection, and repentance. If M. D---- R---- had not been present,
it would have been the moment of my happiness, but I felt certain that I
should not have long to wait. M. D---- R---- told Madame F---- that, if he
had not seen me so sick, he would have believed my illness to be all
sham, for he did not think it possible for anyone to rally so rapidly.
"It is all owing to my Eau des carmes," said Madame F-----, looking at
me, "and I will leave you my bottle."
"No, madam, be kind enough to take it with you, for the water would have
no virtue without your presence."
"I am sure of that," said M. D---- R-----, "so I will leave you here with
your patient."
"No, no, he must go to sleep now."
I slept all night, but in my happy dreams I was with her, and the reality
itself would hardly have procured me greater enjoyment than I had during
my happy slumbers. I saw I had taken a very long stride forward, for
twenty-four hours of abstinence gave me the right to speak to her openly
of my love, and the gift of her hair was an irrefutable confession of her
own feelings.
On the following day, after presenting myself before M. F----, I went to
have a little chat with the maid, to wait until her mistress was visible,
which was not long, and I had the pleasure of hearing her laugh when the
maid told her I was there. As soon as I went in, without giving me time
to say a single word, she told me how delighted she was to see me looking
so well, and advised me to call upon M. D---- R-----.
It is not only in the eyes of a lover, but also in those of every man of
taste, that a woman is a thousand times more lovely at the moment she
comes out of the arms of Morpheus than when she has completed her toilet.
Around Madame F---- more brilliant beams were blazing than around the sun
when he leaves the embrace of Aurora. Yet the most beautiful woman thinks
as much of her toilet as the one who cannot do without it--very likely
because more human creatures possess the more they want.
In the order given to me by Madame F---- to call on M. D---- R-----, I saw
another reason to be certain of approaching happiness, for I thought
that, by dismissing me so quickly, she had only tried to postpone the
consummation which I might have pressed upon her, and which she could not
have refused.
Rich in the possession of her hair, I held a consultation with my love to
decide what I ought to do with it, for Madame F----, very likely in her
wish to atone for the miserly sentiment which had refused me a small bit,
had given me a splendid lock, full a yard and a half long. Having thought
it over, I called upon a Jewish confectioner whose daughter was a skilful
embroiderer, and I made her embroider before me, on a bracelet of green
satin, the four initial letters of our names, and make a very thin chain
with the remainder. I had a piece of black ribbon added to one end of the
chain, in the shape of a sliding noose, with which I could easily
strangle myself if ever love should reduce me to despair, and I passed it
round my neck. As I did not want to lose even the smallest particle of so
precious a treasure, I cut with a pair of scissors all the small bits
which were left, and devoutly gathered them together. Then I reduced them
into a fine powder, and ordered the Jewish confectioner to mix the powder
in my presence with a paste made of amber, sugar, vanilla, angelica,
alkermes and storax, and I waited until the comfits prepared with that
mixture were ready. I had some more made with the same composition, but
without any hair; I put the first in a beautiful sweetmeat box of fine
crystal, and the second in a tortoise-shell box.
From the day when, by giving me her hair, Madame F---- had betrayed the
secret feelings of her heart, I no longer lost my time in relating
stories or adventures; I only spoke to her of my cove, of my ardent
desires; I told her that she must either banish me from her presence, or
crown my happiness, but the cruel, charming woman would not accept that
alternative. She answered that happiness could not be obtained by
offending every moral law, and by swerving from our duties. If I threw
myself at her feet to obtain by anticipation her forgiveness for the
loving violence I intended to use against her, she would repulse me more
powerfully than if she had had the strength of a female Hercules, for she
would say, in a voice full of sweetness and affection,
"My friend, I do not entreat you to respect my weakness, but be generous
enough to spare me for the sake of all the love I feel for you."
"What! you love me, and you refuse to make me happy! It is impossible! it
is unnatural. You compel me to believe that you do not love me. Only
allow me to press my lips one moment upon your lips, and I ask no more."
"No, dearest, no; it would only excite the ardour of your desires, shake
my resolution, and we should then find ourselves more miserable than we
are now."
Thus did she every day plunge me in despair, and yet she complained that
my wit was no longer brilliant in society, that I had lost that
elasticity of spirits which had pleased her so much after my arrival from
Constantinople. M. D---- R-----, who often jestingly waged war against me,
used to say that I was getting thinner and thinner every day. Madame
F---- told me one day that my sickly looks were very disagreeable to her,
because wicked tongues would not fail to say that she treated me with
cruelty. Strange, almost unnatural thought! On it I composed an idyll
which I cannot read, even now, without feeling tears in my eyes.
"What!" I answered, "you acknowledge your cruelty towards me? You are
afraid of the world guessing all your heartless rigour, and yet you
continue to enjoy it! You condemn me unmercifully to the torments of
Tantalus! You would be delighted to see me gay, cheerful, happy, even at
the expense of a judgment by which the world would find you guilty of a
supposed but false kindness towards me, and yet you refuse me even the
slightest favours!"
"I do not mind people believing anything, provided it is not true."
"What a contrast! Would it be possible for me not to love you, for you to
feel nothing for me? Such contradictions strike me as unnatural. But you
are growing thinner yourself, and I am dying. It must be so; we shall
both die before long, you of consumption, I of exhausting decline; for I
am now reduced to enjoying your shadow during the day, during the night,
always, everywhere, except when I am in your presence."
At that passionate declaration, delivered with all the ardour of an
excited lover, she was surprised, deeply moved, and I thought that the
happy hour had struck. I folded her in my arms, and was already tasting
the first fruits of enjoyment. . . . The sentinel knocked twice! . . . Oh!
fatal mischance! I recovered my composure and stood in front of her. . . .
M. D---- R---- made his appearance, and this time he found me in so
cheerful a mood that he remained with us until one o'clock in the
morning.
My comfits were beginning to be the talk of our society. M. D---- R-----,
Madame F----, and I were the only ones who had a box full of them. I was
stingy with them, and no one durst beg any from me, because I had said
that they were very expensive, and that in all Corfu there was no
confectioner who could make or physician who could analyse them. I never
gave one out of my crystal box, and Madame F. remarked it. I certainly
did not believe them to be amorous philtre, and I was very far from
supposing that the addition of the hair made them taste more delicious;
but a superstition, the offspring of my love, caused me to cherish them,
and it made me happy to think that a small portion of the woman I
worshipped was thus becoming a part of my being.
Influenced perhaps by some secret sympathy, Madame F. was exceedingly
fond of the comfits. She asserted before all her friends that they were
the universal panacea, and knowing herself perfect mistress of the
inventor, she did not enquire after the secret of the composition. But
having observed that I gave away only the comfits which I kept in my
tortoise-shell box, and that I never eat any but those from the crystal
box, she one day asked me what reason I had for that. Without taking time
to think, I told her that in those I kept for myself there was a certain
ingredient which made the partaker love her.
"I do not believe it," she answered; "but are they different from those I
eat myself?"
"They are exactly the same, with the exception of the ingredient I have
just mentioned, which has been put only in mine."
"Tell me what the ingredient is."
"It is a secret which I cannot reveal to you."
"Then I will never eat any of your comfits."
Saying which, she rose, emptied her box, and filled it again with
chocolate drops; and for the next few days she was angry with me, and
avoided my company. I felt grieved, I became low-spirited, but I could
not make up my mind to tell her that I was eating her hair!
She enquired why I looked so sad.
"Because you refuse to take my comfits."
"You are master of your secret, and I am mistress of my diet."
"That is my reward for having taken you into my confidence."
And I opened my box, emptied its contents in my hand, and swallowed the
whole of them, saying, "Two more doses like this, and I shall die mad
with love for you. Then you will be revenged for my reserve. Farewell,
madam."
She called me back, made me take a seat near her, and told me not to
commit follies which would make her unhappy; that I knew how much she
loved me, and that it was not owing to the effect of any drug. "To prove
to you," she added, "that you do not require anything of the sort to be
loved, here is a token of my affection." And she offered me her lovely
lips, and upon them mine remained pressed until I was compelled to draw a
breath. I threw myself at her feet, with tears of love and gratitude
blinding my eyes, and told her that I would confess my crime, if she
would promise to forgive me.
"Your crime! You frighten me. Yes, I forgive you, but speak quickly, and
tell me all."
"Yes, everything. My comfits contain your hair reduced to a powder. Here
on my arm, see this bracelet on which our names are written with your
hair, and round my neck this chain of the same material, which will help
me to destroy my own life when your love fails me. Such is my crime, but
I would not have been guilty of it, if I had not loved you."
She smiled, and, bidding me rise from my kneeling position, she told me
that I was indeed the most criminal of men, and she wiped away my tears,
assuring me that I should never have any reason to strangle myself with
the chain.
After that conversation, in which I had enjoyed the sweet nectar of my
divinity's first kiss, I had the courage to behave in a very different
manner. She could see the ardour which consumed me; perhaps the same fire
burned in her veins, but I abstained from any attack.
"What gives you," she said one day, "the strength to control yourself?"
"After the kiss which you granted to me of your own accord, I felt that I
ought not to wish any favour unless your heart gave it as freely. You
cannot imagine the happiness that kiss has given me."
"I not imagine it, you ungrateful man! Which of us has given that
happiness?"
"Neither you nor I, angel of my soul! That kiss so tender, so sweet, was
the child of love!"
"Yes, dearest, of love, the treasures of which are inexhaustible."
The words were scarcely spoken, when our lips were engaged in happy
concert. She held me so tight against her bosom that I could not use my
hands to secure other pleasures, but I felt myself perfectly happy. After
that delightful skirmish, I asked her whether we were never to go any
further.
"Never, dearest friend, never. Love is a child which must be amused with
trifles; too substantial food would kill it."
"I know love better than you; it requires that substantial food, and
unless it can obtain it, love dies of exhaustion. Do not refuse me the
consolation of hope."
"Hope as much as you please, if it makes you happy."
"What should I do, if I had no hope? I hope, because I know you have a
heart."
"Ah! yes. Do you recollect the day, when, in your anger, you told me that
I had only a head, but no heart, thinking you were insulting me grossly!"
"Oh! yes, I recollect it."
"How heartily I laughed, when I had time to think! Yes, dearest, I have a
heart, or I should not feel as happy as I feel now. Let us keep our
happiness, and be satisfied with it, as it is, without wishing for
anything more."
Obedient to her wishes, but every day more deeply enamoured, I was in
hope that nature at last would prove stronger than prejudice, and would
cause a fortunate crisis. But, besides nature, fortune was my friend, and
I owed my happiness to an accident.
Madame F. was walking one day in the garden, leaning on M. D---- R-----'s
arm, and was caught by a large rose-bush, and the prickly thorns left a
deep cut on her leg. M. D---- R---- bandaged the wound with his
handkerchief, so as to stop the blood which was flowing abundantly, and
she had to be carried home in a palanquin.
In Corfu, wounds on the legs are dangerous when they are not well
attended to, and very often the wounded are compelled to leave the city
to be cured.
Madame F---- was confined to her bed, and my lucky position in the house
condemned me to remain constantly at her orders. I saw her every minute;
but, during the first three days, visitors succeeded each other without
intermission, and I never was alone with her. In the evening, after
everybody had gone, and her husband had retired to his own apartment, M.
D---- R---- remained another hour, and for the sake of propriety I had to
take my leave at the same time that he did. I had much more liberty
before the accident, and I told her so half seriously, half jestingly.
The next day, to make up for my disappointment, she contrived a moment of
happiness for me.
An elderly surgeon came every morning to dress her wound, during which
operation her maid only was present, but I used to go, in my morning
dishabille, to the girl's room, and to wait there, so as to be the first
to hear how my dear one was.
That morning, the girl came to tell me to go in as the surgeon was
dressing the wound.
"See, whether my leg is less inflamed."
"To give an opinion, madam, I ought to have seen it yesterday."
"True. I feel great pain, and I am afraid of erysipelas."
"Do not be afraid, madam," said the surgeon, "keep your bed, and I answer
for your complete recovery."
The surgeon being busy preparing a poultice at the other end of the room,
and the maid out, I enquired whether she felt any hardness in the calf of
the leg, and whether the inflammation went up the limb; and naturally, my
eyes and my hands kept pace with my questions.... I saw no inflammation,
I felt no hardness, but... and the lovely patient hurriedly let the
curtain fall, smiling, and allowing me to take a sweet kiss, the perfume
of which I had not enjoyed for many days. It was a sweet moment; a
delicious ecstacy. From her mouth my lips descended to her wound, and
satisfied in that moment that my kisses were the best of medicines, I
would have kept my lips there, if the noise made by the maid coming back
had not compelled me to give up my delightful occupation.
When we were left alone, burning with intense desires, I entreated her to
grant happiness at least to my eyes.
"I feel humiliated," I said to her, "by the thought that the felicity I
have just enjoyed was only a theft."
"But supposing you were mistaken?"
The next day I was again present at the dressing of the wound, and as
soon as the surgeon had left, she asked me to arrange her pillows, which
I did at once. As if to make that pleasant office easier, she raised the
bedclothes to support herself, and she thus gave me a sight of beauties
which intoxicated my eyes, and I protracted the easy operation without
her complaining of my being too slow.
When I had done I was in a fearful state, and I threw myself in an
arm-chair opposite her bed, half dead, in a sort of trance. I was looking
at that lovely being who, almost artless, was continually granting me
greater and still greater favours, and yet never allowed me to reach the
goal for which I was so ardently longing.
"What are you thinking of?" she said.
"Of the supreme felicity I have just been enjoying."
"You are a cruel man."
"No, I am not cruel, for, if you love me, you must not blush for your
indulgence. You must know, too, that, loving you passionately, I must not
suppose that it is to be a surprise that I am indebted for my happiness
in the enjoyment of the most ravishing sights, for if I owed it only to
mere chance I should be compelled to believe that any other man in my
position might have had the same happiness, and such an idea would be
misery to me. Let me be indebted to you for having proved to me this
morning how much enjoyment I can derive from one of my senses. Can you be
angry with my eyes?"
"Yes."
"They belong to you; tear them out."
The next day, the moment the doctor had gone, she sent her maid out to
make some purchases.
"Ah!" she said a few minutes after, "my maid has forgotten to change my
chemise."
"Allow me to take her place."
"Very well, but recollect that I give permission only to your eyes to
take a share in the proceedings."
"Agreed!"
She unlaced herself, took off her stays and her chemise, and told me to
be quick and put on the clean one, but I was not speedy enough, being too
much engaged by all I could see.
"Give me my chemise," she exclaimed; "it is there on that small table."
"Where?"
"There, near the bed. Well, I will take it myself."
She leaned over towards the table, and exposed almost everything I was
longing for, and, turning slowly round, she handed me the chemise which I
could hardly hold, trembling all over with fearful excitement. She took
pity on me, my hands shared the happiness of my eyes; I fell in her arms,
our lips fastened together, and, in a voluptuous, ardent pressure, we
enjoyed an amorous exhaustion not sufficient to allay our desires, but
delightful enough to deceive them for the moment.
With greater control over herself than women have generally under similar
circumstances, she took care to let me reach only the porch of the
temple, without granting me yet a free entrance to the sanctuary.
EPISODE 4 -- RETURN TO VENICE
CHAPTER XVI
A Fearful Misfortune Befalls Me--Love Cools Down--Leave
Corfu and Return to Venice--Give Up the Army and Become a
Fiddler
The wound was rapidly healing up, and I saw near at hand the moment when
Madame F---- would leave her bed, and resume her usual avocations.
The governor of the galeasses having issued orders for a general review
at Gouyn, M. F----, left for that place in his galley, telling me to join
him there early on the following day with the felucca. I took supper
alone with Madame F----, and I told her how unhappy it made me to remain
one day away from her.
"Let us make up to-night for to-morrow's disappointment," she said, "and
let us spend it together in conversation. Here are the keys; when you
know that my maid has left me, come to me through my husband's room."
I did not fail to follow her instructions to the letter, and we found
ourselves alone with five hours before us. It was the month of June, and
the heat was intense. She had gone to bed; I folded her in my arms, she
pressed me to her bosom, but, condemning herself to the most cruel
torture, she thought I had no right to complain, if I was subjected to
the same privation which she imposed upon herself. My remonstrances, my
prayers, my entreaties were of no avail.
"Love," she said, "must be kept in check with a tight hand, and we can
laugh at him, since, in spite of the tyranny which we force him to obey,
we succeed all the same in gratifying our desires."
After the first ecstacy, our eyes and lips unclosed together, and a
little apart from each other we take delight in seeing the mutual
satisfaction beaming on our features.
Our desires revive; she casts a look upon my state of innocence entirely
exposed to her sight. She seems vexed at my want of excitement, and,
throwing off everything which makes the heat unpleasant and interferes
with our pleasure, she bounds upon me. It is more than amorous fury, it
is desperate lust. I share her frenzy, I hug her with a sort of delirium,
I enjoy a felicity which is on the point of carrying me to the regions of
bliss.... but, at the very moment of completing the offering, she fails
me, moves off, slips away, and comes back to work off my excitement with
a hand which strikes me as cold as ice.
"Ah, thou cruel, beloved woman! Thou art burning with the fire of love,
and thou deprivest thyself of the only remedy which could bring calm to
thy senses! Thy lovely hand is more humane than thou art, but thou has
not enjoyed the felicity that thy hand has given me. My hand must owe
nothing to thine. Come, darling light of my heart, come! Love doubles my
existence in the hope that I will die again, but only in that charming
retreat from which you have ejected me in the very moment of my greatest
enjoyment."
While I was speaking thus, her very soul was breathing forth the most
tender sighs of happiness, and as she pressed me tightly in her arms I
felt that she was weltering in an ocean of bliss.
Silence lasted rather a long time, but that unnatural felicity was
imperfect, and increased my excitement.
"How canst thou complain," she said tenderly, "when it is to that very
imperfection of our enjoyment that we are indebted for its continuance? I
loved thee a few minutes since, now I love thee a thousand times more,
and perhaps I should love thee less if thou hadst carried my enjoyment to
its highest limit."
"Oh! how much art thou mistaken, lovely one! How great is thy error! Thou
art feeding upon sophisms, and thou leavest reality aside; I mean nature
which alone can give real felicity. Desires constantly renewed and never
fully satisfied are more terrible than the torments of hell."
"But are not these desires happiness when they are always accompanied by
hope?"
"No, if that hope is always disappointed. It becomes hell itself, because
there is no hope, and hope must die when it is killed by constant
deception."
"Dearest, if hope does not exist in hell, desires cannot be found there
either; for to imagine desires without hopes would be more than madness."
"Well, answer me. If you desire to be mine entirely, and if you feel the
hope of it, which, according to your way of reasoning, is a natural
consequence, why do you always raise an impediment to your own hope?
Cease, dearest, cease to deceive yourself by absurd sophisms. Let us be
as happy as it is in nature to be, and be quite certain that the reality
of happiness will increase our love, and that love will find a new life
in our very enjoyment."
"What I see proves the contrary; you are alive with excitement now, but
if your desires had been entirely satisfied, you would be dead, benumbed,
motionless. I know it by experience: if you had breathed the full ecstacy
of enjoyment, as you desired, you would have found a weak ardour only at
long intervals."
"Ah! charming creature, your experience is but very small; do not trust
to it. I see that you have never known love. That which you call love's
grave is the sanctuary in which it receives life, the abode which makes
it immortal. Give way to my prayers, my lovely friend, and then you shall
know the difference between Love and Hymen. You shall see that, if Hymen
likes to die in order to get rid of life, Love on the contrary expires
only to spring up again into existence, and hastens to revive, so as to
savour new enjoyment. Let me undeceive you, and believe me when I say
that the full gratification of desires can only increase a hundredfold
the mutual ardour of two beings who adore each other."
"Well, I must believe you; but let us wait. In the meantime let us enjoy
all the trifles, all the sweet preliminaries of love. Devour thy
mistress, dearest, but abandon to me all thy being. If this night is too
short we must console ourselves to-morrow by making arrangements for
another one."
"And if our intercourse should be discovered?"
"Do we make a mystery of it? Everybody can see that we love each other,
and those who think that we do not enjoy the happiness of lovers are
precisely the only persons we have to fear. We must only be careful to
guard against being surprised in the very act of proving our love. Heaven
and nature must protect our affection, for there is no crime when two
hearts are blended in true love. Since I have been conscious of my own
existence, Love has always seemed to me the god of my being, for every
time I saw a man I was delighted; I thought that I was looking upon
one-half of myself, because I felt I was made for him and he for me. I
longed to be married. It was that uncertain longing of the heart which
occupies exclusively a young girl of fifteen. I had no conception of
love, but I fancied that it naturally accompanied marriage. You can
therefore imagine my surprise when my husband, in the very act of making
a woman of me, gave me a great deal of pain without giving me the
slightest idea of pleasure! My imagination in the convent was much better
than the reality I had been condemned to by my husband! The result has
naturally been that we have become very good friends, but a very
indifferent husband and wife, without any desires for each other. He has
every reason to be pleased with me, for I always shew myself docile to
his wishes, but enjoyment not being in those cases seasoned by love, he
must find it without flavour, and he seldom comes to me for it.
"When I found out that you were in love with me, I felt delighted, and
gave you every opportunity of becoming every day more deeply enamoured of
me, thinking myself certain of never loving you myself. As soon as I felt
that love had likewise attacked my heart, I ill-treated you to punish you
for having made my heart sensible. Your patience and constancy have
astonished me, and have caused me to be guilty, for after the first kiss
I gave you I had no longer any control over myself. I was indeed
astounded when I saw the havoc made by one single kiss, and I felt that
my happiness was wrapped up in yours. That discovery flattered and
delighted me, and I have found out, particularly to-night, that I cannot
be happy unless you are so yourself."
"That is, my beloved, the most refined of all sentiments experienced by
love, but it is impossible for you to render me completely happy without
following in everything the laws and the wishes of nature."
The night was spent in tender discussions and in exquisite
voluptuousness, and it was not without some grief that at day-break I
tore myself from her arms to go to Gouyn. She wept for joy when she saw
that I left her without having lost a particle of my vigour, for she did
not imagine such a thing possible.
After that night, so rich in delights, ten or twelve days passed without
giving us any opportunity of quenching even a small particle of the
amorous thirst which devoured us, and it was then that a fearful
misfortune befell me.
One evening after supper, M. D---- R---- having retired, M. F---- used no
ceremony, and, although I was present, told his wife that he intended to
pay her a visit after writing two letters which he had to dispatch early
the next morning. The moment he had left the room we looked at each
other, and with one accord fell into each other's arms. A torrent of
delights rushed through our souls without restraint, without reserve, but
when the first ardour had been appeased, without giving me time to think
or to enjoy the most complete, the most delicious victory, she drew back,
repulsed me, and threw herself, panting, distracted, upon a chair near
her bed. Rooted to the spot, astonished, almost mad, I tremblingly looked
at her, trying to understand what had caused such an extraordinary
action. She turned round towards me and said, her eyes flashing with the
fire of love,
"My darling, we were on the brink of the precipice."
"The precipice! Ah! cruel woman, you have killed me, I feel myself dying,
and perhaps you will never see me again."
I left her in a state of frenzy, and rushed out, towards the esplanade,
to cool myself, for I was choking. Any man who has not experienced the
cruelty of an action like that of Madame F----, and especially in the
situation I found myself in at that moment, mentally and bodily, can
hardly realize what I suffered, and, although I have felt that suffering,
I could not give an idea of it.
I was in that fearful state, when I heard my name called from a window,
and unfortunately I condescended to answer. I went near the window, and I
saw, thanks to the moonlight, the famous Melulla standing on her balcony.
"What are you doing there at this time of night?" I enquired.
"I am enjoying the cool evening breeze. Come up for a little while."
This Melulla, of fatal memory, was a courtezan from Zamte, of rare
beauty, who for the last four months had been the delight and the rage of
all the young men in Corfu. Those who had known her agreed in extolling
her charms: she was the talk of all the city. I had seen her often, but,
although she was very beautiful, I was very far from thinking her as
lovely as Madame F----, putting my affection for the latter on one side.
I recollect seeing in Dresden, in the year 1790, a very handsome woman
who was the image of Melulla.
I went upstairs mechanically, and she took me to a voluptuous boudoir;
she complained of my being the only one who had never paid her a visit,
when I was the man she would have preferred to all others, and I had the
infamy to give way.... I became the most criminal of men.
It was neither desire, nor imagination, nor the merit of the woman which
caused me to yield, for Melulla was in no way worthy of me; no, it was
weakness, indolence, and the state of bodily and mental irritation in
which I then found myself: it was a sort of spite, because the angel whom
I adored had displeased me by a caprice, which, had I not been unworthy
of her, would only have caused me to be still more attached to her.
Melulla, highly pleased with her success, refused the gold I wanted to
give her, and allowed me to go after I had spent two hours with her.
When I recovered my composure, I had but one feeling-hatred for myself
and for the contemptible creature who had allured me to be guilty of so
vile an insult to the loveliest of her sex. I went home the prey to
fearful remorse, and went to bed, but sleep never closed my eyes
throughout that cruel night.
In the morning, worn out with fatigue and sorrow, I got up, and as soon
as I was dressed I went to M. F----, who had sent for me to give me some
orders. After I had returned, and had given him an account of my mission,
I called upon Madame F----, and finding her at her toilet I wished her
good morning, observing that her lovely face was breathing the
cheerfulness and the calm of happiness; but, suddenly, her eyes meeting
mine, I saw her countenance change, and an expression of sadness replace
her looks of satisfaction. She cast her eyes down as if she was deep in
thought, raised them again as if to read my very soul, and breaking our
painful silence, as soon as she had dismissed her maid, she said to me,
with an accent full of tenderness and of solemnity,
"Dear one, let there be no concealment either on my part or on yours. I
felt deeply grieved when I saw you leave me last night, and a little
consideration made me understand all the evil which might accrue to you
in consequence of what I had done. With a nature like yours, such scenes
might cause very dangerous disorders, and I have resolved not to do again
anything by halves. I thought that you went out to breathe the fresh air,
and I hoped it would do you good. I placed myself at my window, where I
remained more than an hour without seeing alight in your room. Sorry for
what I had done, loving you more than ever, I was compelled, when my
husband came to my room, to go to bed with the sad conviction that you
had not come home. This morning, M. F. sent an officer to tell you that
he wanted to see you, and I heard the messenger inform him that you were
not yet up, and that you had come home very late. I felt my heart swell
with sorrow. I am not jealous, dearest, for I know that you cannot love
anyone but me; I only felt afraid of some misfortune. At last, this
morning, when I heard you coming, I was happy, because I was ready to
skew my repentance, but I looked at you, and you seemed a different man.
Now, I am still looking at you, and, in spite of myself, my soul reads
upon your countenance that you are guilty, that you have outraged my
love. Tell me at once, dearest, if I am mistaken; if you have deceived
me, say so openly. Do not be unfaithful to love and to truth. Knowing
that I was the cause of it, I should never forgive my self, but there is
an excuse for you in my heart, in my whole being."
More than once, in the course of my life, I have found myself under the
painful necessity of telling falsehoods to the woman I loved; but in this
case, after so true, so touching an appeal, how could I be otherwise than
sincere? I felt myself sufficiently debased by my crime, and I could not
degrade myself still more by falsehood. I was so far from being disposed
to such a line of conduct that I could not speak, and I burst out crying.
"What, my darling! you are weeping! Your tears make me miserable. You
ought not to have shed any with me but tears of happiness and love.
Quick, my beloved, tell me whether you have made me wretched. Tell me
what fearful revenge you have taken on me, who would rather die than
offend you. If I have caused you any sorrow, it has been in the innocence
of a loving and devoted heart."
"My own darling angel, I never thought of revenge, for my heart, which
can never cease to adore you, could never conceive such a dreadful idea.
It is against my own heart that my cowardly weakness has allured me to
the commission of a crime which, for the remainder of my life, makes me
unworthy of you."
"Have you, then, given yourself to some wretched woman?"
"Yes, I have spent two hours in the vilest debauchery, and my soul was
present only to be the witness of my sadness, of my remorse, of my
unworthiness."
"Sadness and remorse! Oh, my poor friend! I believe it. But it is my
fault; I alone ought to suffer; it is I who must beg you to forgive me."
Her tears made mine flow again.
"Divine soul," I said, "the reproaches you are addressing to yourself
increase twofold the gravity of my crime. You would never have been
guilty of any wrong against me if I had been really worthy of your love."
I felt deeply the truth of my words.
We spent the remainder of the day apparently quiet and composed,
concealing our sadness in the depths of our hearts. She was curious to
know all the circumstances of my miserable adventure, and, accepting it
as an expiation, I related them to her. Full of kindness, she assured me
that we were bound to ascribe that accident to fate, and that the same
thing might have happened to the best of men. She added that I was more
to be pitied than condemned, and that she did not love me less. We both
were certain that we would seize the first favourable opportunity, she of
obtaining her pardon, I of atoning for my crime, by giving each other new
and complete proofs of our mutual ardour. But Heaven in its justice had
ordered differently, and I was cruelly punished for my disgusting
debauchery.
On the third day, as I got up in the morning, an awful pricking announced
the horrid state into which the wretched Melulla had thrown me. I was
thunderstruck! And when I came to think of the misery which I might have
caused if, during the last three days, I had obtained some new favour
from my lovely mistress, I was on the point of going mad. What would have
been her feelings if I had made her unhappy for the remainder of her
life! Would anyone, then, knowing the whole case, have condemned me if I
had destroyed my own life in order to deliver myself from everlasting
remorse? No, for the man who kills himself from sheer despair, thus
performing upon himself the execution of the sentence he would have
deserved at the hands of justice cannot be blamed either by a virtuous
philosopher or by a tolerant Christian. But of one thing I am quite
certain: if such a misfortune had happened, I should have committed
suicide.
Overwhelmed with grief by the discovery I had just made, but thinking
that I should get rid of the inconvenience as I had done three times
before, I prepared myself for a strict diet, which would restore my
health in six weeks without anyone having any suspicion of my illness,
but I soon found out that I had not seen the end of my troubles; Melulla
had communicated to my system all the poisons which corrupt the source of
life. I was acquainted with an elderly doctor of great experience in
those matters; I consulted him, and he promised to set me to rights in
two months; he proved as good as his word. At the beginning of September
I found myself in good health, and it was about that time that I returned
to Venice.
The first thing I resolved on, as soon as I discovered the state I was
in, was to confess everything to Madame F----. I did not wish to wait for
the time when a compulsory confession would have made her blush for her
weakness, and given her cause to think of the fearful consequences which
might have been the result of her passion for me. Her affection was too
dear to me to run the risk of losing it through a want of confidence in
her. Knowing her heart, her candour, and the generosity which had
prompted her to say that I was more to be pitied than blamed, I thought
myself bound to prove by my sincerity that I deserved her esteem.
I told her candidly my position and the state I had been thrown in, when
I thought of the dreadful consequences it might have had for her. I saw
her shudder and tremble, and she turned pale with fear when I added that
I would have avenged her by killing myself.
"Villainous, infamous Melulla!" she exclaimed.
And I repeated those words, but turning them against myself when I
realized all I had sacrificed through the most disgusting weakness.
Everyone in Corfu knew of my visit to the wretched Melulla, and everyone
seemed surprised to see the appearance of health on my countenance; for
many were the victims that she had treated like me.
My illness was not my only sorrow; I had others which, although of a
different nature, were not less serious. It was written in the book of
fate that I should return to Venice a simple ensign as when I left: the
general did not keep his word, and the bastard son of a nobleman was
promoted to the lieutenancy instead of myself. From that moment the
military profession, the one most subject to arbitrary despotism,
inspired me with disgust, and I determined to give it up. But I had
another still more important motive for sorrow in the fickleness of
fortune which had completely turned against me. I remarked that, from the
time of my degradation with Melulla, every kind of misfortune befell me.
The greatest of all--that which I felt most, but which I had the good
sense to try and consider a favour--was that a week before the departure
of the army M. D---- R---- took me again for his adjutant, and M. F---- had
to engage another in my place. On the occasion of that change Madame F
told me, with an appearance of regret, that in Venice we could not, for
many reasons, continue our intimacy. I begged her to spare me the
reasons, as I foresaw that they would only throw humiliation upon me. I
began to discover that the goddess I had worshipped was, after all, a
poor human being like all other women, and to think that I should have
been very foolish to give up my life for her. I probed in one day the
real worth of her heart, for she told me, I cannot recollect in reference
to what, that I excited her pity. I saw clearly that she no longer loved
me; pity is a debasing feeling which cannot find a home in a heart full
of love, for that dreary sentiment is too near a relative of contempt.
Since that time I never found myself alone with Madame F----. I loved her
still; I could easily have made her blush, but I did not do it.
As soon as we reached Venice she became attached to M. F---- R----, whom
she loved until death took him from her. She was unhappy enough to lose
her sight twenty years after. I believe she is still alive.
During the last two months of my stay in Corfu, I learned the most bitter
and important lessons. In after years I often derived useful hints from
the experience I acquired at that time.
Before my adventure with the worthless Melulla, I enjoyed good health, I
was rich, lucky at play, liked by everybody, beloved by the most lovely
woman of Corfu. When I spoke, everybody would listen and admire my wit;
my words were taken for oracles, and everyone coincided with me in
everything. After my fatal meeting with the courtezan I rapidly lost my
health, my money, my credit; cheerfulness, consideration, wit,
everything, even the faculty of eloquence vanished with fortune. I would
talk, but people knew that I was unfortunate, and I no longer interested
or convinced my hearers. The influence I had over Madame F---- faded away
little by little, and, almost without her knowing it, the lovely woman
became completely indifferent to me.
I left Corfu without money, although I had sold or pledged everything I
had of any value. Twice I had reached Corfu rich and happy, twice I left
it poor and miserable. But this time I had contracted debts which I have
never paid, not through want of will but through carelessness.
Rich and in good health, everyone received me with open arms; poor and
looking sick, no one shewed me any consideration. With a full purse and
the tone of a conqueror, I was thought witty, amusing; with an empty
purse and a modest air, all I said appeared dull and insipid. If I had
become rich again, how soon I would have been again accounted the eighth
wonder of the world! Oh, men! oh, fortune! Everyone avoided me as if the
ill luck which crushed me down was infectious.
We left Corfu towards the end of September, with five galleys, two
galeasses, and several smaller vessels, under the command of M. Renier.
We sailed along the shores of the Adriatic, towards the north of the
gulf, where there are a great many harbours, and we put in one of them
every night. I saw Madame F---- every evening; she always came with her
husband to take supper on board our galeass. We had a fortunate voyage,
and cast anchor in the harbour of Venice on the 14th of October, 1745,
and after having performed quarantine on board our ships, we landed on
the 25th of November. Two months afterwards, the galeasses were set aside
altogether. The use of these vessels could be traced very far back in
ancient times; their maintenance was very expensive, and they were
useless. A galeass had the frame of a frigate with the rowing apparatus
of the galley, and when there was no wind, five hundred slaves had to
row.
Before simple good sense managed to prevail and to enforce the
suppression of these useless carcasses, there were long discussions in
the senate, and those who opposed the measure took their principal ground
of opposition in the necessity of respecting and conserving all the
institutions of olden times. That is the disease of persons who can never
identify themselves with the successive improvements born of reason and
experience; worthy persons who ought to be sent to China, or to the
dominions of the Grand Lama, where they would certainly be more at home
than in Europe.
That ground of opposition to all improvements, however absurd it may be,
is a very powerful one in a republic, which must tremble at the mere idea
of novelty either in important or in trifling things. Superstition has
likewise a great part to play in these conservative views.
There is one thing that the Republic of Venice will never alter: I mean
the galleys, because the Venetians truly require such vessels to ply, in
all weathers and in spite of the frequent calms, in a narrow sea, and
because they would not know what to do with the men sentenced to hard
labour.
I have observed a singular thing in Corfu, where there are often as many
as three thousand galley slaves; it is that the men who row on the
galleys, in consequence of a sentence passed upon them for some crime,
are held in a kind of opprobrium, whilst those who are there voluntarily
are, to some extent, respected. I have always thought it ought to be the
reverse, because misfortune, whatever it may be, ought to inspire some
sort of respect; but the vile fellow who condemns himself voluntarily and
as a trade to the position of a slave seems to me contemptible in the
highest degree. The convicts of the Republic, however, enjoy many
privileges, and are, in every way, better treated than the soldiers. It
very often occurs that soldiers desert and give themselves up to a
'sopracomito' to become galley slaves. In those cases, the captain who
loses a soldier has nothing to do but to submit patiently, for he would
claim the man in vain. The reason of it is that the Republic has always
believed galley slaves more necessary than soldiers. The Venetians may
perhaps now (I am writing these lines in the year 1797) begin to realize
their mistake.
A galley slave, for instance, has the privilege of stealing with
impunity. It is considered that stealing is the least crime they can be
guilty of, and that they ought to be forgiven for it.
"Keep on your guard," says the master of the galley slave; "and if you
catch him in the act of stealing, thrash him, but be careful not to
cripple him; otherwise you must pay me the one hundred ducats the man has
cost me."
A court of justice could not have a galley slave taken from a galley,
without paying the master the amount he has disbursed for the man.
As soon as I had landed in Venice, I called upon Madame Orio, but I found
the house empty. A neighbour told me that she had married the Procurator
Rosa, and had removed to his house. I went immediately to M. Rosa and was
well received. Madame Orio informed me that Nanette had become Countess
R., and was living in Guastalla with her husband.
Twenty-four years afterwards, I met her eldest son, then a distinguished
officer in the service of the Infante of Parma.
As for Marton, the grace of Heaven had touched her, and she had become a
nun in the convent at Muran. Two years afterwards, I received from her a
letter full of unction, in which she adjured me, in the name of Our
Saviour and of the Holy Virgin, never to present myself before her eyes.
She added that she was bound by Christian charity to forgive me for the
crime I had committed in seducing her, and she felt certain of the reward
of the elect, and she assured me that she would ever pray earnestly for
my conversion.
I never saw her again, but she saw me in 1754, as I will mention when we
reach that year.
I found Madame Manzoni still the same. She had predicted that I would not
remain in the military profession, and when I told her that I had made up
my mind to give it up, because I could not be reconciled to the injustice
I had experienced, she burst out laughing. She enquired about the
profession I intended to follow after giving up the army, and I answered
that I wished to become an advocate. She laughed again, saying that it
was too late. Yet I was only twenty years old.
When I called upon M. Grimani I had a friendly welcome from him, but,
having enquired after my brother Francois, he told me that he had had him
confined in Fort Saint Andre, the same to which I had been sent before
the arrival of the Bishop of Martorano.
"He works for the major there," he said; "he copies Simonetti's
battle-pieces, and the major pays him for them; in that manner he earns
his living, and is becoming a good painter."
"But he is not a prisoner?"
"Well, very much like it, for he cannot leave the fort. The major, whose
name is Spiridion, is a friend of Razetta, who could not refuse him the
pleasure of taking care of your brother."
I felt it a dreadful curse that the fatal Razetta should be the tormentor
of all my family, but I concealed my anger.
"Is my sister," I enquired, "still with him?"
"No, she has gone to your mother in Dresden."
This was good news.
I took a cordial leave of the Abbe Grimani, and I proceeded to Fort Saint
Andre. I found my brother hard at work, neither pleased nor displeased
with his position, and enjoying good health. After embracing him
affectionately, I enquired what crime he had committed to be thus a
prisoner.
"Ask the major," he said, "for I have not the faintest idea."
The major came in just then, so I gave him the military salute, and asked
by what authority he kept my brother under arrest.
"I am not accountable to you for my actions."
"That remains to be seen."
I then told my brother to take his hat, and to come and dine with me. The
major laughed, and said that he had no objection provided the sentinel
allowed him to pass.
I saw that I should only waste my time in discussion, and I left the fort
fully bent on obtaining justice.
The next day I went to the war office, where I had the pleasure of
meeting my dear Major Pelodoro, who was then commander of the Fortress of
Chiozza. I informed him of the complaint I wanted to prefer before the
secretary of war respecting my brother's arrest, and of the resolution I
had taken to leave the army. He promised me that, as soon as the consent
of the secretary for war could be obtained, he would find a purchaser for
my commission at the same price I had paid for it.
I had not long to wait. The war secretary came to the office, and
everything was settled in half an hour. He promised his consent to the
sale of my commission as soon as he ascertained the abilities of the
purchaser, and Major Spiridion happening to make his appearance in the
office while I was still there, the secretary ordered him rather angrily,
to set my brother at liberty immediately, and cautioned him not to be
guilty again of such reprehensible and arbitrary acts.
I went at once for my brother, and we lived together in furnished
lodgings.
A few days afterwards, having received my discharge and one hundred
sequins, I threw off my uniform, and found myself once more my own
master.
I had to earn my living in one way or another, and I decided for the
profession of gamester. But Dame Fortune was not of the same opinion, for
she refused to smile upon me from the very first step I took in the
career, and in less than a week I did not possess a groat. What was to
become of me? One must live, and I turned fiddler. Doctor Gozzi had
taught me well enough to enable me to scrape on the violin in the
orchestra of a theatre, and having mentioned my wishes to M. Grimani he
procured me an engagement at his own theatre of Saint Samuel, where I
earned a crown a day, and supported myself while I awaited better things.
Fully aware of my real position, I never shewed myself in the fashionable
circles which I used to frequent before my fortune had sunk so low. I
knew that I was considered as a worthless fellow, but I did not care.
People despised me, as a matter of course; but I found comfort in the
consciousness that I was worthy of contempt. I felt humiliated by the
position to which I was reduced after having played so brilliant a part
in society; but as I kept the secret to myself I was not degraded, even
if I felt some shame. I had not exchanged my last word with Dame Fortune,
and was still in hope of reckoning with her some day, because I was
young, and youth is dear to Fortune.
CHAPTER XVII
I Turn Out A Worthless Fellow--My Good Fortune--I Become A
Rich Nobleman
[Illustration: 1c17.jpg]
With an education which ought to have ensured me an honourable standing
in the world, with some intelligence, wit, good literary and scientific
knowledge, and endowed with those accidental physical qualities which are
such a good passport into society, I found myself, at the age of twenty,
the mean follower of a sublime art, in which, if great talent is rightly
admired, mediocrity is as rightly despised. I was compelled by poverty to
become a member of a musical band, in which I could expect neither esteem
nor consideration, and I was well aware that I should be the
laughing-stock of the persons who had known me as a doctor in divinity,
as an ecclesiastic, and as an officer in the army, and had welcomed me in
the highest society.
I knew all that, for I was not blind to my position; but contempt, the
only thing to which I could not have remained indifferent, never shewed
itself anywhere under a form tangible enough for me to have no doubt of
my being despised, and I set it at defiance, because I was satisfied that
contempt is due only to cowardly, mean actions, and I was conscious that
I had never been guilty of any. As to public esteem, which I had ever
been anxious to secure, my ambition was slumbering, and satisfied with
being my own master I enjoyed my independence without puzzling my head
about the future. I felt that in my first profession, as I was not
blessed with the vocation necessary to it, I should have succeeded only
by dint of hypocrisy, and I should have been despicable in my own
estimation, even if I had seen the purple mantle on my shoulders, for the
greatest dignities cannot silence a man's own conscience. If, on the
other hand, I had continued to seek fortune in a military career, which
is surrounded by a halo of glory, but is otherwise the worst of
professions for the constant self-abnegation, for the complete surrender
of one's will which passive obedience demands, I should have required a
patience to which I could not lay any claim, as every kind of injustice
was revolting to me, and as I could not bear to feel myself dependent.
Besides, I was of opinion that a man's profession, whatever it might be,
ought to supply him with enough money to satisfy all his wants; and the
very poor pay of an officer would never have been sufficient to cover my
expenses, because my education had given me greater wants than those of
officers in general. By scraping my violin I earned enough to keep myself
without requiring anybody's assistance, and I have always thought that
the man who can support himself is happy. I grant that my profession was
not a brilliant one, but I did not mind it, and, calling prejudices all
the feelings which rose in my breast against myself, I was not long in
sharing all the habits of my degraded comrades. When the play was over, I
went with them to the drinking-booth, which we often left intoxicated to
spend the night in houses of ill-fame. When we happened to find those
places already tenanted by other men, we forced them by violence to quit
the premises, and defrauded the miserable victims of prostitution of the
mean salary the law allows them, after compelling them to yield to our
brutality. Our scandalous proceedings often exposed us to the greatest
danger.
We would very often spend the whole night rambling about the city,
inventing and carrying into execution the most impertinent, practical
jokes. One of our favourite pleasures was to unmoor the patricians'
gondolas, and to let them float at random along the canals, enjoying by
anticipation all the curses that gondoliers would not fail to indulge in.
We would rouse up hurriedly, in the middle of the night, an honest
midwife, telling her to hasten to Madame So-and-so, who, not being even
pregnant, was sure to tell her she was a fool when she called at the
house. We did the same with physicians, whom we often sent half dressed
to some nobleman who was enjoying excellent health. The priests fared no
better; we would send them to carry the last sacraments to married men
who were peacefully slumbering near their wives, and not thinking of
extreme unction.
We were in the habit of cutting the wires of the bells in every house,
and if we chanced to find a gate open we would go up the stairs in the
dark, and frighten the sleeping inmates by telling them very loudly that
the house door was not closed, after which we would go down, making as
much noise as we could, and leave the house with the gate wide open.
During a very dark night we formed a plot to overturn the large marble
table of St. Angelo's Square, on which it was said that in the days of
the League of Cambray the commissaries of the Republic were in the habit
of paying the bounty to the recruits who engaged to fight under the
standard of St. Mark--a circumstance which secured for the table a sort
of public veneration.
Whenever we could contrive to get into a church tower we thought it great
fun to frighten all the parish by ringing the alarm bell, as if some fire
had broken out; but that was not all, we always cut the bell ropes, so
that in the morning the churchwardens had no means of summoning the
faithful to early mass. Sometimes we would cross the canal, each of us in
a different gondola, and take to our heels without paying as soon as we
landed on the opposite side, in order to make the gondoliers run after
us.
The city was alive with complaints, and we laughed at the useless search
made by the police to find out those who disturbed the peace of the
inhabitants. We took good care to be careful, for if we had been
discovered we stood a very fair chance of being sent to practice rowing
at the expense of the Council of Ten.
We were seven, and sometimes eight, because, being much attached to my
brother Francois, I gave him a share now and then in our nocturnal
orgies. But at last fear put a stop to our criminal jokes, which in those
days I used to call only the frolics of young men. This is the amusing
adventure which closed our exploits.
In every one of the seventy-two parishes of the city of Venice, there is
a large public-house called 'magazzino'. It remains open all night, and
wine is retailed there at a cheaper price than in all the other drinking
houses. People can likewise eat in the 'magazzino', but they must obtain
what they want from the pork butcher near by, who has the exclusive sale
of eatables, and likewise keeps his shop open throughout the night. The
pork butcher is usually a very poor cook, but as he is cheap, poor people
are willingly satisfied with him, and these resorts are considered very
useful to the lower class. The nobility, the merchants, even workmen in
good circumstances, are never seen in the 'magazzino', for cleanliness is
not exactly worshipped in such places. Yet there are a few private rooms
which contain a table surrounded with benches, in which a respectable
family or a few friends can enjoy themselves in a decent way.
It was during the Carnival of 1745, after midnight; we were, all the
eight of us, rambling about together with our masks on, in quest of some
new sort of mischief to amuse us, and we went into the magazzino of the
parish of the Holy Cross to get something to drink. We found the public
room empty, but in one of the private chambers we discovered three men
quietly conversing with a young and pretty woman, and enjoying their
wine.
Our chief, a noble Venetian belonging to the Balbi family, said to us,
"It would be a good joke to carry off those three blockheads, and to keep
the pretty woman in our possession." He immediately explained his plan,
and under cover of our masks we entered their room, Balbi at the head of
us. Our sudden appearance rather surprised the good people, but you may
fancy their astonishment when they heard Balbi say to them: "Under
penalty of death, and by order of the Council of Ten, I command you to
follow us immediately, without making the slightest noise; as to you, my
good woman, you need not be frightened, you will be escorted to your
house." When he had finished his speech, two of us got hold of the woman
to take her where our chief had arranged beforehand, and the others
seized the three poor fellows, who were trembling all over, and had not
the slightest idea of opposing any resistance.
The waiter of the magazzino came to be paid, and our chief gave him what
was due, enjoining silence under penalty of death. We took our three
prisoners to a large boat. Balbi went to the stern, ordered the boatman
to stand at the bow, and told him that he need not enquire where we were
going, that he would steer himself whichever way he thought fit. Not one
of us knew where Balbi wanted to take the three poor devils.
He sails all along the canal, gets out of it, takes several turnings, and
in a quarter of an hour, we reach Saint George where Balbi lands our
prisoners, who are delighted to find themselves at liberty. After this,
the boatman is ordered to take us to Saint Genevieve, where we land,
after paying for the boat.
We proceed at once to Palombo Square, where my brother and another of our
band were waiting for us with our lovely prisoner, who was crying.
"Do not weep, my beauty," says Balbi to her, "we will not hurt you. We
intend only to take some refreshment at the Rialto, and then we will take
you home in safety."
"Where is my husband?"
"Never fear; you shall see him again to-morrow."
Comforted by that promise, and as gentle as a lamb, she follows us to the
"Two Swords." We ordered a good fire in a private room, and, everything
we wanted to eat and to drink having been brought in, we send the waiter
away, and remain alone. We take off our masks, and the sight of eight
young, healthy faces seems to please the beauty we had so unceremoniously
carried off. We soon manage to reconcile her to her fate by the gallantry
of our proceedings; encouraged by a good supper and by the stimulus of
wine, prepared by our compliments and by a few kisses, she realizes what
is in store for her, and does not seem to have any unconquerable
objection. Our chief, as a matter of right, claims the privilege of
opening the ball; and by dint of sweet words he overcomes the very
natural repugnance she feels at consummating the sacrifice in so numerous
company. She, doubtless, thinks the offering agreeable, for, when I
present myself as the priest appointed to sacrifice a second time to the
god of love, she receives me almost with gratitude, and she cannot
conceal her joy when she finds out that she is destined to make us all
happy. My brother Francois alone exempted himself from paying the
tribute, saying that he was ill, the only excuse which could render his
refusal valid, for we had established as a law that every member of our
society was bound to do whatever was done by the others.
After that fine exploit, we put on our masks, and, the bill being paid,
escorted the happy victim to Saint Job, where she lived, and did not
leave her till we had seen her safe in her house, and the street door
closed.
My readers may imagine whether we felt inclined to laugh when the
charming creature bade us good night, thanking us all with perfect good
faith!
Two days afterwards, our nocturnal orgy began to be talked of. The young
woman's husband was a weaver by trade, and so were his two friends. They
joined together to address a complaint to the Council of Ten. The
complaint was candidly written and contained nothing but the truth, but
the criminal portion of the truth was veiled by a circumstance which must
have brought a smile on the grave countenances of the judges, and highly
amused the public at large: the complaint setting forth that the eight
masked men had not rendered themselves guilty of any act disagreeable to
the wife. It went on to say that the two men who had carried her off had
taken her to such a place, where they had, an hour later, been met by the
other six, and that they had all repaired to the "Two Swords," where they
had spent an hour in drinking. The said lady having been handsomely
entertained by the eight masked men, had been escorted to her house,
where she had been politely requested to excuse the joke perpetrated upon
her husband. The three plaintiffs had not been able to leave the island
of Saint George until day-break, and the husband, on reaching his house,
had found his wife quietly asleep in her bed. She had informed him of all
that had happened; she complained of nothing but of the great fright she
had experienced on account of her husband, and on that count she
entreated justice and the punishment of the guilty parties.
That complaint was comic throughout, for the three rogues shewed
themselves very brave in writing, stating that they would certainly not
have given way so easily if the dread authority of the council had not
been put forth by the leader of the band. The document produced three
different results; in the first place, it amused the town; in the second,
all the idlers of Venice went to Saint Job to hear the account of the
adventure from the lips of the heroine herself, and she got many presents
from her numerous visitors; in the third place, the Council of Ten
offered a reward of five hundred ducats to any person giving such
information as would lead to the arrest of the perpetrators of the
practical joke, even if the informer belonged to the band, provided he
was not the leader.
The offer of that reward would have made us tremble if our leader,
precisely the one who alone had no interest in turning informer, had not
been a patrician. The rank of Balbi quieted my anxiety at once, because I
knew that, even supposing one of us were vile enough to betray our secret
for the sake of the reward, the tribunal would have done nothing in order
not to implicate a patrician. There was no cowardly traitor amongst us,
although we were all poor; but fear had its effect, and our nocturnal
pranks were not renewed.
Three or four months afterwards the chevalier Nicolas Iron, then one of
the inquisitors, astonished me greatly by telling me the whole story,
giving the names of all the actors. He did not tell me whether any one of
the band had betrayed the secret, and I did not care to know; but I could
clearly see the characteristic spirit of the aristocracy, for which the
'solo mihi' is the supreme law.
Towards the middle of April of the year 1746 M. Girolamo Cornaro, the
eldest son of the family Cornaro de la Reine, married a daughter of the
house of Soranzo de St. Pol, and I had the honour of being present at the
wedding--as a fiddler. I played the violin in one of the numerous bands
engaged for the balls which were given for three consecutive days in the
Soranzo Palace.
On the third day, towards the end of the dancing, an hour before
day-break, feeling tired, I left the orchestra abruptly; and as I was
going down the stairs I observed a senator, wearing his red robes, on the
point of getting into a gondola. In taking his handkerchief out of his
pocket he let a letter drop on the ground. I picked it up, and coming up
to him just as he was going down the steps I handed it to him. He
received it with many thanks, and enquired where I lived. I told him, and
he insisted upon my coming with him in the gondola saying that he would
leave me at my house. I accepted gratefully, and sat down near him. A few
minutes afterwards he asked me to rub his left arm, which, he said, was
so benumbed that he could not feel it. I rubbed it with all my strength,
but he told me in a sort of indistinct whisper that the numbness was
spreading all along the left side, and that he was dying.
I was greatly frightened; I opened the curtain, took the lantern, and
found him almost insensible, and the mouth drawn on one side. I
understood that he was seized with an apoplectic stroke, and called out
to the gondoliers to land me at once, in order to procure a surgeon to
bleed the patient.
I jumped out of the gondola, and found myself on the very spot where
three years before I had taught Razetta such a forcible lesson; I
enquired for a surgeon at the first coffee-house, and ran to the house
that was pointed out to me. I knocked as hard as I could; the door was at
last opened, and I made the surgeon follow me in his dressing-gown as far
as the gondola, which was waiting; he bled the senator while I was
tearing my shirt to make the compress and the bandage.
The operation being performed, I ordered the gondoliers to row as fast as
possible, and we soon reached St. Marina; the servants were roused up,
and taking the sick man out of the gondola we carried him to his bed
almost dead.
Taking everything upon myself, I ordered a servant to hurry out for a
physician, who came in a short time, and ordered the patient to be bled
again, thus approving the first bleeding prescribed by me. Thinking I had
a right to watch the sick man, I settled myself near his bed to give him
every care he required.
An hour later, two noblemen, friends of the senator, came in, one a few
minutes after the other. They were in despair; they had enquired about
the accident from the gondoliers, and having been told that I knew more
than they did, they loaded me with questions which I answered. They did
not know who I was, and did not like to ask me; whilst I thought it
better to preserve a modest silence.
The patient did not move; his breathing alone shewed that he was still
alive; fomentations were constantly applied, and the priest who had been
sent for, and was of very little use under such circumstances, seemed to
be there only to see him die. All visitors were sent away by my advice,
and the two noblemen and myself were the only persons in the sick man's
room. At noon we partook silently of some dinner which was served in the
sick room.
In the evening one of the two friends told me that if I had any business
to attend to I could go, because they would both pass the night on a
mattress near the patient.
"And I, sir," I said, "will remain near his bed in this arm-chair, for if
I went away the patient would die, and he will live as long as I am near
him."
This sententious answer struck them with astonishment, as I expected it
would, and they looked at each other in great surprise.
We had supper, and in the little conversation we had I gathered the
information that the senator, their friend, was M. de Bragadin, the only
brother of the procurator of that name. He was celebrated in Venice not
only for his eloquence and his great talents as a statesman, but also for
the gallantries of his youth. He had been very extravagant with women,
and more than one of them had committed many follies for him. He had
gambled and lost a great deal, and his brother was his most bitter enemy,
because he was infatuated with the idea that he had tried to poison him.
He had accused him of that crime before the Council of Ten, which, after
an investigation of eight months, had brought in a verdict of not guilty:
but that just sentence, although given unanimously by that high tribunal,
had not had the effect of destroying his brother's prejudices against
him.
M. de Bragadin, who was perfectly innocent of such a crime and oppressed
by an unjust brother who deprived him of half of his income, spent his
days like an amiable philosopher, surrounded by his friends, amongst whom
were the two noblemen who were then watching him; one belonged to the
Dandolo family, the other was a Barbaro, and both were excellent men. M.
de Bragadin was handsome, learned, cheerful, and most kindly disposed; he
was then about fifty years old.
The physician who attended him was named Terro; he thought, by some
peculiar train of reasoning, that he could cure him by applying a
mercurial ointment to the chest, to which no one raised any objection.
The rapid effect of the remedy delighted the two friends, but it
frightened me, for in less than twenty-four hours the patient was
labouring under great excitement of the brain. The physician said that he
had expected that effect, but that on the following day the remedy would
act less on the brain, and diffuse its beneficial action through the
whole of the system, which required to be invigorated by a proper
equilibrium in the circulation of the fluids.
At midnight the patient was in a state of high fever, and in a fearful
state of irritation. I examined him closely, and found him hardly able to
breathe. I roused up his two friends; and declared that in my opinion the
patient would soon die unless the fatal ointment was at once removed. And
without waiting for their answer, I bared his chest, took off the
plaster, washed the skin carefully with lukewarm water, and in less than
three minutes he breathed freely and fell into a quiet sleep. Delighted
with such a fortunate result, we lay down again.
The physician came very early in the morning, and was much pleased to see
his patient so much better, but when M. Dandolo informed him of what had
been done, he was angry, said it was enough to kill his patient, and
asked who had been so audacious as to destroy the effect of his
prescription. M. de Bragadin, speaking for the first time, said to him--
"Doctor, the person who has delivered me from your mercury, which was
killing me, is a more skilful physician than you;" and, saying these
words, he pointed to me.
It would be hard to say who was the more astonished: the doctor, when he
saw an unknown young man, whom he must have taken for an impostor,
declared more learned than himself; or I, when I saw myself transformed
into a physician, at a moment's notice. I kept silent, looking very
modest, but hardly able to control my mirth, whilst the doctor was
staring at me with a mixture of astonishment and of spite, evidently
thinking me some bold quack who had tried to supplant him. At last,
turning towards M. de Bragadin, he told him coldly that he would leave
him in my hands; he was taken at his word, he went away, and behold! I
had become the physician of one of the most illustrious members of the
Venetian Senate! I must confess that I was very glad of it, and I told my
patient that a proper diet was all he needed, and that nature, assisted
by the approaching fine season, would do the rest.
The dismissed physician related the affair through the town, and, as M.
de Bragadin was rapidly improving, one of his relations, who came to see
him, told him that everybody was astonished at his having chosen for his
physician a fiddler from the theatre; but the senator put a stop to his
remarks by answering that a fiddler could know more than all the doctors
in Venice, and that he owed his life to me.
The worthy nobleman considered me as his oracle, and his two friends
listened to me with the deepest attention. Their infatuation encouraging
me, I spoke like a learned physician, I dogmatized, I quoted authors whom
I had never read.
M. de Bragadin, who had the weakness to believe in the occult sciences,
told me one day that, for a young man of my age, he thought my learning
too extensive, and that he was certain I was the possessor of some
supernatural endowment. He entreated me to tell him the truth.
What extraordinary things will sometimes occur from mere chance, or from
the force of circumstances! Unwilling to hurt his vanity by telling him
that he was mistaken, I took the wild resolution of informing him, in the
presence of his two friends, that I possessed a certain numeral calculus
which gave answers (also in numbers), to any questions I liked to put.
M. de Bragadin said that it was Solomon's key, vulgarly called cabalistic
science, and he asked me from whom I learnt it.
"From an old hermit," I answered, "who lives on the Carpegna Mountain,
and whose acquaintance I made quite by chance when I was a prisoner in
the Spanish army."
"The hermit," remarked the senator, "has without informing you of it,
linked an invisible spirit to the calculus he has taught you, for simple
numbers can not have the power of reason. You possess a real treasure,
and you may derive great advantages from it."
"I do not know," I said, "in what way I could make my science useful,
because the answers given by the numerical figures are often so obscure
that I have felt discouraged, and I very seldom tried to make any use of
my calculus. Yet, it is very true that, if I had not formed my pyramid, I
never should have had the happiness of knowing your excellency."
"How so?"
"On the second day, during the festivities at the Soranzo Palace, I
enquired of my oracle whether I would meet at the ball anyone whom I
should not care to see. The answer I obtained was this: 'Leave the
ball-room precisely at four o'clock.' I obeyed implicitly, and met your
excellency."
The three friends were astounded. M. Dandolo asked me whether I would
answer a question he would ask, the interpretation of which would belong
only to him, as he was the only person acquainted with the subject of the
question.
I declared myself quite willing, for it was necessary to brazen it out,
after having ventured as far as I had done. He wrote the question, and
gave it to me; I read it, I could not understand either the subject or
the meaning of the words, but it did not matter, I had to give an answer.
If the question was so obscure that I could not make out the sense of it,
it was natural that I should not understand the answer. I therefore
answered, in ordinary figures, four lines of which he alone could be the
interpreter, not caring much, at least in appearance, how they would be
understood. M. Dandolo read them twice over, seemed astonished, said that
it was all very plain to him; it was Divine, it was unique, it was a gift
from Heaven, the numbers being only the vehicle, but the answer emanating
evidently from an immortal spirit.
M. Dandolo was so well pleased that his two friends very naturally wanted
also to make an experiment. They asked questions on all sorts of
subjects, and my answers, perfectly unintelligible to myself, were all
held as Divine by them. I congratulated them on their success, and
congratulated myself in their presence upon being the possessor of a
thing to which I had until then attached no importance whatever, but
which I promised to cultivate carefully, knowing that I could thus be of
some service to their excellencies.
They all asked me how long I would require to teach them the rules of my
sublime calculus. "Not very long," I answered, "and I will teach you as
you wish, although the hermit assured me that I would die suddenly within
three days if I communicated my science to anyone, but I have no faith
whatever in that prediction." M. de Bragadin who believed in it more than
I did, told me in a serious tone that I was bound to have faith in it,
and from that day they never asked me again to teach them. They very
likely thought that, if they could attach me to them, it would answer the
purpose as well as if they possessed the science themselves. Thus I
became the hierophant of those three worthy and talented men, who, in
spite of their literary accomplishments, were not wise, since they were
infatuated with occult and fabulous sciences, and believed in the
existence of phenomena impossible in the moral as well as in the physical
order of things. They believed that through me they possessed the
philosopher's stone, the universal panacea, the intercourse with all the
elementary, heavenly, and infernal spirits; they had no doubt whatever
that, thanks to my sublime science, they could find out the secrets of
every government in Europe.
After they had assured themselves of the reality of my cabalistic science
by questions respecting the past, they decided to turn it to some use by
consulting it upon the present and upon the future. I had no difficulty
in skewing myself a good guesser, because I always gave answers with a
double meaning, one of the meanings being carefully arranged by me, so as
not to be understood until after the event; in that manner, my cabalistic
science, like the oracle of Delphi, could never be found in fault. I saw
how easy it must have been for the ancient heathen priests to impose upon
ignorant, and therefore credulous mankind. I saw how easy it will always
be for impostors to find dupes, and I realized, even better than the
Roman orator, why two augurs could never look at each other without
laughing; it was because they had both an equal interest in giving
importance to the deceit they perpetrated, and from which they derived
such immense profits. But what I could not, and probably never shall,
understand, was the reason for which the Fathers, who were not so simple
or so ignorant as our Evangelists, did not feel able to deny the divinity
of oracles, and, in order to get out of the difficulty, ascribed them to
the devil. They never would have entertained such a strange idea if they
had been acquainted with cabalistic science. My three worthy friends were
like the holy Fathers; they had intelligence and wit, but they were
superstitious, and no philosophers. But, although believing fully in my
oracles, they were too kind-hearted to think them the work of the devil,
and it suited their natural goodness better to believe my answers
inspired by some heavenly spirit. They were not only good Christians and
faithful to the Church, but even real devotees and full of scruples. They
were not married, and, after having renounced all commerce with women,
they had become the enemies of the female sex; perhaps a strong proof of
the weakness of their minds. They imagined that chastity was the
condition 'sine qua non' exacted by the spirits from those who wished to
have intimate communication or intercourse with them: they fancied that
spirits excluded women, and 'vice versa'.
With all these oddities, the three friends were truly intelligent and
even witty, and, at the beginning of my acquaintance with them, I could
not reconcile these antagonistic points. But a prejudiced mind cannot
reason well, and the faculty of reasoning is the most important of all.
I often laughed when I heard them talk on religious matters; they would
ridicule those whose intellectual faculties were so limited that they
could not understand the mysteries of religion. The incarnation of the
Word, they would say, was a trifle for God, and therefore easy to
understand, and the resurrection was so comprehensible that it did not
appear to them wonderful, because, as God cannot die, Jesus Christ
was naturally certain to rise again. As for the Eucharist,
transubstantiation, the real presence, it was all no mystery to them, but
palpable evidence, and yet they were not Jesuits. They were in the habit
of going to confession every week, without feeling the slightest trouble
about their confessors, whose ignorance they kindly regretted. They
thought themselves bound to confess only what was a sin in their own
opinion, and in that, at least, they reasoned with good sense.
With those three extraordinary characters, worthy of esteem and respect
for their moral qualities, their honesty, their reputation, and their
age, as well as for their noble birth, I spent my days in a very pleasant
manner: although, in their thirst for knowledge, they often kept me hard
at work for ten hours running, all four of us being locked up together in
a room, and unapproachable to everybody, even to friends or relatives.
I completed the conquest of their friendship by relating to them the
whole of my life, only with some proper reserve, so as not to lead them
into any capital sins. I confess candidly that I deceived them, as the
Papa Deldimopulo used to deceive the Greeks who applied to him for the
oracles of the Virgin. I certainly did not act towards them with a true
sense of honesty, but if the reader to whom I confess myself is
acquainted with the world and with the spirit of society, I entreat him
to think before judging me, and perhaps I may meet with some indulgence
at his hands.
I might be told that if I had wished to follow the rules of pure morality
I ought either to have declined intimate intercourse with them or to have
undeceived them. I cannot deny these premises, but I will answer that I
was only twenty years of age, I was intelligent, talented, and had just
been a poor fiddler. I should have lost my time in trying to cure them of
their weakness; I should not have succeeded, for they would have laughed
in my face, deplored my ignorance, and the result of it all would have
been my dismissal. Besides, I had no mission, no right, to constitute
myself an apostle, and if I had heroically resolved on leaving them as
soon as I knew them to be foolish visionaries, I should have shewn myself
a misanthrope, the enemy of those worthy men for whom I could procure
innocent pleasures, and my own enemy at the same time; because, as a
young man, I liked to live well, to enjoy all the pleasures natural to
youth and to a good constitution.
By acting in that manner I should have failed in common politeness, I
should perhaps have caused or allowed M. de Bragadin's death, and I
should have exposed those three honest men to becoming the victims of the
first bold cheat who, ministering to their monomania, might have won
their favour, and would have ruined them by inducing them to undertake
the chemical operations of the Great Work. There is also another
consideration, dear reader, and as I love you I will tell you what it is.
An invincible self-love would have prevented me from declaring myself
unworthy of their friendship either by my ignorance or by my pride; and I
should have been guilty of great rudeness if I had ceased to visit them.
I took, at least it seems to me so, the best, the most natural, and the
noblest decision, if we consider the disposition of their mind, when I
decided upon the plan of conduct which insured me the necessaries of life
and of those necessaries who could be a better judge than your very
humble servant?
Through the friendship of those three men, I was certain of obtaining
consideration and influence in my own country. Besides, I found it very
flattering to my vanity to become the subject of the speculative
chattering of empty fools who, having nothing else to do, are always
trying to find out the cause of every moral phenomenon they meet with,
which their narrow intellect cannot understand.
People racked their brain in Venice to find out how my intimacy with
three men of that high character could possibly exist; they were wrapped
up in heavenly aspirations, I was a world's devotee; they were very
strict in their morals, I was thirsty of all pleasures! At the beginning
of summer, M. de Bragadin was once, more able to take his seat in the
senate, and, the day before he went out for the first time, he spoke to
me thus:
"Whoever you may be, I am indebted to you for my life. Your first
protectors wanted to make you a priest, a doctor, an advocate, a soldier,
and ended by making a fiddler of you; those persons did not know you. God
had evidently instructed your guardian angel to bring you to me. I know
you and appreciate you. If you will be my son, you have only to
acknowledge me for your father, and, for the future, until my death, I
will treat you as my own child. Your apartment is ready, you may send
your clothes: you shall have a servant, a gondola at your orders, my own
table, and ten sequins a month. It is the sum I used to receive from my
father when I was your age. You need not think of the future; think only
of enjoying yourself, and take me as your adviser in everything that may
happen to you, in everything you may wish to undertake, and you may be
certain of always finding me your friend."
I threw myself at his feet to assure him of my gratitude, and embraced
him calling him my father. He folded me in his arms, called me his dear
son; I promised to love and to obey him; his two friends, who lived in
the same palace, embraced me affectionately, and we swore eternal
fraternity.
Such is the history of my metamorphosis, and of the lucky stroke which,
taking me from the vile profession of a fiddler, raised me to the rank of
a grandee.
CHAPTER XVIII
I lead a dissolute life--Zawoiski--Rinaldi--L'Abbadie--the
young countess--the Capuchin friar Z. Steffani--Ancilla--La
Ramor--I take a gondola at St. Job to go to Mestra.
[Illustration: 1c18.jpg]
Fortune, which had taken pleasure in giving me a specimen of its despotic
caprice, and had insured my happiness through means which sages would
disavow, had not the power to make me adopt a system of moderation and
prudence which alone could establish my future welfare on a firm basis.
My ardent nature, my irresistible love of pleasure, my unconquerable
independence, would not allow me to submit to the reserve which my new
position in life demanded from me. I began to lead a life of complete
freedom, caring for nothing but what ministered to my tastes, and I
thought that, as long as I respected the laws, I could trample all
prejudices under my feet. I fancied that I could live free and
independent in a country ruled entirely by an aristocratic government,
but this was not the case, and would not have been so even if fortune had
raised me to a seat in that same government, for the Republic of Venice,
considering that its primary duty is to preserve its own integrity, finds
itself the slave of its own policy, and is bound to sacrifice everything
to self-preservation, before which the laws themselves cease to be
inviolable.
But let us abandon the discussion of a principle now too trite, for
humankind, at least in Europe, is satisfied that unlimited liberty is
nowhere consistent with a properly-regulated state of society. I have
touched lightly on the matter, only to give to my readers some idea of my
conduct in my own country, where I began to tread a path which was to
lead me to a state prison as inscrutable as it was unconstitutional.
With enough money, endowed by nature with a pleasing and commanding
physical appearance, a confirmed gambler, a true spendthrift, a great
talker, very far from modest, intrepid, always running after pretty
women, supplanting my rivals, and acknowledging no good company but that
which ministered to my enjoyment, I was certain to be disliked; but, ever
ready to expose myself to any danger, and to take the responsibility of
all my actions, I thought I had a right to do anything I pleased, for I
always broke down abruptly every obstacle I found in my way.
Such conduct could not but be disagreeable to the three worthy men whose
oracle I had become, but they did not like to complain. The excellent M.
de Bragadin would only tell me that I was giving him a repetition of the
foolish life he had himself led at my age, but that I must prepare to pay
the penalty of my follies, and to feel the punishment when I should reach
his time of life. Without wanting in the respect I owed him, I would turn
his terrible forebodings into jest, and continue my course of
extravagance. However, I must mention here the first proof he gave me of
his true wisdom.
At the house of Madame Avogadro, a woman full of wit in spite of her
sixty years, I had made the acquaintance of a young Polish nobleman
called Zawoiski. He was expecting money from Poland, but in the mean time
the Venetian ladies did not let him want for any, being all very much in
love with his handsome face and his Polish manners. We soon became good
friends, my purse was his, but, twenty years later, he assisted me to a
far greater extent in Munich. Zawoiski was honest, he had only a small
dose of intelligence, but it was enough for his happiness. He died in
Trieste five or six years ago, the ambassador of the Elector of Treves. I
will speak of him in another part of these Memoirs.
This amiable young man, who was a favourite with everybody and was
thought a free-thinker because he frequented the society of Angelo
Querini and Lunardo Venier, presented me one day, as we were out walking,
to an unknown countess who took my fancy very strongly. We called on her
in the evening, and, after introducing me to her husband, Count Rinaldi,
she invited us to remain and have supper.
The count made a faro bank in the course of the evening, I punted with
his wife as a partner, and won some fifty ducats.
Very much pleased with my new acquaintance, I called alone on the
countess the next morning. The count, apologizing for his wife who was
not up yet, took me to her room. She received me with graceful ease, and,
her husband having left us alone, she had the art to let me hope for
every favour, yet without committing herself; when I took leave of her,
she invited me to supper for the evening. After supper I played, still in
partnership with her, won again, and went away very much in love. I did
not fail to pay her another visit the next morning, but when I presented
myself at the house I was told that she had gone out.
I called again in the evening, and, after she had excused herself for not
having been at home in the morning, the faro bank began, and I lost all
my money, still having the countess for my partner. After supper, and
when the other guests had retired, I remained with Zawoiski, Count
Rinaldi having offered to give us our revenge. As I had no more money, I
played upon trust, and the count threw down the cards after I had lost
five hundred sequins. I went away in great sorrow. I was bound in honour
to pay the next morning, and I did not possess a groat. Love increased my
despair, for I saw myself on the point of losing the esteem of a woman by
whom I was smitten, and the anxiety I felt did not escape M. de Bragadin
when we met in the morning. He kindly encouraged me to confess my
troubles to him. I was conscious that it was my only chance, and candidly
related the whole affair, and I ended by saying that I should not survive
my disgrace. He consoled me by promising that my debt would be cancelled
in the course of the day, if I would swear never to play again upon
trust. I took an oath to that effect, and kissing his hand, I went out
for a walk, relieved from a great load. I had no doubt that my excellent
father would give me five hundred sequins during the day, and I enjoyed
my anticipation the honour I would derive, in the opinion of the lovely
countess, by my exactitude and prompt discharge of my debt. I felt that
it gave new strength to my hopes, and that feeling prevented me from
regretting my heavy loss, but grateful for the great generosity of my
benefactor I was fully determined on keeping my promise.
I dined with the three friends, and the matter was not even alluded to;
but, as we were rising from the table, a servant brought M. de Bragadin a
letter and a parcel.
He read the letter, asked me to follow him into his study, and the moment
we were alone, he said;
"Here is a parcel for you."
I opened it, and found some forty sequins. Seeing my surprise, M. de
Bragadin laughed merrily and handed me the letter, the contents of which
ran thus:
"M. de Casanova may be sure that our playing last night was only a joke:
he owes me nothing. My wife begs to send him half of the gold which he
has lost in cash.
"COUNT RINALDI."
I looked at M. de Bragadin, perfectly amazed, and he burst out laughing.
I guessed the truth, thanked him, and embracing him tenderly I promised
to be wiser for the future. The mist I had before my eyes was dispelled,
I felt that my love was defunct, and I remained rather ashamed, when I
realized that I had been the dupe of the wife as well as of the husband.
"This evening," said my clever physician, "you can have a gay supper with
the charming countess."
"This evening, my dear, respected benefactor, I will have supper with
you. You have given me a masterly lesson."
"The next time you lose money upon trust, you had better not pay it."
"But I should be dishonoured."
"Never mind. The sooner you dishonour yourself, the more you will save,
for you will always be compelled to accept your dishonour whenever you
find yourself utterly unable to pay your losses. It is therefore more
prudent not to wait until then."
"It is much better still to avoid that fatal impossibility by never
playing otherwise than with money in hand."
"No doubt of it, for then you will save both your honour and your purse.
But, as you are fond of games of chance, I advise you never to punt. Make
the bank, and the advantage must be on your side."
"Yes, but only a slight advantage."
"As slight as you please, but it will be on your side, and when the game
is over you will find yourself a winner and not a loser. The punter is
excited, the banker is calm. The last says, 'I bet you do not guess,'
while the first says, 'I bet I can guess.' Which is the fool, and which
is the wise man? The question is easily answered. I adjure you to be
prudent, but if you should punt and win, recollect that you are only an
idiot if at the end you lose."
"Why an idiot? Fortune is very fickle."
"It must necessarily be so; it is a natural consequence. Leave off
playing, believe me, the very moment you see luck turning, even if you
should, at that moment, win but one groat."
I had read Plato, and I was astonished at finding a man who could reason
like Socrates.
The next day, Zawoiski called on me very early to tell me that I had been
expected to supper, and that Count Rinaldi had praised my promptness in
paying my debts of honour. I did not think it necessary to undeceive him,
but I did not go again to Count Rinaldi's, whom I saw sixteen years
afterwards in Milan. As to Zawoiski, I did not tell him the story till I
met him in Carlsbad, old and deaf, forty years later.
Three or four months later, M. de Bragadin taught me another of his
masterly lessons. I had become acquainted, through Zawoiski, with a
Frenchman called L'Abbadie, who was then soliciting from the Venetian
Government the appointment of inspector of the armies of the Republic.
The senate appointed, and I presented him to my protector, who promised
him his vote; but the circumstance I am going to relate prevented him
from fulfilling his promise.
I was in need of one hundred sequins to discharge a few debts, and I
begged M. de Bragadin to give them to me.
"Why, my dear son, do you not ask M. de l'Abbadie to render you that
service?"
"I should not dare to do so, dear father."
"Try him; I am certain that he will be glad to lend you that sum."
"I doubt it, but I will try."
I called upon L'Abbadie on the following day, and after a short exchange
of compliments I told him the service I expected from his friendship. He
excused himself in a very polite manner, drowning his refusal in that sea
of commonplaces which people are sure to repeat when they cannot or will
not oblige a friend. Zawoiski came in as he was still apologizing, and I
left them together. I hurried at once to M. de Bragadin, and told him my
want of success. He merely remarked that the Frenchman was deficient in
intelligence.
It just happened that it was the very day on which the appointment of the
inspectorship was to be brought before the senate. I went out to attend
to my business (I ought to say to my pleasure), and as I did not return
home till after midnight I went to bed without seeing my father. In the
morning I said in his presence that I intended to call upon L'Abbadie to
congratulate him upon his appointment.
"You may spare yourself that trouble; the senate has rejected his
nomination."
"How so? Three days ago L'Abbadie felt sure of his success."
"He was right then, for he would have been appointed if I had not made up
my mind to speak against him. I have proved to the senate that a right
policy forbade the government to trust such an important post to a
foreigner."
"I am much surprised, for your excellency was not of that opinion the day
before yesterday."
"Very true, but then I did not know M. de l'Abbadie. I found out only
yesterday that the man was not sufficiently intelligent to fill the
position he was soliciting. Is he likely to possess a sane judgment when
he refuses to lend you one hundred sequins? That refusal has cost him an
important appointment and an income of three thousand crowns, which would
now be his."
When I was taking my walk on the same day I met Zawoiski with L'Abbadie,
and did not try to avoid them. L'Abbadie was furious, and he had some
reason to be so.
"If you had told me," he said angrily, "that the one hundred sequins were
intended as a gag to stop M. de Bragadin's mouth, I would have contrived
to procure them for you."
"If you had had an inspector's brains you would have easily guessed it."
The Frenchman's resentment proved very useful to me, because he related
the circumstance to everybody. The result was that from that time those
who wanted the patronage of the senator applied to me. Comment is
needless; this sort of thing has long been in existence, and will long
remain so, because very often, to obtain the highest of favours, all that
is necessary is to obtain the good-will of a minister's favourite or even
of his valet. My debts were soon paid.
It was about that time that my brother Jean came to Venice with
Guarienti, a converted Jew, a great judge of paintings, who was
travelling at the expense of His Majesty the King of Poland, and Elector
of Saxony. It was the converted Jew who had purchased for His Majesty the
gallery of the Duke of Modena for one hundred thousand sequins. Guarienti
and my brother left Venice for Rome, where Jean remained in the studio of
the celebrated painter Raphael Mengs, whom we shall meet again hereafter.
Now, as a faithful historian, I must give my readers the story of a
certain adventure in which were involved the honour and happiness of one
of the most charming women in Italy, who would have been unhappy if I had
not been a thoughtless fellow.
In the early part of October, 1746, the theatres being opened, I was
walking about with my mask on when I perceived a woman, whose head was
well enveloped in the hood of her mantle, getting out of the Ferrara
barge which had just arrived. Seeing her alone, and observing her
uncertain walk, I felt myself drawn towards her as if an unseen hand had
guided me.
I come up to her, and offer my services if I can be of any use to her.
She answers timidly that she only wants to make some enquiries.
"We are not here in the right place for conversation," I say to her; "but
if you would be kind enough to come with me to a cafe, you would be able
to speak and to explain your wishes."
She hesitates, I insist, and she gives way. The tavern was close at hand;
we go in, and are alone in a private room. I take off my mask, and out of
politeness she must put down the hood of her mantle. A large muslin
head-dress conceals half of her face, but her eyes, her nose, and her
pretty mouth are enough to let me see on her features beauty, nobleness,
sorrow, and that candour which gives youth such an undefinable charm. I
need not say that, with such a good letter of introduction, the unknown
at once captivated my warmest interest. After wiping away a few tears
which are flowing, in spite of all her efforts, she tells me that she
belongs to a noble family, that she has run away from her father's house,
alone, trusting in God, to meet a Venetian nobleman who had seduced her
and then deceived her, thus sealing her everlasting misery.
"You have then some hope of recalling him to the path of duty? I suppose
he has promised you marriage?"
"He has engaged his faith to me in writing. The only favour I claim from
your kindness is to take me to his house, to leave me there, and to keep
my secret."
"You may trust, madam, to the feelings of a man of honour. I am worthy of
your trust. Have entire confidence in me, for I already take a deep
interest in all your concerns. Tell me his name."
"Alas! sir, I give way to fate."
With these words, she takes out of her bosom a paper which she gives me;
I recognize the handwriting of Zanetto Steffani. It was a promise of
marriage by which he engaged his word of honour to marry within a week,
in Venice, the young countess A---- S----. When I have read the paper, I
return it to her, saying that I knew the writer quite well, that he was
connected with the chancellor's office, known as a great libertine, and
deeply in debt, but that he would be rich after his mother's death.
"For God's sake take me to his house."
"I will do anything you wish; but have entire confidence in me, and be
good enough to hear me. I advise you not to go to his house. He has
already done you great injury, and, even supposing that you should happen
to find him at home, he might be capable of receiving you badly; if he
should not be at home, it is most likely that his mother would not
exactly welcome you, if you should tell her who you are and what is your
errand. Trust to me, and be quite certain that God has sent me on your
way to assist you. I promise you that to-morrow at the latest you shall
know whether Steffani is in Venice, what he intends to do with you, and
what we may compel him to do. Until then my advice is not to let him know
your arrival in Venice."
"Good God! where shall I go to-night?"
"To a respectable house, of course."
"I will go to yours, if you are married."
"I am a bachelor."
I knew an honest widow who resided in a lane, and who had two furnished
rooms. I persuade the young countess to follow me, and we take a gondola.
As we are gliding along, she tells me that, one month before, Steffani
had stopped in her neighbourhood for necessary repairs to his
travelling-carriage, and that, on the same day he had made her
acquaintance at a house where she had gone with her mother for the
purpose of offering their congratulations to a newly-married lady.
"I was unfortunate enough," she continued, "to inspire him with love, and
he postponed his departure. He remained one month in C----, never going
out but in the evening, and spending every night under my windows
conversing with me. He swore a thousand times that he adored me, that his
intentions were honourable. I entreated him to present himself to my
parents to ask me in marriage, but he always excused himself by alleging
some reason, good or bad, assuring me that he could not be happy unless I
shewed him entire confidence. He would beg of me to make up my mind to
run away with him, unknown to everybody, promising that my honour should
not suffer from such a step, because, three days after my departure,
everybody should receive notice of my being his wife, and he assured me
that he would bring me back on a visit to my native place shortly after
our marriage. Alas, sir! what shall I say now? Love blinded me; I fell
into the abyss; I believed him; I agreed to everything. He gave me the
paper which you have read, and the following night I allowed him to come
into my room through the window under which he was in the habit of
conversing with me.
"I consented to be guilty of a crime which I believed would be atoned for
within three days, and he left me, promising that the next night he would
be again under my window, ready to receive me in his arms. Could I
possibly entertain any doubt after the fearful crime I had committed for
him? I prepared a small parcel, and waited for his coming, but in vain.
Oh! what a cruel long night it was! In the morning I heard that the
monster had gone away with his servant one hour after sealing my shame.
You may imagine my despair! I adopted the only plan that despair could
suggest, and that, of course, was not the right one. One hour before
midnight I left my father's roof, alone, thus completing my dishonour,
but resolved on death, if the man who has cruelly robbed me of my most
precious treasure, and whom a natural instinct told me I could find here,
does not restore me the honour which he alone can give me back. I walked
all night and nearly the whole day, without taking any food, until I got
into the barge, which brought me here in twenty-four hours. I travelled
in the boat with five men and two women, but no one saw my face or heard
my voice, I kept constantly sitting down in a corner, holding my head
down, half asleep, and with this prayer-book in my hands. I was left
alone, no one spoke to me, and I thanked God for it. When I landed on the
wharf, you did not give me time to think how I could find out the
dwelling of my perfidious seducer, but you may imagine the impression
produced upon me by the sudden apparition of a masked man who, abruptly,
and as if placed there purposely by Providence, offered me his services;
it seemed to me that you had guessed my distress, and, far from
experiencing any repugnance, I felt that I was acting rightly in trusting
myself in your hands, in spite of all prudence which, perhaps, ought to
have made me turn a deaf ear to your words, and refuse the invitation to
enter alone with you the house to which you took me.
"You know all now, sir; but I entreat you not to judge me too severely; I
have been virtuous all through my life; one month ago I had never
committed a fault which could call a blush upon my face, and the bitter
tears which I shed every day will, I hope, wash out my crime in the eyes
of God. I have been carefully brought up, but love and the want of
experience have thrown me into the abyss. I am in your hands, and I feel
certain that I shall have no cause to repent it."
I needed all she had just told' me to confirm me in the interest which I
had felt in her from the first moment. I told her unsparingly that
Steffani had seduced and abandoned her of malice aforethought, and that
she ought to think of him only to be revenged of his perfidy. My words
made her shudder, and she buried her beautiful face in her hands.
We reached the widow's house. I established her in a pretty, comfortable
room, and ordered some supper for her, desiring the good landlady to skew
her every attention and to let her want for nothing. I then took an
affectionate leave of her, promising to see her early in the morning.
On leaving this interesting but hapless girl, I proceeded to the house of
Steffani. I heard from one of his mother's gondoliers that he had
returned to Venice three days before, but that, twenty-four hours after
his return, he had gone away again without any servant, and nobody knew
his whereabouts, not even his mother. The same evening, happening to be
seated next to an abbe from Bologna at the theatre, I asked him several
questions respecting the family of my unfortunate protegee.
The abbe being intimately acquainted with them, I gathered from him all
the information I required, and, amongst other things, I heard that the
young countess had a brother, then an officer in the papal service.
Very early the next morning I called upon her. She was still asleep. The
widow told me that she had made a pretty good supper, but without
speaking a single word, and that she had locked herself up in her room
immediately afterwards. As soon as she had opened her door, I entered her
room, and, cutting short her apologies for having kept me waiting, I
informed her of all I had heard.
Her features bore the stamp of deep sorrow, but she looked calmer, and
her complexion was no longer pale. She thought it unlikely that Steffani
would have left for any other place but for C----. Admitting the
possibility that she might be right, I immediately offered to go to
C---- myself, and to return without loss of time to fetch her, in case
Steffani should be there. Without giving her time to answer I told her
all the particulars I had learned concerning her honourable family, which
caused her real satisfaction.
"I have no objection," she said, "to your going to C----, and I thank you
for the generosity of your offer, but I beg you will postpone your
journey. I still hope that Steffani will return, and then I can take a
decision."
"I think you are quite right," I said. "Will you allow me to have some
breakfast with you?"
"Do you suppose I could refuse you?"
"I should be very sorry to disturb you in any way. How did you use to
amuse yourself at home?"
"I am very fond of books and music; my harpsichord was my delight."
I left her after breakfast, and in the evening I came back with a basket
full of good books and music, and I sent her an excellent harpsichord. My
kindness confused her, but I surprised her much more when I took out of
my pocket three pairs of slippers. She blushed, and thanked me with great
feeling. She had walked a long distance, her shoes were evidently worn
out, her feet sore, and she appreciated the delicacy of my present. As I
had no improper design with regard to her, I enjoyed her gratitude, and
felt pleased at the idea she evidently entertained of my kind attentions.
I had no other purpose in view but to restore calm to her mind, and to
obliterate the bad opinion which the unworthy Steffani had given her of
men in general. I never thought of inspiring her with love for me, and I
had not the slightest idea that I could fall in love with her. She was
unhappy, and her unhappiness--a sacred thing in my eyes--called all the
more for my most honourable sympathy, because, without knowing me, she
had given me her entire confidence. Situated as she was, I could not
suppose her heart susceptible of harbouring a new affection, and I would
have despised myself if I had tried to seduce her by any means in my
power.
I remained with her only a quarter of an hour, being unwilling that my
presence should trouble her at such a moment, as she seemed to be at a
loss how to thank me and to express all her gratitude.
I was thus engaged in a rather delicate adventure, the end of which I
could not possibly foresee, but my warmth for my protegee did not cool
down, and having no difficulty in procuring the means to keep her I had
no wish to see the last scene of the romance. That singular meeting,
which gave me the useful opportunity of finding myself endowed with
generous dispositions, stronger even than my love for pleasure, flattered
my self-love more than I could express. I was then trying a great
experiment, and conscious that I wanted sadly to study myself, I gave up
all my energies to acquire the great science of the 'xxxxxxxxxxxx'.
On the third day, in the midst of expressions of gratitude which I could
not succeed in stopping she told me that she could not conceive why I
shewed her so much sympathy, because I ought to have formed but a poor
opinion of her in consequence of the readiness with which she had
followed me into the cafe. She smiled when I answered that I could not
understand how I had succeeded in giving her so great a confidence in my
virtue, when I appeared before her with a mask on my face, in a costume
which did not indicate a very virtuous character.
"It was easy for me, madam," I continued, "to guess that you were a
beauty in distress, when I observed your youth, the nobleness of your
countenance, and, more than all, your candour. The stamp of truth was so
well affixed to the first words you uttered that I could not have the
shadow of a doubt left in me as to your being the unhappy victim of the
most natural of all feelings, and as to your having abandoned your home
through a sentiment of honour. Your fault was that of a warm heart
seduced by love, over which reason could have no sway, and your
flight--the action of a soul crying for reparation or for revenge-fully
justifies you. Your cowardly seducer must pay with his life the penalty
due to his crime, and he ought never to receive, by marrying you, an
unjust reward, for he is not worthy of possessing you after degrading
himself by the vilest conduct."
"Everything you say is true. My brother, I hope, will avenge me."
"You are greatly mistaken if you imagine that Steffani will fight your
brother; Steffani is a coward who will never expose himself to an
honourable death."
As I was speaking, she put her hand in her pocket and drew forth, after a
few moments' consideration, a stiletto six inches long, which she placed
on the table.
"What is this?" I exclaimed.
"It is a weapon upon which I reckoned until now to use against myself in
case I should not succeed in obtaining reparation for the crime I have
committed. But you have opened my eyes. Take away, I entreat you, this
stiletto, which henceforth is useless to me. I trust in your friendship,
and I have an inward certainty that I shall be indebted to you for my
honour as well as for my life."
I was struck by the words she had just uttered, and I felt that those
words, as well as her looks, had found their way to my heart, besides
enlisting my generous sympathy. I took the stiletto, and left her with so
much agitation that I had to acknowledge the weakness of my heroism,
which I was very near turning into ridicule; yet I had the wonderful
strength to perform, at least by halves, the character of a Cato until
the seventh day.
I must explain how a certain suspicion of the young lady arose in my
mind. That doubt was heavy on my heart, for, if it had proved true, I
should have been a dupe, and the idea was humiliating. She had told me
that she was a musician; I had immediately sent her a harpsichord, and,
yet, although the instrument had been at her disposal for three days, she
had not opened it once, for the widow had told me so. It seemed to me
that the best way to thank me for my attentive kindness would have been
to give me a specimen of her musical talent. Had she deceived me? If so,
she would lose my esteem. But, unwilling to form a hasty judgment, I kept
on my guard, with a firm determination to make good use of the first
opportunity that might present itself to clear up my doubts.
I called upon her the next day after dinner, which was not my usual time,
having resolved on creating the opportunity myself. I caught her seated
before a toilet-glass, while the widow dressed the most beautiful auburn
hair I had ever seen. I tendered my apologies for my sudden appearance at
an unusual hour; she excused herself for not having completed her toilet,
and the widow went on with her work. It was the first time I had seen the
whole of her face, her neck, and half of her arms, which the graces
themselves had moulded. I remained in silent contemplation. I praised,
quite by chance, the perfume of the pomatum, and the widow took the
opportunity of telling her that she had spent in combs, powder, and
pomatum the three livres she had received from her. I recollected then
that she had told me the first day that she had left C---- with ten
paoli.
I blushed for very shame, for I ought to have thought of that.
As soon as the widow had dressed her hair, she left the room to prepare
some coffee for us. I took up a ring which had been laid by her on the
toilet-table, and I saw that it contained a portrait exactly like her; I
was amused at the singular fancy she had had of having her likeness taken
in a man's costume, with black hair. "You are mistaken," she said, "it is
a portrait of my brother. He is two years older than I, and is an officer
in the papal army."
I begged her permission to put the ring on her finger; she consented, and
when I tried, out of mere gallantry, to kiss her hand, she drew it back,
blushing. I feared she might be offended, and I assured her of my
respect.
"Ah, sir!" she answered, "in the situation in which I am placed, I must
think of defending myself against my own self much more than against
you."
The compliment struck me as so fine, and so complimentary to me, that I
thought it better not to take it up, but she could easily read in my eyes
that she would never find me ungrateful for whatever feelings she might
entertain in my favour. Yet I felt my love taking such proportions that I
did not know how to keep it a mystery any longer.
Soon after that, as she was again thanking me for the books--I had given
her, saying that I had guessed her taste exactly, because she did not
like novels, she added, "I owe you an apology for not having sung to you
yet, knowing that you are fond of music." These words made me breathe
freely; without waiting for any answer, she sat down before the
instrument and played several pieces with a facility, with a precision,
with an expression of which no words could convey any idea. I was in
ecstacy. I entreated her to sing; after some little ceremony, she took
one of the music books I had given her, and she sang at sight in a manner
which fairly ravished me. I begged that she would allow me to kiss her
hand, and she did not say yes, but when I took it and pressed my lips on
it, she did not oppose any resistance; I had the courage to smother my
ardent desires, and the kiss I imprinted on her lovely hand was a mixture
of tenderness, respect, and admiration.
I took leave of her, smitten, full of love, and almost determined on
declaring my passion. Reserve becomes silliness when we know that our
affection is returned by the woman we love, but as yet I was not quite
sure.
The disappearance of Steffani was the talk of Venice, but I did not
inform the charming countess of that circumstance. It was generally
supposed that his mother had refused to pay his debts, and that he had
run away to avoid his creditors. It was very possible. But, whether he
returned or not, I could not make up my mind to lose the precious
treasure I had in my hands. Yet I did not see in what manner, in what
quality, I could enjoy that treasure, and I found myself in a regular
maze. Sometimes I had an idea of consulting my kind father, but I would
soon abandon it with fear, for I had made a trial of his empiric
treatment in the Rinaldi affair, and still more in the case of l'Abbadie.
His remedies frightened me to that extent that I would rather remain ill
than be cured by their means.
One morning I was foolish enough to enquire from the widow whether the
lady had asked her who I was. What an egregious blunder! I saw it when
the good woman, instead of answering me, said,
"Does she not know who you are?"
"Answer me, and do not ask questions," I said, in order to hide my
confusion.
The worthy woman was right; through my stupidity she would now feel
curious; the tittle-tattle of the neighbourhood would of course take up
the affair and discuss it; and all through my thoughtlessness! It was an
unpardonable blunder. One ought never to be more careful than in
addressing questions to half-educated persons. During the fortnight that
she had passed under my protection, the countess had shewn me no
curiosity whatever to know anything about me, but it did not prove that
she was not curious on the subject. If I had been wise, I should have
told her the very first day who I was, but I made up for my mistake that
evening better than anybody else could have done it, and, after having
told her all about myself, I entreated her forgiveness for not having
done so sooner. Thanking me for my confidence, she confessed how curious
she had been to know me better, and she assured me that she would never
have been imprudent enough to ask any questions about me from her
landlady. Women have a more delicate, a surer tact than men, and her last
words were a home-thrust for me.
Our conversation having turned to the extraordinary absence of Steffani,
she said that her father must necessarily believe her to be hiding with
him somewhere. "He must have found out," she added, "that I was in the
habit of conversing with him every night from my window, and he must have
heard of my having embarked for Venice on board the Ferrara barge. I feel
certain that my father is now in Venice, making secretly every effort to
discover me. When he visits this city he always puts up at Boncousin;
will you ascertain whether he is there?"
She never pronounced Steffani's name without disgust and hatred, and she
said she would bury herself in a convent, far away from her native place,
where no one could be acquainted with her shameful history.
I intended to make some enquiries the next day, but it was not necessary
for me to do so, for in the evening, at supper-time, M. Barbaro said to
us,
"A nobleman, a subject of the Pope, has been recommended to me, and
wishes me to assist him with my influence in a rather delicate and
intricate matter. One of our citizens has, it appears, carried off his
daughter, and has been hiding somewhere with her for the last fortnight,
but nobody knows where. The affair ought to be brought before the Council
of Ten, but the mother of the ravisher claims to be a relative of mine,
and I do not intend to interfere."
I pretended to take no interest in M. Barbaro's words, and early the next
morning I went to the young countess to tell her the interesting news.
She was still asleep; but, being in a hurry, I sent the widow to say that
I wanted to see her only for two minutes in order to communicate
something of great importance. She received me, covering herself up to
the chin with the bed-clothes.
As soon as I had informed her of all I knew, she entreated me to enlist
M. Barbaro as a mediator between herself and her father, assuring me that
she would rather die than become the wife of the monster who had
dishonoured her. I undertook to do it, and she gave me the promise of
marriage used by the deceiver to seduce her, so that it could be shewn to
her father.
In order to obtain M. Barbaro's mediation in favour of the young
countess, it would have been necessary to tell him that she was under my
protection, and I felt it would injure my protegee. I took no
determination at first, and most likely one of the reasons for my
hesitation was that I saw myself on the point of losing her, which was
particularly repugnant to my feelings.
After dinner Count A---- S---- was announced as wishing to see M. Barbaro.
He came in with his son, the living portrait of his sister. M. Barbaro
took them to his study to talk the matter over, and within an hour they
had taken leave. As soon as they had gone, the excellent M. Barbaro asked
me, as I had expected, to consult my heavenly spirit, and to ascertain
whether he would be right in interfering in favour of Count A---S---. He
wrote the question himself, and I gave the following answer with the
utmost coolness:
"You ought to interfere, but only to advise the father to forgive his
daughter and to give up all idea of compelling her to marry her ravisher,
for Steffani has been sentenced to death by the will of God."
The answer seemed wonderful to the three friends, and I was myself
surprised at my boldness, but I had a foreboding that Steffani was to
meet his death at the hands of somebody; love might have given birth to
that presentiment. M. de Bragadin, who believed my oracle infallible,
observed that it had never given such a clear answer, and that Steffani
was certainly dead. He said to M. de Barbaro,
"You had better invite the count and his son to dinner hereto-morrow. You
must act slowly and prudently; it would be necessary to know where the
daughter is before you endeavour to make the father forgive her."
M. Barbaro very nearly made me drop my serious countenance by telling me
that if I would try my oracle I could let them know at once where the
girl was. I answered that I would certainly ask my spirit on the morrow,
thus gaining time in order to ascertain before hand the disposition of
the father and of his son. But I could not help laughing, for I had
placed myself under the necessity of sending Steffani to the next world,
if the reputation of my oracle was to be maintained.
I spent the evening with the young countess, who entertained no doubt
either of her father's indulgence or of the entire confidence she could
repose in me.
What delight the charming girl experienced when she heard that I would
dine the next day with her father and brother, and that I would tell her
every word that would be said about her! But what happiness it was for me
to see her convinced that she was right in loving me, and that, without
me, she would certainly have been lost in a town where the policy of the
government tolerates debauchery as a solitary species of individual
freedom. We congratulated each other upon our fortuitous meeting and upon
the conformity in our tastes, which we thought truly wonderful. We were
greatly pleased that her easy acceptance of my invitation, or my
promptness in persuading her to follow and to trust me, could not be
ascribed to the mutual attraction of our features, for I was masked, and
her hood was then as good as a mask. We entertained no doubt that
everything had been arranged by Heaven to get us acquainted, and to fire
us both, even unknown to ourselves, with love for each other.
"Confess," I said to her, in a moment of enthusiasm, and as I was
covering her hand with kisses, "confess that if you found me to be in
love with you you would fear me."
"Alas! my only fear is to lose you."
That confession, the truth of which was made evident by her voice and by
her looks, proved the electric spark which ignited the latent fire.
Folding her rapidly in my arms, pressing my mouth on her lips, reading in
her beautiful eyes neither a proud indignation nor the cold compliance
which might have been the result of a fear of losing me, I gave way
entirely to the sweet inclination of love, and swimming already in a sea
of delights I felt my enjoyment increased a hundredfold when I saw, on
the countenance of the beloved creature who shared it, the expression of
happiness, of love, of modesty, and of sensibility, which enhances the
charm of the greatest triumph.
She had scarcely recovered her composure when she cast her eyes down and
sighed deeply. Thinking that I knew the cause of it, I threw myself on my
knees before her, and speaking to her words of the warmest affection I
begged, I entreated her, to forgive me.
"What offence have I to forgive you for, dear friend? You have not
rightly interpreted my thoughts. Your love caused me to think of my
happiness, and in that moment a cruel recollection drew that sigh from
me. Pray rise from your knees."
Midnight had struck already; I told her that her good fame made it
necessary for me to go away; I put my mask on and left the house. I was
so surprised, so amazed at having obtained a felicity of which I did not
think myself worthy, that my departure must have appeared rather abrupt
to her. I could not sleep. I passed one of those disturbed nights during
which the imagination of an amorous young man is unceasingly running
after the shadows of reality. I had tasted, but not savoured, that happy
reality, and all my being was longing for her who alone could make my
enjoyment complete. In that nocturnal drama love and imagination were the
two principal actors; hope, in the background, performed only a dumb
part. People may say what they please on that subject but hope is in fact
nothing but a deceitful flatterer accepted by reason only because it is
often in need of palliatives. Happy are those men who, to enjoy life to
the fullest extent, require neither hope nor foresight.
In the morning, recollecting the sentence of death which I had passed on
Steffani, I felt somewhat embarrassed about it. I wished I could have
recalled it, as well for the honour of my oracle, which was seriously
implicated by it, as for the sake of Steffani himself, whom I did not
hate half so much since I was indebted to him for the treasure in my
possession.
The count and his son came to dinner. The father was simple, artless, and
unceremonious. It was easy to read on his countenance the grief he felt
at the unpleasant adventure of his daughter, and his anxiety to settle
the affair honourably, but no anger could be traced on his features or in
his manners. The son, as handsome as the god of love, had wit and great
nobility of manner. His easy, unaffected carriage pleased me, and wishing
to win his friendship I shewed him every attention.
After the dessert, M. Barbaro contrived to persuade the count that we
were four persons with but one head and one heart, and the worthy
nobleman spoke to us without any reserve. He praised his daughter very
highly. He assured us that Steffani had never entered his house, and
therefore he could not conceive by what spell, speaking to his daughter
only at night and from the street under the window, he had succeeded in
seducing her to such an extent as to make her leave her home alone, on
foot, two days after he had left himself in his post-chaise.
"Then," observed M. Barbaro, "it is impossible to be certain that he
actually seduced her, or to prove that she went off with him."
"Very true, sir, but although it cannot be proved, there is no doubt of
it, and now that no one knows where Steffani is, he can be nowhere but
with her. I only want him to marry her."
"It strikes me that it would be better not to insist upon a compulsory
marriage which would seal your daughter's misery, for Steffani is, in
every respect, one of the most worthless young men we have amongst our
government clerks."
"Were I in your place," said M. de Bragadin, "I would let my daughter's
repentance disarm my anger, and I would forgive her."
"Where is she? I am ready to fold her in my arms, but how can I believe
in her repentance when it is evident that she is still with him."
"Is it quite certain that in leaving C---- she proceeded to this city?"
"I have it from the master of the barge himself, and she landed within
twenty yards of the Roman gate. An individual wearing a mask was waiting
for her, joined her at once, and they both disappeared without leaving
any trace of their whereabouts."
"Very likely it was Steffani waiting there for her."
"No, for he is short, and the man with the mask was tall. Besides, I have
heard that Steffani had left Venice two days before the arrival of my
daughter. The man must have been some friend of Steffani, and he has
taken her to him."
"But, my dear count, all this is mere supposition."
"There are four persons who have seen the man with the mask, and pretend
to know him, only they do not agree. Here is a list of four names, and I
will accuse these four persons before the Council of Ten, if Steffani
should deny having my daughter in his possession."
The list, which he handed to M. Barbaro, gave not only the names of the
four accused persons, but likewise those of their accusers. The last
name, which M. Barbaro read, was mine. When I heard it, I shrugged my
shoulders in a manner which caused the three friends to laugh heartily.
M. de Bragadin, seeing the surprise of the count at such uncalled-for
mirth, said to him,
"This is Casanova my son, and I give you my word of honour that, if your
daughter is in his hands, she is perfectly safe, although he may not look
exactly the sort of man to whom young girls should be trusted."
The surprise, the amazement, and the perplexity of the count and his son
were an amusing picture. The loving father begged me to excuse him, with
tears in his eyes, telling me to place myself in his position. My only
answer was to embrace him most affectionately.
The man who had recognized me was a noted pimp whom I had thrashed some
time before for having deceived me. If I had not been there just in time
to take care of the young countess, she would not have escaped him, and
he would have ruined her for ever by taking her to some house of
ill-fame.
The result of the meeting was that the count agreed to postpone his
application to the Council of Ten until Steffani's place of refuge should
be discovered.
"I have not seen Steffani for six months, sir," I said to the count, "but
I promise you to kill him in a duel as soon as he returns."
"You shall not do it," answered the young count, very coolly, "unless he
kills me first."
"Gentlemen," exclaimed M. de Bragadin, "I can assure you that you will
neither of you fight a duel with him, for Steffani is dead."
"Dead!" said the count.
"We must not," observed the prudent Barbaro, "take that word in its
literal sense, but the wretched man is dead to all honour and
self-respect."
After that truly dramatic scene, during which I could guess that the
denouement of the play was near at hand, I went to my charming countess,
taking care to change my gondola three times--a necessary precaution to
baffle spies.
I gave my anxious mistress an exact account of all the conversation. She
was very impatient for my coming, and wept tears of joy when I repeated
her father's words of forgiveness; but when I told her that nobody knew
of Steffani having entered her chamber, she fell on her knees and thanked
God. I then repeated her brother's words, imitating his coolness: "You
shall not kill him, unless he kills me first." She kissed me tenderly,
calling me her guardian angel, her saviour, and weeping in my arms. I
promised to bring her brother on the following day, or the day after that
at the latest. We had our supper, but we did not talk of Steffani, or of
revenge, and after that pleasant meal we devoted two hours to the worship
of the god of love.
I left her at midnight, promising to return early in the morning--my
reason for not remaining all night with her was that the landlady might,
if necessary, swear without scruple that I had never spent a night with
the young girl. It proved a very lucky inspiration of mine, for, when I
arrived home, I found the three friends waiting impatiently for me in
order to impart to me wonderful news which M. de Bragadin had heard at
the sitting of the senate.
"Steffani," said M. de Bragadin to me, "is dead, as our angel Paralis
revealed it to us; he is dead to the world, for he has become a Capuchin
friar. The senate, as a matter of course, has been informed of it. We
alone are aware that it is a punishment which God has visited upon him.
Let us worship the Author of all things, and the heavenly hierarchy which
renders us worthy of knowing what remains a mystery to all men. Now we
must achieve our undertaking, and console the poor father. We must
enquire from Paralis where the girl is. She cannot now be with Steffani.
Of course, God has not condemned her to become a Capuchin nun."
"I need not consult my angel, dearest father, for it is by his express
orders that I have been compelled until now to make a mystery of the
refuge found by the young countess."
I related the whole story, except what they had no business to know, for,
in the opinion of the worthy men, who had paid heavy tribute to Love, all
intrigues were fearful crimes. M. Dandolo and M. Barbaro expressed their
surprise when they heard that the young girl had been under my protection
for a fortnight, but M. de Bragadin said that he was not astonished, that
it was according to cabalistic science, and that he knew it.
"We must only," he added, "keep up the mystery of his daughter's place of
refuge for the count, until we know for a certainty that he will forgive
her, and that he will take her with him to C----, or to any other place
where he may wish to live hereafter."
"He cannot refuse to forgive her," I said, "when he finds that the
amiable girl would never have left C---- if her seducer had not given her
this promise of marriage in his own handwriting. She walked as far as the
barge, and she landed at the very moment I was passing the Roman gate. An
inspiration from above told me to accost her and to invite her to follow
me. She obeyed, as if she was fulfilling the decree of Heaven, I took her
to a refuge impossible to discover, and placed her under the care of a
God-fearing woman."
My three friends listened to me so attentively that they looked like
three statues. I advised them to invite the count to dinner for the day
after next, because I needed some time to consult 'Paralis de modo
tenendi'. I then told M. Barbaro to let the count know in what sense he
was to understand Steffani's death. He undertook to do it, and we retired
to rest.
I slept only four or five hours, and, dressing myself quickly, hurried to
my beloved mistress. I told the widow not to serve the coffee until we
called for it, because we wanted to remain quiet and undisturbed for some
hours, having several important letters to write.
I found the lovely countess in bed, but awake, and her eyes beaming with
happiness and contentment. For a fortnight I had only seen her sad,
melancholy, and thoughtful. Her pleased countenance, which I naturally
ascribed to my influence, filled me with joy. We commenced as all happy
lovers always do, and we were both unsparing of the mutual proofs of our
love, tenderness, and gratitude.
After our delightful amorous sport, I told her the news, but love had so
completely taken possession of her pure and sensitive soul, that what had
been important was now only an accessory. But the news of her seducer
having turned a Capuchin friar filled her with amazement, and, passing
very sensible remarks on the extraordinary event, she pitied Steffani.
When we can feel pity, we love no longer, but a feeling of pity
succeeding love is the characteristic only of a great and generous mind.
She was much pleased with me for having informed my three friends of her
being under my protection, and she left to my care all the necessary
arrangements for obtaining a reconciliation with her father.
Now and then we recollected that the time of our separation was near at
hand, our grief was bitter, but we contrived to forget it in the ecstacy
of our amorous enjoyment.
"Ah! why can we not belong for ever to each other?" the charming girl
would exclaim. "It is not my acquaintance with Steffani, it is your loss
which will seal my eternal misery."
But it was necessary to bring our delightful interview to a close, for
the hours were flying with fearful rapidity. I left her happy, her eyes
wet with tears of intense felicity.
At the dinner-table M. Barbaro told me that he had paid a visit to his
relative, Steffani's mother, and that she had not appeared sorry at the
decision taken by her son, although he was her only child.
"He had the choice," she said, "between killing himself and turning
friar, and he took the wiser course."
The woman spoke like a good Christian, and she professed to be one; but
she spoke like an unfeeling mother, and she was truly one, for she was
wealthy, and if she had not been cruelly avaricious her son would not
have been reduced to the fearful alternative of committing suicide or of
becoming a Capuchin friar.
The last and most serious motive which caused the despair of Steffani,
who is still alive, remained a mystery for everybody. My Memoirs will
raise the veil when no one will care anything about it.
The count and his son were, of course, greatly surprised, and the event
made them still more desirous of discovering the young lady. In order to
obtain a clue to her place of refuge, the count had resolved on summoning
before the Council of Ten all the parties, accused and accusing, whose
names he had on his list, with the exception of myself. His determination
made it necessary for us to inform him that his daughter was in my hands,
and M. de Bragadin undertook to let him know the truth.
We were all invited to supper by the count, and we went to his hostelry,
with the exception of M. de Bragadin, who had declined the invitation. I
was thus prevented from seeing my divinity that evening, but early the
next morning I made up for lost time, and as it had been decided that her
father would on that very day be informed of her being under my care, we
remained together until noon. We had no hope of contriving another
meeting, for I had promised to bring her brother in the afternoon.
The count and his son dined with us, and after dinner M. de Bragadin
said,
"I have joyful news for you, count; your beloved daughter has been
found!"
What an agreeable surprise for the father and son! M. de Bragadin handed
them the promise of marriage written by Steffani, and said,
"This, gentlemen, evidently brought your lovely young lady to the verge
of madness when she found that he had gone from C---- without her. She
left your house alone on foot, and as she landed in Venice Providence
threw her in the way of this young man, who induced her to follow him,
and has placed her under the care of an honest woman, whom she has not
left since, whom she will leave only to fall in your arms as soon as she
is certain of your forgiveness for the folly she has committed."
"Oh! let her have no doubt of my forgiving her," exclaimed the father, in
the ecstacy of joy, and turning to me, "Dear sir, I beg of you not to
delay the fortunate moment on which the whole happiness of my life
depends."
I embraced him warmly, saying that his daughter would be restored to him
on the following day, and that I would let his son see her that very
afternoon, so as to give him an opportunity of preparing her by degrees
for that happy reconciliation. M. Barbaro desired to accompany us, and
the young man, approving all my arrangements, embraced me, swearing
everlasting friendship and gratitude.
We went out all three together, and a gondola carried us in a few minutes
to the place where I was guarding a treasure more precious than the
golden apples of the Hesperides. But, alas! I was on the point of losing
that treasure, the remembrance of which causes me, even now, a delicious
trembling.
I preceded my two companions in order to prepare my lovely young friend
for the visit, and when I told her that, according to my arrangements,
her father would not see her till on the following day:
"Ah!" she exclaimed with the accent of true happiness, "then we can spend
a few more hours together! Go, dearest, go and bring my brother."
I returned with my companions, but how can I paint that truly dramatic
situation? Oh! how inferior art must ever be to nature! The fraternal
love, the delight beaming upon those two beautiful faces, with a slight
shade of confusion on that of the sister, the pure joy shining in the
midst of their tender caresses, the most eloquent exclamations followed
by a still more eloquent silence, their loving looks which seem like
flashes of lightning in the midst of a dew of tears, a thought of
politeness which brings blushes on her countenance, when she recollects
that she has forgotten her duty towards a nobleman whom she sees for the
first time, and finally there was my part, not a speaking one, but yet
the most important of all. The whole formed a living picture to which the
most skilful painter could not have rendered full justice.
We sat down at last, the young countess between her brother and M.
Barbaro, on the sofa, I, opposite to her, on a low foot-stool.
"To whom, dear sister, are we indebted for the happiness of having found
you again?"
"To my guardian angel," she answered, giving me her hand, "to this
generous man who was waiting for me, as if Heaven had sent him with the
special mission of watching over your sister; it is he who has saved me,
who has prevented me from falling into the gulf which yawned under my
feet, who has rescued me from the shame threatening me, of which I had
then no conception; it is to him I am indebted for all, to him who, as
you see, kisses my hand now for the first time."
And she pressed her handkerchief to her beautiful eyes to dry her tears,
but ours were flowing at the same time.
Such is true virtue, which never loses its nobleness, even when modesty
compels it to utter some innocent falsehood. But the charming girl had no
idea of being guilty of an untruth. It was a pure, virtuous soul which
was then speaking through her lips, and she allowed it to speak. Her
virtue seemed to whisper to her that, in spite of her errors, it had
never deserted her. A young girl who gives way to a real feeling of love
cannot be guilty of a crime, or be exposed to remorse.
Towards the end of our friendly visit, she said that she longed to throw
herself at her father's feet, but that she wished to see him only in the
evening, so as not to give any opportunity to the gossips of the place,
and it was agreed that the meeting, which was to be the last scene of the
drama, should take place the next day towards the evening.
We returned to the count's hostelry for supper, and the excellent man,
fully persuaded that he was indebted to me for his honour as well as for
his daughter's, looked at me with admiration, and spoke to me with
gratitude. Yet he was not sorry to have ascertained himself, and before I
had said so, that I had been the first man who had spoken to her after
landing. Before parting in the evening, M. Barbaro invited them to dinner
for the next day.
I went to my charming mistress very early the following morning, and,
although there was some danger in protracting our interview, we did not
give it a thought, or, if we did, it only caused us to make good use of
the short time that we could still devote to love.
After having enjoyed, until our strength was almost expiring, the most
delightful, the most intense voluptuousness in which mutual ardour can
enfold two young, vigorous, and passionate lovers, the young countess
dressed herself, and, kissing her slippers, said she would never part
with them as long as she lived. I asked her to give me a lock of her
hair, which she did at once. I meant to have it made into a chain like
the one woven with the hair of Madame F----, which I still wore round my
neck.
Towards dusk, the count and his son, M. Dandolo, M. Barbaro, and myself,
proceeded together to the abode of the young countess. The moment she saw
her father, she threw herself on her knees before him, but the count,
bursting into tears, took her in his arms, covered her with kisses, and
breathed over her words of forgiveness, of love and blessing. What a
scene for a man of sensibility! An hour later we escorted the family to
the inn, and, after wishing them a pleasant journey, I went back with my
two friends to M. de Bragadin, to whom I gave a faithful account of what
had taken place.
We thought that they had left Venice, but the next morning they called at
the place in a peotta with six rowers. The count said that they could not
leave the city without seeing us once more; without thanking us again,
and me particularly, for all we had done for them. M. de Bragadin, who
had not seen the young countess before, was struck by her extraordinary
likeness to her brother.
They partook of some refreshments, and embarked in their peotta, which
was to carry them, in twenty-four hours, to Ponte di Lago Oscuro, on the
River Po, near the frontiers of the papal states. It was only with my
eyes that I could express to the lovely girl all the feelings which
filled my heart, but she understood the language, and I had no difficulty
in interpreting the meaning of her looks.
Never did an introduction occur in better season than that of the count
to M. Barbaro. It saved the honour of a respectable family; and it saved
me from the unpleasant consequences of an interrogatory in the presence
of the Council of Ten, during which I should have been convicted of
having taken the young girl with me, and compelled to say what I had done
with her.
A few days afterwards we all proceeded to Padua to remain in that city
until the end of autumn. I was grieved not to find Doctor Gozzi in Padua;
he had been appointed to a benefice in the country, and he was living
there with Bettina; she had not been able to remain with the scoundrel
who had married her only for the sake of her small dowry, and had treated
her very ill.
I did not like the quiet life of Padua, and to avoid dying from ennui I
fell in love with a celebrated Venetian courtesan. Her name was Ancilla;
sometime after, the well-known dancer, Campioni, married her and took her
to London, where she caused the death of a very worthy Englishman. I
shall have to mention her again in four years; now I have only to speak
of a certain circumstance which brought my love adventure with her to a
close after three or four weeks.
Count Medini, a young, thoughtless fellow like myself, and with
inclinations of much the same cast, had introduced me to Ancilla. The
count was a confirmed gambler and a thorough enemy of fortune. There was
a good deal of gambling going on at Ancilla's, whose favourite lover he
was, and the fellow had presented me to his mistress only to give her the
opportunity of making a dupe of me at the card-table.
And, to tell the truth, I was a dupe at first; not thinking of any foul
play, I accepted ill luck without complaining; but one day I caught them
cheating. I took a pistol out of my pocket, and, aiming at Medini's
breast, I threatened to kill him on the spot unless he refunded at once
all the gold they had won from me. Ancilla fainted away, and the count,
after refunding the money, challenged me to follow him out and measure
swords. I placed my pistols on the table, and we went out. Reaching a
convenient spot, we fought by the bright light of the moon, and I was
fortunate enough to give him a gash across the shoulder. He could not
move his arm, and he had to cry for mercy.
After that meeting, I went to bed and slept quietly, but in the morning I
related the whole affair to my father, and he advised me to leave Padua
immediately, which I did.
Count Medini remained my enemy through all his life. I shall have
occasion to speak of him again when I reach Naples.
The remainder of the year 1746 passed off quietly, without any events of
importance. Fortune was now favourable to me and now adverse.
Towards the end of January, 1747, I received a letter from the young
countess A---- S----, who had married the Marquis of----. She entreated me
not to appear to know her, if by chance I visited the town in which she
resided, for she had the happiness of having linked her destiny to that
of a man who had won her heart after he had obtained her hand.
I had already heard from her brother that, after their return to C----,
her mother had taken her to the city from which her letter was written,
and there, in the house of a relative with whom she was residing, she had
made the acquaintance of the man who had taken upon himself the charge of
her future welfare and happiness. I saw her one year afterwards, and if
it had not been for her letter, I should certainly have solicited an
introduction to her husband. Yet, peace of mind has greater charms even
than love; but, when love is in the way, we do not think so.
For a fortnight I was the lover of a young Venetian girl, very handsome,
whom her father, a certain Ramon, exposed to public admiration as a
dancer at the theatre. I might have remained longer her captive, if
marriage had not forcibly broken my chains. Her protectress, Madame
Cecilia Valmarano, found her a very proper husband in the person of a
French dancer, called Binet, who had assumed the name of Binetti, and
thus his young wife had not to become a French woman; she soon won great
fame in more ways than one. She was strangely privileged; time with its
heavy hand seemed to have no power over her. She always appeared young,
even in the eyes of the best judges of faded, bygone female beauty. Men,
as a general rule, do not ask for anything more, and they are right in
not racking their brain for the sake of being convinced that they are the
dupes of external appearance. The last lover that the wonderful Binetti
killed by excess of amorous enjoyment was a certain Mosciuski, a Pole,
whom fate brought to Venice seven or eight years ago; she had then
reached her sixty-third year!
My life in Venice would have been pleasant and happy, if I could have
abstained from punting at basset. The ridotti were only open to noblemen
who had to appear without masks, in their patrician robes, and wearing
the immense wig which had become indispensable since the beginning of the
century. I would play, and I was wrong, for I had neither prudence enough
to leave off when fortune was adverse, nor sufficient control over myself
to stop when I had won. I was then gambling through a feeling of avarice.
I was extravagant by taste, and I always regretted the money I had spent,
unless it had been won at the gaming-table, for it was only in that case
that the money had, in my opinion, cost me nothing.
At the end of January, finding myself under the necessity of procuring
two hundred sequins, Madame Manzoni contrived to obtain for me from
another woman the loan of a diamond ring worth five hundred. I made up my
mind to go to Treviso, fifteen miles distant from Venice, to pawn the
ring at the Mont-de-piete, which there lends money upon valuables at the
rate of five per cent. That useful establishment does not exist in
Venice, where the Jews have always managed to keep the monopoly in their
hands.
I got up early one morning, and walked to the end of the canale regio,
intending to engage a gondola to take me as far as Mestra, where I could
take post horses, reach Treviso in less than two hours, pledge my diamond
ring, and return to Venice the same evening.
As I passed along St. Job's Quay, I saw in a two-oared gondola a country
girl beautifully dressed. I stopped to look at her; the gondoliers,
supposing that I wanted an opportunity of reaching Mestra at a cheap
rate, rowed back to the shore.
Observing the lovely face of the young girl, I do not hesitate, but jump
into the gondola, and pay double fare, on condition that no more
passengers are taken. An elderly priest was seated near the young girl,
he rises to let me take his place, but I politely insist upon his keeping
it.
CHAPTER XIX
I Fall in Love with Christine, and Find a Husband Worthy of
Her--Christine's Wedding
"Those gondoliers," said the elderly priest, ad dressing me in order to
begin the conversation, "are very fortunate. They took us up at the
Rialto for thirty soldi, on condition that they would be allowed to
embark other passengers, and here is one already; they will certainly
find more."
"When I am in a gondola, reverend sir, there is no room left for any more
passengers."
So saying, I give forty more soldi to the gondoliers, who, highly pleased
with my generosity, thank me and call me excellency. The good priest,
accepting that title as truly belonging to me, entreats my pardon for not
having addressed me as such.
"I am not a Venetian nobleman, reverend sir, and I have no right to the
title of Excellenza."
"Ah!" says the young lady, "I am very glad of it."
"Why so, signora?"
"Because when I find myself near a nobleman I am afraid. But I suppose
that you are an illustrissimo."
"Not even that, signora; I am only an advocate's clerk."
"So much the better, for I like to be in the company of persons who do
not think themselves above me. My father was a farmer, brother of my
uncle here, rector of P----, where I was born and bred. As I am an only
daughter I inherited my father's property after his death, and I shall
likewise be heiress to my mother, who has been ill a long time and cannot
live much longer, which causes me a great deal of sorrow; but it is the
doctor who says it. Now, to return to my subject, I do not suppose that
there is much difference between an advocate's clerk and the daughter of
a rich farmer. I only say so for the sake of saying something, for I know
very well that, in travelling, one must accept all sorts of companions:
is it not so, uncle?"
"Yes, my dear Christine, and as a proof you see that this gentleman has
accepted our company without knowing who or what we are."
"But do you think I would have come if I had not been attracted by the
beauty of your lovely niece?"
At these words the good people burst out laughing. As I did not think
that there was anything very comic in what I had said, I judged that my
travelling companions were rather simple, and I was not sorry to find
them so.
"Why do you laugh so heartily, beautiful 'demigella'? Is it to shew me
your fine teeth? I confess that I have never seen such a splendid set in
Venice."
"Oh! it is not for that, sir, although everyone in Venice has paid me the
same compliment. I can assure you that in P---- all the 'girls have teeth
as fine as mine. Is it not a fact, uncle?"
"Yes, my dear niece."
"I was laughing, sir, at a thing which I will never tell you."
"Oh! tell me, I entreat you."
"Oh! certainly not, never."
"I will tell you myself," says the curate.
"You will not," she exclaims, knitting her beautiful eyebrows. "If you do
I will go away."
"I defy you to do it, my dear. Do you know what she said, sir, when she
saw you on the wharf? 'Here is a very handsome young man who is looking
at me, and would not be sorry to be with us.' And when she saw that the
gondoliers were putting back for you to embark she was delighted."
While the uncle was speaking to me, the indignant niece was slapping him
on the shoulder.
"Why are you angry, lovely Christine, at my hearing that you liked my
appearance, when I am so glad to let you know how truly charming I think
you?"
"You are glad for a moment. Oh! I know the Venetians thoroughly now. They
have all told me that they were charmed with me, and not one of those I
would have liked ever made a declaration to me."
"What sort of declaration did you want?"
"There's only one sort for me, sir; the declaration leading to a good
marriage in church, in the sight of all men. Yet we remained a fortnight
in Venice; did we not, uncle?"
"This girl," said the uncle, "is a good match, for she possesses three
thousand crowns. She has always said that she would marry only a
Venetian, and I have accompanied her to Venice to give her an opportunity
of being known. A worthy woman gave us hospitality for a fortnight, and
has presented my niece in several houses where she made the acquaintance
of marriageable young men, but those who pleased her would not hear of
marriage, and those who would have been glad to marry her did not take
her fancy."
"But do you imagine, reverend sir, that marriages can be made like
omelets? A fortnight in Venice, that is nothing; you ought to live there
at least six months. Now, for instance, I think your niece sweetly
pretty, and I should consider myself fortunate if the wife whom God
intends for me were like her, but, even if she offered me now a dowry of
fifty thousand crowns on condition that our wedding takes place
immediately, I would refuse her. A prudent young man wants to know the
character of a girl before he marries her, for it is neither money nor
beauty which can ensure happiness in married life."
"What do you mean by character?" asked Christine; "is it a beautiful
hand-writing?"
"No, my dear. I mean the qualities of the mind and the heart. I shall
most likely get married sometime, and I have been looking for a wife for
the last three years, but I am still looking in vain. I have known
several young girls almost as lovely as you are, and all with a good
marriage portion, but after an acquaintance of two or three months I
found out that they could not make me happy."
"In what were they deficient?"
"Well, I will tell you, because you are not acquainted with them, and
there can be no indiscretion on my part. One whom I certainly would have
married, for I loved her dearly, was extremely vain. She would have
ruined me in fashionable clothes and by her love for luxuries. Fancy! she
was in the habit of paying one sequin every month to the hair-dresser,
and as much at least for pomatum and perfumes."
"She was a giddy, foolish girl. Now, I spend only ten soldi in one year
on wax which I mix with goat's grease, and there I have an excellent
pomatum."
"Another, whom I would have married two years ago, laboured under a
disease which would have made me unhappy; as soon as I knew of it, I
ceased my visits."
"What disease was it?"
"A disease which would have prevented her from being a mother, and, if I
get married, I wish to have children."
"All that is in God's hands, but I know that my health is excellent. Is
it not, uncle?"
"Another was too devout, and that does not suit me. She was so
over-scrupulous that she was in the habit of going to her confessor twice
a week, and every time her confession lasted at least one hour. I want my
wife to be a good Christian, but not bigoted."
"She must have been a great sinner, or else she was very foolish. I
confess only once a month, and get through everything in two minutes. Is
it not true, uncle? and if you were to ask me any questions, uncle, I
should not know what more to say."
"One young lady thought herself more learned than I, although she would,
every minute, utter some absurdity. Another was always low-spirited, and
my wife must be cheerful."
"Hark to that, uncle! You and my mother are always chiding me for my
cheerfulness."
"Another, whom I did not court long, was always afraid of being alone
with me, and if I gave her a kiss she would run and tell her mother."
"How silly she must have been! I have never yet listened to a lover, for
we have only rude peasants in P----, but I know very well that there are
some things which I would not tell my mother."
"One had a rank breath; another painted her face, and, indeed, almost
every young girl is guilty of that fault. I am afraid marriage is out of
the question for me, because I want, for instance, my wife to have black
eyes, and in our days almost every woman colours them by art; but I
cannot be deceived, for I am a good judge."
"Are mine black?"
"You are laughing?"
"I laugh because your eyes certainly appear to be black, but they are not
so in reality. Never mind, you are very charming in spite of that."
"Now, that is amusing. You pretend to be a good judge, yet you say that
my eyes are dyed black. My eyes, sir, whether beautiful or ugly, are now
the same as God made them. Is it not so, uncle?"
"I never had any doubt of it, my dear niece."
"And you do not believe me, sir?"
"No, they are too beautiful for me to believe them natural."
"Oh, dear me! I cannot bear it."
"Excuse me, my lovely damigella, I am afraid I have been too sincere."
After that quarrel we remained silent. The good curate smiled now and
then, but his niece found it very hard to keep down her sorrow.
At intervals I stole a look at her face, and could see that she was very
near crying. I felt sorry, for she was a charming girl. In her hair,
dressed in the fashion of wealthy countrywomen, she had more than one
hundred sequins' worth of gold pins and arrows which fastened the plaits
of her long locks as dark as ebony. Heavy gold ear-rings, and a long
chain, which was wound twenty times round her snowy neck, made a fine
contrast to her complexion, on which the lilies and the roses were
admirably blended. It was the first time that I had seen a country beauty
in such splendid apparel. Six years before, Lucie at Pasean had
captivated me, but in a different manner.
Christine did not utter a single word, she was in despair, for her eyes
were truly of the greatest beauty, and I was cruel enough to attack them.
She evidently hated me, and her anger alone kept back her tears. Yet I
would not undeceive her, for I wanted her to bring matters to a climax.
When the gondola had entered the long canal of Marghera, I asked the
clergyman whether he had a carriage to go to Treviso, through which place
he had to pass to reach P----.
"I intended to walk," said the worthy man, "for my parish is poor and I
am the same, but I will try to obtain a place for Christine in some
carriage travelling that way."
"You would confer a real kindness on me if you would both accept a seat
in my chaise; it holds four persons, and there is plenty of room."
"It is a good fortune which we were far from expecting"
"Not at all, uncle; I will not go with this gentleman."
"Why not, my dear niece?"
"Because I will not."
"Such is the way," I remarked, without looking at her, "that sincerity is
generally rewarded."
"Sincerity, sir! nothing of the sort," she exclaimed, angrily, "it is
sheer wickedness. There can be no true black eyes now for you in the
world, but, as you like them, I am very glad of it."
"You are mistaken, lovely Christine, for I have the means of ascertaining
the truth."
"What means?"
"Only to wash the eyes with a little lukewarm rose-water; or if the lady
cries, the artificial colour is certain to be washed off."
At those words, the scene changed as if by the wand of a conjuror. The
face of the charming girl, which had expressed nothing but indignation,
spite and disdain, took an air of contentment and of placidity delightful
to witness. She smiled at her uncle who was much pleased with the change
in her countenance, for the offer of the carriage had gone to his heart.
"Now you had better cry a little, my dear niece, and 'il signore' will
render full justice to your eyes."
Christine cried in reality, but it was immoderate laughter that made her
tears flow.
That species of natural originality pleased me greatly, and as we were
going up the steps at the landing-place, I offered her my full apologies;
she accepted the carriage. I ordered breakfast, and told a 'vetturino' to
get a very handsome chaise ready while we had our meal, but the curate
said that he must first of all go and say his mass.
"Very well, reverend sir, we will hear it, and you must say it for my
intention."
I put a silver ducat in his hand.
"It is what I am in the habit of giving," I observed.
My generosity surprised him so much that he wanted to kiss my hand. We
proceeded towards the church, and I offered my arm to the niece who, not
knowing whether she ought to accept it or not, said to me,
"Do you suppose that I cannot walk alone?"
"I have no such idea, but if I do not give you my arm, people will think
me wanting in politeness."
"Well, I will take it. But now that I have your arm, what will people
think?"
"Perhaps that we love each other and that we make a very nice couple."
"And if anyone should inform your mistress that we are in love with each
other, or even that you have given your arm to a young girl?"
"I have no mistress, and I shall have none in future, because I could not
find a girl as pretty as you in all Venice."
"I am very sorry for you, for we cannot go again to Venice; and even if
we could, how could we remain there six months? You said that six months
were necessary to know a girl well."
"I would willingly defray all your expenses."
"Indeed? Then say so to my uncle, and he will think it over, for I could
not go alone."
"In six months you would know me likewise."
"Oh! I know-you very well already."
"Could you accept a man like me?"
"Why not?"
"And will you love me?"
"Yes, very much, when you are my husband."
I looked at the young girl with astonishment. She seemed to me a princess
in the disguise of a peasant girl. Her dress, made of 'gros de Tours' and
all embroidered in gold, was very handsome, and cost certainly twice as
much as the finest dress of a Venetian lady. Her bracelets, matching the
neckchain, completed her rich toilet. She had the figure of a nymph, and
the new fashion of wearing a mantle not having yet reached her village, I
could see the most magnificent bosom, although her dress was fastened up
to the neck. The end of the richly-embroidered skirt did not go lower
than the ankles, which allowed me to admire the neatest little foot and
the lower part of an exquisitely moulded leg. Her firm and easy walk, the
natural freedom of all her movements, a charming look which seemed to
say, "I am very glad that you think me pretty," everything, in short,
caused the ardent fire of amorous desires to circulate through my veins.
I could not conceive how such a lovely girl could have spent a fortnight
in Venice without finding a man to marry or to deceive her. I was
particularly delighted with her simple, artless way of talking, which in
the city might have been taken for silliness.
Absorbed in my thoughts, and having resolved in my own mind on rendering
brilliant homage to her charms, I waited impatiently for the end of the
mass.
After breakfast I had great difficulty in convincing the curate that my
seat in the carriage was the last one, but I found it easier to persuade
him on our arrival in Treviso to remain for dinner and for supper at a
small, unfrequented inn, as I took all the expense upon myself. He
accepted very willingly when I added that immediately after supper a
carriage would be in readiness to convey him to P----, where he would
arrive in an hour after a peasant journey by moonlight. He had nothing to
hurry him on, except his wish to say mass in his own church the next
morning.
I ordered a fire and a good dinner, and the idea struck me that the
curate himself might pledge the ring for me, and thus give me the
opportunity of a short interview with his niece. I proposed it to him,
saying that I could not very well go myself, as I did not wish to be
known. He undertook the commission at once, expressing his pleasure at
doing something to oblige me.
He left us, and I remained alone with Christine. I spent an hour with her
without trying to give her even a kiss, although I was dying to do so,
but I prepared her heart to burn with the same desires which were already
burning in me by those words which so easily inflame the imagination of a
young 'girl.
The curate came back and returned me the ring, saying that it could not
be pledged until the day after the morrow, in consequence of the Festival
of the Holy Virgin. He had spoken to the cashier, who had stated that if
I liked the bank would lend double the sum I had asked.
"My dear sir," I said, "you would greatly oblige me if you would come
back here from P---- to pledge the ring yourself. Now that it has been
offered once by you, it might look very strange if it were brought by
another person. Of course I will pay all your expenses."
"I promise you to come back."
I hoped he would bring his niece with him.
I was seated opposite to Christine during the dinner, and discovered
fresh charms in her every minute, but, fearing I might lose her
confidence if I tried to obtain some slight favour, I made up my mind not
to go to work too quickly, and to contrive that the curate should take
her again to Venice. I thought that there only I could manage to bring
love into play and to give it the food it requires.
"Reverend sir," I said, "let me advise you to take your niece again to
Venice. I undertake to defray all expenses, and to find an honest woman
with whom your Christine will be as safe as with her own mother. I want
to know her well in order to make her my wife, and if she comes to Venice
our marriage is certain."
"Sir, I will bring my niece myself to Venice as soon as you inform me
that you have found a worthy woman with whom I can leave her in safety."
While we were talking I kept looking at Christine, and I could see her
smile with contentment.
"My dear Christine," I said, "within a week I shall have arranged the
affair. In the meantime, I will write to you. I hope that you have no
objection to correspond with me."
"My uncle will write for me, for I have never been taught writing."
"What, my dear child! you wish to become the wife of a Venetian, and you
cannot write."
"Is it then necessary to know how to write in order to become a wife? I
can read well."
"That is not enough, and although a girl can be a wife and a mother
without knowing how to trace one letter, it is generally admitted that a
young girl ought to be able to write. I wonder you never learned."
"There is no wonder in that, for not one girl in our village can do it.
Ask my uncle."
"It is perfectly true, but there is not one who thinks of getting married
in Venice, and as you wish for a Venetian husband you must learn."
"Certainly," I said, "and before you come to Venice, for everybody would
laugh at you, if you could not write. I see that it makes you sad, my
dear, but it cannot be helped."
"I am sad, because I cannot learn writing in a week."
"I undertake," said her uncle, "to teach you in a fortnight, if you will
only practice diligently. You will then know enough to be able to improve
by your own exertions."
"It is a great undertaking, but I accept it; I promise you to work night
and day, and to begin to-morrow."
After dinner, I advised the priest not to leave that evening, to rest
during the night, and I observed that, by going away before day-break, he
would reach P---- in good time, and feel all the better for it. I made the
same proposal to him in the evening, and when he saw that his niece was
sleepy, he was easily persuaded to remain. I called for the innkeeper,
ordered a carriage for the clergyman, and desired that a fire might be
lit for me in the next room where I would sleep, but the good priest said
that it was unnecessary, because there were two large beds in our room,
that one would be for me and the other for him and his niece.
"We need not undress," he added, "as we mean to leave very early, but you
can take off your clothes, sir, because you are not going with us, and
you will like to remain in bed to-morrow morning."
"Oh!" remarked Christine, "I must undress myself, otherwise I could not
sleep, but I only want a few minutes to get ready in the morning."
I said nothing, but I was amazed. Christine then, lovely and charming
enough to wreck the chastity of a Xenocrates, would sleep naked with her
uncle! True, he was old, devout, and without any of the ideas which might
render such a position dangerous, yet the priest was a man, he had
evidently felt like all men, and he ought to have known the danger he was
exposing himself to. My carnal-mindedness could not realize such a state
of innocence. But it was truly innocent, so much so that he did it
openly, and did not suppose that anyone could see anything wrong in it. I
saw it all plainly, but I was not accustomed to such things, and felt
lost in wonderment. As I advanced in age and in experience, I have seen
the same custom established in many countries amongst honest people whose
good morals were in no way debased by it, but it was amongst good people,
and I do not pretend to belong to that worthy class.
We had had no meat for dinner, and my delicate palate was not
over-satisfied. I went down to the kitchen myself, and I told the
landlady that I wanted the best that could be procured in Treviso for
supper, particularly in wines.
"If you do not mind the expense, sir, trust to me, and I undertake to
please you. I will give you some Gatta wine."
"All right, but let us have supper early."
When I returned to our room, I found Christine caressing the cheeks of
her old uncle, who was laughing; the good man was seventy-five years old.
"Do you know what is the matter?" he said to me; "my niece is caressing
me because she wants me to leave her here until my return. She tells me
that you were like brother and sister during the hour you have spent
alone together this morning, and I believe it, but she does not consider
that she would be a great trouble to you."
"Not at all, quite the reverse, she will afford me great pleasure, for I
think her very charming. As to our mutual behaviour, I believe you can
trust us both to do our duty."
"I have no doubt of it. Well, I will leave her under your care until the
day after to-morrow. I will come back early in the morning so as to
attend to your business."
This extraordinary and unexpected arrangement caused the blood to rush to
my head with such violence that my nose bled profusely for a quarter of
an hour. It did not frighten me, because I was used to such accidents,
but the good priest was in a great fright, thinking that it was a serious
haemorrhage.
When I had allayed his anxiety, he left us on some business of his own,
saying that he would return at night-fall. I remained alone with the
charming, artless Christine, and lost no time in thanking her for the
confidence she placed in me.
"I can assure you," she said, "that I wish you to have a thorough
knowledge of me; you will see that I have none of the faults which have
displeased you so much in the young ladies you have known in Venice, and
I promise to learn writing immediately."
"You are charming and true; but you must be discreet in P----, and
confide to no one that we have entered into an agreement with each other.
You must act according to your uncle's instructions, for it is to him
that I intend to write to make all arrangements."
"You may rely upon my discretion. I will not say anything even to my
mother, until you give me permission to do so."
I passed the afternoon, in denying myself even the slightest liberties
with my lovely companion, but falling every minute deeper in love with
her. I told her a few love stories which I veiled sufficiently not to
shock her modesty. She felt interested, and I could see that, although
she did not always understand, she pretended to do so, in order not to
appear ignorant.
When her uncle returned, I had arranged everything in my mind to make her
my wife, and I resolved on placing her, during her stay in Venice, in the
house of the same honest widow with whom I had found a lodging for my
beautiful Countess A---- S----.
We had a delicious supper. I had to teach Christine how to eat oysters
and truffles, which she then saw for the first time. Gatta wine is like
champagne, it causes merriment without intoxicating, but it cannot be
kept for more than one year. We went to bed before midnight, and it was
broad daylight when I awoke. The curate had left the room so quietly that
I had not heard him.
I looked towards the other bed, Christine was asleep. I wished her good
morning, she opened her eyes, and leaning on her elbow, she smiled
sweetly.
"My uncle has gone. I did not hear him."
"Dearest Christine, you are as lovely as one of God's angels. I have a
great longing to give you a kiss."
"If you long for a kiss, my dear friend, come and give me one."
I jump out of my bed, decency makes her hide her face. It was cold, and I
was in love. I find myself in her arms by one of those spontaneous
movements which sentiment alone can cause, and we belong to each other
without having thought of it, she happy and rather confused, I delighted,
yet unable to realize the truth of a victory won without any contest.
An hour passed in the midst of happiness, during which we forgot the
whole world. Calm followed the stormy gusts of passionate love, and we
gazed at each other without speaking.
Christine was the first to break the silence
"What have we done?" she said, softly and lovingly.
"We have become husband and wife."
"What will my uncle say to-morrow?"
"He need not know anything about it until he gives us the nuptial
benediction in his own church."
"And when will he do so?"
"As soon as we have completed all the arrangements necessary for a
public marriage."
"How long will that be?"
"About a month."
"We cannot be married during Lent."
"I will obtain permission."
"You are not deceiving me?"
"No, for I adore you."
"Then, you no longer want to know me better?"
"No; I know you thoroughly now, and I feel certain that you will make me
happy."
"And will you make me happy, too?"
"I hope so."
"Let us get up and go to church. Who could have believed that, to get a
husband, it was necessary not to go to Venice, but to come back from that
city!"
We got up, and, after partaking of some breakfast, we went to hear mass.
The morning passed off quickly, but towards dinner-time I thought that
Christine looked different to what she did the day before, and I asked
her the reason of that change.
"It must be," she said, "the same reason which causes you to be
thoughtful."
"An air of thoughtfulness, my dear, is proper to love when it finds
itself in consultation with honour. This affair has become serious, and
love is now compelled to think and consider. We want to be married in the
church, and we cannot do it before Lent, now that we are in the last days
of carnival; yet we cannot wait until Easter, it would be too long. We
must therefore obtain a dispensation in order to be married. Have I not
reason to be thoughtful?"
Her only answer was to come and kiss me tenderly. I had spoken the truth,
yet I had not told her all my reasons for being so pensive. I found
myself drawn into an engagement which was not disagreeable to me, but I
wished it had not been so very pressing. I could not conceal from myself
that repentance was beginning to creep into my amorous and well-disposed
mind, and I was grieved at it. I felt certain, however, that the charming
girl would never have any cause to reproach me for her misery.
We had the whole evening before us, and as she had told me that she had
never gone to a theatre, I resolved on affording her that pleasure. I
sent for a Jew from whom I procured everything necessary to disguise her,
and we went to the theatre. A man in love enjoys no pleasure but that
which he gives to the woman he loves. After the performance was over, I
took her to the Casino, and her astonishment made me laugh when she saw
for the first time a faro bank. I had not money enough to play myself,
but I had more than enough to amuse her and to let her play a reasonable
game. I gave her ten sequins, and explained what she had to do. She did
not even know the cards, yet in less than an hour she had won one hundred
sequins. I made her leave off playing, and we returned to the inn. When
we were in our room, I told her to see how much money she had, and when I
assured her that all that gold belonged to her, she thought it was a
dream.
"Oh! what will my uncle say?" she exclaimed.
We had a light supper, and spent a delightful night, taking good care to
part by day-break, so as not to be caught in the same bed by the worthy
ecclesiastic. He arrived early and found us sleeping soundly in our
respective beds. He woke me, and I gave him the ring which he went to
pledge immediately. When he returned two hours later, he saw us dressed
and talking quietly near the fire. As soon as he came in, Christine
rushed to embrace him, and she shewed him all the gold she had in her
possession. What a pleasant surprise for the good old priest! He did not
know how to express his wonder! He thanked God for what he called a
miracle, and he concluded by saying that we were made to insure each
other's happiness.
The time to part had come. I promised to pay them a visit in the first
days of Lent, but on condition that on my arrival in P---- I would not
find anyone informed of my name or of my concerns. The curate gave me the
certificate of birth of his niece and the account of her possessions. As
soon as they had gone I took my departure for Venice, full of love for
the charming girl, and determined on keeping my engagement with her. I
knew how easy it would be for me to convince my three friends that my
marriage had been irrevocably written in the great book of fate.
My return caused the greatest joy to the three excellent men, because,
not being accustomed to see me three days absent, M. Dandolo and M.
Barbaro were afraid of some accident having befallen me; but M. de
Bragadin's faith was stronger, and he allayed their fears, saying to them
that, with Paralis watching over me, I could not be in any danger.
The very next day I resolved on insuring Christine's happiness without
making her my wife. I had thought of marrying her when I loved her better
than myself, but after obtaining possession the balance was so much on my
side that my self-love proved stronger than my love for Christine. I
could not make up my mind to renounce the advantages, the hopes which I
thought were attached to my happy independence. Yet I was the slave of
sentiment. To abandon the artless, innocent girl seemed to me an awful
crime of which I could not be guilty, and the mere idea of it made me
shudder. I was aware that she was, perhaps, bearing in her womb a living
token of our mutual love, and I shivered at the bare possibility that her
confidence in me might be repaid by shame and everlasting misery.
I bethought myself of finding her a husband in every way better than
myself; a husband so good that she would not only forgive me for the
insult I should thus be guilty of towards her, but also thank me at the
end, and like me all the better for my deceit.
To find such a husband could not be very difficult, for Christine was not
only blessed with wonderful beauty, and with a well-established
reputation for virtue, but she was also the possessor of a fortune
amounting to four thousand Venetian ducats.
Shut up in a room with the three worshippers of my oracle, I consulted
Paralis upon the affair which I had so much at heart. The answer was:
"Serenus must attend to it."
Serenus was the cabalistic name of M. de Bragadin, and the excellent man
immediately expressed himself ready to execute all the orders of Paralis.
It was my duty to inform him of those orders.
"You must," I said to him, "obtain from the Holy Father a dispensation
for a worthy and virtuous girl, so as to give her the privilege of
marrying during Lent in the church of her village; she is a young country
girl. Here is her certificate of birth. The husband is not yet known; but
it does not matter, Paralis undertakes to find one."
"Trust to me," said my father, "I will write at once to our ambassador in
Rome, and I will contrive to have my letter sent by special express. You
need not be anxious, leave it all to me, I will make it a business of
state, and I must obey Paralis all the more readily that I foresee that
the intended husband is one of us four. Indeed, we must prepare ourselves
to obey."
I had some trouble in keeping my laughter down, for it was in my power to
metamorphose Christine into a grand Venetian lady, the wife of a senator;
but that was not my intention. I again consulted the oracle in order to
ascertain who would be the husband of the young girl, and the answer was
that M. Dandolo was entrusted with the care of finding one, young,
handsome, virtuous, and able to serve the Republic, either at home or
abroad. M. Dandolo was to consult me before concluding any arrangements.
I gave him courage for his task by informing him that the girl had a
dowry of four thousand ducats, but I added that his choice was to be made
within a fortnight. M. de Bragadin, delighted at not being entrusted with
the commission, laughed heartily.
Those arrangements made me feel at peace with myself. I was certain that
the husband I wanted would be found, and I only thought of finishing the
carnival gaily, and of contriving to find my purse ready for a case of
emergency.
Fortune soon rendered me possessor of a thousand sequins. I paid my
debts, and the licence for the marriage having arrived from Rome ten days
after M. de Bragadin had applied for it, I gave him one hundred ducats,
that being the sum it had cost. The dispensation gave Christine the right
of being married in any church in Christendom, she would only have to
obtain the seal of the episcopal court of the diocese in which the
marriage was to take place, and no publication of banns was required. We
wanted, therefore, but one thing--a trifling one, namely, the husband. M.
Dandolo had already proposed three or four to me, but I had refused them
for excellent reasons. At last he offered one who suited me exactly.
I had to take the diamond ring out of pledge, and not wishing to do it
myself, I wrote to the priest making an appointment in Treviso. I was
not, of course, surprised when I found that he was accompanied by his
lovely niece, who, thinking that I had come to complete all arrangements
for our marriage, embraced me without ceremony, and I did the same. If
the uncle had not been present, I am afraid that those kisses would have
caused all my heroism to vanish. I gave the curate the dispensation, and
the handsome features of Christine shone with joy. She certainly could
not imagine that I had been working so actively for others, and, as I was
not yet certain of anything, I did not undeceive her then. I promised to
be in P---- within eight or ten days, when we would complete all necessary
arrangements. After dinner, I gave the curate the ticket for the ring and
the money to take it out of pledge, and we retired to rest. This time,
very fortunately, there was but one bed in the room, and I had to take
another chamber for myself.
The next morning, I went into Christine's room, and found her in bed. Her
uncle had gone out for my diamond ring, and alone with that lovely girl,
I found that I had, when necessary, complete control over my passions.
Thinking that she was not to be my wife, and that she would belong to
another, I considered it my duty to silence my desires. I kissed her, but
nothing more.
I spent one hour with her, fighting like Saint Anthony against the carnal
desires of my nature. I could see the charming girl full of love and of
wonder at my reserve, and I admired her virtue in the natural modesty
which prevented her from making the first advances. She got out of bed
and dressed herself without shewing any disappointment. She would, of
course, have felt mortified if she had had the slightest idea that I
despised her, or that I did not value her charms.
Her uncle returned, gave me the ring, and we had dinner, after which he
treated me to a wonderful exhibition. Christine had learned how to write,
and, to give me a proof of her talent, she wrote very fluently and very
prettily in my presence.
We parted, after my promising to come back again within ten days, and I
returned to Venice.
On the second Sunday in Lent, M. Dandolo told me with an air of triumph
that the fortunate husband had been found, and that there was no doubt of
my approval of the new candidate. He named Charles---- whom I knew by
sight--very handsome young man, of irreproachable conduct, and about
twenty-two years of age. He was clerk to M. Ragionato and god-son of
Count Algarotti, a sister of whom had married M. Dandolo's brother.
"Charles," said M. Dandolo to me, "has lost his father and his mother,
and I feel satisfied that his godfather will guarantee the dowry brought
by his wife. I have spoken to him, and I believe him disposed to marry an
honest girl whose dowry would enable him to purchase M. Ragionato's
office."
"It seems to promise very well, but I cannot decide until I have seen
him."
"I have invited him to dine with us to-morrow."
The young man came, and I found him worthy of all M. Dandolo's praise. We
became friends at once; he had some taste for poetry, I read some of my
productions to him, and having paid him a visit the following day, he
shewed me several pieces of his own composition which were well written.
He introduced me to his aunt, in whose house he lived with his sister,
and I was much pleased with their friendly welcome. Being alone with him
in his room, I asked him what he thought of love.
"I do not care for love," he answered: "but I should like to get married
in order to have a house of my own."
When I returned to the palace, I told M. Dandolo that he might open the
affair with Count Algarotti, and the count mentioned it to Charles, who
said that he could not give any answer, either one way or the other,
until he should have seen the young girl, talked with her, and enquired
about her reputation. As for Count Algarotti, he was ready to be
answerable for his god-son, that is to guarantee four thousand ducats to
the wife, provided her dowry was worth that amount. Those were only the
preliminaries; the rest belonged to my province.
Dandolo having informed Charles that the matter was entirely in my hands,
he called on me and enquired when I would be kind enough to introduce him
to the young person. I named the day, adding that it was necessary to
devote a whole day to the visit, as she resided at a distance of twenty
miles from Venice, that we would dine with her and return the same
evening. He promised to be ready for me by day-break. I immediately sent
an express to the curate to inform him of the day on which I would call
with a friend of mine whom I wished to introduce to his niece.
On the appointed day, Charles was punctual. I took care to let him know
along the road that I had made the acquaintance of the young girl and of
her uncle as travelling companions from Venice to Mestra about one month
before, and that I would have offered myself as a husband, if I had been
in a position to guarantee the dowry of four thousand ducats. I did not
think it necessary to go any further in my confidences.
We arrived at the good priest's house two hours before mid-day, and soon
after our arrival, Christine came in with an air of great ease,
expressing all her pleasure at seeing me. She only bowed to Charles,
enquiring from me whether he was likewise a clerk.
Charles answered that he was clerk at Ragionato.
She pretended to understand, in order not to appear ignorant.
"I want you to look at my writing," she said to me, "and afterwards we
will go and see my mother."
Delighted at the praise bestowed upon her writing by Charles, when he
heard that she had learned only one month, she invited us to follow her.
Charles asked her why she had waited until the age of nineteen to study
writing.
"Well, sir, what does it matter to you? Besides, I must tell you that I
am seventeen, and not nineteen years of age."
Charles entreated her to excuse him, smiling at the quickness of her
answer.
She was dressed like a simple country girl, yet very neatly, and she wore
her handsome gold chains round her neck and on her arms. I told her to
take my arm and that of Charles, which she did, casting towards me a look
of loving obedience. We went to her mother's house; the good woman was
compelled to keep her bed owing to sciatica. As we entered the room, a
respectable-looking man, who was seated near the patient, rose at the
sight of Charles, and embraced him affectionately. I heard that he was
the family physician, and the circumstance pleased me much.
After we had paid our compliments to the good woman, the doctor enquired
after Charles's aunt and sister; and alluding to the sister who was
suffering from a secret disease, Charles desired to say a few words to
him in private; they left the room together. Being alone with the mother
and Christine, I praised Charles, his excellent conduct, his high
character, his business abilities, and extolled the happiness of the
woman who would be his wife. They both confirmed my praises by saying
that everything I said of him could be read on his features. I had no
time to lose, so I told Christine to be on her guard during dinner, as
Charles might possibly be the husband whom God had intended for her.
"For me?"
"Yes, for you. Charles is one of a thousand; you would be much happier
with him than you could be with me; the doctor knows him, and you could
ascertain from him everything which I cannot find time to tell you now
about my friend."
The reader can imagine all I suffered in making this declaration, and my
surprise when I saw the young girl calm and perfectly composed! Her
composure dried the tears already gathering in my eyes. After a short
silence, she asked me whether I was certain that such a handsome young
man would have her. That question gave me an insight into Christine's
heart and feelings, and quieted all my sorrow, for I saw that I had not
known her well. I answered that, beautiful as she was, there was no doubt
of her being loved by everybody.
"It will be at dinner, my dear Christine, that my friend will examine and
study you; do not fail to shew all the charms and qualities with which
God has endowed you, but do not let him suspect our intimacy."
"It is all very strange. Is my uncle informed of this wonderful change?"
"No."
"If your friend should feel pleased with me, when would he marry me?"
"Within ten days. I will take care of everything, and you will see me
again in the course of the week:"
Charles came back with the doctor, and Christine, leaving her mother's
bedside, took a chair opposite to us. She answered very sensibly all the
questions addressed to her by Charles, often exciting his mirth by her
artlessness, but not shewing any silliness.
Oh! charming simplicity! offspring of wit and of ignorance! thy charm is
delightful, and thou alone hast the privilege of saying anything without
ever giving offence! But how unpleasant thou art when thou art not
natural! and thou art the masterpiece of art when thou art imitated with
perfection!
We dined rather late, and I took care not to speak to Christine, not even
to look at her, so as not to engross her attention, which she devoted
entirely to Charles, and I was delighted to see with what ease and
interest she kept up the conversation. After dinner, and as we were
taking leave, I heard the following words uttered by Charles, which went
to my very heart:
"You are made, lovely Christine, to minister to the happiness of a
prince."
And Christine? This was her answer:
"I should esteem myself fortunate, sir, if you should judge me worthy of
ministering to yours."
These words excited Charles so much that he embraced me!
Christine was simple, but her artlessness did not come from her mind,
only from her heart. The simplicity of mind is nothing but silliness,
that of the heart is only ignorance and innocence; it is a quality which
subsists even when the cause has ceased to be. This young girl, almost a
child of nature, was simple in her manners, but graceful in a thousand
trifling ways which cannot be described. She was sincere, because she did
not know that to conceal some of our impressions is one of the precepts
of propriety, and as her intentions were pure, she was a stranger to that
false shame and mock modesty which cause pretended innocence to blush at
a word, or at a movement said or made very often without any wicked
purpose.
During our journey back to Venice Charles spoke of nothing but of his
happiness. He had decidedly fallen in love.
"I will call to-morrow morning upon Count Algarotti," he said to me, "and
you may write to the priest to come with all the necessary documents to
make the contract of marriage which I long to sign."
His delight and his surprise were intense when I told him that my wedding
present to Christine was a dispensation from the Pope for her to be
married in Lent.
"Then," he exclaimed, "we must go full speed ahead!"
In the conference which was held the next day between my young
substitute, his god-father, and M. Dandolo, it was decided that the
parson should be invited to come with his niece. I undertook to carry the
message, and leaving Venice two hours before morning I reached
P---- early. The priest said he would be ready to start immediately after
mass. I then called on Christine, and I treated her to a fatherly and
sentimental sermon, every word of which was intended to point out to her
the true road to happiness in the new condition which she was on the
point of adopting. I told her how she ought to behave towards her
husband, towards his aunt and his sister, in order to captivate their
esteem and their love. The last part of my discourse was pathetic and
rather disparaging to myself, for, as I enforced upon her the necessity
of being faithful to her husband, I was necessarily led to entreat her
pardon for having seduced her. "When you promised to marry me, after we
had both been weak enough to give way to our love, did you intend to
deceive me?"
"Certainly not."
"Then you have not deceived me. On the contrary, I owe you some gratitude
for having thought that, if our union should prove unhappy, it was better
to find another husband for me, and I thank God that you have succeeded
so well. Tell me, now, what I can answer to your friend in case he should
ask me, during the first night, why I am so different to what a virgin
ought to be?"
"It is not likely that Charles, who is full of reserve and propriety,
would ask you such a thing, but if he should, tell him positively that
you never had a lover, and that you do not suppose yourself to be
different to any other girl."
"Will he believe me?"
"He would deserve your contempt, and entail punishment on himself if he
did not. But dismiss all anxiety; that will not occur. A sensible man, my
dear Christine, when he has been rightly brought up, never ventures upon
such a question, because he is not only certain to displease, but also
sure that he will never know the truth, for if the truth is likely to
injure a woman in the opinion of her husband, she would be very foolish,
indeed, to confess it."
"I understand your meaning perfectly, my dear friend; let us, then,
embrace each other for the last time."
"No, for we are alone and I am very weak. I adore thee as much as ever."
"Do not cry, dear friend, for, truly speaking, I have no wish for it."
That simple and candid answer changed my disposition suddenly, and,
instead of crying, I began to laugh. Christine dressed herself
splendidly, and after breakfast we left P----. We reached Venice in four
hours. I lodged them at a good inn, and going to the palace, I told M.
Dandolo that our people had arrived, that it would be his province to
bring them and Charles together on the following day, and to attend to
the matter altogether, because the honour of the future husband and wife,
the respect due to their parents and to propriety, forbade any further
interference on my part.
He understood my reasons, and acted accordingly. He brought Charles to
me, I presented both of them to the curate and his niece, and then left
them to complete their business.
I heard afterwards from M. Dandolo that they all called upon Count
Algarotti, and at the office of a notary, where the contract of marriage
was signed, and that, after fixing a day for the wedding, Charles had
escorted his intended back to P----.
On his return, Charles paid me a visit. He told me that Christine had won
by her beauty and pleasing manners the affection of his aunt, of his
sister, and of his god-father, and that they had taken upon themselves
all the expense of the wedding.
"We intend to be married," he added, "on such a day at P----, and I trust
that you will crown your work of kindness by being present at the
ceremony."
I tried to excuse myself, but he insisted with such a feeling of
gratitude, and with so much earnestness, that I was compelled to accept.
I listened with real pleasure to the account he gave me of the impression
produced upon all his family and upon Count Algarotti by the beauty, the
artlessness, the rich toilet, and especially by the simple talk of the
lovely country girl.
"I am deeply in love with her," Charles said to me, "and I feel that it
is to you that I shall be indebted for the happiness I am sure to enjoy
with my charming wife. She will soon get rid of her country way of
talking in Venice, because here envy and slander will but too easily shew
her the absurdity of it."
His enthusiasm and happiness delighted me, and I congratulated myself
upon my own work. Yet I felt inwardly some jealousy, and I could not help
envying a lot which I might have kept for myself.
M. Daridolo and M. Barbaro having been also invited by Charles, I went
with them to P----. We found the dinner-table laid out in the rector's
house by the servants of Count Algarotti, who was acting as Charles's
father, and having taken upon himself all the expense of the wedding, had
sent his cook and his major-domo to P----.
When I saw Christine, the tears filled my eyes, and I had to leave the
room. She was dressed as a country girl, but looked as lovely as a nymph.
Her husband, her uncle, and Count Algarotti had vainly tried to make her
adopt the Venetian costume, but she had very wisely refused.
"As soon as I am your wife," she had said to Charles, "I will dress as
you please, but here I will not appear before my young companions in any
other costume than the one in which they have always seen me. I shall
thus avoid being laughed at, and accused of pride, by the girls among
whom I have been brought up."
There was in these words something so noble, so just, and so generous,
that Charles thought his sweetheart a supernatural being. He told me that
he had enquired, from the woman with whom Christine had spent a
fortnight, about the offers of marriage she had refused at that time, and
that he had been much surprised, for two of those offers were excellent
ones.
"Christine," he added, "was evidently destined by Heaven for my
happiness, and to you I am indebted for the precious possession of that
treasure."
His gratitude pleased me, and I must render myself the justice of saying
that I entertained no thought of abusing it. I felt happy in the
happiness I had thus given.
We repaired to the church towards eleven o'clock, and were very much
astonished at the difficulty we experienced in getting in. A large number
of the nobility of Treviso, curious to ascertain whether it was true that
the marriage ceremony of a country girl would be publicly performed
during Lent when, by waiting only one month, a dispensation would have
been useless, had come to P----. Everyone wondered at the permission
having been obtained from the Pope, everyone imagined that there was some
extraordinary reason for it, and was in despair because it was impossible
to guess that reason. In spite of all feelings of envy, every face beamed
with pleasure and satisfaction when the young couple made their
appearance, and no one could deny that they deserved that extraordinary
distinction, that exception to all established rules.
A certain Countess of Tos,... from Treviso, Christine's god-mother, went
up to her after the ceremony, and embraced her most tenderly, complaining
that the happy event had not been communicated to her in Treviso.
Christine, in her artless way, answered with as much modesty as
sweetness, that the countess ought to forgive her if she had failed in
her duty towards her, on account of the marriage having been decided on
so hastily. She presented her husband, and begged Count Algarotti to
atone for her error towards her god-mother by inviting her to join the
wedding repast, an invitation which the countess accepted with great
pleasure. That behaviour, which is usually the result of a good education
and a long experience of society, was in the lovely peasant-girl due only
to a candid and well-balanced mind which shone all the more because it
was all nature and not art.
As they returned from the church, Charles and Christine knelt down before
the young wife's mother, who gave them her blessing with tears of joy.
Dinner was served, and, of course, Christine and her happy spouse took
the seats of honour. Mine was the last, and I was very glad of it, but
although everything was delicious, I ate very little, and scarcely opened
my lips.
Christine was constantly busy, saying pretty things to every one of her
guests, and looking at her husband to make sure that he was pleased with
her.
Once or twice she addressed his aunt and sister in such a gracious manner
that they could not help leaving their places and kissing her tenderly,
congratulating Charles upon his good fortune. I was seated not very far
from Count Algarotti, and I heard him say several times to Christine's
god-mother that he had never felt so delighted in his life.
When four o'clock struck, Charles whispered a few words to his lovely
wife, she bowed to her god-mother, and everybody rose from the table.
After the usual compliments--and in this case they bore the stamp of
sincerity--the bride distributed among all the girls of the village, who
were in the adjoining room, packets full of sugar-plums which had been
prepared before hand, and she took leave of them, kissing them all
without any pride. Count Algarotti invited all the guests to sleep at a
house he had in Treviso, and to partake there of the dinner usually given
the day after the wedding. The uncle alone excused himself, and the
mother could not come, owing to her disease which prevented her from
moving. The good woman died three months after Christine's marriage.
Christine therefore left her village to follow her husband, and for the
remainder of their lives they lived together in mutual happiness.
Count Algarotti, Christine's god-mother and my two noble friends, went
away together. The bride and bridegroom had, of course, a carriage to
themselves, and I kept the aunt and the sister of Charles company in
another. I could not help envying the happy man somewhat, although in my
inmost heart I felt pleased with his happiness.
The sister was not without merit. She was a young widow of twenty-five,
and still deserved the homage of men, but I gave the preference to the
aunt, who told me that her new niece was a treasure, a jewel which was
worthy of everybody's admiration, but that she would not let her go into
society until she could speak the Venetian dialect well.
"Her cheerful spirits," she added, "her artless simplicity, her natural
wit, are like her beauty, they must be dressed in the Venetian fashion.
We are highly pleased with my nephew's choice, and he has incurred
everlasting obligations towards you. I hope that for the future you will
consider our house as your own."
The invitation was polite, perhaps it was sincere, yet I did not avail
myself of it, and they were glad of it. At the end of one year Christine
presented her husband with a living token of their mutual love, and that
circumstance increased their conjugal felicity.
We all found comfortable quarters in the count's house in Treviso, where,
after partaking of some refreshments, the guests retired to rest.
The next morning I was with Count Algarotti and my two friends when
Charles came in, handsome, bright, and radiant. While he was answering
with much wit some jokes of the count, I kept looking at him with some
anxiety, but he came up to me and embraced me warmly. I confess that a
kiss never made me happier.
People wonder at the devout scoundrels who call upon their saint when
they think themselves in need of heavenly assistance, or who thank him
when they imagine that they have obtained some favour from him, but
people are wrong, for it is a good and right feeling, which preaches
against Atheism.
At the invitation of Charles, his aunt and his sister had gone to pay a
morning visit to the young wife, and they returned with her. Happiness
never shone on a more lovely face!
M. Algarotti, going towards her, enquired from her affectionately whether
she had had a good night. Her only answer was to rush to her husband's
arms. It was the most artless, and at the same time the most eloquent,
answer she could possible give. Then turning her beautiful eyes towards
me, and offering me her hand, she said,
"M. Casanova, I am happy, and I love to be indebted to you for my
happiness."
The tears which were flowing from my eyes, as I kissed her hand, told her
better than words how truly happy I was myself.
The dinner passed off delightfully. We then left for Mestra and Venice.
We escorted the married couple to their house, and returned home to amuse
M. Bragadin with the relation of our expedition. This worthy and
particularly learned man said a thousand things about the marriage, some
of great profundity and others of great absurdity.
I laughed inwardly. I was the only one who had the key to the mystery,
and could realize the secret of the comedy.
EPISODE 5 -- MILAN AND MANTUA
CHAPTER XX
Slight Misfortunes Compel Me to Leave Venice--My Adventures
in Milan and Mantua
On Low Sunday Charles paid us a visit with his lovely wife, who seemed
totally indifferent to what Christine used to be. Her hair dressed with
powder did not please me as well as the raven black of her beautiful
locks, and her fashionable town attire did not, in my eyes, suit her as
well as her rich country dress. But the countenances of husband and wife
bore the stamp of happiness. Charles reproached me in a friendly manner
because I had not called once upon them, and, in order to atone for my
apparent negligence, I went to see them the next day with M. Dandolo.
Charles told me that his wife was idolized by his aunt and his sister who
had become her bosom friend; that she was kind, affectionate, unassuming,
and of a disposition which enforced affection. I was no less pleased with
this favourable state of things than with the facility with which
Christine was learning the Venetian dialect.
When M. Dandolo and I called at their house, Charles was not at home;
Christine was alone with his two relatives. The most friendly welcome was
proffered to us, and in the course of conversation the aunt praised the
progress made by Christine in her writing very highly, and asked her to
let me see her copy-book. I followed her to the next room, where she told
me that she was very happy; that every day she discovered new virtues in
her husband. He had told her, without the slightest appearance of
suspicion of displeasure, that he knew that we had spent two days
together in Treviso, and that he had laughed at the well-meaning fool who
had given him that piece of information in the hope of raising a cloud in
the heaven of their felicity.
Charles was truly endowed with all the virtues, with all the noble
qualities of an honest and distinguished man. Twenty-six years afterwards
I happened to require the assistance of his purse, and found him my true
friend. I never was a frequent visitor at his house, and he appreciated
my delicacy. He died a few months before my last departure from Venice,
leaving his widow in easy circumstances, and three well-educated sons,
all with good positions, who may, for what I know, be still living with
their mother.
In June I went to the fair at Padua, and made the acquaintance of a young
man of my own age, who was then studying mathematics under the celebrated
Professor Succi. His name was Tognolo, but thinking it did not sound
well, he changed it for that of Fabris. He became, in after years, Comte
de Fabris, lieutenant-general under Joseph II., and died Governor of
Transylvania. This man, who owed his high fortune to his talents, would,
perhaps, have lived and died unknown if he had kept his name of Tognolo,
a truly vulgar one. He was from Uderzo, a large village of the Venetian
Friuli. He had a brother in the Church, a man of parts, and a great
gamester, who, having a deep knowledge of the world, had taken the name
of Fabris, and the younger brother had to assume it likewise. Soon
afterwards he bought an estate with the title of count, became a Venetian
nobleman, and his origin as a country bumpkin was forgotten. If he had
kept his name of Tognolo it would have injured him, for he could not have
pronounced it without reminding his hearers of what is called, by the
most contemptible of prejudices, low extraction, and the privileged
class, through an absurd error, does not admit the possibility of a
peasant having talent or genius. No doubt a time will come when society,
more enlightened, and therefore more reasonable, will acknowledge that
noble feelings, honour, and heroism can be found in every condition of
life as easily as in a class, the blood of which is not always exempt
from the taint of a misalliance.
The new count, while he allowed others to forget his origin, was too wise
to forget it himself, and in legal documents he always signed his family
name as well as the one he had adopted. His brother had offered him two
ways to win fortune in the world, leaving him perfectly free in his
choice. Both required an expenditure of one thousand sequins, but the
abbe had put the amount aside for that purpose. My friend had to choose
between the sword of Mars and the bird of Minerva. The abbe knew that he
could purchase for his brother a company in the army of his Imperial and
Apostolic Majesty, or obtain for him a professorship at the University of
Padua; for money can do everything. But my friend, who was gifted with
noble feelings and good sense, knew that in either profession talents and
knowledge were essentials, and before making a choice he was applying
himself with great success to the study of mathematics. He ultimately
decided upon the military profession, thus imitating Achilles, who
preferred the sword to the distaff, and he paid for it with his life like
the son of Peleus; though not so young, and not through a wound inflicted
by an arrow, but from the plague, which he caught in the unhappy country
in which the indolence of Europe allows the Turks to perpetuate that
fearful disease.
The distinguished appearance, the noble sentiments, the great knowledge,
and the talents of Fabris would have been turned into ridicule in a man
called Tognolo, for such is the force of prejudices, particularly of
those which have no ground to rest upon, that an ill-sounding name is
degrading in this our stupid society. My opinion is that men who have an
ill-sounding name, or one which presents an indecent or ridiculous idea,
are right in changing it if they intend to win honour, fame, and fortune
either in arts or sciences. No one can reasonably deny them that right,
provided the name they assume belongs to nobody. The alphabet is general
property, and everyone has the right to use it for the creation of a word
forming an appellative sound. But he must truly create it. Voltaire, in
spite of his genius, would not perhaps have reached posterity under his
name of Arouet, especially amongst the French, who always give way so
easily to their keen sense of ridicule and equivocation. How could they
have imagined that a writer 'a rouet' could be a man of genius? And
D'Alembert, would he have attained his high fame, his universal
reputation, if he had been satisfied with his name of M. Le Rond, or Mr.
Allround? What would have become of Metastasio under his true name of
Trapasso? What impression would Melanchthon have made with his name of
Schwarzerd? Would he then have dared to raise the voice of a moralist
philosopher, of a reformer of the Eucharist, and so many other holy
things? Would not M. de Beauharnais have caused some persons to laugh and
others to blush if he had kept his name of Beauvit, even if the first
founder of his family had been indebted for his fortune to the fine
quality expressed by that name?
Would the Bourbeux have made as good a figure on the throne as the
Bourbons? I think that King Poniatowski ought to have abdicated the name
of Augustus, which he had taken at the time of his accession to the
throne, when he abdicated royalty. The Coleoni of Bergamo, however, would
find it rather difficult to change their name, because they would be
compelled at the same time to change their coat of arms (the two
generative glands), and thus to annihilate the glory of their ancestor,
the hero Bartholomeo.
Towards the end of autumn my friend Fabris introduced me to a family in
the midst of which the mind and the heart could find delicious food. That
family resided in the country on the road to Zero. Card-playing,
lovemaking, and practical jokes were the order of the day. Some of those
jokes were rather severe ones, but the order of the day was never to get
angry and to laugh at everything, for one was to take every jest
pleasantly or be thought a bore. Bedsteads would at night tumble down
under their occupants, ghosts were personated, diuretic pills or
sugar-plums were given to young ladies, as well as comfits who produced
certain winds rising from the netherlands, and impossible to keep under
control. These jokes would sometimes go rather too far, but such was the
spirit animating all the members of that circle; they would laugh. I was
not less inured than the others to the war of offence and defence, but at
last there was such a bitter joke played upon me that it suggested to me
another, the fatal consequences of which put a stop to the mania by which
we were all possessed.
We were in the habit of walking to a farm which was about half a league
distant by the road, but the distance could be reduced by half by going
over a deep and miry ditch across which a narrow plank was thrown, and I
always insisted upon going that way, in spite of the fright of the ladies
who always trembled on the narrow bridge, although I never failed to
cross the first, and to offer my hand to help them over. One fine day, I
crossed first so as to give them courage, but suddenly, when I reached
the middle of the plank, it gave way under me, and there I was in the
ditch, up to the chin in stinking mud, and, in spite of my inward rage,
obliged, according to the general understanding, to join in the merry
laughter of all my companions. But the merriment did not last long, for
the joke was too bad, and everyone declared it to be so. Some peasants
were called to the rescue, and with much difficulty they dragged me out
in the most awful state. An entirely new dress, embroidered with
spangles, my silk stockings, my lace, everything, was of course spoiled,
but not minding it, I laughed more heartily that anybody else, although I
had already made an inward vow to have the most cruel revenge. In order
to know the author of that bitter joke I had only to appear calm and
indifferent about it. It was evident that the plank had been purposely
sawn. I was taken back to the house, a shirt, a coat, a complete costume,
were lent me, for I had come that time only for twenty-four hours, and
had not brought anything with me. I went to the city the next morning,
and towards the evening I returned to the gay company. Fabris, who had
been as angry as myself, observed to me that the perpetrator of the joke
evidently felt his guilt, because he took good care not to discover
himself. But I unveiled the mystery by promising one sequin to a peasant
woman if she could find out who had sawn the plank. She contrived to
discover the young man who had done the work. I called on him, and the
offer of a sequin, together with my threats, compelled him to confess
that he had been paid for his work by Signor Demetrio, a Greek, dealer in
spices, a good and amiable man of between forty-five and fifty years, on
whom I never played any trick, except in the case of a pretty, young
servant girl whom he was courting, and whom I had juggled from him.
Satisfied with my discovery, I was racking my brain to invent a good
practical joke, but to obtain complete revenge it was necessary that my
trick should prove worse than the one he had played upon me.
Unfortunately my imagination was at bay. I could not find anything. A
funeral put an end to my difficulties.
Armed with my hunting-knife, I went alone to the cemetery a little after
midnight, and opening the grave of the dead man who had been buried that
very day, I cut off one of the arms near the shoulder, not without some
trouble, and after I had re-buried the corpse, I returned to my room with
the arm of the defunct. The next day, when supper was over, I left the
table and retired to my chamber as if I intended to go to bed, but taking
the arm with me I hid myself under Demetrio's bed. A short time after,
the Greek comes in, undresses himself, put his light out, and lies down.
I give him time to fall nearly asleep; then, placing myself at the foot
of the bed, I pull away the clothes little by little until he is half
naked. He laughs and calls out,
"Whoever you may be, go away and let me sleep quietly, for I do not
believe in ghosts;" he covers himself again and composes himself to
sleep.
I wait five or six minutes, and pull again at the bedclothes; but when he
tries to draw up the sheet, saying that he does not care for ghosts, I
oppose some resistance. He sits up so as to catch the hand which is
pulling at the clothes, and I take care that he should get hold of the
dead hand. Confident that he has caught the man or the woman who was
playing the trick, he pulls it towards him, laughing all the time; I keep
tight hold of the arm for a few instants, and then let it go suddenly;
the Greek falls back on his pillow without uttering a single word.
The trick was played, I leave the room without any noise, and, reaching
my chamber, go to bed.
I was fast asleep, when towards morning I was awoke by persons going
about, and not understanding why they should be up so early, I got up.
The first person I met--the mistress of the house--told me that I had
played an abominable joke.
"I? What have I done?"
"M. Demetrio is dying."
"Have I killed him?"
She went away without answering me. I dressed myself, rather frightened,
I confess, but determined upon pleading complete ignorance of everything,
and I proceeded to Demetrio's room; and I was confronted with
horror-stricken countenances and bitter reproaches. I found all the
guests around him. I protested my innocence, but everyone smiled. The
archpriest and the beadle, who had just arrived, would not bury the arm
which was lying there, and they told me that I had been guilty of a great
crime.
"I am astonished, reverend sir," I said to the priest, "at the hasty
judgment which is thus passed upon me, when there is no proof to condemn
me."
"You have done it," exclaimed all the guests, "you alone are capable of
such an abomination; it is just like you. No one but you would have dared
to do such a thing!"
"I am compelled," said the archpriest, "to draw up an official report."
"As you please, I have not the slightest objection," I answered, "I have
nothing to fear."
And I left the room.
I continued to take it coolly, and at the dinner-table I was informed
that M. Demetrio had been bled, that he had recovered the use of his
eyes, but not of his tongue or of his limbs. The next day he could speak,
and I heard, after I had taken leave of the family, that he was stupid
and spasmodic. The poor man remained in that painful state for the rest
of his life. I felt deeply grieved, but I had not intended to injure him
so badly. I thought that the trick he had played upon me might have cost
my life, and I could not help deriving consolation from that idea.
On the same day, the archpriest made up his mind to have the arm buried,
and to send a formal denunciation against me to the episcopal
chancellorship of Treviso.
Annoyed at the reproaches which I received on all sides, I returned to
Venice. A fortnight afterwards I was summoned to appear before the
'magistrato alla blasfemia'. I begged M. Barbaro to enquire the cause of
the aforesaid summons, for it was a formidable court. I was surprised at
the proceedings being taken against me, as if there had been a certainty
of my having desecrated a grave, whilst there could be nothing but
suspicion. But I was mistaken, the summons was not relating to that
affair. M. Barbaro informed me in the evening that a woman had brought a
complaint against me for having violated her daughter. She stated in her
complaint that, having decoyed her child to the Zuecca, I had abused her
by violence, and she adduced as a proof that her daughter was confined to
her bed, owing to the bad treatment she had received from me in my
endeavours to ravish her. It was one of those complaints which are often
made, in order to give trouble and to cause expense, even against
innocent persons. I was innocent of violation, but it was quite true that
I had given the girl a sound thrashing. I prepared my defence, and begged
M. Barbaro to deliver it to the magistrate's secretary.
DECLARATION
I hereby declare that, on such a day, having met the woman with her
daughter, I accosted them and offered to give them some refreshments at a
coffee-house near by; that the daughter refused to accept my caresses,
and that the mother said to me,--
"My daughter is yet a virgin, and she is quite right not to lose her
maidenhood without making a good profit by it."
"If so," I answered, "I will give you ten sequins for her virginity."
"You may judge for yourself," said the mother.
Having assured myself of the fact by the assistance of the sense of
feeling, and having ascertained that it might be true, I told the mother
to bring the girl in the afternoon to the Zuecca, and that I would give
her the ten sequins. My offer was joyfully accepted, the mother brought
her daughter to me, she received the money, and leaving us together in
the Garden of the Cross, she went away. When I tried to avail myself of
the right for which I had paid, the girl, most likely trained to the
business by her mother, contrived to prevent me. At first the game amused
me, but at last, being tired of it, I told her to have done. She answered
quietly that it was not her fault if I was not able to do what I wanted.
Vexed and annoyed, I placed her in such a position that she found herself
at bay, but, making a violent effort, she managed to change her position
and debarred me from making any further attempts.
"Why," I said to her, "did you move?"
"Because I would not have it in that position."
"You would not?"
"No."
Without more ado, I got hold of a broomstick, and gave her a good lesson,
in order to get something for the ten sequins which I had been foolish
enough to pay in advance. But I have broken none of her limbs, and I took
care to apply my blows only on her posteriors, on which spot I have no
doubt that all the marks may be seen. In the evening I made her dress
herself again, and sent her back in a boat which chanced to pass, and she
was landed in safety. The mother received ten sequins, the daughter has
kept her hateful maidenhood, and, if I am guilty of anything, it is only
of having given a thrashing to an infamous girl, the pupil of a still
more infamous mother.
My declaration had no effect. The magistrate was acquainted with the
girl, and the mother laughed at having duped me so easily. I was
summoned, but did not appear before the court, and a writ was on the
point of being issued against my body, when the complaint of the
profanation of a grave was filed against me before the same magistrate.
It would have been less serious for me if the second affair had been
carried before the Council of Ten, because one court might have saved me
from the other.
The second crime, which, after all, was only a joke, was high felony in
the eyes of the clergy, and a great deal was made of it. I was summoned
to appear within twenty-four hours, and it was evident that I would be
arrested immediately afterwards. M. de Bragadin, who always gave good
advice, told me that the best way to avoid the threatening storm was to
run away. The advice was certainly wise, and I lost no time in getting
ready.
I have never left Venice with so much regret as I did then, for I had
some pleasant intrigues on hand, and I was very lucky at cards. My three
friends assured me that, within one year at the furthest, the cases
against me would be forgotten, and in Venice, when public opinion has
forgotten anything, it can be easily arranged.
I left Venice in the evening and the next day I slept at Verona. Two days
afterwards I reached Mantua. I was alone, with plenty of clothes and
jewels, without letters of introduction, but with a well-filled purse,
enjoying excellent health and my twenty-three years.
In Mantua I ordered an excellent dinner, the very first thing one ought
to do at a large hotel, and after dinner I went out for a walk. In the
evening, after I had seen the coffee-houses and the places of resort, I
went to the theatre, and I was delighted to see Marina appear on the
stage as a comic dancer, amid the greatest applause, which she deserved,
for she danced beautifully. She was tall, handsome, very well made and
very graceful. I immediately resolved on renewing my acquaintance with
her, if she happened to be free, and after the opera I engaged a boy to
take me to her house. She had just sat down to supper with someone, but
the moment she saw me she threw her napkin down and flew to my arms. I
returned her kisses, judging by her warmth that her guest was a man of no
consequence.
The servant, without waiting for orders, had already laid a plate for me,
and Marina invited me to sit down near her. I felt vexed, because the
aforesaid individual had not risen to salute me, and before I accepted
Marina's invitation I asked her who the gentleman was, begging her to
introduce me.
"This gentleman," she said, "is Count Celi, of Rome; he is my lover."
"I congratulate you," I said to her, and turning towards the so-called
count, "Sir," I added, "do not be angry at our mutual affection, Marina
is my daughter."
"She is a prostitute."
"True," said Marina, "and you can believe the count, for he is my
procurer."
At those words, the brute threw his knife at her face, but she avoided it
by running away. The scoundrel followed her, but I drew my sword, and
said,
"Stop, or you are a dead man."
I immediately asked Marina to order her servant to light me out, but she
hastily put a cloak on, and taking my arm she entreated me to take her
with me.
"With pleasure," I said.
The count then invited me to meet him alone, on the following day, at the
Casino of Pomi, to hear what he had to say.
"Very well, sir, at four in the afternoon," I answered.
I took Marina to my inn, where I lodged her in the room adjoining mine,
and we sat down to supper.
Marina, seeing that I was thoughtful, said,
"Are you sorry to have saved me from the rage of that brute?"
"No, I am glad to have done so, but tell me truly who and what he is."
"He is a gambler by profession, and gives himself out as Count Celi. I
made his acquaintance here. He courted me, invited me to supper, played
after supper, and, having won a large sum from an Englishman whom he had
decoyed to his supper by telling him that I would be present, he gave me
fifty guineas, saying that he had given me an interest in his bank. As
soon as I had become his mistress, he insisted upon my being compliant
with all the men he wanted to make his dupes, and at last he took up his
quarters at my lodgings. The welcome I gave you very likely vexed him,
and you know the rest. Here I am, and here I will remain until my
departure for Mantua where I have an engagement as first dancer. My
servant will bring me all I need for to-night, and I will give him orders
to move all my luggage to-morrow. I will not see that scoundrel any more.
I will be only yours, if you are free as in Corfu, and if you love me
still."
"Yes, my dear Marina, I do love you, but if you wish to be my mistress,
you must be only mine."
"Oh! of course. I have three hundred sequins, and I will give them to you
to-morrow if you will take me as your mistress."
"I do not want any money; all I want is yourself. Well, it is all
arranged; to-morrow evening we shall feel more comfortable."
"Perhaps you are thinking of a duel for to-morrow? But do not imagine
such a thing, dearest. I know that man; he is an arrant coward."
"I must keep my engagement with him."
"I know that, but he will not keep his, and I am very glad of it."
Changing the conversation and speaking of our old acquaintances, she
informed me that she had quarreled with her brother Petronio, that her
sister was primadonna in Genoa, and that Bellino Therese was still in
Naples, where she continued to ruin dukes. She concluded by saying;
"I am the most unhappy of the family."
"How so? You are beautiful, and you have become an excellent dancer. Do
not be so prodigal of your favours, and you cannot fail to meet with a
man who will take care of your fortune."
"To be sparing of my favours is very difficult; when I love, I am no
longer mine, but when I do not love, I cannot be amiable. Well, dearest,
I could be very happy with you."
"Dear Marina, I am not wealthy, and my honour would not allow me...."
"Hold your tongue; I understand you."
"Why have you not a lady's maid with you instead of a male servant?"
"You are right. A maid would look more respectable, but my servant is so
clever and so faithful!"
"I can guess all his qualities, but he is not a fit servant for you."
The next day after dinner I left Marina getting ready for the theatre,
and having put everything of value I possessed in my pocket, I took a
carriage and proceeded to the Casino of Pomi. I felt confident of
disabling the false count, and sent the carriage away. I was conscious of
being guilty of great folly in exposing my life with such an adversary. I
might have broken my engagement with him without implicating my honour,
but, the fact is that I felt well disposed for a fight, and as I was
certainly in the right I thought the prospect of a duel very delightful.
A visit to a dancer, a brute professing to be a nobleman, who insults her
in my presence, who wants to kill her, who allows her to be carried off
in his very teeth, and whose only opposition is to give me an
appointment! It seemed to me that if I had failed to come, I should have
given him the right to call me a coward.
The count had not yet arrived. I entered the coffee-room to wait for him.
I met a good-looking Frenchman there, and I addressed him. Being pleased
with his conversation, I told him that I expected the arrival of a man,
and that as my honour required that he should find me alone I would feel
grateful if he would go away as soon as I saw the man approaching. A
short time afterwards I saw my adversary coming along, but with a second.
I then told the Frenchman that he would oblige me by remaining, and he
accepted as readily as if I had invited him to a party of pleasure. The
count came in with his follower, who was sporting a sword at least forty
inches long, and had all the look of a cut-throat. I advanced towards the
count, and said to him dryly,--
"You told me that you would come alone."
"My friend will not be in the way, as I only want to speak to you."
"If I had known that, I would not have gone out of my way. But do not let
us be noisy, and let us go to some place where we can exchange a few
words without being seen. Follow me."
I left the coffee-room with the young Frenchman, who, being well
acquainted with the place, took me to the most favourable spot, and we
waited there for the two other champions, who were walking slowly and
talking together. When they were within ten paces I drew my sword and
called upon my adversary to get ready. My Frenchman had already taken out
his sword, but he kept it under his arm.
"Two to one!" exclaimed Celi.
"Send your friend away, and this gentleman will go likewise; at all
events, your friend wears a sword, therefore we are two against two."
"Yes," said the Frenchman, "let us have a four-handed game."
"I do not cross swords with a dancer," said the cutthroat.
He had scarcely uttered those words when my friend, going up to him, told
him that a dancer was certainly as good as a blackleg, and gave him a
violent bow with the flat of his sword on the face. I followed his
example with Celi, who began to beat a retreat, and said that he only
wanted to tell me something, and that he would fight afterwards.
"Well, speak."
"You know me and I do not know you. Tell me who you are."
My only answer was to resume laying my sword upon the scoundrel, while
the Frenchman was shewing the same dexterity upon the back of his
companion, but the two cowards took to their heels, and there was nothing
for us to do but to sheathe our weapons. Thus did the duel end in a
manner even more amusing than Marina herself had anticipated.
My brave Frenchman was expecting someone at the casino. I left him after
inviting him to supper for that evening after the opera. I gave him; the
name which I had assumed for my journey and the address of my hotel.
I gave Marina a full description of the adventure.
"I will," she said, "amuse everybody at the theatre this evening with the
story of your meeting. But that which pleases me most is that, if your
second is really a dancer, he can be no other than M. Baletti, who is
engaged with me for the Mantua Theatre."
I stored all my valuables in my trunk again, and went to the opera, where
I saw Baletti, who recognized me, and pointed me out to all his friends,
to whom he was relating the adventure. He joined me after the
performance, and accompanied me to the inn. Marina, who had already
returned, came to my room as soon as she heard my voice, and I was amused
at the surprise of the amiable Frenchman, when he saw the young artist
with whom he had engaged to dance the comic parts. Marina, although an
excellent dancer, did not like the serious style. Those two handsome
adepts of Terpsichore had never met before, and they began an amorous
warfare which made me enjoy my supper immensely, because, as he was a
fellow artist, Marina assumed towards Baletti a tone well adapted to the
circumstances, and very different to her usual manner with other men. She
shone with wit and beauty that evening, and was in an excellent temper,
for she had been much applauded by the public, the true version of the
Celi business being already well known.
The theatre was to be open only for ten more nights, and as Marina wished
to leave Milan immediately after the last performance, we decided on
travelling together. In the mean time, I invited Baletti (it was an
Italian name which he had adopted for the stage) to be our guest during
the remainder of our stay in Milan. The friendship between us had a great
influence upon all the subsequent events of my life, as the reader will
see in these Memoirs. He had great talent as a dancer, but that was the
least of his excellent qualities. He was honest, his feelings were noble,
he had studied much, and he had received the best education that could be
given in those days in France to a nobleman.
On the third day I saw plainly that Marina wished to make a conquest of
her colleague, and feeling what great advantage might accrue to her from
it I resolved on helping her. She had a post-chaise for two persons, and
I easily persuaded her to take Baletti with her, saying that I wished to
arrive alone in Mantua for several reasons which I could not confide to
her. The fact was that if I had arrived with her, people would have
naturally supposed that I was her lover, and I wished to avoid that.
Baletti was delighted with the proposal; he insisted upon paying his
share of the expenses, but Marina would not hear of it. The reasons
alleged by the young man for paying his own expenses were excellent ones,
and it was with great difficulty that I prevailed upon him to accept
Marina's offer, but I ultimately succeeded. I promised to wait for them
on the road, so as to take dinner and supper together, and on the day
appointed for our departure I left Milan one hour before them.
Reaching the city of Cremona very early, where we intended to sleep, I
took a walk about the streets, and, finding a coffee-house, I went in. I
made there the acquaintance of a French officer, and we left the
coffee-room together to take a short ramble. A very pretty woman happened
to pass in a carriage, and my companion stopped her to say a few words.
Their conversation was soon over, and the officer joined me again.
"Who is that lovely lady?" I enquired.
"She is a truly charming woman, and I can tell you an anecdote about her
worthy of being transmitted to posterity. You need not suppose that I am
going to exaggerate, for the adventure is known to everybody in Cremona.
The charming woman whom you have just seen is gifted with wit greater
even than her beauty, and here is a specimen of it. A young officer, one
amongst many military men who were courting her, when Marshal de
Richelieu was commanding in Genoa, boasted of being treated by her with
more favour than all the others, and one day, in the very coffee-room
where we met, he advised a brother officer not to lose his time in
courting her, because he had no chance whatever of obtaining any favour.
"'My dear fellow,' said the other officer, 'I have a much better right to
give you that piece of advice; for I have already obtained from her
everything which can be granted to a lover.'
"'I am certain that you are telling a lie,' exclaimed the young man, 'and
I request you to follow me out.'
"'Most willingly,' said the indiscreet swain, 'but what is the good of
ascertaining the truth through a duel and of cutting our throats, when I
can make the lady herself certify the fact in your presence.'
"'I bet twenty-five louis that it is all untrue,' said the incredulous
officer.
"'I accept your bet. Let us go.'
"The two contending parties proceeded together towards the dwelling of
the lady whom you saw just now, who was to name the winner of the
twenty-five louis.
"They found her in her dressing-room. 'Well gentlemen,' she said, 'what
lucky wind has brought you here together at this hour?
"'It is a bet, madam,' answered the unbelieving officer, 'and you alone
can be the umpire in our quarrel. This gentleman has been boasting of
having obtained from you everything a woman can grant to the most
favoured lover. I have given him the lie in the most impressive manner,
and a duel was to ensue, when he offered to have the truth of his boast
certified by you. I have bet twenty-five Louis that you would not admit
it, and he has taken my bet. Now, madam, you can say which of us two is
right.'
"You have lost, sir," she said to him; 'but now I beg both of you to quit
my house, and I give you fair warning that if you ever dare to shew your
faces here again, you will be sorry for it.'
"The two heedless fellows went away dreadfully mortified. The unbeliever
paid the bet, but he was deeply vexed, called the other a coxcomb, and a
week afterwards killed him in a duel.
"Since that time the lady goes to the casino, and continues to mix in
society, but does not see company at her own house, and lives in perfect
accord with her husband."
"How did the husband take it all?"
"Quite well, and like an intelligent, sensible man. He said that, if his
wife had acted differently, he would have applied for a divorce, because
in that case no one would have entertained a doubt of her being guilty."
"That husband is indeed a sensible fellow. It is certain that, if his
wife had given the lie to the indiscreet officer, he would have paid the
bet, but he would have stood by what he had said, and everybody would
have believed him. By declaring him the winner of the bet she has cut the
matter short, and she has avoided a judgment by which she would have been
dishonoured. The inconsiderate boaster was guilty of a double mistake for
which he paid the penalty of his life, but his adversary was as much
wanting in delicacy, for in such matters rightly-minded men do not
venture upon betting. If the one who says yes is imprudent, the one who
says no is a dupe. I like the lady's presence of mind."
"But what sentence would you pass on her. Guilty or not guilty?"
"Not guilty."
"I am of the same opinion, and it has been the verdict of the public
likewise, for she has since been treated even better than before the
affair. You will see, if you go to the casino, and I shall be happy to
introduce you to her."
I invited the officer to sup with us, and we spent a very pleasant
evening. After he had gone, I remarked with pleasure that Marina was
capable of observing the rules of propriety. She had taken a bedroom to
herself, so as not to hurt the feelings of her respectable fellow-dancer.
When I arrived in Mantua, I put up at St. Mark's hotel. Marina, to whom I
had given a notice that my intention was to call on her but seldom, took
up her abode in the house assigned to her by the theatrical manager.
In the afternoon of the same day, as I was walking about, I went into a
bookseller's shop to ascertain whether there was any new work out. I
remained there without perceiving that the night had come, and on being
told that the shop was going to be closed, I went out. I had only gone a
few yards when I was arrested by a patrol, the officer of which told me
that, as I had no lantern and as eight o'clock had struck, his duty was
to take me to the guardhouse. It was in vain that I observed that, having
arrived only in the afternoon, I could not know that order of the police.
I was compelled to follow him.
When we reached the guardhouse, the officer of the patrol introduced me
to his captain, a tall, fine-looking young man who received me in the
most cheerful manner. I begged him to let me return to my hotel as I
needed rest after my journey. He laughed and answered, "No, indeed, I
want you to spend a joyous night with me, and in good company." He told
the officer to give me back my sword, and, addressing me again, he said,
"I only consider you, my dear sir, as my friend and guest."
I could not help being amused at such a novel mode of invitation, and I
accepted it. He gave some orders to a German soldier, and soon afterwards
the table was laid out for four persons. The two other officers joined
us, and we had a very gay supper. When the desert had been served the
company was increased by the arrival of two disgusting, dissolute
females. A green cloth was spread over the table, and one of the officers
began a faro bank. I punted so as not to appear unwilling to join the
game, and after losing a few sequins I went out to breathe the fresh air,
for we had drunk freely. One of the two females followed me, teased me,
and finally contrived, in spite of myself, to make me a present which
condemned me to a regimen of six weeks. After that fine exploit, I went
in again.
A young and pleasant officer, who had lost some fifteen or twenty
sequins, was swearing like a trooper because the banker had pocketed his
money and was going. The young officer had a great deal of gold before
him on the table, and he contended that the banker ought to have warned
him that it would be the last game.
"Sir," I said to him, politely, "you are in the wrong, for faro is the
freest of games. Why do you not take the bank yourself?"
"It would be too much trouble, and these gentlemen do not punt high
enough for me, but if that sort of thing amuses you, take the bank and I
will punt."
"Captain," I said, "will you take a fourth share in my bank?"
"Willingly."
"Gentlemen, I beg you to give notice that I will lay the cards down after
six games."
I asked for new packs of cards, and put three hundred sequins on the
table. The captain wrote on the back of a card, "Good for a hundred
sequins, O'Neilan," and placing it with my gold I began my bank.
The young officer was delighted, and said to me,
"Your bank might be defunct before the end of the sixth game."
I did not answer, and the play went on.
At the beginning of the fifth game, my bank was in the pangs of death;
the young officer was in high glee. I rather astonished him by telling
him that I was glad to lose, for I thought him a much more agreeable
companion when he was winning.
There are some civilities which very likely prove unlucky for those to
whom they are addressed, and it turned out so in this case, for my
compliment turned his brain. During the fifth game, a run of adverse
cards made him lose all he had won, and as he tried to do violence to
Dame Fortune in the sixth round, he lost every sequin he had.
"Sir," he said to me, "you have been very lucky, but I hope you will give
me my revenge to-morrow."
"It would be with the greatest pleasure, sir, but I never play except
when I am under arrest."
I counted my money, and found that I had wan two hundred and fifty
sequins, besides a debt of fifty sequins due by an officer who played on
trust which Captain O'Neilan took on his own account. I completed his
share, and at day-break he allowed me to go away.
As soon as I got to my hotel, I went to bed, and when I awoke, I had a
visit from Captain Laurent, the officer who had played on trust. Thinking
that his object was to pay me what he had lost, I told him that O'Neilan
had taken his debt on himself, but he answered than he had only called
for the purpose of begging of me a loan of six sequins on his note of
hand, by which he would pledge his honour to repay me within one week. I
gave him the money, and he begged that the matter, might remain between
us.
"I promise it," I said to him, "but do not break your word."
The next day I was ill, and the reader is aware of the nature of my
illness. I immediately placed myself under a proper course of diet,
however unpleasant it was at my age; but I kept to my system, and it
cured me rapidly.
Three or four days afterwards Captain O'Neilan called on me, and when I
told him the nature of my sickness he laughed, much to my surprise.
"Then you were all right before that night?" he enquired.
"Yes, my health was excellent."
"I am sorry that you should have lost your health in such an ugly place.
I would have warned you if I had thought you had any intentions in that
quarter."
"Did you know of the woman having . . . ?"
"Zounds! Did I not? It is only a week since I paid a visit to the very
same place myself, and I believe the creature was all right before my
visit."
"Then I have to thank you for the present she has bestowed upon me."
"Most likely; but it is only a trifle, and you can easily get cured if
you care to take the trouble."
"What! Do you not try to cure yourself?"
"Faith, no. It would be too much trouble to follow a regular diet, and
what is the use of curing such a trifling inconvenience when I am certain
of getting it again in a fortnight. Ten times in my life I have had that
patience, but I got tired of it, and for the last two years I have
resigned myself, and now I put up with it."
"I pity you, for a man like you would have great success in love."
"I do not care a fig for love; it requires cares which would bother me
much more than the slight inconvenience to which we were alluding, and to
which I am used now."
"I am not of your opinion, for the amorous pleasure is insipid when love
does not throw a little spice in it. Do you think, for instance, that the
ugly wretch I met at the guard-room is worth what I now suffer on her
account?"
"Of course not, and that is why I am sorry for you. If I had known, I
could have introduced you to something better."
"The very best in that line is not worth my health, and health ought to
be sacrificed only for love."
"Oh! you want women worthy of love? There are a few here; stop with us
for some time, and when you are cured there is nothing to prevent you
from making conquests."
O'Neilan was only twenty-three years old; his father, who was dead, had
been a general, and the beautiful Countess Borsati was his sister. He
presented me to the Countess Zanardi Nerli, still more lovely than his
sister, but I was prudent enough not to burn my incense before either of
them, for it seemed to me that everybody could guess the state of my
health.
I have never met a young man more addicted to debauchery than O'Neilan. I
have often spent the night rambling about with him, and I was amazed at
his cynical boldness and impudence. Yet he was noble, generous, brave,
and honourable. If in those days young officers were often guilty of so
much immorality, of so many vile actions, it was not so much their fault
as the fault of the privileges which they enjoyed through custom,
indulgence, or party spirit. Here is an example:
One day O'Neilan, having drunk rather freely, rides through the city at
full speed. A poor old woman who was crossing the street has no time to
avoid him, she falls, and her head is cut open by the horse's feet.
O'Neilan places himself under arrest, but the next day he is set at
liberty. He had, only to plead that it was an accident.
The officer Laurent not having called upon me to redeem his promisory
note of six sequins during the week, I told him in the street that I
would no longer consider myself bound to keep the affair secret. Instead
of excusing himself, he said,
"I do not care!"
The answer was insulting, and I intended to compel him to give me
reparation, but the next day O'Neilan told me that Captain Laurent had
gone mad and had been locked up in a mad-house. He subsequently recovered
his reason, but his conduct was so infamous that he was cashiered.
O'Neilan, who was as brave as Bayard, was killed a few years afterwards
at the battle of Prague. A man of his complexion was certain to fall the
victim of Mars or of Venus. He might be alive now if he had been endowed
only with the courage of the fox, but he had the courage of the lion. It
is a virtue in a soldier, but almost a fault in an officer. Those who
brave danger with a full knowledge of it are worthy of praise, but those
who do not realize it escape only by a miracle, and without any merit
attaching itself to them. Yet we must respect those great warriors, for
their unconquerable courage is the offspring of a strong soul, of a
virtue which places them above ordinary mortals.
Whenever I think of Prince Charles de Ligne I cannot restrain my tears.
He was as brave as Achilles, but Achilles was invulnerable. He would be
alive now if he had remembered during the fight that he was mortal. Who
are they that, having known him, have not shed tears in his memory? He
was handsome, kind, polished, learned, a lover of the arts, cheerful,
witty in his conversation, a pleasant companion, and a man of perfect
equability. Fatal, terrible revolution! A cannon ball took him from his
friends, from his family, from the happiness which surrounded him.
The Prince de Waldeck has also paid the penalty of his intrepidity with
the loss of one arm. It is said that he consoles himself for that loss
with the consciousness that with the remaining one he can yet command an
army.
O you who despise life, tell me whether that contempt of life renders you
worthy of it?
The opera opened immediately after Easter, and I was present at every
performance. I was then entirely cured, and had resumed my usual life. I
was pleased to see that Baletti shewed off Marina to the best advantage.
I never visited her, but Baletti was in the habit of breakfasting with me
almost every morning.
He had often mentioned an old actress who had left the stage for more
than twenty years, and pretended to have been my father's friend. One day
I took a fancy to call upon her, and he accompanied me to her house.
I saw an old, broken-down crone whose toilet astonished me as much as her
person. In spite of her wrinkles, her face was plastered with red and
white, and her eyebrows were indebted to India ink for their black
appearance. She exposed one-half of her flabby, disgusting bosom, and
there could be no doubt as to her false set of teeth. She wore a wig
which fitted very badly, and allowed the intrusion of a few gray hairs
which had survived the havoc of time. Her shaking hands made mine quiver
when she pressed them. She diffused a perfume of amber at a distance of
twenty yards, and her affected, mincing manner amused and sickened me at
the same time. Her dress might possibly have been the fashion twenty
years before. I was looking with dread at the fearful havoc of old age
upon a face which, before merciless time had blighted it, had evidently
been handsome, but what amazed me was the childish effrontery with which
this time-withered specimen of womankind was still waging war with the
help of her blasted charms.
Baletti, who feared lest my too visible astonishment should vex her, told
her that I was amazed at the fact that the beautiful strawberry which
bloomed upon her chest had not been withered by the hand of Time. It was
a birth-mark which was really very much like a strawberry. "It is that
mark," said the old woman, simpering, "which gave me the name of 'La
Fragoletta.'"
Those words made me shudder.
I had before my eyes the fatal phantom which was the cause of my
existence. I saw the woman who had thirty years before, seduced my
father: if it had not been for her, he would never have thought of
leaving his father's house, and would never have engendered me in the
womb of a Venetian woman. I have never been of the opinion of the old
author who says, 'Nemo vitam vellet si daretur scientibus'.
Seeing how thoughtful I was, she politely enquired my name from Baletti,
for he had presented me only as a friend, and without having given her
notice of my visit. When he told her that my name was Casanova, she was
extremely surprised.
"Yes, madam," I said, "I am the son of Gaetan Casanova, of Parma."
"Heavens and earth! what is this? Ah! my friend, I adored your father! He
was jealous without cause, and abandoned me. Had he not done so, you
would have been my son! Allow me to embrace you with the feelings of a
loving mother."
I expected as much, and, for fear she should fall, I went to her,
received her kiss, and abandoned myself to her tender recollections.
Still an actress, she pressed her handkerchief to her eyes, pretending to
weep, and assuring me that I was not to doubt the truth of what she said.
"Although," she added, "I do not look an old woman yet."
"The only fault of your dear father," she continued, "was a want of
gratitude."
I have no doubt that she passed the same sentence upon the son, for, in
spite of her kind invitation, I never paid her another visit.
My purse was well filled, and as I did not care for Mantua, I resolved on
going to Naples, to see again my dear Therese, Donna Lucrezia, Palo
father and son, Don Antonio Casanova, and all my former acquaintances.
However, my good genius did not approve of that decision, for I was not
allowed to carry it into execution. I should have left Mantua three days
later, had I not gone to the opera that night.
I lived like an anchorite during my two months' stay in Mantua, owing to
the folly. I committed on the night of my arrival. I played only that
time, and then I had been lucky. My slight erotic inconvenience, by
compelling me to follow the diet necessary to my cure, most likely saved
me from greater misfortunes which, perhaps, I should not have been able
to avoid.
CHAPTER XXI
My Journey to Cesena in Search of Treasure--I Take Up My
Quarters in Franzia's House--His Daughter Javotte
The opera was nearly over when I was accosted by a young man who,
abruptly, and without any introduction, told me that as a stranger--I had
been very wrong in spending two months in Mantua without paying a visit
to the natural history collection belonging to his father, Don Antonio
Capitani, commissary and prebendal president.
"Sir," I answered, "I have been guilty only through ignorance, and if you
would be so good as to call for me at my hotel to-morrow morning, before
the evening I shall have atoned for my error, and you will no longer have
the right to address me the same reproach."
The son of the prebendal commissary called for me, and I found in his
father a most eccentric, whimsical sort of man. The curiosities of his
collection consisted of his family tree, of books of magic, relics, coins
which he believed to be antediluvian, a model of the ark taken from
nature at the time when Noah arrived in that extraordinary harbour, Mount
Ararat, in Armenia. He load several medals, one of Sesostris, another of
Semiramis, and an old knife of a queer shape, covered with rust. Besides
all those wonderful treasures, he possessed, but under lock and key, all
the paraphernalia of freemasonry.
"Pray, tell me," I said to him, "what relation there is between this
collection and natural history? I see nothing here representing the three
kingdoms."
"What! You do not see the antediluvian kingdom, that of Sesostris and
that of Semiramis? Are not those the three kingdoms?"
When I heard that answer I embraced him with an exclamation of delight,
which was sarcastic in its intent, but which he took for admiration, and
he at once unfolded all the treasures of his whimsical knowledge
respecting his possessions, ending with the rusty blade which he said was
the very knife with which Saint Peter cut off the ear of Malek.
"What!" I exclaimed, "you are the possessor of this knife, and you are
not as rich as Croesus?"
"How could I be so through the possession of the knife?"
"In two ways. In the first place, you could obtain possession of all the
treasures hidden under ground in the States of the Church."
"Yes, that is a natural consequence, because St. Peter has the keys."
"In the second place, you might sell the knife to the Pope, if you happen
to possess proof of its authenticity."
"You mean the parchment. Of course I have it; do you think I would have
bought one without the other?"
"All right, then. In order to get possession of that knife, the Pope
would, I have no doubt, make a cardinal of your son, but you must have
the sheath too."
"I have not got it, but it is unnecessary. At all events I can have one
made."
"That would not do, you must have the very one in which Saint Peter
himself sheathed the knife when God said, 'Mitte gladium tuum in
vaginam'. That very sheath does exist, and it is now in the hands of a
person who might sell it to you at a reasonable price, or you might sell
him your knife, for the sheath without the knife is of no use to him,
just as the knife is useless to you without the sheath."
"How much would it cost me?"
"One thousand sequins."
"And how much would that person give me for the knife?"
"One thousand sequins, for one has as much value as the other."
The commissary, greatly astonished, looked at his son, and said, with the
voice of a judge on the bench,
"Well, son, would you ever have thought that I would be offered one
thousand sequins for this knife?"
He then opened a drawer and took out of it an old piece of paper, which
he placed before me. It was written in Hebrew, and a facsimile of the
knife was drawn on it. I pretended to be lost in admiration, and advised
him very strongly to purchase the sheath.
"It is not necessary for me to buy it, or for your friend to purchase the
knife. We can find out and dig up the treasures together."
"Not at all. The rubric says in the most forcible manner that the owner
of the blade, 'in vaginam', shall be one. If the Pope were in possession
of it he would be able, through a magical operation known to me, to cut
off one of the ears of every Christian king who might be thinking of
encroaching upon the rights of the Church."
"Wonderful, indeed! But it is very true, for it is said in the Gospel
that Saint Peter did cut off the ear of somebody."
"Yes, of a king."
"Oh, no! not of a king."
"Of a king, I tell you. Enquire whether Malek or Melek does not mean
king."
"Well! in case I should make up my mind to sell the knife, who would give
me the thousand sequins?"
"I would; one half to-morrow, cash down; the balance of five hundred in a
letter of exchange payable one month after date."
"Ah! that is like business. Be good enough, to accept a dish of macaroni
with us to-morrow, and under a solemn pledge of secrecy we will discuss
this important affair."
I accepted and took my leave, firmly resolved on keeping up the joke. I
came back on the following day, and the very first thing he told me was
that, to his certain knowledge, there was an immense treasure hidden
somewhere in the Papal States, and that he would make up his mind to
purchase the sheath. This satisfied me that there was no fear of his
taking me at my word, so I produced a purse full of gold, saying I was
quite ready to complete our bargain for the purchase of the knife.
"The Treasure," he said, "is worth millions; but let us have dinner. You
are not going to be served in silver plates and dishes, but in real
Raphael mosaic."
"My dear commissary, your magnificence astonishes me; mosaic is, indeed,
by far superior to silver plate, although an ignorant fool would only
consider it ugly earthen ware."
The compliment delighted him.
After dinner, he spoke as follows:
"A man in very good circumstances, residing in the Papal States, and
owner of the country house in which he lives with all his family, is
certain that there is a treasure in his cellar. He has written to my son,
declaring himself ready to undertake all expenses necessary to possess
himself of that treasure, if we could procure a magician powerful enough
to unearth it."
The son then took a letter out of his pocket, read me some passages, and
begged me to excuse him if, in consequence of his having pledged himself
to keep the secret, he could not communicate all the contents of the
letter; but I had, unperceived by him, read the word Cesena, the name of
the village, and that was enough for me.
"Therefore all that is necessary is to give me the possibility of
purchasing the sheath on credit, for I have no ready cash at present. You
need not be afraid of endorsing my letters of exchange, and if you should
know the magician you might go halves with him."
"The magician is ready; it is I, but unless you give me five hundred
sequins cash down we cannot agree."
"I have no money."
"Then sell me the knife:"
"No."
"You are wrong, for now that I have seen it I can easily take it from
you. But I am honest enough not to wish to play such a trick upon you."
"You could take my knife from me? I should like to be convinced of that,
but I do not believe it."
"You do not? Very well, to-morrow the knife will be in my possession, but
when it is once in my hands you need not hope to see it again. A spirit
which is under my orders will bring it to me at midnight, and the same
spirit will tell me where the treasure is buried:"
"Let the spirit tell you that, and I shall be convinced."
"Give me a pen, ink and paper."
I asked a question from my oracle, and the answer I had was that the
treasure was to be found not far from the Rubicon.
"That is," I said, "a torrent which was once a river:"
They consulted a dictionary, and found that the Rubicon flowed through
Cesena. They were amazed, and, as I wished them to have full scope for
wrong reasoning, I left them.
I had taken a fancy, not to purloin five hundred sequins from those poor
fools, but to go and unearth the amount at their expense in the house of
another fool, and to laugh at them all into the bargain. I longed to play
the part of a magician. With that idea, when I left the house of the
ridiculous antiquarian, I proceeded to the public library, where, with
the assistance of a dictionary, I wrote the following specimen of
facetious erudition:
"The treasure is buried in the earth at a depth of seventeen and a half
fathoms, and has been there for six centuries. Its value amounts to two
millions of sequins, enclosed in a casket, the same which was taken by
Godfrey de Bouillon from Mathilda, Countess of Tuscany, in the year 1081,
when he endeavoured to assist Henry IV, against that princess. He buried
the box himself in the very spot where it now is, before he went to lay
siege to Jerusalem. Gregory VII, who was a great magician, having been
informed of the place where it had been hidden, had resolved on getting
possession of it himself, but death prevented him from carrying out his
intentions. After the death of the Countess Mathilda, in the year 1116,
the genius presiding over all hidden treasures appointed seven spirits to
guard the box. During a night with a full moon, a learned magician can
raise the treasure to the surface of the earth by placing himself in the
middle of the magical ring called maximus:"
I expected to see the father and son, and they came early in the morning.
After some rambling conversation, I gave them what I had composed at the
library, namely, the history of the treasure taken from the Countess
Mathilda.
I told them that I had made up my mind to recover the treasure, and I
promised them the fourth part of it, provided they would purchase the
sheath; I concluded by threatening again to possess myself of their
knife.
"I cannot decide," said the commissary, "before I have seen the sheath."
"I pledge my word to shew it to you to-morrow," I answered.
We parted company, highly pleased with each other.
In order to manufacture a sheath, such as the wonderful knife required,
it was necessary to combine the most whimsical idea with the oddest
shape. I recollected very well the form of the blade, and, as I was
revolving in my mind the best way to produce something very extravagant
but well adapted to the purpose I had in view, I spied in the yard of the
hotel an old piece of leather, the remnant of what had been a fine
gentleman's boot; it was exactly what I wanted.
I took that old sole, boiled it, and made in it a slit in which I was
certain that the knife would go easily. Then I pared it carefully on all
sides to prevent the possibility of its former use being found out; I
rubbed it with pumice stone, sand, and ochre, and finally I succeeded in
imparting to my production such a queer, old-fashioned shape that I could
not help laughing in looking at my work.
When I presented it to the commissary, and he had found it an exact fit
for the knife, the good man remained astounded. We dined together, and
after dinner it was decided that his son should accompany me, and
introduce me to the master of the house in which the treasure was buried,
that I was to receive a letter of exchange for one thousand Roman crowns,
drawn by the son on Bologna, which would be made payable to my name only
after I should have found the treasure, and that the knife with the
sheath would be delivered into my hands only when I should require it for
the great operation; until then the son was to retain possession of it.
Those conditions having been agreed upon, we made an agreement in
writing, binding upon all parties, and our departure was fixed for the
day after the morrow.
As we left Mantua, the father pronounced a fervent blessing over his
son's head, and told me that he was count palatine, shewing me the
diploma which he had received from the Pope. I embraced him, giving him
his title of count, and pocketed his letter of exchange.
After bidding adieu to Marina, who was then the acknowledged mistress of
Count Arcorati, and to Baletti whom I was sure of meeting again in Venice
before the end of the year, I went to sup with my friend O'Neilan.
We started early in the morning, travelled through Ferrara and Bologna,
and reached Cesena, where we put up at the posting-house. We got up early
the next day and walked quietly to the house of George Franzia, a wealthy
peasant, who was owner of the treasure. It was only a quarter of a mile
from the city, and the good man was agreeably surprised by our arrival.
He embraced Capitani, whom he knew already, and leaving me with his
family he went out with my companion to talk business.
Observant as usual, I passed the family in review, and fixed my choice
upon the eldest daughter. The youngest girl was ugly, and the son looked
a regular fool. The mother seemed to be the real master of the household,
and there were three or four servants going about the premises.
The eldest daughter was called Genevieve, or Javotte, a very common name
among the girls of Cesena. I told her that I thought her eighteen; but
she answered, in a tone half serious, half vexed, that I was very much
mistaken, for she had only just completed her fourteenth year.
"I am very glad it is so, my pretty child."
These words brought back her smile.
The house was well situated, and there was not another dwelling around it
for at least four hundred yards. I was glad to see that I should have
comfortable quarters, but I was annoyed by a very unpleasant stink which
tainted the air, and which could certainly not be agreeable to the
spirits I had to evoke.
"Madame Franzia," said I, to the mistress of the house, "what is the
cause of that bad smell?"
"Sir, it arises from the hemp which we are macerating."
I concluded that if the cause were removed, I should get rid of the
effect.
"What is that hemp worth, madam?" I enquired.
"About forty crowns."
"Here they are; the hemp belongs to me now, and I must beg your husband
to have it removed immediately."
Capitani called me, and I joined him. Franzia shewed me all the respect
due to a great magician, although I had not much the appearance of one.
We agreed that he should receive one-fourth of the treasure, Capitani
another fourth, and that the remainder should belong to me. We certainly
did not shew much respect for the rights of Saint Peter.
I told Franzia that I should require a room with two beds for myself
alone, and an ante-room with bathing apparatus. Capitani's room was to be
in a different part of the house, and my room was to be provided with
three tables, two of them small and one large. I added that he must at
once procure me a sewing-girl between the ages of fourteen and eighteen,
she was to be a virgin, and it was necessary that she should, as well as
every person in the house, keep the secret faithfully, in order that no
suspicion of our proceedings should reach the Inquisition, or all would
be lost.
"I intend to take up my quarters here to-morrow," I added; "I require two
meals every day, and the only wine I can drink is jevese. For my
breakfast I drink a peculiar kind of chocolate which I make myself, and
which I have brought with me. I promise to pay my own expenses in case we
do not succeed. Please remove the hemp to a place sufficiently distant
from the house, so that its bad smell may not annoy the spirits to be
evoked by me, and let the air be purified by the discharge of gunpowder.
Besides, you must send a trusty servant to-morrow to convey our luggage
from the hotel here, and keep constantly in the house and at my disposal
one hundred new wax candles and three torches."
After I had given those instructions to Franzia, I left him, and went
towards Cesena with Capitani, but we had not gone a hundred yards when we
heard the good man running after us.
"Sir," he said to me, "be kind enough to take back the forty crowns which
you paid to my wife for the hemp."
"No, I will not do anything of the sort, for I do not want you to sustain
any loss."
"Take them back, I beg. I can sell the hemp in the course of the day for
forty crowns without difficulty."
"In that case I will, for I have confidence in what you say."
Such proceedings on my part impressed the excellent man very favourably,
and he entertained the deepest veneration for me, which was increased,
when, against Capitani's advice, I resolutely refused one hundred sequins
which he wanted to force upon me for my travelling expenses. I threw him
into raptures by telling him that on the eve of possessing an immense
treasure, it was unnecessary to think of such trifles.
The next morning our luggage was sent for, and we found ourselves
comfortably located in the house of the wealthy and simple Franzia.
He gave us a good dinner, but with too many dishes, and I told him to be
more economical, and to give only some good fish for our supper, which he
did. After supper he told me that, as far as the young maiden was
concerned, he thought he could recommend his daughter Javotte, as he had
consulted his wife, and had found I could rely upon the girl being a
virgin.
"Very good," I said; "now tell me what grounds you have for supposing
that there is a treasure in your house?"
"In the first place, the oral tradition transmitted from father to son
for the last eight generations; in the second, the heavy sounds which are
heard under ground during the night. Besides, the door of the cellar
opens and shuts of itself every three or four minutes; which must
certainly be the work of the devils seen every night wandering through
the country in the shape of pyramidal flames."
"If it is as you say, it is evident that you have a treasure hidden
somewhere in your house; it is as certain as the fact that two and two
are four. Be very careful not to put a lock to the door of the cellar to
prevent its opening and shutting of itself; otherwise you would have an
earthquake, which would destroy everything here. Spirits will enjoy
perfect freedom, and they break through every obstacle raised against
them."
"God be praised for having sent here, forty years ago, a learned man who
told my father exactly the same thing! That great magician required only
three days more to unearth the treasure when my father heard that the
Inquisition had given orders to arrest him, and he lost no time in
insuring his escape. Can you tell me how it is that magicians are not
more powerful than the Inquisitors?"
"Because the monks have a greater number of devils under their command
than we have. But I feel certain that your father had already expended a
great deal of money with that learned man."
"About two thousand crowns."
"Oh! more, more."
I told Franzia to follow me, and, in order to accomplish something in the
magic line, I dipped a towel in some water, and uttering fearful words
which belonged to no human language, I washed the eyes, the temples, and
the chest of every person in the family, including Javotte, who might
have objected to it if I had not begun with her father, mother, and
brother. I made them swear upon my pocket-book that they were not
labouring under any impure disease, and I concluded the ceremony by
compelling Javotte to swear likewise that she had her maidenhood. As I
saw that she was blushing to the very roots of her hair in taking the
oath, I was cruel enough to explain to her what it meant; I then asked
her to swear again, but she answered that there was no need of it now
that she knew what it was. I ordered all the family to kiss me, and
finding that Javotte had eaten garlic I forbade the use of it entirely,
which order Franzia promised should be complied with.
Genevieve was not a beauty as far as her features were concerned; her
complexion was too much sunburnt, and her mouth was too large, but her
teeth were splendid, and her under lip projected slightly as if it had
been formed to receive kisses. Her bosom was well made and as firm as a
rock, but her hair was too light, and her hands too fleshy. The defects,
however, had to be overlooked, and altogether she was not an unpleasant
morsel. I did not purpose to make her fall in love with me; with a
peasant girl that task might have been a long one; all I wanted was to
train her to perfect obedience, which, in default of love, has always
appeared to me the essential point. True that in such a case one does not
enjoy the ecstatic raptures of love, but one finds a compensation in the
complete control obtained over the woman.
I gave notice to the father, to Capitani, and to Javotte, that each
would, in turn and in the order of their age, take supper with me, and
that Javotte would sleep every night in my ante-room, where was to be
placed a bath in which I would bathe my guest one half hour before
sitting down to supper, and the guest was not to have broken his fast
throughout the day.
I prepared a list of all the articles of which I pretended to be in need,
and giving it to Franzia I told him to go to Cesena himself the next day,
and to purchase everything without bargaining to obtain a lower price.
Among other things, I ordered a piece, from twenty to thirty yards long,
of white linen, thread, scissors, needles, storax, myrrh, sulphur, olive
oil, camphor, one ream of paper, pens and ink, twelve sheets of
parchment, brushes, and a branch of olive tree to make a stick of
eighteen inches in length.
After I had given all my orders very seriously and without any wish to
laugh, I went to bed highly pleased with my personification of a
magician, in which I was astonished to find myself so completely
successful.
The next morning, as soon as I was dressed, I sent for Capitani, and
commanded him to proceed every day to Cesena, to go to the best
coffee-house, to learn carefully every piece of news and every rumour,
and to report them to me.
Franzia, who had faithfully obeyed my orders, returned before noon from
the city with all the articles I had asked for.
"I have not bargained for anything," he said to me, "and the merchants
must, I have no doubt, have taken me for a fool, for I have certainly
paid one-third more than the things are worth."
"So much the worse for them if they have deceived you, but you would have
spoilt everything if you had beaten them down in their price. Now, send
me your daughter and let me be alone with her."
As soon as Javotte was in my room, I made her cut the linen in seven
pieces, four of five feet long, two of two feet, and one of two feet and
a half; the last one was intended to form the hood of the robe I was to
wear for the great operation. Then I said to Javotte:
"Sit down near my bed and begin sewing. You will dine here and remain at
work until the evening. When your father comes, you must let us be alone,
but as soon as he leaves me, come back and go to bed."
She dined in my room, where her mother waited on her without speaking,
and gave her nothing to drink except St. Jevese wine. Towards evening her
father came, and she left us.
I had the patience to wash the good man while he was in the bath, after
which he had supper with me; he ate voraciously, telling me that it was
the first time in his life that he had remained twenty-four hours without
breaking his fast. Intoxicated with the St. Jevese wine he had drunk, he
went to bed and slept soundly until morning, when his wife brought me my
chocolate. Javotte was kept sewing as on the day before; she left the
room in the evening when Capitani came in, and I treated him in the same
manner as Franzia; on the third day, it was Javotte's turn, and that had
been the object I had kept in view all the time.
When the hour came, I said to her,
"Go, Javotte, get into the bath and call me when you are ready, for I
must purify you as I have purified your father and Capitani."
She obeyed, and within a quarter of an hour she called me. I performed a
great many ablutions on every part of her body, making her assume all
sorts of positions, for she was perfectly docile, but, as I was afraid of
betraying myself, I felt more suffering than enjoyment, and my indiscreet
hands, running over every part of her person, and remaining longer and
more willingly on a certain spot, the sensitiveness of which is extreme,
the poor girl was excited by an ardent fire which was at last quenched by
the natural result of that excitement. I made her get out of the bath
soon after that, and as I was drying her I was very near forgetting magic
to follow the impulse of nature, but, quicker than I, nature relieved
itself, and I was thus enabled to reach the end of the scene without
anticipating the denouement. I told Javotte to dress herself, and to come
back to me as soon as she was ready.
She had been fasting all day, and her toilet did not take a long time.
She ate with a ferocious appetite, and the St. Jevese wine, which she
drank like water, imparted so much animation to her complexion that it
was no longer possible to see how sunburnt she was. Being alone with her
after supper, I said to her,
"My dear Javotte, have you been displeased at all I have compelled you to
submit to this evening?"
"Not at all; I liked it very much."
"Then I hope that you will have no objection to get in the bath with me
to-morrow, and to wash me as I have washed you."
"Most willingly, but shall I know how to do it well?"
"I will teach you, and for the future I wish you to sleep every night in
my room, because I must have a complete certainty that on the night of
the great operation I shall find you such as you ought to be."
From that time Javotte was at her ease with me, all her restraint
disappeared, she would look at me and smile with entire confidence.
Nature had operated, and the mind of a young girl soon enlarges its
sphere when pleasure is her teacher. She went to bed, and as she knew
that she had no longer anything to conceal from me, her modesty was not
alarmed when she undressed herself in my presence. It was very warm, any
kind of covering is unpleasant in the hot weather, so she stripped to the
skin and soon fell asleep. I did the same, but I could not help feeling
some regret at having engaged myself not to take advantage of the
position before the night of the great incantation. I knew that the
operation to unearth the treasure would be a complete failure, but I knew
likewise that it would not fail because Javotte's virginity was gone.
At day-break the girl rose and began sewing. As soon as she had finished
the robe, I told her to make a crown of parchment with seven long points,
on which I painted some fearful figures and hieroglyphs.
In the evening, one hour before supper, I got into the bath, and Javotte
joined me as soon as I called her. She performed upon me with great zeal
the same ceremonies that I had done for her the day before, and she was
as gentle and docile as possible. I spent a delicious hour in that bath,
enjoying everything, but respecting the essential point.
My kisses making her happy, and seeing that I had no objection to her
caresses, she loaded me with them. I was so pleased at all the amorous
enjoyment her senses were evidently experiencing, that I made her easy by
telling her that the success of the great magic operation depended upon
the amount of pleasure she enjoyed. She then made extraordinary efforts
to persuade me that she was happy, and without overstepping the limits
where I had made up my mind to stop, we got out of the bath highly
pleased with each other.
As we were on the point of going to bed, she said to me,
"Would it injure the success of your operation if we were to sleep
together?"
"No, my dear girl; provided you are a virgin on the day of the great
incantation, it is all I require."
She threw herself in my arms, and we spent a delightful night, during
which I had full opportunity of admiring the strength of her constitution
as well as my own restraint, for I had sufficient control over myself not
to break through the last obstacle.
I passed a great part of the following night with Franzia and Capitani in
order to see with my own eyes the wonderful things which the worthy
peasant had mentioned to me. Standing in the yard, I heard distinctly
heavy blows struck under the ground at intervals of three or four
minutes. It was like the noise which would be made by a heavy pestle
falling in a large copper mortar. I took my pistols and placed myself
near the self-moving door of the cellar, holding a dark lantern in my
hand. I saw the door open slowly, and in about thirty seconds closing
with violence. I opened and closed it myself several times, and, unable
to discover any hidden physical cause for the phenomenon, I felt
satisfied that there was some unknown roguery at work, but I did not care
much to find it out.
We went upstairs again, and, placing myself on the balcony, I saw in the
yard several shadows moving about. They were evidently caused by the
heavy and damp atmosphere, and as to the pyramidal flames which I could
see hovering over the fields, it was a phenomenon well known to me. But I
allowed my two companions to remain persuaded that they were the spirits
keeping watch over the treasure.
That phenomenon is very common throughout southern Italy where the
country is often at night illuminated by those meteors which the people
believe to be devils, and ignorance has called night spirits, or
will-o'-the-wisps.
Dear reader, the next chapter will tell you how my magic undertaking
ended, and perhaps you will enjoy a good laugh at my expense, but you
need not be afraid of hurting my feelings.
CHAPTER XXII
The Incantation--A Terrible Storm--My Fright--Javotte's
Virginity Is Saved--I Give Up the Undertaking, and Sell the
Sheath to Capitani--I Meet Juliette and Count Alfani, Alias
Count Celi--I Make Up My Mind to Go to Naples--Why I Take a
Different Road
My great operation had to be performed on the following day; otherwise,
according to all established rules, I would have had to wait until the
next full moon. I had to make the gnomes raise the treasure to the
surface of the earth at the very spot on which my incantations would be
performed. Of course, I knew well enough that I should not succeed, but I
knew likewise that I could easily reconcile Franzia and Capitani to a
failure, by inventing some excellent reasons for our want of success. In
the mean time I had to play my part of a magician, in which I took a real
delight. I kept Javotte at work all day, sewing together, in the shape of
a ring, some thirty sheets of paper on which I painted the most wonderful
designs. That ring, which I called maximus, had a diameter of three
geometric paces. I had manufactured a sort of sceptre or magic wand with
the branch of olive brought by Franzia from Cesena. Thus prepared, I told
Javotte that, at twelve o'clock at night, when I came out of the magic
ring, she was to be ready for everything. The order did not seem
repugnant to her; she longed to give me that proof of her obedience, and,
on my side, considering myself as her debtor, I was in a hurry to pay my
debt and to give her every satisfaction.
The hour having struck, I ordered Franzia and Capitani to stand on the
balcony, so as to be ready to come to me if I called for them, and also
to prevent anyone in the house seeing my proceedings. I then threw off
all profane garments. I clothe myself in the long white robe, the work of
a virgin's innocent hands. I allow my long hair to fall loosely. I place
the extraordinary crown on my head, the circle maximus on my shoulders,
and, seizing the sceptre with one hand, the wonderful knife with the
other, I go down into the yard. There I spread my circle on the ground,
uttering the most barbarous words, and after going round it three times I
jump into the middle.
Squatting down there, I remain a few minutes motionless, then I rise, and
I fix my eyes upon a heavy, dark cloud coming from the west, whilst from
the same quarter the thunder is rumbling loudly. What a sublime genius I
should have appeared in the eyes of my two fools, if, having a short time
before taken notice of the sky in that part of the horizon, I had
announced to them that my operation would be attended by that phenomenon.
The cloud spreads with fearful rapidity, and soon the sky seems covered
with a funeral pall, on which the most vivid flashes of lightning keep
blazing every moment.
Such a storm was a very natural occurrence, and I had no reason to be
astonished at it, but somehow, fear was beginning to creep into me, and I
wished myself in my room. My fright soon increased at the sight of the
lightning, and on hearing the claps of thunder which succeeded each other
with fearful rapidity and seemed to roar over my very head. I then
realized what extraordinary effect fear can have on the mind, for I
fancied that, if I was not annihilated by the fires of heaven which were
flashing all around me, it was only because they could not enter my magic
ring. Thus was I admiring my own deceitful work! That foolish reason
prevented me from leaving the circle in spite of the fear which caused me
to shudder. If it had not been for that belief, the result of a cowardly
fright, I would not have remained one minute where I was, and my hurried
flight would no doubt have opened the eyes of my two dupes, who could not
have failed to see that, far from being a magician, I was only a
poltroon. The violence of the wind, the claps of thunder, the piercing
cold, and above all, fear, made me tremble all over like an aspen leaf.
My system, which I thought proof against every accident, had vanished: I
acknowledged an avenging God who had waited for this opportunity of
punishing me at one blow for all my sins, and of annihilating me, in
order to put an end to my want of faith. The complete immobility which
paralyzed all my limbs seemed to me a proof of the uselessness of my
repentance, and that conviction only increased my consternation.
But the roaring of the thunder dies away, the rain begins to fall
heavily, danger vanishes, and I feel my courage reviving. Such is man! or
at all events, such was I at that moment. It was raining so fast that, if
it had continued pouring with the same violence for a quarter of an hour,
the country would have been inundated. As soon as the rain had ceased,
the wind abated, the clouds were dispersed, and the moon shone in all its
splendour, like silver in the pure, blue sky. I take up my magic ring,
and telling the two friends to retire to their beds without speaking to
me, I hurry to my room. I still felt rather shaken, and, casting my eyes
on Javotte, I thought her so pretty that I felt positively frightened. I
allowed her to dry me, and after that necessary operation I told her
piteously to go to bed. The next morning she told me that, when she saw
me come in, shaking all over in spite of the heat, she had herself
shuddered with fear.
After eight hours of sound sleep I felt all right, but I had had enough
of the comedy, and to my great surprise the sight of Genevieve did not
move me in any way. The obedient Javotte had certainly not changed, but I
was not the same. I was for the first time in my life reduced to a state
of apathy, and in consequence of the superstitious ideas which had
crowded in my mind the previous night I imagined that the innocence of
that young girl was under the special protection of Heaven, and that if I
had dared to rob her of her virginity the most rapid and terrible death
would have been my punishment.
At all events, thanks to my youth and my exalted ideas, I fancied that
through my self-denying resolutions the father would not be so great a
dupe, and the daughter not so unhappy, unless the result should prove as
unfortunate for her as it had been for poor Lucy, of Pasean.
The moment that Javotte became in my eyes an object of holy horror, my
departure was decided. The resolution was all the more irrevocable
because I fancied some old peasant might have witnessed all my tricks in
the middle of the magic ring, in which case the most Holy, or, if you
like, the most infernal, Inquisition, receiving information from him,
might very well have caught me and enhanced my fame by some splendid
'auto-da-fe' in which I had not the slightest wish to be the principal
actor. It struck me as so entirely within the limits of probability that
I sent at once for Franzia and Capitani, and in the presence of the
unpolluted virgin I told them that I had obtained from the seven spirits
watching over the treasure all the necessary particulars, but that I had
been compelled to enter into an agreement with them to delay the
extraction of the treasure placed under their guardianship. I told
Franzia that I would hand to him in writing all the information which I
had compelled the spirits to give me. I produced, in reality, a few
minutes afterwards, a document similar to the one I had concocted at the
public library in Mantua, adding that the treasure consisted of diamonds,
rubies, emeralds, and one hundred thousand pounds of gold dust. I made
him take an oath on my pocket-book to wait for me, and not to have faith
in any magician unless he gave him an account of the treasure in every
way similar to the one which, as a great favor, I was leaving in his
hands. I ordered him to burn the crown and the ring, but to keep the
other things carefully until my return.
"As for you, Capitani," I said to my companion, "proceed at once to
Cesena, and remain at the inn until our luggage has been brought by the
man whom Franzia is going to send with it."
Seeing that poor Javotte looked miserable, I went up to her, and,
speaking to her very tenderly, I promised to see her again before long. I
told her at the same time that, the great operation having been performed
successfully, her virginity was no longer necessary, and that she was at
liberty to marry as soon as she pleased, or whenever a good opportunity
offered itself.
I at once returned to the city, where I found Capitani making his
preparations to go to the fair of Lugo, and then to Mantua. He told me,
crying like a child, that his father would be in despair when he saw him
come back without the knife of Saint Peter.
"You may have it," I said, "with the sheath, if you will let me have the
one thousand Roman crowns, the amount of the letter of exchange:"
He thought it an excellent bargain, and accepted it joyfully. I gave him
back the letter of exchange, and made him sign a paper by which he
undertook to return the sheath whenever I brought the same amount, but he
is still waiting for it.
I did not know what to do with the wonderful sheath, and I was not in
want of money, but I should have considered myself dishonoured if I had
given it to him for nothing; besides, I thought it a good joke to levy a
contribution upon the ignorant credulity of a count palatine created by
the grace of the Pope. In after days, however, I would willingly have
refunded his money, but, as fate would have it, we did not see each other
for a long time, and when I met him again I was not in a position to
return the amount. It is, therefore, only to chance that I was indebted
for the sum, and certainly Capitani never dreamed of complaining, for
being the possessor of 'gladium cum vagina' he truly believed himself the
master of every treasure concealed in the Papal States.
Capitani took leave of me on the following day, and I intended to proceed
at once to Naples, but I was again prevented; this is how it happened.
As I returned to the inn after a short walk, mine host handed me the bill
of the play announcing four performances of the Didone of Metastasio at
the Spada. Seeing no acquaintance of mine among the actors or actresses,
I made up my mind to go to the play in the evening, and to start early
the next day with post-horses. A remnant of my fear of the Inquisition
urged me on, and I could not help fancying that spies were at my heels.
Before entering the house I went into the actresses dressing-room, and
the leading lady struck me as rather good-looking. Her name was Narici,
and she was from Bologna. I bowed to her, and after the common-place
conversation usual in such cases, I asked her whether she was free.
"I am only engaged with the manager," she answered.
"Have you any lover?"
"No."
"I offer myself for the post, if you have no objection."
She smiled jeeringly, and said,
"Will you take four tickets for the four performances?"
I took two sequins out of my purse, taking care to let her see that it
was well filled, and when she gave me the four tickets, presented them to
the maid who was dressing her and was prettier than the mistress, and so
left the room without uttering a single word. She called me back; I
pretended not to hear her, and took a ticket for the pit. After the first
ballet, finding the whole performance very poor, I was thinking of going
away, when, happening to look towards the chief box, I saw to my
astonishment that it was tenanted by the Venetian Manzoni and the
celebrated Juliette. The reader will doubtless remember the ball she gave
at my house in Venice, and the smack with which she saluted my cheek on
that occasion.
They had not yet noticed me, and I enquired from the person seated next
to me who was that beautiful lady wearing so many diamonds. He told me
that she was Madame Querini, from Venice, whom Count Spada, the owner of
the theatre, who was sitting near her, had brought with him from Faenza.
I was glad to hear that M. Querini had married her at last, but I did not
think of renewing the acquaintance, for reasons which my reader cannot
have forgotten if he recollects our quarrel when I had to dress her as an
abbe. I was on the point of going away when she happened to see me and
called me. I went up to her, and, not wishing to be known by anyone, I
whispered to her that my name was Farusi. Manzoni informed me that I was
speaking to her excellency, Madame Querini. "I know it," I said, "through
a letter which I have received from Venice, and I beg to offer my most
sincere congratulations to Madame." She heard me and introduced me to
Count Spada, creating me a baron on the spot. He invited me most kindly
to come to his box, asked me where I came from, where I was going to,
etc., and begged the pleasure of my company at supper for the same
evening.
Ten years before, he had been Juliette's friend in Vienna, when Maria
Theresa, having been informed of the pernicious influence of her beauty,
gave her notice to quit the city. She had renewed her acquaintance with
him in Venice, and had contrived to make him take her to Bologna on a
pleasure trip. M. Manzoni, her old follower, who gave me all this
information, accompanied her in order to bear witness of her good conduct
before M. Querini. I must say that Manzoni was not a well-chosen
chaperon.
In Venice she wanted everybody to believe that Querini had married her
secretly, but at a distance of fifty leagues she did not think such a
formality necessary, and she had already been presented by the general to
all the nobility of Cesena as Madame Querini Papozzes. M. Querini would
have been wrong in being jealous of the count, for he was an old
acquaintance who would do no harm. Besides, it is admitted amongst
certain women that the reigning lover who is jealous of an old
acquaintance is nothing but a fool, and ought to be treated as such.
Juliette, most likely afraid of my being indiscreet, had lost no time in
making the first advances, but, seeing that I had likewise some reason to
fear her want of discretion, she felt reassured. From the first moment I
treated her politely, and with every consideration due to her position.
I found numerous company at the general's, and some pretty women. Not
seeing Juliette, I enquired for her from M. Manzoni, who told me that she
was at the faro table, losing her money. I saw her seated next to the
banker, who turned pale at the sight of my face. He was no other than the
so-called Count Celi. He offered me a card, which I refused politely, but
I accepted Juliette's offer to be her partner. She had about fifty
sequins, I handed her the same sum, and took a seat near her. After the
first round, she asked me if I knew the banker; Celi had heard the
question; I answered negatively. A lady on my left told me that the
banker was Count Alfani. Half an hour later, Madame Querini went seven
and lost, she increased her stake of ten sequins; it was the last deal of
the game, and therefore the decisive one. I rose from my chair, and fixed
my eyes on the banker's hands. But in spite of that, he cheated before
me, and Madame lost.
Just at that moment the general offered her his arm to go to supper; she
left the remainder of her gold on the table, and after supper, having
played again, she lost every sequin.
I enlivened the supper by my stories and witty jests. I captivated
everybody's friendship, and particularly the general's, who, having heard
me say that I was going to Naples only to gratify an amorous fancy,
entreated me to spend a month with him and to sacrifice my whim. But it
was all in vain. My heart was unoccupied; I longed to see Lucrezia and
Therese, whose charms after five years I could scarcely recollect. I only
consented to remain in Cesena the four days during which the general
intended to stay.
The next morning as I was dressing I had a call from the cowardly
Alfani-Celi; I received him with a jeering smile, saying that I had
expected him.
The hair-dresser being in the room Celi did not answer, but as soon as we
were alone he said,
"How could you possibly expect my visit?"
"I will tell you my reason as soon as you have handed me one hundred
sequins, and you are going to do so at once.'
"Here are fifty which I brought for you; you cannot demand more from me."
"Thank you, I take them on account, but as I am good-natured I advise you
not to shew yourself this evening in Count Spada's drawing-rooms, for you
would not be admitted, and it would be owing to me."
"I hope that you will think twice before you are guilty of such an
ungenerous act."
"I have made up my mind; but now leave me."
There was a knock at my door, and the self-styled Count Alfani went away
without giving me the trouble of repeating my order. My new visitor
proved to be the first castrato of the theatre, who brought an invitation
to dinner from Narici. The invitation was curious, and I accepted it with
a smile. The castrato was named Nicolas Peritti; he pretended to be the
grandson of a natural child of Sixtus V.; it might have been so I shall
have to mention him again in fifteen years.
When I made my appearance at Narici's house I saw Count Alfani, who
certainly did not expect me, and must have taken me for his evil genius.
He bowed to me with great politeness, and begged that I would listen to a
few words in private.
"Here are fifty sequins more," he said; "but as an honest man you can
take them only to give them to Madame Querini. But how can you hand the
amount to her without letting her know that you have forced me to refund
it? You understand what consequences such a confession might have for
me."
"I shall give her the money only when you have left this place; in the
mean time I promise to be discreet, but be careful not to assist fortune
in my presence, or I must act in a manner that will not be agreeable to
you."
"Double the capital of my bank, and we can be partners."
"Your proposal is an insult."
He gave me fifty sequins, and I promised to keep his secret.
There was a numerous attendance in Narici's rooms, especially of young
men, who after dinner lost all their money. I did not play, and it was a
disappointment for my pretty hostess, who had invited me only because she
had judged me as simple as the others. I remained an indifferent witness
of the play, and it gave me an opportunity of realizing how wise Mahomet
had been in forbidding all games of chance.
In the evening after the opera Count Celi had the faro bank, and I lose
two hundred sequins, but I could only accuse ill luck. Madame Querini
won. The next day before supper I broke the bank, and after supper,
feeling tired and well pleased with what I had won, I returned to the
inn.
The following morning, which was the third day, and therefore the last
but one of my stay in Cesena, I called at the general's. I heard that his
adjutant had thrown the cards in Alfani's face, and that a meeting had
been arranged between them for twelve o'clock. I went to the adjutant's
room and offered to be his second, assuring him that there would be no
blood spilt. He declined my offer with many thanks, and at dinner-time he
told me that I had guessed rightly, for Count Alfani had left for Rome.
"In that case," I said to the guests, "I will take the bank tonight."
After dinner, being alone with Madame Querini, I told her all about
Alfani, alias Celi, and handed her the fifty sequins of which I was the
depositary.
"I suppose," she said, "that by means of this fable you hope to make me
accept fifty sequins, but I thank you, I am not in want of money."
"I give you my word that I have compelled the thief to refund this money,
together with the fifty sequins of which he had likewise cheated me."
"That may be, but I do not wish to believe you. I beg to inform you that
I am not simple enough to allow myself to be duped, and, what is worse,
cheated in such a manner."
Philosophy forbids a man to feel repentance for a good deed, but he must
certainly have a right to regret such a deed when it is malevolently
misconstrued, and turned against him as a reproach.
In the evening, after the performance, which was to be the last, I took
the bank according to my promise: I lost a few sequins, but was caressed
by everybody, and that is much more pleasant than winning, when we are
not labouring under the hard necessity of making money.
Count Spada, who had got quite fond of me, wanted me to accompany him to
Brisighetta, but I resisted his entreaties because I had firmly resolved
on going to Naples.
The next morning I was awoke by a terrible noise in the passage, almost
at the door of my room.
Getting out of my bed, I open my door to ascertain the cause of the
uproar. I see a troop of 'sbirri' at the door of a chamber, and in that
chamber, sitting up in bed, a fine-looking man who was making himself
hoarse by screaming in Latin against that rabble, the plague of Italy,
and against the inn-keeper who had been rascally enough to open the door.
I enquire of the inn-keeper what it all means.
"This gentleman," answers the scoundrel, "who, it appears, can only speak
Latin, is in bed with a girl, and the 'sbirri' of the bishop have been
sent to know whether she is truly his wife; all perfectly regular. If she
is his wife, he has only to convince them by shewing a certificate of
marriage, but if she is not, of course he must go to prison with her. Yet
it need not happen, for I undertake to arrange everything in a friendly
manner for a few sequins. I have only to exchange a few words with the
chief of the 'sbirri', and they will all go away. If you can speak Latin,
you had better go in, and make him listen to reason."
"Who has broken open the door of his room?"
"Nobody; I have opened it myself with the key, as is my duty."
"Yes, the duty of a highway robber, but not of an honest inn-keeper."
Such infamous dealing aroused my indignation, and I made up my mind to
interfere. I enter the room, although I had still my nightcap on, and
inform the gentleman of the cause of the disturbance. He answers with a
laugh that, in the first place, it was impossible to say whether the
person who was in bed with him was a woman, for that person had only been
seen in the costume of a military officer, and that, in the second place,
he did not think that any human being had a right to compel him to say
whether his bed-fellow was his wife or his mistress, even supposing that
his companion was truly a woman.
"At all events," he added, "I am determined not to give one crown to
arrange the affair, and to remain in bed until my door is shut. The
moment I am dressed, I will treat you to an amusing denouement of the
comedy. I will drive away all those scoundrels at the point of my sword."
I then see in a corner a broad sword, and a Hungarian costume looking
like a military uniform. I ask whether he is an officer.
"I have written my name and profession," he answers, "in the hotel book."
Astonished at the absurdity of the inn-keeper, I ask him whether it is
so; he confesses it, but adds that the clergy have the right to prevent
scandal.
"The insult you have offered to that officer, Mr. Landlord, will cost you
very dear."
His only answer is to laugh in my face. Highly enraged at seeing such a
scoundrel laugh at me, I take up the officer's quarrel warmly, and asked
him to entrust his passport to me for a few minutes.
"I have two," he says; "therefore I can let you have one." And taking the
document out of his pocket-book, he hands it to me. The passport was
signed by Cardinal Albani. The officer was a captain in a Hungarian
regiment belonging to the empress and queen. He was from Rome, on his way
to Parma with dispatches from Cardinal Albani Alexander to M. Dutillot,
prime minister of the Infante of Parma.
At the same moment, a man burst into the room, speaking very loudly, and
asked me to tell the officer that the affair must be settled at once,
because he wanted to leave Cesena immediately.
"Who are you?" I asked the man.
He answered that he was the 'vetturino' whom the captain had engaged. I
saw that it was a regular put-up thing, and begged the captain to let me
attend to the business, assuring him that I would settle it to his honour
and advantage.
"Do exactly as you please," he said.
Then turning towards the 'vetturino', I ordered him to bring up the
captain's luggage, saying that he would be paid at once. When he had done
so, I handed him eight sequins out of my own purse, and made him give me
a receipt in the name of the captain, who could only speak German,
Hungarian, and Latin. The vetturino went away, and the 'sbirri' followed
him in the greatest consternation, except two who remained.
"Captain," I said to the Hungarian, "keep your bed until I return. I am
going now to the bishop to give him an account of these proceedings, and
make him understand that he owes you some reparation. Besides, General
Spada is here, and...."
"I know him," interrupted the captain, "and if I had been aware of his
being in Cesena, I would have shot the landlord when he opened my door to
those scoundrels."
I hurried over my toilet, and without waiting for my hair to be dressed I
proceeded to the bishop's palace, and making a great deal of noise I
almost compelled the servants to take me to his room. A lackey who was at
the door informed me that his lordship was still in bed.
"Never mind, I cannot wait."
I pushed him aside and entered the room. I related the whole affair to
the bishop, exaggerating the uproar, making much of the injustice of such
proceedings, and railing at a vexatious police daring to molest
travellers and to insult the sacred rights of individuals and nations.
The bishop without answering me referred me to his chancellor, to whom I
repeated all I had said to the bishop, but with words calculated to
irritate rather than to soften, and certainly not likely to obtain the
release of the captain. I even went so far as to threaten, and I said
that if I were in the place of the officer I would demand a public
reparation. The priest laughed at my threats; it was just what I wanted,
and after asking me whether I had taken leave of my senses, the
chancellor told me to apply to the captain of the 'sbirri'.
"I shall go to somebody else," I said, "reverend sir, besides the captain
of the 'sbirri'."
Delighted at having made matters worse, I left him and proceeded straight
to the house of General Spada, but being told that he could not be seen
before eight o'clock, I returned to the inn.
The state of excitement in which I was, the ardour with which I had made
the affair mine, might have led anyone to suppose that my indignation had
been roused only by disgust at seeing an odious persecution perpetrated
upon a stranger by an unrestrained, immoral, and vexatious police; but
why should I deceive the kind reader, to whom I have promised to tell the
truth; I must therefore say that my indignation was real, but my ardour
was excited by another feeling of a more personal nature. I fancied that
the woman concealed under the bed-clothes was a beauty. I longed to see
her face, which shame, most likely, had prevented her from shewing. She
had heard me speak, and the good opinion that I had of myself did not
leave the shadow of a doubt in my mind that she would prefer me to her
captain.
The door of the room being still open, I went in and related to the
captain all I had done, assuring him that in the course of the day he
would be at liberty to continue his journey at the bishop's expense, for
the general would not fail to obtain complete satisfaction for him. He
thanked me warmly, gave back the eight ducats I had paid for him, and
said that he would not leave the city till the next day.
"From what country," I asked him, "is your travelling companion?"
"From France, and he only speaks his native language."
"Then you speak French?"
"Not one word."
"That is amusing! Then you converse in pantomime?"
"Exactly."
"I pity you, for it is a difficult language."
"Yes, to express the various shades of thought, but in the material part
of our intercourse we understand each other quite well."
"May I invite myself to breakfast with you?"
"Ask my friend whether he has any objection."
"Amiable companion of the captain," I said in French, "will you kindly
accept me as a third guest at the breakfast-table?"
At these words I saw coming out of the bed-clothes a lovely head, with
dishevelled hair, and a blooming, laughing face which, although it was
crowned with a man's cap, left no doubt that the captain's friend
belonged to that sex without which man would be the most miserable animal
on earth.
Delighted with the graceful creature, I told her that I had been happy
enough to feel interested in her even before I had seen her, and that now
that I had the pleasure of seeing her, I could but renew with greater
zeal all my efforts to serve her.
She answered me with the grace and the animation which are the exclusive
privilege of her native country, and retorted my argument in the most
witty manner; I was already under the charm. My request was granted; I
went out to order breakfast, and to give them an opportunity of making
themselves comfortable in bed, for they were determined not to get up
until the door of their room was closed again.
The waiter came, and I went in with him. I found my lovely Frenchwoman
wearing a blue frock-coat, with her hair badly arranged like a man's, but
very charming even in that strange costume. I longed to see her up. She
ate her breakfast without once interrupting the officer speaking to me,
but to whom I was not listening, or listening with very little attention,
for I was in a sort of ecstatic trance.
Immediately after breakfast, I called on the general, and related the
affair to him, enlarging upon it in such a manner as to pique his martial
pride. I told him that, unless he settled the matter himself, the
Hungarian captain was determined to send an express to the cardinal
immediately. But my eloquence was unnecessary, for the general liked to
see priests attend to the business of Heaven, but he could not bear them
to meddle in temporal affairs.
"I shall," he said, "immediately put a stop to this ridiculous comedy,
and treat it in a very serious manner."
"Go at once to the inn," he said to his aide-de-camp, "invite that
officer and his companion to dine with me to-day, and repair afterwards
to the bishop's palace. Give him notice that the officer who has been so
grossly insulted by his 'sbirri' shall not leave the city before he has
received a complete apology, and whatever sum of money he may claim as
damages. Tell him that the notice comes from me, and that all the
expenses incurred by the officer shall be paid by him."
What pleasure it was for me to listen to these words! In my vanity, I
fancied I had almost prompted them to the general. I accompanied the
aide-de-camp, and introduced him to the captain who received him with the
joy of a soldier meeting a comrade. The adjutant gave him the general's
invitation for him and his companion, and asked him to write down what
satisfaction he wanted, as well as the amount of damages he claimed. At
the sight of the general's adjutant, the 'sbirri' had quickly vanished. I
handed to the captain pen, paper and ink, and he wrote his claim in
pretty good Latin for a native of Hungary. The excellent fellow
absolutely refused to ask for more than thirty sequins, in spite of all I
said to make him claim one hundred. He was likewise a great deal too easy
as to the satisfaction he demanded, for all he asked was to see the
landlord and the 'sbirri' beg his pardon on their knees in the presence
of the general's adjutant. He threatened the bishop to send an express to
Rome to Cardinal Alexander, unless his demands were complied with within
two hours, and to remain in Cesena at the rate of ten sequins a day at
the bishop's expense.
The officer left us, and a moment afterwards the landlord came in
respectfully, to inform the captain that he was free, but the captain
having begged me to tell the scoundrel that he owed him a sound
thrashing, he lost no time in gaining the door.
I left my friends alone to get dressed, and to attend to my own toilet,
as I dined with them at the general's. An hour afterwards I found them
ready in their military costumes. The uniform of the Frenchwoman was of
course a fancy one, but very elegant. The moment I saw her, I gave up all
idea of Naples, and decided upon accompanying the two friends to Parma.
The beauty of the lovely Frenchwoman had already captivated me. The
captain was certainly on the threshold of sixty, and, as a matter of
course, I thought such a union very badly assorted. I imagined that the
affair which I was already concocting in my brain could be arranged
amicably.
The adjutant came back with a priest sent by the bishop, who told the
captain that he should have the satisfaction as well as the damages he
had claimed, but that he must be content with fifteen sequins.
"Thirty or nothing," dryly answered the Hungarian.
They were at last given to him, and thus the matter ended. The victory
was due to my exertions, and I had won the friendship of the captain and
his lovely companion.
In order to guess, even at first sight, that the friend of the worthy
captain was not a man, it was enough to look at the hips. She was too
well made as a woman ever to pass for a man, and the women who disguise
themselves in male attire, and boast of being like men, are very wrong,
for by such a boast they confess themselves deficient in one of the
greatest perfections appertaining to woman.
A little before dinner-time we repaired to General Spada's mansion, and
the general presented the two officers to all the ladies. Not one of them
was deceived in the young officer, but, being already acquainted with the
adventure, they were all delighted to dine with the hero of the comedy,
and treated the handsome officer exactly as if he had truly been a man,
but I am bound to confess that the male guests offered the Frenchwoman
homages more worthy of her sex.
Madame Querini alone did not seem pleased, because the lovely stranger
monopolized the general attention, and it was a blow to her vanity to see
herself neglected. She never spoke to her, except to shew off her French,
which she could speak well. The poor captain scarcely opened his lips,
for no one cared to speak Latin, and the general had not much to say in
German.
An elderly priest, who was one of the guests, tried to justify the
conduct of the bishop by assuring us that the inn-keeper and the 'sbirri'
had acted only under the orders of the Holy Office.
"That is the reason," he said, "for which no bolts are allowed in the
rooms of the hotels, so that strangers may not shut themselves up in
their chambers. The Holy Inquisition does not allow a man to sleep with
any woman but his wife."
Twenty years later I found all the doors in Spain with a bolt outside, so
that travellers were, as if they had been in prison, exposed to the
outrageous molestation of nocturnal visits from the police. That disease
is so chronic in Spain that it threatens to overthrow the monarchy some
day, and I should not be astonished if one fine morning the Grand
Inquisitor was to have the king shaved, and to take his place.
CHAPTER XXIII
I Purchase a Handsome Carriage, and Proceed to Parma With
the Old Captain and the Young Frenchwoman--I Pay a Visit to
Javotte, and Present Her With a Beautiful Pair of Gold
Bracelets--My Perplexities Respecting My Lovely Travelling
Companion--A Monologue--Conversation with the Captain--Tete-
a-Tete with Henriette
The conversation was animated, and the young female officer was
entertaining everybody, even Madame Querini, although she hardly took the
trouble of concealing her spleen.
"It seems strange," she remarked, "that you and the captain should live
together without ever speaking to each other."
"Why, madam? We understand one another perfectly, for speech is of very
little consequence in the kind of business we do together."
That answer, given with graceful liveliness, made everybody laugh, except
Madame Querini-Juliette, who, foolishly assuming the air of a prude,
thought that its meaning was too clearly expressed.
"I do not know any kind of business," she said, "that can be transacted
without the assistance of the voice or the pen."
"Excuse me, madam, there are some: playing at cards, for instance, is a
business of that sort."
"Are you always playing?"
"We do nothing else. We play the game of the Pharaoh (faro), and I hold
the bank."
Everybody, understanding the shrewdness of this evasive answer, laughed
again, and Juliette herself could not help joining in the general
merriment.
"But tell me," said Count Spada, "does the bank receive much?"
"As for the deposits, they are of so little importance, that they are
hardly worth mentioning."
No one ventured upon translating that sentence for the benefit of the
worthy captain. The conversation continued in the same amusing style, and
all the guests were delighted with the graceful wit of the charming
officer.
Late in the evening I took leave of the general, and wished him a
pleasant journey.
"Adieu," he said, "I wish you a pleasant journey to Naples, and hope you
will enjoy yourself there."
"Well, general, I am not going to Naples immediately; I have changed my
mind and intend to proceed to Parma, where I wish to see the Infante. I
also wish to constitute myself the interpreter of these two officers who
know nothing of Italian:"
"Ah, young man! opportunity makes a thief, does it not? Well, if I were
in your place, I would do the same."
I also bade farewell to Madame Querini, who asked me to write to her from
Bologna. I gave her a promise to do so, but without meaning to fulfil it.
I had felt interested in the young Frenchwoman when she was hiding under
the bed-clothes: she had taken my fancy the moment she had shewn her
features, and still more when I had seen her dressed. She completed her
conquest at the dinner-table by the display of a wit which I greatly
admired. It is rare in Italy, and seems to belong generally to the
daughters of France. I did not think it would be very difficult to win
her love, and I resolved on trying. Putting my self-esteem on one side, I
fancied I would suit her much better than the old Hungarian, a very
pleasant man for his age, but who, after all, carried his sixty years on
his face, while my twenty-three were blooming on my countenance. It
seemed to me that the captain himself would not raise any great
objection, for he seemed one of those men who, treating love as a matter
of pure fancy, accept all circumstances easily, and give way
good-naturedly to all the freaks of fortune. By becoming the travelling
companion of this ill-matched couple, I should probably succeed in my
aims. I never dreamed of experiencing a refusal at their hands, my
company would certainly be agreeable to them, as they could not exchange
a single word by themselves.
With this idea I asked the captain, as we reached our inn, whether he
intended to proceed to Parma by the public coach or otherwise.
"As I have no carriage of my own," he answered, "we shall have to take
the coach."
"I have a very comfortable carriage, and I offer you the two back seats
if you have no objection to my society."
"That is a piece of good fortune. Be kind enough to propose it to
Henriette."
"Will you, madam, grant me the favour of accompanying you to Parma?"
"I should be delighted, for we could have some conversation, but take
care, sir, your task will not be an easy one, you will often find
yourself obliged to translate for both of us."
"I shall do so with great pleasure; I am only sorry that the journey is
not longer. We can arrange everything at supper-time; allow me to leave
you now as I have some business to settle."
My business was in reference to a carriage, for the one I had boasted of
existed only in my imagination. I went to the most fashionable
coffee-house, and, as good luck would have it, heard that there was a
travelling carriage for sale, which no one would buy because it was too
expensive. Two hundred sequins were asked for it, although it had but two
seats and a bracket-stool for a third person. It was just what I wanted.
I called at the place where it would be seen. I found a very fine English
carriage which could not have cost less than two hundred guineas. Its
noble proprietor was then at supper, so I sent him my name, requesting
him not to dispose of his carriage until the next morning, and I went
back to the hotel well pleased with my discovery. At supper I arranged
with the captain that we would not leave Cesena till after dinner on the
following day, and the conversation was almost entirely a dialogue
between Henriette and myself; it was my first talk with a French woman. I
thought this young creature more and more charming, yet I could not
suppose her to be anything else but an adventurers, and I was astonished
at discovering in her those noble and delicate feelings which denote a
good education. However, as such an idea would not have suited the views
I had about her, I rejected it whenever it presented itself to my mind.
Whenever I tried to make her talk about the captain she would change the
subject of conversation, or evade my insinuations with a tact and a
shrewdness which astonished and delighted me at the same time, for
everything she said bore the impress of grace and wit. Yet she did not
elude this question:
"At least tell me, madam, whether the captain is your husband or your
father."
"Neither one nor the other," she answered, with a smile.
That was enough for me, and in reality what more did I want to know? The
worthy captain had fallen asleep. When he awoke I wished them both good
night, and retired to my room with a heart full of love and a mind full
of projects. I saw that everything had taken a good turn, and I felt
certain of success, for I was young, I enjoyed excellent health, I had
money and plenty of daring. I liked the affair all the better because it
must come to a conclusion in a few days.
Early the next morning I called upon Count Dandini, the owner of the
carriage, and as I passed a jeweller's shop I bought a pair of gold
bracelets in Venetian filigree, each five yards long and of rare
fineness. I intended them as a present for Javotte.
The moment Count Dandini saw me he recognized me. He had seen me in Padua
at the house of his father, who was professor of civil law at the time I
was a student there. I bought his carriage on condition that he would
send it to me in good repair at one o'clock in the afternoon.
Having completed the purchase, I went to my friend, Franzia, and my
present of the bracelets made Javotte perfectly happy. There was not one
girl in Cesena who could boast of possessing a finer pair, and with that
present my conscience felt at ease, for it paid the expense I had
occasioned during my stay of ten or twelve days at her father's house
four times over. But this was not the most important present I offered
the family. I made the father take an oath to wait for me, and never to
trust in any pretended magician for the necessary operation to obtain the
treasure, even if I did not return or give any news of myself for ten
years.
"Because," I said to him, "in consequence of the agreement in which I
have entered with the spirits watching the treasure, at the first attempt
made by any other person, the casket containing the treasure will sink to
twice its present depth, that is to say as deep as thirty-five fathoms,
and then I shall have myself ten times more difficulty in raising it to
the surface. I cannot state precisely the time of my return, for it
depends upon certain combinations which are not under my control, but
recollect that the treasure cannot be obtained by anyone but I."
I accompanied my advice with threats of utter ruin to his family if he
should ever break his oath. And in this manner I atoned for all I had
done, for, far from deceiving the worthy man, I became his benefactor by
guarding against the deceit of some cheat who would have cared for his
money more than for his daughter. I never saw him again, and most likely
he is dead, but knowing the deep impression I left on his mind I am
certain that his descendants are even now waiting for me, for the name of
Farusi must have remained immortal in that family.
Javotte accompanied me as far as the gate of the city, where I kissed her
affectionately, which made me feel that the thunder and lightning had had
but a momentary effect upon me; yet I kept control over my senses, and I
congratulate myself on doing so to this day. I told her, before bidding
her adieu, that, her virginity being no longer necessary for my magic
operations, I advised her to get married as soon as possible, if I did
not return within three months. She shed a few tears, but promised to
follow my advice.
I trust that my readers will approve of the noble manner in which I
concluded my magic business. I hardly dare to boast of it, but I think I
deserve some praise for my behaviour. Perhaps, I might have ruined poor
Franzia with a light heart, had I not possessed a well-filled purse. I do
not wish to enquire whether any young man, having intelligence, loving
pleasure, and placed in the same position, would not have done the same,
but I beg my readers to address that question to themselves.
As for Capitani, to whom I sold the sheath of St. Peter's knife for
rather more than it was worth, I confess that I have not yet repented on
his account, for Capitani thought he had duped me in accepting it as
security for the amount he gave me, and the count, his father, valued it
until his death as more precious than the finest diamond in the world.
Dying with such a firm belief, he died rich, and I shall die a poor man.
Let the reader judge which of the two made the best bargain. But I must
return now to my future travelling companions.
As soon as I had reached the inn, I prepared everything for our departure
for which I was now longing. Henriette could not open her lips without my
discovering some fresh perfection, for her wit delighted me even more
than her beauty. It struck me that the old captain was pleased with all
the attention I shewed her, and it seemed evident to me that she would
not be sorry to exchange her elderly lover for me. I had all the better
right to think so, inasmuch as I was perfection from a physical point of
view, and I appeared to be wealthy, although I had no servant. I told
Henriette that, for the sake of having none, I spent twice as much as a
servant would have cost me, that, by my being my own servant, I was
certain of being served according to my taste, and I had the satisfaction
of having no spy at my heels and no privileged thief to fear. She agreed
with everything I said, and it increased my love.
The honest Hungarian insisted upon giving me in advance the amount to be
paid for the post-horses at the different stages as far as Parma. We left
Cesena after dinner, but not without a contest of politeness respecting
the seats. The captain wanted me to occupy the back seat-near Henriette,
but the reader will understand how much better the seat opposite to her
suited me; therefore I insisted upon taking the bracket-seat, and had the
double advantage of shewing my politeness, and of having constantly and
without difficulty before my eyes the lovely woman whom I adored.
My happiness would have been too great if there had been no drawback to
it. But where can we find roses without thorns? When the charming
Frenchwoman uttered some of those witty sayings which proceed so
naturally from the lips of her countrywomen, I could not help pitying the
sorry face of the poor Hungarian, and, wishing to make him share my
mirth, I would undertake to translate in Latin Henriette's sallies; but
far from making him merry, I often saw his face bear a look of
astonishment, as if what I had said seemed to him rather flat. I had to
acknowledge to myself that I could not speak Latin as well as she spoke
French, and this was indeed the case. The last thing which we learn in
all languages is wit, and wit never shines so well as in jests. I was
thirty years of age before I began to laugh in reading Terence, Plautus
and Martial.
Something being the matter with the carriage, we stopped at Forli to have
it repaired. After a very cheerful supper, I retired to my room to go to
bed, thinking of nothing else but the charming woman by whom I was so
completely captivated. Along the road, Henriette had struck me as so
strange that I would not sleep in the second bed in their room. I was
afraid lest she should leave her old comrade to come to my bed and sleep
with me, and I did not know how far the worthy captain would have put up
with such a joke. I wished, of course, to possess that lovely creature,
but I wanted everything to be settled amicably, for I felt some respect
for the brave officer.
Henriette had nothing but the military costume in which she stood, not
any woman's linen, not even one chemise. For a change she took the
captain's shirt. Such a state of things was so new to me that the
situation seemed to me a complete enigma.
In Bologna, excited by an excellent supper and by the amorous passion
which was every hour burning more fiercely in me, I asked her by what
singular adventure she had become the friend of the honest fellow who
looked her father rather than her lover.
"If you wish to know," she answered, with a smile, "ask him to relate the
whole story himself, only you must request him not to omit any of the
particulars."
Of course I applied at once to the captain, and, having first ascertained
by signs that the charming Frenchwoman had no objection, the good man
spoke to me thus:
"A friend of mine, an officer in the army, having occasion to go to Rome,
I solicited a furlough of six months, and accompanied him. I seized with
great delight the opportunity of visiting a city, the name of which has a
powerful influence on the imagination, owing to the memories of the past
attached to it. I did not entertain any doubt that the Latin language was
spoken there in good society, at least as generally as in Hungary. But I
was indeed greatly mistaken, for nobody can speak it, not even the
priests, who only pretend to write it, and it is true that some of them
do so with great purity. I was therefore rather uncomfortable during my
stay in Rome, and with the exception of my eyes my senses remained
perfectly inactive. I had spent a very tedious month in that city, the
ancient queen of the world, when Cardinal Albani gave my friend
dispatches for Naples. Before leaving Rome, he introduced me to his
eminence, and his recommendation had so much influence that the cardinal
promised to send me very soon with dispatches for the Duke of Parma,
Piacenza, and Guastalla, assuring me that all my travelling expenses
would be defrayed. As I wished to see the harbour called in former times
Centum cellae and now Civita-Vecchia, I gave up the remainder of my time
to that visit, and I proceeded there with a cicerone who spoke Latin.
"I was loitering about the harbour when I saw, coming out of a tartan, an
elderly officer and this young woman dressed as she is now. Her beauty
struck me, but I should not have thought any more about it, if the
officer had not put up at my inn, and in an apartment over which I had a
complete view whenever I opened my window. In the evening I saw the
couple taking supper at the same table, but I remarked that the elderly
officer never addressed a word to the young one. When the supper was
over, the disguised girl left the room, and her companion did not lift
his eyes from a letter which he was reading, as it seemed to me, with the
deepest attention. Soon afterwards the officer closed the windows, the
light was put out, and I suppose my neighbors went to bed. The next
morning, being up early as is my habit, I saw the officer go out, and the
girl remained alone in the room.
"I sent my cicerone, who was also my servant, to tell the girl in the
garb of an officer that I would give her ten sequins for an hour's
conversation. He fulfilled my instructions, and on his return he informed
me that her answer, given in French, had been to the effect that she
would leave for Rome immediately after breakfast, and that, once in that
city, I should easily find some opportunity of speaking to her.
"'I can find out from the vetturino,' said my cicerone, 'where they put
up in Rome, and I promise you to enquire of him.'
"She left Civita-Vecchia with the elderly officer, and I returned home on
the following day.
"Two days afterwards, the cardinal gave me the dispatches, which were
addressed to M. Dutillot, the French minister, with a passport and the
money necessary for the journey. He told me, with great kindness, that I
need not hurry on the road.
"I had almost forgotten the handsome adventuress, when, two days before
my departure, my cicerone gave me the information that he had found out
where she lived, and that she was with the same officer. I told him to
try to see her, and to let her know that my departure was fixed for the
day after the morrow. She sent me word by him that, if I would inform her
of the hour of my departure, she would meet me outside of the gate, and
get into the coach with me to accompany me on my way. I thought the
arrangement very ingenious and during the day I sent the cicerone to tell
her the hour at which I intended to leave, and where I would wait for her
outside of the Porto del Popolo. She came at the appointed time, and we
have remained together ever since. As soon as she was seated near me, she
made me understand by signs that she wanted to dine with me. You may
imagine what difficulty we had in understanding one another, but we
guessed somehow the meaning expressed by our pantomime, and I accepted
the adventure with delight.
"We dined gaily together, speaking without understanding, but after the
dessert we comprehended each other very well. I fancied that I had seen
the end of it, and you may imagine how surprised I was when, upon my
offering her the ten sequins, she refused most positively to take any
money, making me understand that she would rather go with me to Parma,
because she had some business in that city, and did not want to return to
Rome.
"The proposal was, after all, rather agreeable to me; I consented to her
wishes. I only regretted my inability to make her understand that, if she
was followed by anyone from Rome, and if that person wanted to take her
back, I was not in a position to defend her against violence. I was also
sorry that, with our mutual ignorance of the language spoken by each of
us, we had no opportunity of conversation, for I should have been greatly
pleased to hear her adventures, which, I think, must be interesting. You
can, of course, guess that I have no idea of who she can be. I only know
that she calls herself Henriette, that she must be a Frenchwoman, that
she is as gentle as a turtledove, that she has evidently received a good
education, and that she enjoys good health. She is witty and courageous,
as we have both seen, I in Rome and you in Cesena at General Spada's
table. If she would tell you her history, and allow you to translate it
for me in Latin she would indeed please me much, for I am sincerely her
friend, and I can assure you that it will grieve me to part from her in
Parma. Please to tell her that I intend to give her the thirty sequins I
received from the Bishop of Cesena, and that if I were rich I would give
her more substantial proofs of my tender affection. Now, sir, I shall
feel obliged to you if you will explain it all to her in French."
I asked her whether she would feel offended if I gave her an exact
translation. She assured me that, on the contrary, she wished me to speak
openly, and I told her literally what the captain had related to me.
With a noble frankness which a slight shade of-shame rendered more
interesting, Henriette confirmed the truth of her friend's narrative, but
she begged me to tell him that she could not grant his wish respecting
the adventures of her life.
"Be good enough to inform him," she added, "that the same principle which
forbids me to utter a falsehood, does not allow me to tell the truth. As
for the thirty sequins which he intends to give me, I will not accept
even one of them, and he would deeply grieve me by pressing them upon me.
The moment we reach Parma I wish him to allow me to lodge wherever I may
please, to make no enquiries whatever about me, and, in case he should
happen to meet me, to crown his great kindness to me by not appearing to
have ever known me."
As she uttered the last words of this short speech, which she had
delivered very seriously and with a mixture of modesty and resolution,
she kissed her elderly friend in a manner which indicated esteem and
gratitude rather than love. The captain, who did not know why she was
kissing him, was deeply grieved when I translated what Henriette had
said. He begged me to tell her that, if he was to obey her with an easy
conscience, he must know whether she would have everything she required
in Parma.
"You can assure him," she answered, "that he need not entertain any
anxiety about me."
This conversation had made us all very sad; we remained for a long time
thoughtful and silent, until, feeling the situation to be painful, I
rose, wishing them good night, and I saw that Henriette's face wore a
look of great excitement.
As soon as I found myself alone in my room, deeply moved by conflicting
feelings of love, surprise, and uncertainty, I began to give vent to my
feelings in a kind of soliloquy, as I always do when I am strongly
excited by anything; thinking is not, in those cases, enough for me; I
must speak aloud, and I throw so much action, so much animation into
these monologues that I forget I am alone. What I knew now of Henriette
had upset me altogether.
"Who can she be," I said, speaking to the walls; "this girl who seems to
have the most elevated feelings under the veil of the most cynical
libertinism? She says that in Parma she wishes to remain perfectly
unknown, her own mistress, and I cannot, of course, flatter myself that
she will not place me under the same restrictions as the captain to whom
she has already abandoned herself. Goodbye to my expectations, to my
money, and my illusions! But who is she--what is she? She must have
either a lover or a husband in Parma, or she must belong to a respectable
family; or, perhaps, thanks to a boundless love for debauchery and to her
confidence in her own charms, she intends to set fortune, misery, and
degradation at defiance, and to try to enslave some wealthy nobleman! But
that would be the plan of a mad woman or of a person reduced to utter
despair, and it does not seem to be the case with Henriette. Yet she
possesses nothing. True, but she refused, as if she had been provided
with all she needed, the kind assistance of a man who has the right to
offer it, and from whom, in sooth, she can accept without blushing, since
she has not been ashamed to grant him favours with which love had nothing
to do. Does she think that it is less shameful for a woman to abandon
herself to the desires of a man unknown and unloved than to receive a
present from an esteemed friend, and particularly at the eve of finding
herself in the street, entirely destitute in the middle of a foreign
city, amongst people whose language she cannot even speak? Perhaps she
thinks that such conduct will justify the 'faux pas' of which she has
been guilty with the captain, and give him to understand that she had
abandoned herself to him only for the sake of escaping from the officer
with whom she was in Rome. But she ought to be quite certain that the
captain does not entertain any other idea; he shews himself so reasonable
that it is impossible to suppose that he ever admitted the possibility of
having inspired her with a violent passion, because she had seen him once
through a window in Civita-Vecchia. She might possibly be right, and feel
herself justified in her conduct towards the captain, but it is not the
same with me, for with her intelligence she must be aware that I would
not have travelled with them if she had been indifferent to me, and she
must know that there is but one way in which she can obtain my pardon.
She may be endowed with many virtues, but she has not the only one which
could prevent me from wishing the reward which every man expects to
receive at the hands of the woman he loves. If she wants to assume
prudish manners towards me and to make a dupe of me, I am bound in honour
to shew her how much she is mistaken."
After this monologue, which had made me still more angry, I made up my
mind to have an explanation in the morning before our departure.
"I shall ask her," said I to myself, "to grant me the same favours which
she has so easily granted to her old captain, and if I meet with a
refusal the best revenge will be to shew her a cold and profound contempt
until our arrival in Parma."
I felt sure that she could not refuse me some marks of real or of
pretended affection, unless she wished to make a show of a modesty which
certainly did not belong to her, and, knowing that her modesty would only
be all pretence, I was determined not to be a mere toy in her hands.
As for the captain, I felt certain, from what he had told me, that he
would not be angry with me if I risked a declaration, for as a sensible
man he could only assume a neutral position.
Satisfied with my wise reasoning, and with my mind fully made up, I fell
asleep. My thoughts were too completely absorbed by Henriette for her not
to haunt my dreams, but the dream which I had throughout the night was so
much like reality that, on awaking, I looked for her in my bed, and my
imagination was so deeply struck with the delights of that night that, if
my door had not been fastened with a bolt, I should have believed that
she had left me during my sleep to resume her place near the worthy
Hungarian.
When I was awake I found that the happy dream of the night had turned my
love for the lovely creature into a perfect amorous frenzy, and it could
not be other wise. Let the reader imagine a poor devil going to bed
broken down with fatigue and starvation; he succumbs to sleep, that most
imperative of all human wants, but in his dream he finds himself before a
table covered with every delicacy; what will then happen? Why, a very
natural result. His appetite, much more lively than on the previous day,
does not give him a minute's rest he must satisfy it or die of sheer
hunger.
I dressed myself, resolved on making sure of the possession of the woman
who had inflamed all my senses, even before resuming our journey.
"If I do not succeed," I said to myself, "I will not go one step
further."
But, in order not to offend against propriety, and not to deserve the
reproaches of an honest man, I felt that it was my duty to have an
explanation with the captain in the first place.
I fancy that I hear one of those sensible, calm, passionless readers, who
have had the advantage of what is called a youth without storms, or one
of those whom old age has forced to become virtuous, exclaim,
"Can anyone attach so much importance to such nonsense?"
Age has calmed my passions down by rendering them powerless, but my heart
has not grown old, and my memory has kept all the freshness of youth; and
far from considering that sort of thing a mere trifle, my only sorrow,
dear reader, arises from the fact that I have not the power to practise,
to the day of my death, that which has been the principal affair of my
life!
When I was ready I repaired to the chamber occupied by my two travelling
companions, and after paying each of them the usual morning compliments I
told the officer that I was deeply in love with Henriette, and I asked
him whether he would object to my trying to obtain her as my mistress.
"The reason for which she begs you," I added, "to leave her in Parma and
not to take any further notice of her, must be that she hopes to meet
some lover of hers there. Let me have half an hour's conversation with
her, and I flatter myself I can persuade her to sacrifice that lover for
me. If she refuses me, I remain here; you will go with her to Parma,
where you will leave my carriage at the post, only sending me a receipt,
so that I can claim it whenever I please."
"As soon as breakfast is over," said the excellent man, "I shall go and
visit the institute, and leave you alone with Henriette. I hope you may
succeed, for I should be delighted to see her under your protection when
I part with her. Should she persist in her first resolution, I could
easily find a 'vetturino' here, and you could keep your carriage. I thank
you for your proposal, and it will grieve me to leave you."
Highly pleased at having accomplished half of my task, and at seeing
myself near the denouement, I asked the lovely Frenchwoman whether she
would like to see the sights of Bologna.
"I should like it very much," she said, "if I had some other clothes; but
with such a costume as this I do not care to shew myself about the city."
"Then you do not want to go out?"
"No."
"Can I keep you company?"
"That would be delightful:"
The captain went out immediately after breakfast. The moment he had gone
I told Henriette that her friend had left us alone purposely, so as to
give me the opportunity of a private interview with her.
"Tell me now whether you intended the order which you gave him yesterday
to forget you, never to enquire after you; and even not to know you if he
happened to meet you, from the time of our arrival in Parma, for me as
well as for him."
"It is not an order that I gave him; I have no right to do so, and I
could not so far forget myself; it is only a prayer I addressed to him, a
service which circumstances have compelled me to claim at his hands, and
as he has no right to refuse me, I never entertained any doubt of his
granting my command. As far as you are concerned, it is certain that I
should have addressed the same prayer to you, if I had thought that you
had any views about me. You have given me some marks of your friendship,
but you must understand that if, under the circumstances, I am likely to
be injured by the kind attentions of the captain, yours would injure me
much more. If you have any friendship for me, you would have felt all
that."
"As you know that I entertain great friendship for you, you cannot
possibly suppose that I would leave you alone, without money, without
resources in the middle of a city where you cannot even make yourself
understood. Do you think that a man who feels for you the most tender
affection can abandon you when he has been fortunate enough to make your
acquaintance, when he is aware of the sad position in which you are
placed? If you think such a thing possible, you must have a very false
idea of friendship, and should such a man grant your request, he would
only prove that he is not your friend."
"I am certain that the captain is my friend; yet you have heard him, he
will obey me, and forget me."
"I do not know what sort of affection that honest man feels for you, or
how far he can rely upon the control he may have over himself, but I know
that if he can grant you what you have asked from him, his friendship
must be of a nature very different from mine, for I am bound to tell you
it is not only impossible for me to afford you willingly the strange
gratification of abandoning you in your position, but even that, if I go
to Parma, you could not possibly carry out your wishes, because I love
you so passionately that you must promise to be mine, or I must remain
here. In that case you must go to Parma alone with the captain, for I
feel that, if I accompanied you any further, I should soon be the most
wretched of men. I could not bear to see you with another lover, with a
husband, not even in the midst of your family; in fact, I would fain see
you and live with you forever. Let me tell you, lovely Henriette, that if
it is possible for a Frenchman to forget, an Italian cannot do it, at
least if I judge from my own feelings. I have made up my mind, you must
be good enough to decide now, and to tell me whether I am to accompany
you or to remain here. Answer yes or no; if I remain here it is all over.
I shall leave for Naples to-morrow, and I know I shall be cured in time
of the mad passion I feel for you, but if you tell me that I can
accompany you to Parma, you must promise me that your heart will forever
belong to me alone. I must be the only one to possess you, but I am ready
to accept as a condition, if you like, that you shall not crown my
happiness until you have judged me worthy of it by my attentions and by
my loving care. Now, be kind enough to decide before the return of the
too happy captain. He knows all, for I have told him what I feel."
"And what did he answer?"
"That he would be happy to see you under my protection. But what is the
meaning of that smile playing on your lips?"
"Pray, allow me to laugh, for I have never in my life realized the idea
of a furious declaration of love. Do you understand what it is to say to
a woman in a declaration which ought to be passionate, but at the same
time tender and gentle, the following terrible words:
"'Madam, make your choice, either one or the other, and decide
instanter!' Ha! ha! ha!"
"Yes, I understand perfectly. It is neither gentle, nor gallant, nor
pathetic, but it is passionate. Remember that this is a serious matter,
and that I have never yet found myself so much pressed by time. Can you,
on your side, realize the painful position of a man, who, being deeply in
love, finds himself compelled to take a decision which may perhaps decide
issues of life and death? Be good enough to remark that, in spite of the
passion raging in me, I do not fail in the respect I owe you; that the
resolution I intend to take, if you should persist in your original
decision, is not a threat, but an effort worthy of a hero, which ought to
call for your esteem. I beg of you to consider that we cannot afford to
lose time. The word choose must not sound harshly in your ears, since it
leaves my fate as well as yours entirely in your hands. To feel certain
of my love, do you want to see me kneeling before you like a simpleton,
crying and entreating you to take pity on me? No, madam, that would
certainly displease you, and it would not help me. I am conscious of
being worthy of your love, I therefore ask for that feeling and not for
pity. Leave me, if I displease you, but let me go away; for if you are
humane enough to wish that I should forget you, allow me to go far away
from you so as to make my sorrow less immense. Should I follow you to
Parma, I would not answer for myself, for I might give way to my despair.
Consider everything well, I beseech you; you would indeed be guilty of
great cruelty, were you to answer now: 'Come to Parma, although I must
beg of you not to see me in that city.' Confess that you cannot, in all
fairness, give me such an answer; am I not right?"
"Certainly, if you truly love me."
"Good God! if I love you? Oh, yes! believe me, my love is immense,
sincere! Now, decide my fate."
"What! always the same song?"
"Yes."
"But are you aware that you look very angry?"
"No, for it is not so. I am only in a state of uncontrollable excitement,
in one of the decisive hours of my life, a prey to the most fearful
anxiety. I ought to curse my whimsical destiny and the 'sbirri' of Cesena
(may God curse them, too!), for, without them, I should never have known
you."
"Are you, then, so very sorry to have made my acquaintance?"
"Have I not some reason to be so?"
"No, for I have not given you my decision yet."
"Now I breathe more freely, for I am sure you will tell me to accompany
you to Parma."
"Yes, come to Parma."
MEMOIRS OF JACQUES CASANOVA de SEINGALT 1725-1798
[Illustration: Cover2]
[Illustration: Title2]
TO PARIS AND PRISON
EPISODE 6 -- PARIS
CHAPTER I
Leave Bologna a Happy Man--The Captain Parts from Us in
Reggio, where I Spend a Delightful Night with Henriette--Our
Arrival in Parma--Henriette Resumes the Costume of a Woman;
Our Mutual Felicity--I Meet Some Relatives of Mine, but Do
not Discover Myself
The reader can easily guess that there was a change as sudden as a
transformation in a pantomime, and that the short but magic sentence,
"Come to Parma," proved a very fortunate catastrophe, thanks to which I
rapidly changed, passing from the tragic to the gentle mood, from the
serious to the tender tone. Sooth to say, I fell at her feet, and
lovingly pressing her knees I kissed them repeatedly with raptures of
gratitude. No more 'furore', no more bitter words; they do not suit the
sweetest of all human feelings! Loving, docile, grateful, I swear never
to beg for any favour, not even to kiss her hand, until I have shewn
myself worthy of her precious love! The heavenly creature, delighted to
see me pass so rapidly from despair to the most lively tenderness, tells
me, with a voice the tone of which breathes of love, to get up from my
knees.
"I am sure that you love me," says she, "and be quite certain that I
shall leave nothing undone to secure the constancy of your feelings."
Even if she had said that she loved me as much as I adored her, she would
not have been more eloquent, for her words expressed all that can be
felt. My lips were pressed to her beautiful hands as the captain entered
the room. He complimented us with perfect good faith, and I told him, my
face beaming with happiness, that I was going to order the carriage. I
left them together, and in a short time we were on our road, cheerful,
pleased, and merry.
Before reaching Reggio the honest captain told me that in his opinion it
would be better for him to proceed to Parma alone, as, if we arrived in
that city all together, it might cause some remarks, and people would
talk about us much less if we were without him. We both thought him quite
right, and we immediately made up our minds to pass the night in Reggio,
while the captain would take a post-chaise and go alone to Parma.
According to that arrangement his trunk was transferred to the vehicle
which he hired in Reggio, he bade us farewell and went away, after having
promised to dine with us on the following day in Parma.
The decision taken by the worthy Hungarian was, doubtless, as agreeable
to my lovely friend as to me, for our delicacy would have condemned us to
a great reserve in his presence. And truly, under the new circumstances,
how were we to arrange for our lodgings in Reggio? Henriette could not,
of course, share the bed of the captain any more, and she could not have
slept with me as long as he was with us, without being guilty of great
immodesty. We should all three have laughed at that compulsory reserve
which we would have felt to be ridiculous, but we should, for all that,
have submitted to it. Love is the little impudent god, the enemy of
bashfulness, although he may very often enjoy darkness and mystery, but
if he gives way to it he feels disgraced; he loses three-fourths of his
dignity and the greatest portion of his charms.
Evidently there could be no happiness for Henriette or for me unless we
parted with the person and even with the remembrance of the excellent
captain.
We supped alone. I was intoxicated with a felicity which seemed too
immense, and yet I felt melancholy, but Henriette, who looked sad
likewise, had no reproach to address to me. Our sadness was in reality
nothing but shyness; we loved each other, but we had had no time to
become acquainted. We exchanged only a few words, there was nothing
witty, nothing interesting in our conversation, which struck us both as
insipid, and we found more pleasure in the thoughts which filled our
minds. We knew that we were going to pass the night together, but we
could not have spoken of it openly. What a night! what a delightful
creature was that Henriette whom I have loved so deeply, who has made me
so supremely happy!
It was only three or four days later that I ventured on asking her what
she would have done, without a groat in her possession, having not one
acquaintance in Parma, if I had been afraid to declare my love, and if I
had gone to Naples. She answered that she would doubtless have found
herself in very great difficulties, but that she had all along felt
certain of my love, and that she had foreseen what had happened. She
added that, being impatient to know what I thought of her, she had asked
me to translate to the captain what she had expressed respecting her
resolution, knowing that he could neither oppose that resolution nor
continue to live with her, and that, as she had taken care not to include
me in the prayer which she had addressed to him through me, she had
thought it impossible that I should fail to ask whether I could be of
some service to her, waiting to take a decision until she could have
ascertained the nature of my feelings towards her. She concluded by
telling me that if she had fallen it was the fault of her husband and of
her father-in-law, both of whom she characterized as monsters rather than
men.
When we reached Parma, I gave the police the name of Farusi, the same
that I had assumed in Cesena; it was the family name of my mother; while
Henriette wrote down, "Anne D'Arci, from France." While we were answering
the questions of the officer, a young Frenchman, smart and
intelligent-looking, offered me his services, and advised me not to put
up at the posting-inn, but to take lodgings at D'Andremorit's. hotel,
where I should find good apartments, French cooking, and the best French
wines.
Seeing that Henriette was pleased with the proposal, I told the young man
to take us there, and we were soon very comfortably lodged. I engaged the
Frenchman by the day, and carefully settled all my arrangements with
D'Andremont. After that I attended to the housing of my carriage.
Coming in again for a few minutes, I told Henriette that I would return
in time for dinner, and, ordering the servant to remain in the ante-room,
I went out alone.
Parma was then groaning under a new government. I had every reason to
suppose that there were spies everywhere and under every form. I
therefore did not want to have at my heels a valet who might have injured
rather than served me. Though I was in my father's native city, I had no
acquaintances there, but I knew that I should soon find my way.
When I found myself in the streets, I scarcely could believe that I was
in Italy, for everything had a tramontane appearance. I heard nothing but
French and Spanish, and those who did not speak one of those languages
seemed to be whispering to one another. I was going about at random,
looking for a hosier, yet unwilling to enquire where I could find one; at
last I saw what I wanted.
I entered the shop, and addressing myself to a stout, good-looking woman
seated behind the counter, I said,
"Madam, I wish to make some purchases."
"Sir, shall I send for someone speaking French?"
"You need not do so, I am an Italian."
"God be praised! Italians are scarce in these days."
"Why scarce?"
"Do you not know that Don Philip has arrived, and that his wife, Madame
de France, is on the road?"
"I congratulate you, for it must make trade very good. I suppose that
money is plentiful, and that there is abundance of all commodities."
"That is true, but everything is high in price, and we cannot get
reconciled to these new fashions. They are a bad mixture of French
freedom and Spanish haughtiness which addles our brains. But, sir, what
sort of linen do you require?"
"In the first place, I must tell you that I never try to drive a hard
bargain, therefore be careful. If you charge me too much, I shall not
come again. I want some fine linen for twenty-four chemises, some dimity
for stays and petticoats, some muslin, some cambric for
pocket-handkerchiefs, and many other articles which I should be very glad
to find in your shop, for I am a stranger here, and God knows in what
hands I am going to trust myself!"
"You will be in honest ones, if you will give me your confidence."
"I am sure that you deserve it, and I abandon my interests to you. I want
likewise to find some needlewomen willing to work in the lady's room,
because she requires everything to be made very rapidly."
"And dresses?"
"Yes, dresses, caps, mantles-in fact, everything, for she is naked."
"With money she will soon have all she wants. Is she young?"
"She is four years younger than I. She is my wife."
"Ah! may God bless you! Any children?"
"Not yet, my good lady; but they will come, for we do all that is
necessary to have them."
"I have no doubt of it. How pleased I am! Well, sir, I shall send for the
very phoenix of all dressmakers. In the mean time, choose what you
require, it will amuse you."
I took the best of everything and paid, and the dressmaker making her
appearance at that moment I gave my address, requesting that various
sorts of stuff might be sent at once. I told the dressmaker and her
daughter, who had come with her, to follow me and to carry the linen. On
my way to the hotel I bought several pairs of silk stockings, and took
with me a bootmaker who lived close by.
Oh, what a delightful moment! Henriette, who had not the slightest idea
of what I had gone out for, looked at everything with great pleasure, yet
without any of those demonstrations which announce a selfish or
interested disposition. She shewed her gratitude only by the delicate
praise which she bestowed upon my taste and upon the quality of the
articles I had purchased. She was not more cheerful on account of my
presents, but the tender affection with which she looked at me was the
best proof of her grateful feelings.
The valet I had hired had entered the room with the shoemaker. Henriette
told him quietly to withdraw, and not to come unless he was called. The
dressmaker set to work, the shoemaker took her measure, and I told him to
bring some slippers. He returned in a short time, and the valet came in
again with him without having been called. The shoemaker, who spoke
French, was talking the usual nonsense of dealers, when she interrupted
him to ask the valet, who was standing familiarly in the room, what he
wanted.
"Nothing, madam, I am only waiting for your orders."
"Have I not told you that you would be called when your services were
required?"
"I should like to know who is my master, you or the gentleman?"
"Neither," I replied, laughing. "Here are your day's wages. Be off at
once."
The shoemaker, seeing that Henriette spoke only French, begged to
recommend a teacher of languages.
"What country does he belong to?" she enquired.
"To Flanders, madam," answered Crispin, "he is a very learned man, about
fifty years old. He is said to be a good man. He charges three libbre for
each lesson of one hour, and six for two hours, but he requires to be
paid each time."
"My dear," said Henriette to me, "do you wish me to engage that master?"
"Yes, dearest, it will amuse you."
The shoemaker promised to send the Flemish professor the next morning.
The dressmakers were hard at work, the mother cutting and the daughter
sewing, but, as progress could not be too rapid, I told the mother that
she would oblige us if she could procure another seamstress who spoke
French.
"You shall have one this very day, sir," she answered, and she offered me
the services of her own son as a servant, saying that if I took him I
should be certain to have neither a thief nor a spy about me, and that he
spoke French pretty well. Henriette thought we could not do better than
take the young man. Of course that was enough to make me consent at once,
for the slightest wish of the woman we love is our supreme law. The
mother went for him, and she brought back at the same time the
half-French dressmaker. It all amused my goddess, who looked very happy.
The young man was about eighteen, pleasant, gentle and modest. I enquired
his name, and he answered that it was Caudagna.
The reader may very likely recollect that my father's native place had
been Parma, and that one of his sisters had married a Caudagna. "It would
be a curious coincidence," I thought, "if that dressmaker should be my
aunt, and my valet my cousin!" but I did not say it aloud.
Henriette asked me if I had any objection to the first dressmaker dining
at our table.
"I entreat you, my darling," I answered, "never, for the future, to ask
my consent in such trifling matters. Be quite certain, my beloved, that I
shall always approve everything you may do."
She smiled and thanked me. I took out my purse, and said to her;
"Take these fifty sequins, dearest, to pay for all your small expenses,
and to buy the many trifles which I should be sure to forget."
She took the money, assuring me that she was vastly obliged to me.
A short time before dinner the worthy captain made his appearance.
Henriette ran to meet him and kissed him, calling him her dear father,
and I followed her example by calling him my friend. My beloved little
wife invited him to dine with us every day. The excellent fellow, seeing
all the women working busily for Henriette, was highly pleased at having
procured such a good position for his young adventuress, and I crowned
his happiness by telling him that I was indebted to him for my felicity.
Our dinner was delicious, and it proved a cheerful meal. I found out that
Henriette was dainty, and my old friend a lover of good wines. I was
both, and felt that I was a match for them. We tasted several excellent
wines which D'Andremont had recommended, and altogether we had a very
good dinner.
The young valet pleased me in consequence of the respectful manner in
which he served everyone, his mother as well as his masters. His sister
and the other seamstress had dined apart.
We were enjoying our dessert when the hosier was announced, accompanied
by another woman and a milliner who could speak French. The other woman
had brought patterns of all sorts of dresses. I let Henriette order caps,
head-dresses, etc., as she pleased, but I would interfere in the dress
department although I complied with the excellent taste of my charming
friend. I made her choose four dresses, and I was indeed grateful for her
ready acceptance of them, for my own happiness was increased in
proportion to the pleasure I gave her and the influence I was obtaining
over her heart.
Thus did we spend the first day, and we could certainly not have
accomplished more.
In the evening, as we were alone at supper, I fancied that her lovely
face looked sad. I told her so.
"My darling," she answered, with a voice which went to my heart, "you are
spending a great deal of money on me, and if you do so in the hope of my
loving you more dearly I must tell you it is money lost, for I do not
love you now more than I did yesterday, but I do love you with my whole
heart. All you may do that is not strictly necessary pleases me only
because I see more and more how worthy you are of me, but it is not
needed to make me feel all the deep love which you deserve."
"I believe you, dearest, and my happiness is indeed great if you feel
that your love for me cannot be increased. But learn also, delight of my
heart, that I have done it all only to try to love you even more than I
do, if possible. I wish to see you beautiful and brilliant in the attire
of your sex, and if there is one drop of bitterness in the fragrant cup
of my felicity, it is a regret at not being able to surround you with the
halo which you deserve. Can I be otherwise than delighted, my love, if
you are pleased?"
"You cannot for one moment doubt my being pleased, and as you have called
me your wife you are right in one way, but if you are not very rich I
leave it to you to judge how deeply I ought to reproach myself."
"Ah, my beloved angel! let me, I beg of you, believe myself wealthy, and
be quite certain that you cannot possibly be the cause of my ruin. You
were born only for my happiness. All I wish is that you may never leave
me. Tell me whether I can entertain such a hope."
"I wish it myself, dearest, but who can be sure of the future? Are you
free? Are you dependent on anyone?"
"I am free in the broadest meaning of that word, I am dependent on no one
but you, and I love to be so."
"I congratulate you, and I am very glad of it, for no one can tear you
from my arms, but, alas! you know that I cannot say the same as you. I am
certain that some persons are, even now, seeking for me, and they will
not find it very difficult to secure me if they ever discover where I am.
Alas! I feel how miserable I should be if they ever succeeded in dragging
me away from you!"
"You make me tremble. Are you afraid of such a dreadful misfortune here?"
"No, unless I should happen to be seen by someone knowing me."
"Are any such persons likely to be here at present?"
"I think not."
"Then do not let our love take alarm, I trust your fears will never be
verified. Only, my darling one, you must be as cheerful as you were in
Cesena."
"I shall be more truly so now, dear friend. In Cesena I was miserable;
while now I am happy. Do not be afraid of my being sad, for I am of a
naturally cheerful disposition."
"I suppose that in Cesena you were afraid of being caught by the officer
whom you had left in Rome?"
"Not at all; that officer was my father-in-law, and I am quite certain
that he never tried to ascertain where I had gone. He was only too glad
to get rid of me. I felt unhappy because I could not bear to be a charge
on a man whom I could not love, and with whom I could not even exchange
one thought. Recollect also that I could not find consolation in the idea
that I was ministering to his happiness, for I had only inspired him with
a passing fancy which he had himself valued at ten sequins. I could not
help feeling that his fancy, once gratified, was not likely at his time
of life to become a more lasting sentiment, and I could therefore only be
a burden to him, for he was not wealthy. Besides, there was a miserable
consideration which increased my secret sorrow. I thought myself bound in
duty to caress him, and on his side, as he thought that he ought to pay
me in the same money, I was afraid of his ruining his health for me, and
that idea made me very unhappy. Having no love for each other, we allowed
a foolish feeling of regard to make both of us uncomfortable. We
lavished, for the sake of a well-meaning but false decorum, that which
belongs to love alone. Another thing troubled me greatly. I was afraid
lest people might suppose that I was a source of profit to him. That idea
made me feel the deepest shame, yet, whenever I thought of it, I could
not help admitting that such a supposition, however false, was not
wanting in probability. It is owing to that feeling that you found me so
reserved towards you, for I was afraid that you might harbour that
fearful idea if I allowed, you to read in my looks the favourable
impression which you had made on my heart."
"Then it was not owing to a feeling of self-love?"
"No, I confess it, for you could but judge me as I deserved. I had been
guilty of the folly now known to you because my father-in-law intended to
bury me in a convent, and that did not suit my taste. But, dearest
friend, you must forgive me if, I cannot confide even to you the history
of my life."
"I respect your secret, darling; you need not fear any intrusion from me
on that subject. All we have to do is to love one another, and not to
allow any dread of the future to mar our actual felicity."
The next day, after a night of intense enjoyment, I found myself more
deeply in love than before, and the next three months were spent by us in
an intoxication of delight.
At nine o'clock the next morning the teacher of Italian was announced. I
saw a man of respectable appearance, polite, modest, speaking little but
well, reserved in his answers, and with the manners of olden times. We
conversed, and I could not help laughing when he said, with an air of
perfect good faith, that a Christian could only admit the system of
Copernicus as a clever hypothesis. I answered that it was the system of
God Himself because it was that of nature, and that it was not in Holy
Scripture that the laws of science could be learned.
The teacher smiled in a manner which betrayed the Tartufe, and if I had
consulted only my own feelings I should have dismissed the poor man, but
I thought that he might amuse Henriette and teach her Italian; after all
it was what I wanted from him. My dear wife told him that she would give
him six libbre for a lesson of two hours: the libbra of Parma being worth
only about threepence, his lessons were not very expensive. She took her
first lesson immediately and gave him two sequins, asking him to purchase
her some good novels.
Whilst my dear Henriette was taking her lesson, I had some conversation
with the dressmaker, in order to ascertain whether she was a relative of
mine.
"What does your husband do?" I asked her.
"He is steward to the Marquis of Sissa."
"Is your father still alive?"
"No, sir, he is dead."
"What was his family name?"
"Scotti."
"Are your husband's parents still alive?"
"His father is dead, but his mother is still alive, and resides with her
uncle, Canon Casanova."
That was enough. The good woman was my Welsh cousin, and her children
were my Welsh nephews. My niece Jeanneton was not pretty; but she
appeared to be a good girl. I continued my conversation with the mother,
but I changed the topic.
"Are the Parmesans satisfied with being the subjects of a Spanish
prince?"
"Satisfied? Well, in that case, we should be easily pleased, for we are
now in a regular maze. Everything is upset, we do not know where we are.
Oh! happy times of the house of Farnese, whither have you departed? The
day before yesterday I went to the theatre, and Harlequin made everybody
roar with laughter. Well, now, fancy, Don Philipo, our new duke, did all
he could to remain serious, and when he could not manage it, he would
hide his face in his hat so that people should not see that he was
laughing, for it is said that laughter ought never to disturb the grave
and stiff countenance of an Infante of Spain, and that he would be
dishonoured in Madrid if he did not conceal his mirth. What do you think
of that? Can such manners suit us? Here we laugh willingly and heartily!
Oh! the good Duke Antonio (God rest his soul!) was certainly as great a
prince as Duke Philipo, but he did not hide himself from his subjects
when he was pleased, and he would sometimes laugh so heartily that he
could be heard in the streets. Now we are all in the most fearful
confusion, and for the last three months no one in Parma knows what's
o'clock."
"Have all the clocks been destroyed?"
"No, but ever since God created the world, the sun has always gone down
at half-past five, and at six the bells have always been tolled for the
Angelus. All respectable people knew that at that time the candle had to
be lit. Now, it is very strange, the sun has gone mad, for he sets every
day at a different hour. Our peasants do not know when they are to come
to market. All that is called a regulation but do you know why? Because
now everybody knows that dinner is to be eaten at twelve o'clock. A fine
regulation, indeed! Under the Farnese we used to eat when we were hungry,
and that was much better."
That way of reasoning was certainly singular, but I did not think it
sounded foolish in the mouth of a woman of humble rank. It seems to me
that a government ought never to destroy ancient customs abruptly, and
that innocent errors ought to be corrected only by degrees.
Henriette had no watch. I felt delighted at the idea of offering her such
a present, and I went out to purchase one, but after I had bought a very
fine watch, I thought of ear-rings, of a fan, and of many other pretty
nicknacks. Of course I bought them all at once. She received all those
gifts offered by love with a tender delicacy which overjoyed me. She was
still with the teacher when I came back.
"I should have been able," he said to me, "to teach your lady heraldry,
geography, history, and the use of the globes, but she knows that
already. She has received an excellent education."
The teacher's name was Valentin de la Haye. He told me that he was an
engineer and professor of mathematics. I shall have to speak of him very
often in these Memoirs, and my readers will make his acquaintance by his
deeds better than by any portrait I could give of him, so I will merely
say that he was a true Tartufe, a worthy pupil of Escobar.
We had a pleasant dinner with our Hungarian friend. Henriette was still
wearing the uniform, and I longed to see her dressed as a woman. She
expected a dress to be ready for the next day, and she was already
supplied with petticoats and chemises.
Henriette was full of wit and a mistress of repartee. The milliner, who
was a native of Lyons, came in one morning, and said in French:
"Madame et Monsieur, j'ai l'honneur de vous souhaiter le bonjour."
"Why," said my friend, "do you not say Monsieur et madame?"
"I have always heard that in society the precedence is given to the
ladies."
"But from whom do we wish to receive that honour?"
"From gentlemen, of course."
"And do you not see that women would render themselves ridiculous if they
did not grant to men the same that they expect from them. If we wish them
never to fail in politeness towards us, we must shew them the example."
"Madam," answered the shrewd milliner, "you have taught me an excellent
lesson, and I will profit by it. Monsieur et madame, je suis votre
servante."
This feminine controversy greatly amused me.
Those who do not believe that a woman can make a man happy through the
twenty-four hours of the day have never possessed a woman like Henriette.
The happiness which filled me, if I can express it in that manner, was
much greater when I conversed with her even than when I held her in my
arms. She had read much, she had great tact, and her taste was naturally
excellent; her judgment was sane, and, without being learned, she could
argue like a mathematician, easily and without pretension, and in
everything she had that natural grace which is so charming. She never
tried to be witty when she said something of importance, but accompanied
her words with a smile which imparted to them an appearance of trifling,
and brought them within the understanding of all. In that way she would
give intelligence even to those who had none, and she won every heart.
Beauty without wit offers love nothing but the material enjoyment of its
physical charms, whilst witty ugliness captivates by the charms of the
mind, and at last fulfils all the desires of the man it has captivated.
Then what was my position during all the time that I possessed my
beautiful and witty Henriette? That of a man so supremely happy that I
could scarcely realize my felicity!
Let anyone ask a beautiful woman without wit whether she would be willing
to exchange a small portion of her beauty for a sufficient dose of wit.
If she speaks the truth, she will say, "No, I am satisfied to be as I
am." But why is she satisfied? Because she is not aware of her own
deficiency. Let an ugly but witty woman be asked if she would change her
wit against beauty, and she will not hesitate in saying no. Why?
Because, knowing the value of her wit, she is well aware that it is
sufficient by itself to make her a queen in any society.
But a learned woman, a blue-stocking, is not the creature to minister to
a man's happiness. Positive knowledge is not a woman's province. It is
antipathetic to the gentleness of her nature, to the amenity, to the
sweet timidity which are the greatest charms of the fair sex, besides,
women never carry their learning beyond certain limits, and the
tittle-tattle of blue-stockings can dazzle no one but fools. There has
never been one great discovery due to a woman. The fair sex is deficient
in that vigorous power which the body lends to the mind, but women are
evidently superior to men in simple reasoning, in delicacy of feelings,
and in that species of merit which appertains to the heart rather than to
the mind.
Hurl some idle sophism at a woman of intelligence. She will not unravel
it, but she will not be deceived by it, and, though she may not say so,
she will let you guess that she does not accept it. A man, on the
contrary, if he cannot unravel the sophism, takes it in a literal sense,
and in that respect the learned woman is exactly the same as man. What a
burden a Madame Dacier must be to a man! May God save every honest man
from such!
When the new dress was brought, Henriette told me that she did not want
me to witness the process of her metamorphosis, and she desired me to go
out for a walk until she had resumed her original form. I obeyed
cheerfully, for the slightest wish of the woman we love is a law, and our
very obedience increases our happiness.
As I had nothing particular to do, I went to a French bookseller in whose
shop I made the acquaintance of a witty hunchback, and I must say that a
hunchback without wit is a raga avis; I have found it so in all
countries. Of course it is not wit which gives the hump, for, thank God,
all witty men are not humpbacked, but we may well say that as a general
rule the hump gives wit, for the very small number of hunchbacks who have
little or no wit only confirms the rule: The one I was alluding to just
now was called Dubois-Chateleraux. He was a skilful engraver, and
director of the Mint of Parma for the Infante, although that prince could
not boast of such an institution.
I spent an hour with the witty hunchback, who shewed me several of his
engravings, and I returned to the hotel where I found the Hungarian
waiting to see Henriette. He did not know that she would that morning
receive us in the attire of her sex. The door was thrown open, and a
beautiful, charming woman met us with a courtesy full of grace, which no
longer reminded us of the stiffness or of the too great freedom which
belong to the military costume. Her sudden appearance certainly
astonished us, and we did not know what to say or what to do. She invited
us to be seated, looked at the captain in a friendly manner, and pressed
my hand with the warmest affection, but without giving way any more to
that outward familiarity which a young officer can assume, but which does
not suit a well-educated lady. Her noble and modest bearing soon
compelled me to put myself in unison with her, and I did so without
difficulty, for she was not acting a part, and the way in which she had
resumed her natural character made it easy for me to follow her on that
ground.
I was gazing at her with admiration, and, urged by a feeling which I did
not take time to analyze, I took her hand to kiss it with respect, but,
without giving me an opportunity of raising it to my lips, she offered me
her lovely mouth. Never did a kiss taste so delicious.
"Am I not then always the same?" said she to me, with deep feeling.
"No, heavenly creature, and it is so true that you are no longer the same
in my eyes that I could not now use any familiarity towards you. You are
no longer the witty, free young officer who told Madame Querini about the
game of Pharaoh, end about the deposits made to your bank by the captain
in so niggardly a manner that they were hardly worth mentioning."
"It is very true that, wearing the costume of my sex, I should never dare
to utter such words. Yet, dearest friend, it does not prevent my being
your Henriette--that Henriette who has in her life been guilty of three
escapades, the last of which would have utterly ruined me if it had not
been for you, but which I call a delightful error, since it has been the
cause of my knowing you."
Those words moved me so deeply that I was on the point of throwing myself
at her feet, to entreat her to forgive me for not having shewn her more
respect, but Henriette, who saw the state in which I was, and who wanted
to put an end to the pathetic scene, began to shake our poor captain, who
sat as motionless as a statue, and as if he had been petrified. He felt
ashamed at having treated such a woman as an adventuress, for he knew
that what he now saw was not an illusion. He kept looking at her with
great confusion, and bowing most respectfully, as if he wanted to atone
for his past conduct towards her. As for Henriette, she seemed to say to
him, but without the shadow of a reproach;
"I am glad that you think me worth more than ten sequins."
We sat down to dinner, and from that moment she did the honours of the
table with the perfect ease of a person who is accustomed to fulfil that
difficult duty. She treated me like a beloved husband, and the captain
like a respected friend. The poor Hungarian begged me to tell her that if
he had seen her, as she was now, in Civita Vecchia, when she came out of
the tartan, he should never have dreamed of dispatching his cicerone to
her room.
"Oh! tell him that I do not doubt it. But is it not strange that a poor
little female dress should command more respect than the garb of an
officer?"
"Pray do not abuse the officer's costume, for it is to it that I am
indebted for my happiness."
"Yes," she said, with a loving smile, "as I owe mine to the sbirri of
Cesena."
We remained for a long time at the table, and our delightful conversation
turned upon no other topic than our mutual felicity. If it had not been
for the uneasiness of the poor captain, which at last struck us, we
should never have put a stop either to the dinner or to, our charming
prattle.
CHAPTER II
I Engage a Box at the Opera, in Spite of Henriette's
Reluctance--M. Dubois Pays Us a Visit and Dines with Us;
My Darling Plays Him a Trick--Henriette Argues on Happiness--
We Call on Dubois, and My Wife Displays Her Marvellous Talent--
M. Dutillot The Court gives a Splendid Entertainment in the
Ducal Gardens--A Fatal Meeting--I Have an Interview with
M. D'Antoine, the Favourite of the Infante of Spain
The happiness I was enjoying was too complete to last long. I was fated
to lose it, but I must not anticipate events. Madame de France, wife of
the Infante Don Philip, having arrived in Parma, the opera house was
opened, and I engaged a private box, telling Henriette that I intended to
take her to the theatre every night. She had several times confessed that
she had a great passion for music, and I had no doubt that she would be
pleased with my proposal. She had never yet seen an Italian opera, and I
felt certain that she wished to ascertain whether the Italian music
deserved its universal fame. But I was indeed surprised when she
exclaimed,
"What, dearest! You wish to go every evening to the opera?"
"I think, my love, that, if we did not go, we should give some excuse for
scandal-mongers to gossip. Yet, should you not like it, you know that
there is no need for us to go. Do not think of me, for I prefer our
pleasant chat in this room to the heavenly concert of the seraphs."
"I am passionately fond of music, darling, but I cannot help trembling at
the idea of going out."
"If you tremble, I must shudder, but we ought to go to the opera or leave
Parma. Let us go to London or to any other place. Give your orders, I am
ready to do anything you like."
"Well, take a private box as little exposed as possible."
"How kind you are!"
The box I had engaged was in the second tier, but the theatre being small
it was difficult for a pretty woman to escape observation.
I told her so.
"I do not think there is any danger," she answered; "for I have not seen
the name of any person of my acquaintance in the list of foreigners which
you gave me to read."
Thus did Henriette go to the opera. I had taken care that our box should
not be lighted up. It was an opera-buffa, the music of Burellano was
excellent, and the singers were very good.
Henriette made no use of her opera-glass except to look on the stage, and
nobody paid any attention to us. As she had been greatly pleased with the
finale of the second act, I promised to get it for her, and I asked
Dubois to procure it for me. Thinking that she could play the
harpsichord, I offered to get one, but she told me that she had never
touched that instrument.
On the night of the fourth or fifth performance M. Dubois came to our
box, and as I did not wish to introduce him to my friend, I only asked
what I could do for him. He then handed me the music I had begged him to
purchase for me, and I paid him what it had cost, offering him my best
thanks. As we were just opposite the ducal box, I asked him, for the sake
of saying something, whether he had engraved the portraits of their
highnesses. He answered that he had already engraved two medals, and I
gave him an order for both, in gold. He promised to let me have them, and
left the box. Henriette had not even looked at him, and that was
according to all established rules, as I had not introduced him, but the
next morning he was announced as we were at dinner. M. de la Haye, who
was dining with us, complimented us upon having made the acquaintance of
Dubois, and introduced him to his pupil the moment he came into the room.
It was then right for Henriette to welcome him, which she did most
gracefully.
After she had thanked him for the 'partizione', she begged he would get
her some other music, and the artist accepted her request as a favour
granted to him.
"Sir," said Dubois to me, "I have taken the liberty of bringing the
medals you wished to have; here they are."
On one were the portraits of the Infante and his wife, on the other was
engraved only the head of Don Philip. They were both beautifully
engraved, and we expressed our just admiration. "The workmanship is
beyond all price," said Henriette, "but the gold can be bartered for
other gold." "Madam," answered the modest artist, "the medals weight
sixteen sequins." She gave him the amount immediately, and invited him to
call again at dinner-time. Coffee was just brought in at that moment, and
she asked him to take it with us. Before sweetening his cup, she enquired
whether he liked his coffee very sweet.
"Your taste, madam," answered the hunchback, gallantly, "is sure to be
mine."
"Then you have guessed that I always drink coffee without sugar. I am
glad we have that taste in common."
And she gracefully offered him the cup of coffee without sugar. She then
helped De la Haye and me, not forgetting to put plenty of sugar in our
cups, and she poured out one for herself exactly like the one she handed
to Dubois. It was much ado for me not to laugh, for my mischievous
French-woman, who liked her coffee in the Parisian fashion, that is to
say very sweet, was sipping the bitter beverage with an air of delight
which compelled the director of the Mint to smile under the infliction.
But the cunning hunchback was even with her; accepting the penalty of his
foolish compliment, and praising the good quality of the coffee, he
boldly declared that it was the only way to taste the delicious aroma of
the precious berry.
When Dubois and De la Haye had left us, we both laughed at the trick.
"But," said I to Henriette, "you will be the first victim of your
mischief, for whenever he dines with us, you must keep up the joke, in
order not to betray yourself."
"Oh! I can easily contrive to drink my coffee well sweetened, and to make
him drain the bitter cup."
At the end of one month, Henriette could speak Italian fluently, and it
was owing more to the constant practice she had every day with my cousin
Jeanneton, who acted as her maid, than to the lessons of Professor de la
Haye. The lessons only taught her the rules, and practice is necessary to
acquire a language. I have experienced it myself. I learned more French
during the too short period that I spent so happily with my charming
Henriette than in all the lessons I had taken from Dalacqua.
We had attended the opera twenty times without making any acquaintance,
and our life was indeed supremely happy. I never went out without
Henriette, and always in a carriage; we never received anyone, and nobody
knew us. Dubois was the only person, since the departure of the good
Hungarian, who sometimes dined with us; I do not reckon De la Haye, who
was a daily guest at our table. Dubois felt great curiosity about us, but
he was cunning and did not shew his curiosity; we were reserved without
affectation, and his inquisitiveness was at fault. One day he mentioned
to us that the court of the Infante of Parma was very brilliant since the
arrival of Madame de France, and that there were many foreigners of both
sexes in the city. Then, turning towards Henriette, he said to her;
"Most of the foreign ladies whom we have here are unknown to us."
"Very likely, many of them would not shew themselves if they were known."
"Very likely, madam, as you say, but I can assure you that, even if their
beauty and the richness of their toilet made them conspicuous, our
sovereigns wish for freedom. I still hope, madam, that we shall have the
happiness of seeing you at the court of the duke."
"I do not think so, for, in my opinion, it is superlatively ridiculous
for a lady to go to the court without being presented, particularly if
she has a right to be so."
The last words, on which Henriette had laid a little more stress than
upon the first part of her answer, struck our little hunchback dumb, and
my friend, improving her opportunity, changed the subject of
conversation.
When he had gone we enjoyed the check she had thus given to the
inquisitiveness of our guest, but I told Henriette that, in good
conscience, she ought to forgive all those whom she rendered curious,
because.... she cut my words short by covering me with loving kisses.
Thus supremely happy, and finding in one another constant satisfaction,
we would laugh at those morose philosophers who deny that complete
happiness can be found on earth.
"What do they mean, darling--those crazy fools--by saying that happiness
is not lasting, and how do they understand that word? If they mean
everlasting, immortal, unintermitting, of course they are right, but the
life of man not being such, happiness, as a natural consequence, cannot
be such either. Otherwise, every happiness is lasting for the very reason
that it does exist, and to be lasting it requires only to exist. But if
by complete felicity they understand a series of varied and
never-interrupted pleasures, they are wrong, because, by allowing after
each pleasure the calm which ought to follow the enjoyment of it, we have
time to realize happiness in its reality. In other words those necessary
periods of repose are a source of true enjoyment, because, thanks to
them, we enjoy the delight of recollection which increases twofold the
reality of happiness. Man can be happy only when in his own mind he
realizes his happiness, and calm is necessary to give full play to his
mind; therefore without calm man would truly never be completely happy,
and pleasure, in order to be felt, must cease to be active. Then what do
they mean by that word lasting?
"Every day we reach a moment when we long for sleep, and, although it be
the very likeness of non-existence, can anyone deny that sleep is a
pleasure? No, at least it seems to me that it cannot be denied with
consistency, for, the moment it comes to us, we give it the preference
over all other pleasures, and we are grateful to it only after it has
left us.
"Those who say that no one can be happy throughout life speak likewise
frivolously. Philosophy teaches the secret of securing that happiness,
provided one is free from bodily sufferings. A felicity which would thus
last throughout life could be compared to a nosegay formed of a thousand
flowers so beautifully, so skillfully blended together, that it would
look one single flower. Why should it be impossible for us to spend here
the whole of our life as we have spent the last month, always in good
health, always loving one another, without ever feeling any other want or
any weariness? Then, to crown that happiness, which would certainly be
immense, all that would be wanted would be to die together, in an
advanced age, speaking to the last moment of our pleasant recollections.
Surely that felicity would have been lasting. Death would not interrupt
it, for death would end it. We could not, even then, suppose ourselves
unhappy unless we dreaded unhappiness after death, and such an idea
strikes me as absurd, for it is a contradiction of the idea of an
almighty and fatherly tenderness."
It was thus that my beloved Henriette would often make me spend
delightful hours, talking philosophic sentiment. Her logic was better
than that of Cicero in his Tusculan Disputations, but she admitted that
such lasting felicity could exist only between two beings who lived
together, and loved each other with constant affection, healthy in mind
and in body, enlightened, sufficiently rich, similar in tastes, in
disposition, and in temperament. Happy are those lovers who, when their
senses require rest, can fall back upon the intellectual enjoyments
afforded by the mind! Sweet sleep then comes, and lasts until the body
has recovered its general harmony. On awaking, the senses are again
active and always ready to resume their action.
The conditions of existence are exactly the same for man as for the
universe, I might almost say that between them there is perfect identity,
for if we take the universe away, mankind no longer exists, and if we
take mankind away, there is no longer an universe; who could realize the
idea of the existence of inorganic matter? Now, without that idea, 'nihil
est', since the idea is the essence of everything, and since man alone
has ideas. Besides, if we abstract the species, we can no longer imagine
the existence of matter, and vice versa.
I derived from Henriette as great happiness as that charming woman
derived from me. We loved one another with all the strength of our
faculties, and we were everything to each other. She would often repeat
those pretty lines of the good La, Fontaine:
'Soyez-vous l'un a l'autre un monde toujours beau,
Toujours divers, toujours nouveau;
Tenez-vous lieu de tout; comptez pour rien le reste.'
And we did not fail to put the advice into practice, for never did a
minute of ennui or of weariness, never did the slightest trouble, disturb
our bliss.
The day after the close of the opera, Dubois, who was dining with us,
said that on the following day he was entertaining the two first artists,
'primo cantatore' and 'prima cantatrice', and added that, if we liked to
come, we would hear some of their best pieces, which they were to sing in
a lofty hall of his country-house particularly adapted to the display of
the human voice. Henriette thanked him warmly, but she said that, her
health being very delicate, she could not engage herself beforehand, and
she spoke of other things.
When we were alone, I asked her why she had refused the pleasure offered
by Dubois.
"I should accept his invitation," she answered, "and with delight, if I
were not afraid of meeting at his house some person who might know me,
and would destroy the happiness I am now enjoying with you."
"If you have any fresh motive for dreading such an occurrence, you are
quite right, but if it is only a vague, groundless fear, my love, why
should you deprive yourself of a real and innocent pleasure? If you knew
how pleased I am when I see you enjoy yourself, and particularly when I
witness your ecstacy in listening to fine music!"
"Well, darling, I do not want to shew myself less brave than you. We will
go immediately after dinner. The artists will not sing before. Besides,
as he does not expect us, he is not likely to have invited any person
curious to speak to me. We will go without giving him notice of our
coming, without being expected, and as if we wanted to pay him a friendly
visit. He told us that he would be at his country-house, and Caudagna
knows where it is."
Her reasons were a mixture of prudence and of love, two feelings which
are seldom blended together. My answer was to kiss her with as much
admiration as tenderness, and the next day at four o'clock in the
afternoon we paid our visit to M. Dubois. We were much surprised, for we
found him alone with a very pretty girl, whom he presented to us as his
niece.
"I am delighted to see you," he said, "but as I did not expect to see you
I altered my arrangements, and instead of the dinner I had intended to
give I have invited my friends to supper. I hope you will not refuse me
the honour of your company. The two virtuosi will soon be here."
We were compelled to accept his invitation.
"Will there be many guests?" I enquired.
"You will find yourselves in the midst of people worthy of you," he
answered, triumphantly. "I am only sorry that I have not invited any
ladies."
This polite remark, which was intended for Henriette, made her drop him a
curtsy, which she accompanied with a smile. I was pleased to read
contentment on her countenance, but, alas! she was concealing the painful
anxiety which she felt acutely. Her noble mind refused to shew any
uneasiness, and I could not guess her inmost thoughts because I had no
idea that she had anything to fear.
I should have thought and acted differently if I had known all her
history. Instead of remaining in Parma I should have gone with her to
London, and I know now that she would have been delighted to go there.
The two artists arrived soon afterwards; they were the 'primo cantatore'
Laschi, and the 'prima donna' Baglioni, then a very pretty woman. The
other guests soon followed; all of them were Frenchmen and Spaniards of a
certain age. No introductions took place, and I read the tact of the
witty hunchback in the omission, but as all the guests were men used to
the manners of the court, that neglect of etiquette did not prevent them
from paying every honour to my lovely friend, who received their
compliments with that ease and good breeding which are known only in
France, and even there only in the highest society, with the exception,
however, of a few French provinces in which the nobility, wrongly called
good society, shew rather too openly the haughtiness which is
characteristic of that class.
The concert began by a magnificent symphony, after which Laschi and
Baglioni sang a duet with great talent and much taste. They were followed
by a pupil of the celebrated Vandini, who played a concerto on the
violoncello, and was warmly applauded.
The applause had not yet ceased when Henriette, leaving her seat, went up
to the young artist, and told him, with modest confidence, as she took
the violoncello from him, that she could bring out the beautiful tone of
the instrument still better. I was struck with amazement. She took the
young man's seat, placed the violoncello between her knees, and begged
the leader of the orchestra to begin the concerto again. The deepest
silence prevailed. I was trembling all over, and almost fainting.
Fortunately every look was fixed upon Henriette, and nobody thought of
me. Nor was she looking towards me, she would not have then ventured even
one glance, for she would have lost courage, if she had raised her
beautiful eyes to my face. However, not seeing her disposing herself to
play, I was beginning to imagine that she had only been indulging in a
jest, when she suddenly made the strings resound. My heart was beating
with such force that I thought I should drop down dead.
But let the reader imagine my situation when, the concerto being over,
well-merited applause burst from every part of the room! The rapid change
from extreme fear to excessive pleasure brought on an excitement which
was like a violent fever. The applause did not seem to have any effect
upon Henriette, who, without raising her eyes from the notes which she
saw for the first time, played six pieces with the greatest perfection.
As she rose from her seat, she did not thank the guests for their
applause, but, addressing the young artist with affability, she told him,
with a sweet smile, that she had never played on a finer instrument.
Then, curtsying to the audience, she said,
"I entreat your forgiveness for a movement of vanity which has made me
encroach on your patience for half an hour."
The nobility and grace of this remark completely upset me, and I ran out
to weep like a child, in the garden where no one could see me.
"Who is she, this Henriette?" I said to myself, my heart beating, and my
eyes swimming with tears of emotion, "what is this treasure I have in my
possession?"
My happiness was so immense that I felt myself unworthy of it.
Lost in these thoughts which enhanced the pleasure of any tears, I should
have stayed for a long tune in the garden if Dubois had not come out to
look for me. He felt anxious about me, owing to my sudden disappearance,
and I quieted him by saying that a slight giddiness had compelled me to
come out to breathe the fresh air.
Before re-entering the room, I had time to dry my tears, but my eyelids
were still red. Henriette, however, was the only one to take notice of
it, and she said to me,
"I know, my darling, why you went into the garden"
She knew me so well that she could easily guess the impression made on my
heart by the evening's occurrence.
Dubois had invited the most amiable noblemen of the court, and his supper
was dainty and well arranged. I was seated opposite Henriette who was, as
a matter of course, monopolizing the general attention, but she would
have met with the same success if she had been surrounded by a circle of
ladies whom she would certainly have thrown into the shade by her beauty,
her wit, and the distinction of her manners. She was the charm of that
supper by the animation she imparted to the conversation. M. Dubois said
nothing, but he was proud to have such a lovely guest in his house. She
contrived to say a few gracious words to everyone, and was shrewd enough
never to utter something witty without making me take a share in it. On
my side, I openly shewed my submissiveness, my deference, and my respect
for that divinity, but it was all in vain. She wanted everybody to know
that I was her lord and master. She might have been taken for my wife,
but my behaviour to her rendered such a supposition improbable.
The conversation having fallen on the respective merits of the French and
Spanish nations, Dubois was foolish enough to ask Henriette to which she
gave preference.
It would have been difficult to ask a more indiscreet question,
considering that the company was composed almost entirely of Frenchmen
and Spaniards in about equal proportion. Yet my Henriette turned the
difficulty so cleverly that the Frenchmen would have liked to be
Spaniards, and 'vice versa'. Dubois, nothing daunted, begged her to say
what she thought of the Italians. The question made me tremble. A certain
M. de la Combe, who was seated near me, shook his head in token of
disapprobation, but Henriette did not try to elude the question.
"What can I say about the Italians," she answered, "I know only one? If I
am to judge them all from that one my judgment must certainly be most
favourable to them, but one single example is not sufficient to establish
the rule."
It was impossible to give a better answer, but as my readers may well
imagine, I did not appear to have heard it, and being anxious to prevent
any more indiscreet questions from Dubois I turned the conversation into
a different channel.
The subject of music was discussed, and a Spaniard asked Henriette
whether she could play any other instrument besides the violoncello.
"No," she answered, "I never felt any inclination for any other. I
learned the violoncello at the convent to please my mother, who can play
it pretty well, and without an order from my father, sanctioned by the
bishop, the abbess would never have given me permission to practise it."
"What objection could the abbess make?"
"That devout spouse of our Lord pretended that I could not play that
instrument without assuming an indecent position."
At this the Spanish guests bit their lips, but the Frenchmen laughed
heartily, and did not spare their epigrams against the over-particular
abbess.
After a short silence, Henriette rose, and we all followed her example.
It was the signal for breaking up the party, and we soon took our leave.
I longed to find myself alone with the idol of my soul. I asked her a
hundred questions without waiting for the answers.
"Ah! you were right, my own Henriette, when you refused to go to that
concert, for you knew that you would raise many enemies against me. I am
certain that all those men hate me, but what do I care? You are my
universe! Cruel darling, you almost killed me with your violoncello,
because, having no idea of your being a musician, I thought you had gone
mad, and when I heard you I was compelled to leave the room in order to
weep undisturbed. My tears relieved my fearful oppression. Oh! I entreat
you to tell me what other talents you possess. Tell me candidly, for you
might kill me if you brought them out unexpectedly, as you have done this
evening."
"I have no other accomplishments, my best beloved. I have emptied my bag
all at once. Now you know your Henriette entirely. Had you not chanced to
tell me about a month ago that you had no taste for music, I would have
told you that I could play the violoncello remarkably well, but if I had
mentioned such a thing, I know you well enough to be certain that you
would have bought an instrument immediately, and I could not, dearest,
find pleasure in anything that would weary you."
The very next morning she had an excellent violoncello, and, far from
wearying me, each time she played she caused me a new and greater
pleasure. I believe that it would be impossible even to a man disliking
music not to become passionately fond of it, if that art were practised
to perfection by the woman he adores.
The 'vox humana' of the violoncello; the king of instruments, went to my
heart every time that my beloved Henriette performed upon it. She knew I
loved to hear her play, and every day she afforded me that pleasure. Her
talent delighted me so much that I proposed to her to give some concerts,
but she was prudent enough to refuse my proposal. But in spite of all her
prudence we had no power to hinder the decrees of fate.
The fatal hunchback came the day after his fine supper to thank us and to
receive our well-merited praises of his concert, his supper, and the
distinction of his guests.
"I foresee, madam," he said to Henriette, "all the difficulty I shall
have in defending myself against the prayers of all my friends, who will
beg of me to introduce them to you."
"You need not have much trouble on that score: you know that I never,
receive anyone."
Dubois did not again venture upon speaking of introducing any friend.
On the same day I received a letter from young Capitani, in which he
informed me that, being the owner of St. Peter's knife and sheath, he had
called on Franzia with two learned magicians who had promised to raise
the treasure out of the earth, and that to his great surprise Franzia had
refused to receive him: He entreated me to write to the worthy fellow,
and to go to him myself if I wanted to have my share of the treasure. I
need not say that I did not comply with his wishes, but I can vouch for
the real pleasure I felt in finding that I had succeeded in saving that
honest and simple farmer from the impostors who would have ruined him.
One month was gone since the great supper given by Dubois. We had passed
it in all the enjoyment which can be derived both from the senses and the
mind, and never had one single instant of weariness caused either of us
to be guilty of that sad symptom of misery which is called a yawn. The
only pleasure we took out of doors was a drive outside of the city when
the weather was fine. As we never walked in the streets, and never
frequented any public place, no one had sought to make our acquaintance,
or at least no one had found an opportunity of doing so, in spite of all
the curiosity excited by Henriette amongst the persons whom we had
chanced to meet, particularly at the house of Dubois. Henriette had
become more courageous, and I more confident, when we found that she had
not been recognized by any one either at that supper or at the theatre.
She only dreaded persons belonging to the high nobility.
One day as we were driving outside the Gate of Colorno, we met the duke
and duchess who were returning to Parma. Immediately after their carriage
another vehicle drove along, in which was Dubois with a nobleman unknown
to us. Our carriage had only gone a few yards from theirs when one of our
horses broke down. The companion of Dubois immediately ordered his
coachman to stop in order to send to our assistance. Whilst the horse was
raised again, he came politely to our carriage, and paid some civil
compliment to Henriette. M. Dubois, always a shrewd courtier and anxious
to shew off at the expense of others, lost no time in introducing him as
M. Dutillot, the French ambassador. My sweetheart gave the conventional
bow. The horse being all right again, we proceeded on our road after
thanking the gentlemen for their courtesy. Such an every-day occurrence
could not be expected to have any serious consequences, but alas! the
most important events are often the result of very trifling
circumstances!
The next day, Dubois breakfasted with us. He told us frankly that M.
Dutillot had been delighted at the fortunate chance which had afforded
him an opportunity of making our acquaintance, and that he had entreated
him to ask our permission to call on us.
"On madam or on me?" I asked at once.
"On both."
"Very well, but one at a time. Madam, as you know, has her own room and I
have mine."
"Yes, but they are so near each other!"
"Granted, yet I must tell you that, as far as I am concerned, I should
have much pleasure in waiting upon his excellency if he should ever wish
to communicate with me, and you will oblige me by letting him know it. As
for madam, she is here, speak to her, my dear M. Dubois, for I am only
her very humble servant."
Henriette assumed an air of cheerful politeness, and said to him,
"Sir, I beg you will offer my thanks to M. Dutillot, and enquire from him
whether he knows me."
"I am certain, madam," said the hunchback, "that he does not."
"You see he does not know me, and yet he wishes to call on me. You must
agree with me that if I accepted his visits I should give him a singular
opinion of my character. Be good enough to tell him that, although known
to no one and knowing no one, I am not an adventuress, and therefore I
must decline the honour of his visits."
Dubois felt that he had taken a false step, and remained silent. We never
asked him how the ambassador had received our refusal.
Three weeks after the last occurrence, the ducal court residing then at
Colorno, a great entertainment was given in the gardens which were to be
illuminated all night. Everybody had permission to walk about the
gardens. Dubois, the fatal hunchback appointed by destiny, spoke so much
of that festival, that we took a fancy to see it. Always the same story
of Adam's apple. Dubois accompanied us. We went to Colorno the day before
the entertainment, and put up at an inn.
In the evening we walked through the gardens, in which we happened to
meet the ducal family and suite. According to the etiquette of the French
court, Madame de France was the first to curtsy to Henriette, without
stopping. My eyes fell upon a gentleman walking by the side of Don Louis,
who was looking at my friend very attentively. A few minutes after, as we
were retracing our steps, we came across the same gentleman who, after
bowing respectfully to us, took Dubois aside. They conversed together for
a quarter of an hour, following us all the time, and we were passing out
of the gardens, when the gentleman, coming forward, and politely
apologizing to me, asked Henriette whether he had the honour to be known
to her.
"I do not recollect having ever had the honour of seeing you before."
"That is enough, madam, and I entreat you to forgive me."
Dubois informed us that the gentleman was the intimate friend of the
Infante Don Louis, and that, believing he knew madam, he had begged to be
introduced. Dubois had answered that her name was D'Arci, and that, if he
was known to the lady, he required no introduction. M. d'Antoine said
that the name of D'Arci was unknown to him, and that he was afraid of
making a mistake. "In that state of doubt," added Dubois, "and wishing to
clear it, he introduced himself, but now he must see that he was
mistaken."
After supper, Henriette appeared anxious. I asked her whether she had
only pretended not to know M. d'Antoine.
"No, dearest, I can assure you. I know his name which belongs to an
illustrious family of Provence, but I have never seen him before."
"Perhaps he may know you?"
"He might have seen me, but I am certain that he never spoke to me, or I
would have recollected him."
"That meeting causes me great anxiety, and it seems to have troubled
you."
"I confess it has disturbed my mind."
"Let us leave Parma at once and proceed to Genoa. We will go to Venice as
soon as my affairs there are settled."
"Yes, my dear friend, we shall then feel more comfortable. But I do not
think we need be in any hurry."
We returned to Parma, and two days afterwards my servant handed me a
letter, saying that the footman who had brought it was waiting in the
ante-room.
"This letter," I said to Henriette, "troubles me."
She took it, and after she had read it--she gave it back to me, saying,
"I think M. d'Antoine is a man of honour, and I hope that we may have
nothing to fear."
The letter ran as, follows:
"Either at your hotel or at my residence, or at any other place you may
wish to appoint, I entreat you, sir, to give me an opportunity of
conversing with you on a subject which must be of the greatest importance
to you.
"I have the honour to be, etc.
"D'ANTOINE."
It was addressed M. Farusi.
"I think I must see him," I said, "but where?"
"Neither here nor at his residence, but in the ducal gardens. Your answer
must name only the place and the hour of the meeting."
I wrote to M. d'Antoine that I would see him at half-past eleven in the
ducal gardens, only requesting him to appoint another hour in case mine
was not convenient to him.
I dressed myself at once in order to be in good time, and meanwhile we
both endeavoured, Henriette and I, to keep a cheerful countenance, but we
could not silence our sad forebodings. I was exact to my appointment and
found M. d'Antoine waiting for me. As soon as we were together, he said
to me,
"I have been compelled, sir, to beg from you the favour of an interview,
because I could not imagine any surer way to get this letter to Madame
d'Arci's hands. I entreat you to deliver it to her, and to excuse me if I
give it you sealed. Should I be mistaken, my letter will not even require
an answer, but should I be right, Madame d'Arci alone can judge whether
she ought to communicate it to you. That is my reason for giving it to
you sealed. If you are truly her friend, the contents of that letter must
be as interesting to you as to her. May I hope, sir, that you will be
good enough to deliver it to her?"
"Sir, on my honour I will do it."
We bowed respectfully to each other, and parted company. I hurried back
to the hotel.
CHAPTER III
Henriette Receives the Visit of M. d'Antoine I Accompany Her
as Far as Geneva and Then I Lose Her--I Cross the St.
Bernard, and Return to Parma--A Letter from Hensiette--
My Despair--De La Haye Becomes Attached to Me--Unpleasant
Adventure with an Actress and Its Consequences--I Turn a
Thorough Bigot--Bavois--I Mystify a Bragging Officer.
As soon as I had reached our apartment, my heart bursting with anxiety, I
repeated to Henriette every word spoken by M. d'Antoine, and delivered
his letter which contained four pages of writing. She read it attentively
with visible emotion, and then she said,
"Dearest friend, do not be offended, but the honour of two families does
not allow of my imparting to you the contents of this letter. I am
compelled to receive M. d'Antoine, who represents himself as being one of
my relatives."
"Ah!" I exclaimed, "this is the beginning of the end! What a dreadful
thought! I am near the end of a felicity which was too great to last!
Wretch that I have been! Why did I tarry so long in Parma? What fatal
blindness! Of all the cities in the whole world, except France, Parma was
the only one I had to fear, and it is here that I have brought you, when
I could have taken you anywhere else, for you had no will but mine! I am
all the more guilty that you never concealed your fears from me. Why did
I introduce that fatal Dubois here? Ought I not to have guessed that his
curiosity would sooner or later prove injurious to us? And yet I cannot
condemn that curiosity, for it is, alas! a natural feeling. I can only
accuse all the perfections which Heaven has bestowed upon
you!--perfections which have caused my happiness, and which will plunge
me in an abyss of despair, for, alas! I foresee a future of fearful
misery."
"I entreat you, dearest, to foresee nothing, and to calm yourself. Let us
avail ourselves of all our reason in order to prove ourselves superior to
circumstances, whatever they may be. I cannot answer this letter, but you
must write to M. d'Antoine to call here tomorrow and to send up his
name."
"Alas! you compel me to perform a painful task."
"You are my best, my only friend; I demand nothing, I impose no task upon
you, but can you refuse me?"
"No, never, no matter what you ask. Dispose of me, I am yours in life and
death."
"I knew what you would answer. You must be with me when M. d'Antoine
calls, but after a few minutes given to etiquette, will you find some
pretext to go to your room, and leave us alone? M. d'Antoine knows all my
history; he knows in what I have done wrong, in what I have been right;
as a man of honour, as my relative, he must shelter me from all affront.
He shall not do anything against my will, and if he attempts to deviate
from the conditions I will dictate to him, I will refuse to go to France,
I will follow you anywhere, and devote to you the remainder of my life.
Yet, my darling, recollect that some fatal circumstances may compel us to
consider our separation as the wisest course to adopt, that we must
husband all our courage to adopt it, if necessary, and to endeavour not
to be too unhappy.
"Have confidence in me, and be quite certain that I shall take care to
reserve for myself the small portion of happiness which I can be allowed
to enjoy without the man who alone has won all my devoted love. You will
have, I trust, and I expect it from your generous soul, the same care of
your future, and I feel certain that you must succeed. In the mean time,
let us drive away all the sad forebodings which might darken the hours we
have yet before us."
"Ah! why did we not go away immediately after we had met that accursed
favourite of the Infante!"
"We might have made matters much worse; for in that case M. d'Antoine
might have made up his mind to give my family a proof of his zeal by
instituting a search to discover our place of residence, and I should
then have been exposed to violent proceedings which you would not have
endured. It would have been fatal to both of us."
I did everything she asked me. From that moment our love became sad, and
sadness is a disease which gives the death-blow to affection. We would
often remain a whole hour opposite each other without exchanging a single
word, and our sighs would be heard whatever we did to hush them.
The next day, when M. d'Antoine called, I followed exactly the
instructions she had given me, and for six mortal hours I remained alone,
pretending to write.
The door of my room was open, and a large looking-glass allowed us to see
each other. They spent those six hours in writing, occasionally stopping
to talk of I do not know what, but their conversation was evidently a
decisive one. The reader can easily realize how much I suffered during
that long torture, for I could expect nothing but the total wreck of my
happiness.
As soon as the terrible M. d'Antoine had taken leave of her, Henriette
came to me, and observing that her eyes were red I heaved a deep sigh,
but she tried to smile.
"Shall we go away to-morrow, dearest?"
"Oh! yes, I am ready. Where do you wish me to take you?"
"Anywhere you like, but we must be here in a fortnight."
"Here! Oh, fatal illusion!"
"Alas! it is so. I have promised to be here to receive the answer to a
letter I have just written. We have no violent proceedings to fear, but I
cannot bear to remain in Parma."
"Ah! I curse the hour which brought us to this city. Would you like to go
to Milan?"
"Yes."
"As we are unfortunately compelled to come back, we may as well take with
us Caudagna and his sister."
"As you please."
"Let me arrange everything. I will order a carriage for them, and they
will take charge of your violoncello. Do you not think that you ought to
let M. d'Antoine know where we are going?"
"No, it seems to me, on the contrary, that I need not account to him for
any of my proceedings. So much the worse for him if he should, even for
one moment, doubt my word."
The next morning, we left Parma, taking only what we wanted for an
absence of a fortnight. We arrived in Milan without accident, but both
very sad, and we spent the following fifteen days in constant
tete-a-tete, without speaking to anyone, except the landlord of the hotel
and to a dressmaker. I presented my beloved Henriette with a magnificent
pelisse made of lynx fur--a present which she prized highly.
Out of delicacy, she had never enquired about my means, and I felt
grateful to her for that reserve. I was very careful to conceal from her
the fact that my purse was getting very light. When we came back to Parma
I had only three or four hundred sequins.
The day after our return M. d'Antoine invited himself to dine with us,
and after we had drunk coffee, I left him alone with Henriette. Their
interview was as long as the first, and our separation was decided. She
informed me of it, immediately after the departure of M. d'Antoine, and
for a long time we remained folded in each other's arms, silent, and
blending our bitter tears.
"When shall I have to part from you, my beloved, alas! too much beloved
one?"
"Be calm, dearest, only when we reach Geneva, whither you are going to
accompany me. Will you try to find me a respectable maid by to-morrow?
She will accompany me from Geneva to the place where I am bound to go."
"Oh! then, we shall spend a few days more together! I know no one but
Dubois whom I could trust to procure a good femme-de-chambre; only I do
not want him to learn from her what you might not wish him to know."
"That will not be the case, for I will take another maid as soon as I am
in France."
Three days afterwards, Dubois, who had gladly undertaken the commission,
presented to Henriette a woman already somewhat advanced in years, pretty
well dressed and respectable-looking, who, being poor, was glad of an
opportunity of going back to France, her native country. Her husband, an
old military officer, had died a few months before, leaving her totally
unprovided for. Henriette engaged her, and told her to keep herself ready
to start whenever M. Dubois should give her notice. The day before the
one fixed for our departure, M. d'Antoine dined with us, and, before
taking leave of us, he gave Henriette a sealed letter for Geneva.
We left Parma late in the evening, and stopped only two hours in Turin,
in order to engage a manservant whose services we required as far as
Geneva. The next day we ascended Mont Cenis in sedan-chairs, and we
descended to the Novalaise in mountain-sledges. On the fifth day we
reached Geneva, and we put up at the Hotel des Balances. The next
morning, Henriette gave me a letter for the banker Tronchin, who, when he
had read it, told me that he would call himself at the hotel, and bring
me one thousand louis d'or.
I came back and we sat down to dinner. We had not finished our meal when
the banker was announced. He had brought the thousand louis d'or, and
told Henriette that he would give her two men whom he could recommend in
every way.
She answered that she would leave Geneva as soon as she had the carriage
which he was to provide for her, according to the letter I had delivered
to him. He promised that everything would be ready for the following day,
and he left us. It was indeed a terrible moment! Grief almost benumbed us
both. We remained motionless, speechless, wrapped up in the most profound
despair.
I broke that sad silence to tell her that the carriage which M. Tronchin
would provide could not possibly be as comfortable and as safe as mine,
and I entreated her to take it, assuring her that by accepting it she
would give me a last proof of her affection.
"I will take in exchange, my dearest love, the carriage sent by the
banker."
"I accept the change, darling," she answered, "it will be a great
consolation to possess something which has belonged to you."
As she said these words, she slipped in my pocket five rolls containing
each one hundred louis d'or--a slight consolation for my heart, which was
almost broken by our cruel separation! During the last twenty-four hours
we could boast of no other eloquence but that which finds expression in
tears, in sobs, and in those hackneyed but energetic exclamations, which
two happy lovers are sure to address to reason, when in its sternness it
compels them to part from one another in the very height of their
felicity. Henriette did not endeavour to lure me with any hope for the
future, in order to allay my sorrow! Far from that, she said to me,
"Once we are parted by fate, my best and only friend, never enquire after
me, and, should chance throw you in my way, do not appear to know me."
She gave me a letter for M. d'Antoine, without asking me whether I
intended to go back to Parma, but, even if such had not been my
intention, I should have determined at once upon returning to that city.
She likewise entreated me not to leave Geneva until I had received a
letter which she promised to, write to me from the first stage on her
journey. She started at day-break, having with her a maid, a footman on
the box of the carriage, and being preceded by a courier on horseback. I
followed her with my eyes as long as I could, see her carriage, and I was
still standing on the same spot long after my eyes had lost sight of it.
All my thoughts were wrapped up in the beloved object I had lost for
ever. The world was a blank!
I went back to my room, ordered the waiter not to disturb me until the
return of the horses which had drawn Henriette's carriage, and I lay down
on my bed in the hope that sleep would for a time silence a grief which
tears could not drown.
The postillion who had driven Henriette did not return till the next day;
he had gone as far as Chatillon. He brought me a letter in which I found
one single word: Adieu! He told me that they had reached Chatillon
without accident, and that the lady had immediately continued her journey
towards Lyons. As I could not leave Geneva until the following day, I
spent alone in my room some of the most melancholy hours of my life. I
saw on one of the panes of glass of a window these words which she had
traced with the point of a diamond I had given her: "You will forget
Henriette." That prophecy was not likely to afford me any consolation.
But had she attached its full meaning to the word "forget?" No; she could
only mean that time would at last heal the deep wounds of my heart, and
she ought not to have made it deeper by leaving behind her those words
which sounded like a reproach. No, I have not forgotten her, for even
now, when my head is covered with white hair, the recollection of her is
still a source of happiness for my heart! When I think that in my old age
I derive happiness only from my recollections of the past, I find that my
long life must have counted more bright than dark days, and offering my
thanks to God, the Giver of all, I congratulate myself, and confess that
life is a great blessing.
The next day I set off again for Italy with a servant recommended by M.
Tronchin, and although the season was not favourable I took the road over
Mont St. Bernard, which I crossed in three days, with seven mules
carrying me, my servant, my luggage, and the carriage sent by the banker
to the beloved woman now for ever lost to me. One of the advantages of a
great sorrow is that nothing else seems painful. It is a sort of despair
which is not without some sweetness. During that journey I never felt
either hunger or thirst, or the cold which is so intense in that part of
the Alps that the whole of nature seems to turn to ice, or the fatigue
inseparable from such a difficult and dangerous journey.
I arrived in Parma in pretty good health, and took up my quarters at a
small inn, in the hope that in such a place I should not meet any
acquaintance of mine. But I was much disappointed, for I found in that
inn M. de la Haye, who had a room next to mine. Surprised at seeing me,
he paid me a long compliment, trying to make me speak, but I eluded his
curiosity by telling him that I was tired, and that we would see each
other again.
On the following day I called upon M. d'Antoine, and delivered the letter
which Henriette had written to him. He opened it in my presence, and
finding another to my address enclosed in his, he handed it to me without
reading it, although it was not sealed. Thinking, however, that it might
have been Henriette's intention that he should read it because it was
open, he asked my permission to do so, which I granted with pleasure as
soon as I had myself perused it. He handed it back to me after he had
read it, telling me very feelingly that I could in everything rely upon
him and upon his influence and credit.
Here is Henriette's letter
"It is I, dearest and best friend, who have been compelled to abandon
you, but do not let your grief be increased by any thought of my sorrow.
Let us be wise enough to suppose that we have had a happy dream, and not
to complain of destiny, for never did so beautiful a dream last so long!
Let us be proud of the consciousness that for three months we gave one
another the most perfect felicity. Few human beings can boast of so much!
Let us swear never to forget one another, and to often remember the happy
hours of our love, in order to renew them in our souls, which, although
divided, will enjoy them as acutely as if our hearts were beating one
against the other. Do not make any enquiries about me, and if chance
should let you know who I am, forget it for ever. I feel certain that you
will be glad to hear that I have arranged my affairs so well that I
shall, for the remainder of my life, be as happy as I can possibly be
without you, dear friend, by my side. I do not know who you are, but I am
certain that no one in the world knows you better than I do. I shall not
have another lover as long as I live, but I do not wish you to imitate
me. On the contrary I hope that you will love again, and I trust that a
good fairy will bring along your path another Henriette. Farewell . . .
farewell."
......................
I met that adorable woman fifteen years later; the reader will see where
and how, when we come to that period of my life.
......................
I went back to my room, careless of the future, broken down by the
deepest of sorrows, I locked myself in, and went to bed. I felt so low in
spirits that I was stunned. Life was not a burden, but only because I did
not give a thought to life. In fact I was in a state of complete apathy,
moral and physical. Six years later I found myself in a similar
predicament, but that time love was not the cause of my sorrow; it was
the horrible and too famous prison of The Leads, in Venice.
I was not much better either in 1768, when I was lodged in the prison of
Buen Retiro, in Madrid, but I must not anticipate events. At the end of
twenty-four hours, my exhaustion was very great, but I did not find the
sensation disagreeable, and, in the state of mind in which I was then, I
was pleased with the idea that, by increasing, that weakness would at
last kill me. I was delighted to see that no one disturbed me to offer me
some food, and I congratulated myself upon having dismissed my servant.
Twenty-four more hours passed by, and my weakness became complete
inanition.
I was in that state when De la Haye knocked at my door. I would not have
answered if he had not said that someone insisted upon seeing me. I got
out of bed, and, scarcely able to stand, I opened my door, after which I
got into bed again.
"There is a stranger here," he said, "who, being in want of a carriage,
offers to buy yours"
"I do not want to sell it."
"Excuse me if I have disturbed you, but you look ill."
"Yes, I wish to be left alone."
"What is the matter with you?"
Coming nearer my bed, he took my hand, and found my pulse extremely low
and weak.
"What did you eat yesterday?"
"I have eaten nothing, thank God I for two days."
Guessing the real state of things, De la Haye became anxious, and
entreated me to take some broth. He threw so much kindness, so much
unction, into his entreaties that, through weakness and weariness, I
allowed myself to be persuaded. Then, without ever mentioning the name of
Henriette, he treated me to a sermon upon the life to come, upon the
vanity of the things of this life which we are foolish enough to prefer,
and upon the necessity of respecting our existence, which does not belong
to us.
I was listening without answering one word, but, after all, I was
listening, and De la Haye, perceiving his advantage, would not leave me,
and ordered dinner. I had neither the will nor the strength to resist,
and when the dinner was served, I ate something. Then De la Have saw that
he had conquered, and for the remainder of the day devoted himself to
amusing me by his cheerful conversation.
The next day the tables were turned, for it was I who invited him to keep
me company and to dine with me. It seemed to me that I had not lost a
particle of my sadness, but life appeared to me once more preferable to
death, and, thinking that I was indebted to him for the preservation of
my life, I made a great friend of him. My readers will see presently that
my affection for him went very far, and they will, like me, marvel at the
cause of that friendship, and at the means through which it was brought
about.
Three or four days afterwards, Dubois, who had been informed of
everything by De la Haye, called on me, and persuaded me to go out. I
went to the theatre, where I made the acquaintance of several Corsican
officers, who had served in France, in the Royal Italian regiment. I also
met a young man from Sicily, named Paterno, the wildest and most heedless
fellow it was possible to see. He was in love with an actress who made a
fool of him. He amused me with the enumeration of all her adorable
qualities, and of all the cruelties she was practising upon him, for,
although she received him at all hours, she repulsed him harshly whenever
he tried to steal the slightest favour. In the mean time, she ruined him
by making him pay constantly for excellent dinners and suppers, which
were eaten by her family, but which did not advance him one inch towards
the fulfilment of his wishes.
He succeeded at last in exciting my curiosity. I examined the actress on
the stage, and finding that she was not without beauty I expressed a wish
to know her. Paterno was delighted to introduce me to her.
I found that she was of tolerably easy virtue, and, knowing that she was
very far from rolling in riches, I had no doubt that fifteen or twenty
sequins would be quite sufficient to make her compliant. I communicated
my thoughts to Paterno, but he laughed and told me that, if I dared to
make such a proposition to her, she would certainly shut her door against
me. He named several officers whom she had refused to receive again,
because they had made similar offers.
"Yet," added the young man, "I wish you would make the attempt, and tell
me the result candidly."
I felt piqued, and promised to do it.
I paid her a visit in her dressing-room at the theatre, and as she
happened during our conversation to praise the beauty of my watch, I told
her that she could easily obtain possession of it, and I said at what
price. She answered, according to the catechism of her profession, that
an honourable man had no right to make such an offer to a respectable
girl.
"I offer only one ducat," said I, "to those who are not respectable."
And I left her.
When I told Paterno what had occurred, he fairly jumped for joy, but I
knew what to think of it all, for 'cosi sono tutte', and in spite of all
his entreaties, I declined to be present at his suppers, which were far
from amusing, and gave the family of the actress an opportunity of
laughing at the poor fool who was paying for them.
Seven or eight days afterwards, Paterno told me that the actress had
related the affair to him exactly in the same words which I had used, and
she had added that, if I had ceased my visits, it was only because I was
afraid of her taking me at my word in case I should renew my proposal. I
commissioned him to tell her that I would pay her another visit, not to
renew my offer, but to shew my contempt for any proposal she might make
me herself.
The heedless fellow fulfilled his commission so well that the actress,
feeling insulted, told him that she dared me to call on her. Perfectly
determined to shew that I despised her, I went to her dressing-room the
same evening, after the second act of a play in which she had not to
appear again. She dismissed those who were with her, saying that she
wanted to speak with me, and, after she had bolted the door, she sat down
gracefully on my knees, asking me whether it was true that I despised her
so much.
In such a position a man has not the courage to insult a woman, and,
instead of answering, I set to work at once, without meeting even with
that show of resistance which sharpens the appetite. In spite of that,
dupe as I always was of a feeling truly absurd when an intelligent man
has to deal with such creatures, I gave her twenty sequins, and I confess
that it was paying dearly for very smarting regrets. We both laughed at
the stupidity of Paterno, who did not seem to know how such challenges
generally end.
I saw the unlucky son of Sicily the next morning, and I told him that,
having found the actress very dull, I would not see her again. Such was
truly my intention, but a very important reason, which nature took care
to explain to me three days afterwards, compelled me to keep my word
through a much more serious motive than a simple dislike for the woman.
However, although I was deeply grieved to find myself in such a
disgraceful position, I did not think I had any right to complain. On the
contrary, I considered that my misfortune to be a just and well-deserved
punishment for having abandoned myself to a Lais, after I had enjoyed the
felicity of possessing a woman like Henriette.
My disease was not a case within the province of empirics, and I
bethought myself of confiding in M. de is Haye who was then dining every
day with me, and made no mystery of his poverty. He placed me in the
hands of a skilful surgeon, who was at the same time a dentist. He
recognized certain symptoms which made it a necessity to sacrifice me to
the god Mercury, and that treatment, owing to the season of the year,
compelled me to keep my room for six weeks. It was during the winter of
1749.
While I was thus curing myself of an ugly disease, De la Haye inoculated
me with another as bad, perhaps even worse, which I should never have
thought myself susceptible of catching. This Fleming, who left me only
for one hour in the morning, to go--at least he said so--to church to
perform his devotions, made a bigot of me! And to such an extent, that I
agreed with him that I was indeed fortunate to have caught a disease
which was the origin of the faith now taking possession of my soul. I
would thank God fervently and with the most complete conviction for
having employed Mercury to lead my mind, until then wrapped in darkness,
to the pure light of holy truth! There is no doubt that such an
extraordinary change in my reasoning system was the result of the
exhaustion brought on by the mercury. That impure and always injurious
metal had weakened my mind to such an extent that I had become almost
besotted, and I fancied that until then my judgment had been insane. The
result was that, in my newly acquired wisdom, I took the resolution of
leading a totally different sort of life in future. De la Haye would
often cry for joy when he saw me shedding tears caused by the contrition
which he had had the wonderful cleverness to sow in my poor sickly soul.
He would talk to me of paradise and the other world, just as if he had
visited them in person, and I never laughed at him! He had accustomed me
to renounce my reason; now to renounce that divine faculty a man must no
longer be conscious of its value, he must have become an idiot. The
reader may judge of the state to which I was reduced by the following
specimen. One day, De la Haye said to me:
"It is not known whether God created the world during the vernal equinox
or during the autumnal one."
"Creation being granted," I replied, in spite of the mercury, "such a
question is childish, for the seasons are relative, and differ in the
different quarters of the globe."
De la Haye reproached me with the heathenism of my ideas, told me that I
must abandon such impious reasonings.... and I gave way!
That man had been a Jesuit. He not only, however, refused to admit it,
but he would not even suffer anyone to mention it to him. This is how he
completed his work of seduction by telling me the history of his life.
"After I had been educated in a good school," he said, "and had devoted
myself with some success to the arts and sciences, I was for twenty years
employed at the University of Paris. Afterwards I served as an engineer
in the army, and since that time I have published several works
anonymously, which are now in use in every boys' school. Having given up
the military service, and being poor, I undertook and completed the
education of several young men, some of whom shine now in the world even
more by their excellent conduct than by their talents. My last pupil was
the Marquis Botta. Now being without employment I live, as you see,
trusting in God's providence. Four years ago, I made the acquaintance of
Baron Bavois, from Lausanne, son of General Bavois who commanded a
regiment in the service of the Duke of Modem, and afterwards was
unfortunate enough to make himself too conspicuous. The young baron, a
Calvinist like his father, did not like the idle life he was leading at
home, and he solicited me to undertake his education in order to fit him
for a military career. Delighted at the opportunity of cultivating his
fine natural disposition, I gave up everything to devote myself entirely
to my task. I soon discovered that, in the question of faith, he knew
himself to be in error, and that he remained a Calvinist only out of
respect to his family. When I had found out his secret feelings on that
head, I had no difficulty in proving to him that his most important
interests were involved in that question, as his eternal salvation was at
stake. Struck by the truth of my words, he abandoned himself to my
affection, and I took him to Rome, where I presented him to the Pope,
Benedict XIV., who, immediately after the abjuration of my pupil got him
a lieutenancy in the army of the Duke of Modena. But the dear proselyte,
who is only twenty-five years of age, cannot live upon his pay of seven
sequins a month, and since his abjuration he has received nothing from
his parents, who are highly incensed at what they call his apostacy. He
would find himself compelled to go back to Lausanne, if I did not assist
him. But, alas! I am poor, and without employment, so I can only send him
the trifling sums which I can obtain from the few good Christians with
whom I am acquainted.
"My pupil, whose heart is full of gratitude, would be very glad to know
his benefactors, but they refuse to acquaint him with their names, and
they are right, because charity, in order to be meritorious, must not
partake of any feeling of vanity. Thank God, I have no cause for such a
feeling! I am but too happy to act as a father towards a young saint, and
to have had a share, as the humble instrument of the Almighty, in the
salvation of his soul. That handsome and good young man trusts no one but
me, and writes to me regularly twice a week. I am too discreet to
communicate his letters to you, but, if you were to read them, they would
make you weep for sympathy. It is to him that I have sent the three gold
pieces which you gave me yesterday."
As he said the last words my converter rose, and went to the window to
dry his tears, I felt deeply moved, anal full of admiration for the
virtue of De la Haye and of his pupil, who, to save his soul, had placed
himself under the hard necessity of accepting alms. I cried as well as
the apostle, and in my dawning piety I told him that I insisted not only
upon remaining unknown to his pupil, but also upon ignoring the amount of
the sums he might take out of my purse to forward to him, and I therefore
begged that he would help himself without rendering me any account. De la
Haye embraced me warmly, saying that, by following the precepts of the
Gospel so well, I should certainly win the kingdom of heaven.
The mind is sure to follow the body; it is a privilege enjoyed by matter.
With an empty stomach, I became a fanatic; and the hollow made in my
brain by the mercury became the home of enthusiasm. Without mentioning it
to De la Haye, I wrote to my three friends, Messrs. Bragadin and company,
several letters full of pathos concerning my Tartufe and his pupil, and I
managed to communicate my fanaticism to them. You are aware, dear reader,
that nothing is so catching as the plague; now, fanaticism, no matter of
what nature, is only the plague of the human mind.
I made my friends to understand that the good of our society depended
upon the admission of these two virtuous individuals. I allowed them to
guess it, but, having myself became a Jesuit, I took care not to say it
openly. It would of course be better if such an idea appeared to have
emanated from those men, so simple, and at the same time so truly
virtuous. "It is God's will," I wrote to them (for deceit must always
take refuge under the protection of that sacred name), "that you employ
all your influence in Venice to find an honourable position for M. de la
Haye, and to promote the interests of young M. Bavois in his profession."
M. de Bragadin answered that De la Haye could take up his quarters with
us in his palace, and that Bavois was to write to his protector, the
Pope, entreating His Holiness to recommend him to the ambassador of
Venice, who would then forward that recommendation to the Senate, and
that Bavois could, in that way, feel sure of good employment.
The affair of the Patriarchate of Aquileia was at that time under
discussion; the Republic of Venice was in possession of it as well as the
Emperor of Austria, who claimed the 'jus eligendi': the Pope Benedict
XIV. had been chosen as arbitrator, and as he had not yet given his
decision it was evident that the Republic would shew very great deference
to his recommendation.
While that important affair was enlisting all our sympathies, and while
they were expecting in Venice a letter stating the effect of the Pope's
recommendation, I was the hero of a comic adventure which, for the sake
of my readers, must not pass unnoticed.
At the beginning of April I was entirely cured of my last misfortune. I
had recovered all my usual vigour, and I accompanied my converter to
church every day, never missing a sermon. We likewise spent the evening
together at the cafe, where we generally met a great many officers. There
was among them a Provencal who amused everybody with his boasting and
with the recital of the military exploits by which he pretended to have
distinguished himself in the service of several countries, and
principally in Spain. As he was truly a source of amusement, everybody
pretended to believe him in order to keep up the game. One day as I was
staring at him, he asked me whether I knew him.
"By George, sir!"--I exclaimed, "know you! Why, did we not fight side by
side at the battle of Arbela?"
At those words everybody burst out laughing, but the boaster, nothing
daunted, said, with animation,
"Well, gentlemen, I do not see anything so very laughable in that. I was
at that battle, and therefore this gentleman might very well have
remarked me; in fact, I think I can recollect him."
And, continuing to speak to me, he named the regiment in which we were
brother officers. Of course we embraced one another, congratulating each
other upon the pleasure we both felt in meeting again in Parma. After
that truly comic joke I left the coffee-room in the company of my
inseparable preacher.
The next morning, as I was at breakfast with De la Haye, the boasting
Provencal entered my room without taking off his hat, and said,
"M. d'Arbela, I have something of importance to tell you; make haste and
follow me. If you are afraid, you may take anyone you please with you. I
am good for half a dozen men."
I left my chair, seized my pistols, and aimed at him.
"No one," I said, with decision, "has the right to come and disturb me in
my room; be off this minute, or I blow your brains out."
The fellow, drawing his sword, dared me to murder him, but at the same
moment De la Haye threw himself between us, stamping violently on the
floor. The landlord came up, and threatened the officer to send for the
police if he did not withdraw immediately.
He went away, saying that I had insulted him in public, and that he would
take care that the reparation I owed him should be as public as the
insult.
When he had gone, seeing that the affair might take a tragic turn, I
began to examine with De la Haye how it could be avoided, but we had not
long to puzzle our imagination, for in less than half an hour an officer
of the Infante of Parma presented himself, and requested me to repair
immediately to head-quarters, where M. de Bertolan, Commander of Parma,
wanted to speak to me.
I asked De la Haye to accompany me as a witness of what I had said in the
coffee-room as well as of what had taken place in my apartment.
I presented myself before the commander, whom I found surrounded by
several officers, and, among them, the bragging Provencal.
M. de Bertolan, who was a witty man, smiled when he saw me; then, with a
very serious countenance, he said to me,
"Sir, as you have made a laughing-stock of this officer in a public
place, it is but right that you should give him publicly the satisfaction
which he claims, and as commander of this city I find myself bound in
duty to ask you for that satisfaction in order to settle the affair
amicably."
"Commander," I answered, "I do not see why a satisfaction should be
offered to this gentleman, for it is not true that I have insulted him by
turning him into ridicule. I told him that I had seen him at the battle
of Arbela, and I could not have any doubt about it when he said that he
had been present at that battle, and that he knew me again."
"Yes," interrupted the officer, "but I heard Rodela and not Arbela, and
everybody knows that I fought at Rodela. But you said Arbela, and
certainly with the intention of laughing at me, since that battle has
been fought more than two thousand years ago, while the battle of Rodela
in Africa took place in our time, and I was there under the orders of the
Duke de Mortemar."
"In the first place, sir, you have no right to judge of my intentions,
but I do not dispute your having been present at Rodela, since you say
so; but in that case the tables are turned, and now I demand a reparation
from you if you dare discredit my having been at Arbela. I certainly did
not serve under the Duke de Mortemar, because he was not there, at least
to my knowledge, but I was aid-de-camp of Parmenion, and I was wounded
under his eyes. If you were to ask me to shew you the scar, I could not
satisfy you, for you must understand that the body I had at that time
does not exist any longer, and in my present bodily envelope I am only
twenty-three years old."
"All this seems to me sheer madness, but, at all events, I have witnesses
to prove that you have been laughing at me, for you stated that you had
seen me at that battle, and, by the powers! it is not possible, because I
was not there. At all events, I demand satisfaction."
"So do I, and we have equal rights, if mine are not even better than
yours, for your witnesses are likewise mine, and these gentlemen will
assert that you said that you had seen me at Rodela, and, by the powers!
it is not possible, for I was not there."
"Well, I may have made a mistake."
"So may I, and therefore we have no longer any claim against one
another."
The commander, who was biting his lips to restrain his mirth, said to
him,
"My dear sir, I do not see that you have the slightest right to demand
satisfaction, since this gentleman confesses, like you, that he might
have been mistaken."
"But," remarked the officer, "is it credible that he was at the battle of
Arbela?"
"This gentleman leaves you free to believe or not to believe, and he is
at liberty to assert that he was there until you can prove the contrary.
Do you wish to deny it to make him draw his sword?"
"God forbid! I would rather consider the affair ended."
"Well, gentlemen," said the commander, "I have but one more duty to
perform, and it is to advise you to embrace one another like two honest
men."
We followed the advice with great pleasure.
The next day, the Provencal, rather crestfallen, came to share my dinner,
and I gave him a friendly welcome. Thus was ended that comic adventure,
to the great satisfaction of M. de la Haye.
CHAPTER IV
I Receive Good News From Venice, to Which City I Return with
De la Haye and Bavois--My Three Friends Give Me a Warm
Welcome; Their Surprise at Finding Me a Model of Devotion--
Bavois Lures Me Back to My Former Way of Living--De la Haye
a Thorough Hypocrite--Adventure with the Girl Marchetti--
I Win a Prize in the Lottery--I Meet Baletti--De la Haye
Leaves M. de Bragadin's Palace--My Departure for Paris
Whilst De la Haye was every day gaining greater influence over my
weakened mind, whilst I was every day devoutly attending mass, sermons,
and every office of the Church, I received from Venice a letter
containing the pleasant information that my affair had followed its
natural course, namely, that it was entirely forgotten; and in another
letter M. de Bragadin informed me that the minister had written to the
Venetian ambassador in Rome with instructions to assure the Holy Father
that Baron Bavois would, immediately after his arrival in Venice, receive
in the army of the Republic an appointment which would enable him to live
honourably and to gain a high position by his talents.
That letter overcame M. de la Haye with joy, and I completed his
happiness by telling him that nothing hindered me from going back to my
native city.
He immediately made up his mind to go to Modena in order to explain to
his pupil how he was to act in Venice to open for himself the way to a
brilliant fortune. De la Haye depended on me in every way; he saw my
fanaticism, and he was well aware that it is a disease which rages as
long as the causes from which it has sprung are in existence. As he was
going with me to Venice, he flattered himself that he could easily feed
the fire he had lighted. Therefore he wrote to Bavois that he would join
him immediately, and two days after he took leave of me, weeping
abundantly, praising highly the virtues of my soul, calling me his son,
his dear son, and assuring me that his great affection for me had been
caused by the mark of election which he had seen on my countenance. After
that, I felt my calling and election were sure.
A few days after the departure of De la Haye, I left Parma in my carriage
with which I parted in Fusina, and from there I proceeded to Venice.
After an absence of a year, my three friends received me as if I had been
their guardian angel. They expressed their impatience to welcome the two
saints announced by my letters. An apartment was ready for De la Haye in
the palace of M. de Bragadin, and as state reasons did not allow my
father to receive in his own house a foreigner who had not yet entered
the service of the Republic, two rooms had been engaged for Bavois in the
neighbourhood.
They were thoroughly amazed at the wonderful change which had taken place
in my morals. Every day attending mass, often present at the preaching
and at the other services, never shewing myself at the casino,
frequenting only a certain cafe which was the place of meeting for all
men of acknowledged piety and reserve, and always studying when I was not
in their company. When they compared my actual mode of living with the
former one, they marvelled, and they could not sufficiently thank the
eternal providence of God whose inconceivable ways they admired. They
blessed the criminal actions which had compelled me to remain one year
away from my native place. I crowned their delight by paying all my debts
without asking any money from M. de Bragadin, who, not having given me
anything for one year, had religiously put together every month the sum
he had allowed me. I need not say how pleased the worthy friends were,
when they saw that I had entirely given up gambling.
I had a letter from De la Haye in the beginning of May. He announced that
he was on the eve of starting with the son so dear to his heart, and that
he would soon place himself at the disposition of the respectable men to
whom I had announced him.
Knowing the hour at which the barge arrived from Modena, we all went to
meet them, except M. de Bragadin, who was engaged at the senate. We
returned to the palace before him, and when he came back, finding us all
together, he gave his new guests the most friendly welcome. De la Haye
spoke to me of a hundred things, but I scarcely heard what he said, so
much was my attention taken up by Bavois. He was so different to what I
had fancied him to be from the impression I had received from De la Haye,
that my ideas were altogether upset. I had to study him; for three days
before I could make up my mind to like him. I must give his portrait to
my readers.
Baron Bavois was a young man of about twenty-five, of middle size,
handsome in features, well made, fair, of an equable temper, speaking
well and with intelligence, and uttering his words with a tone of modesty
which suited him exactly. His features were regular and pleasing, his
teeth were beautiful, his hair was long and fine, always well taken care
of, and exhaling the perfume of the pomatum with which it was dressed.
That individual, who was the exact opposite of the man that De la Haye
had led me to imagine, surprised my friends greatly, but their welcome
did not in any way betray their astonishment, for their pure and candid
minds would not admit a judgment contrary to the good opinion they had
formed of his morals. As soon as we had established De la Haye in his
beautiful apartment, I accompanied Bavois to the rooms engaged for him,
where his luggage had been sent by my orders. He found himself in very
comfortable quarters, and being received with distinction by his worthy
host, who was already greatly prejudiced in his favour, the young baron
embraced me warmly, pouring out all his gratitude, and assuring me that
he felt deeply all I had done for him without knowing him, as De la Haye
had informed him of all that had occurred. I pretended not to understand
what he was alluding to, and to change the subject of conversation I
asked him how he intended to occupy his time in Venice until his military
appointment gave him serious duties to perform. "I trust," he answered,
"that we shall enjoy ourselves in an agreeable way, for I have no doubt
that our inclinations are the same."
Mercury and De la Haye had so completely besotted me that I should have
found some difficulty in understanding these words, however intelligible
they were; but if I did not go any further than the outward signification
of his answer, I could not help remarking that he had already taken the
fancy of the two daughters of the house. They were neither pretty nor
ugly, but he shewed himself gracious towards them like a man who
understands his business. I had, however, already made such great
progress in my mystical education, that I considered the compliments he
addressed to the girls as mere forms of politeness.
For the first day, I took my young baron only to the St. Mark's Square
and to the cafe, where we remained until supper-time, as it had been
arranged that he would take his meals with us. At the supper-table he
shewed himself very witty, and M. Dandolo named an hour for the next day,
when he intended to present him to the secretary for war. In the evening
I accompanied him to his lodging, where I found that the two young girls
were delighted because the young Swiss nobleman had no servant, and
because they hoped to convince him that he would not require one.
The next day, a little earlier than the time appointed, I called upon him
with M. Dandolo and M. Barbaro, who were both to present him at the war
office. We found him at his toilet under the delicate hands of the eldest
girl, who was dressing his hair. His room, was fragrant with the perfumes
of his pomatums and scents. This did not indicate a sainted man; yet my
two friends did not feel scandalized, although their astonishment was
very evident, for they had not expected that show of gallantry from a
young neophyte. I was nearly bursting into a loud laugh, when I heard M.
Dandolo remark that, unless we hurried, we would not have time to hear
mass, whereupon Bavois enquired whether it was a festival. M. Dandolo,
without passing any remark, answered negatively, and after that, mass was
not again mentioned. When Bavois was ready, I left them and went a
different way. I met them again at dinner-time, during which the
reception given to the young baron by the secretary was discussed, and in
the evening my friends introduced him to several ladies who were much
pleased with him. In less than a week he was so well known that there was
no fear of his time hanging wearily on his hands, but that week was
likewise enough to give me a perfect insight into his nature and way of
thinking. I should not have required such a long study, if I had not at
first begun on a wrong scent, or rather if my intelligence had not been
stultified by my fanaticism. Bavois was particularly fond of women, of
gambling, of every luxury, and, as he was poor, women supplied him with
the best part of his resources. As to religious faith he had none, and as
he was no hypocrite he confessed as much to me.
"How have you contrived," I said to him one day, "such as you are, to
deceive De la Haye?"
"God forbid I should deceive anyone. De la Haye is perfectly well aware
of my system, and of my way of thinking on religious matters, but, being
himself very devout, he entertains a holy sympathy for my soul, and I do
not object to it. He has bestowed many kindnesses upon me, and I feel
grateful to him; my affection for him is all the greater because he never
teases me with his dogmatic lessons or with sermons respecting my
salvation, of which I have no doubt that God, in His fatherly goodness,
will take care. All this is settled between De la Haye and me, and we
live on the best of terms:"
The best part of the joke is that, while I was studying him, Bavois,
without knowing it, restored my mind to its original state, and I was
ashamed of myself when I realized that I had been the dupe of a Jesuit
who was an arrant hypocrite, in spite of the character of holiness which
he assumed, and which he could play with such marvellous ability. From
that moment I fell again into all my former practices. But let us return
to De la Haye.
That late Jesuit, who in his inmost heart loved nothing but his own
comfort, already advanced in years, and therefore no longer caring for
the fair sex, was exactly the sort of man to please my simpleminded trio
of friends. As he never spoke to them but of God, of His angels, and of
everlasting glory, and as he was always accompanying them to church, they
found him a delightful companion. They longed for the time when he would
discover himself, for they imagined he was at the very least a
Rosicrucian, or perhaps the hermit of Courpegna, who had taught me the
cabalistic science and made me a present of the immortal Paralis. They
felt grieved because the oracle had forbidden them, through my cabalistic
lips, ever to mention my science in the presence of Tartufe.
As I had foreseen, that interdiction left me to enjoy as I pleased all
the time that I would have been called upon to devote to their devout
credulity, and besides, I was naturally afraid lest De la Haye, such as I
truly believed him to be, would never lend himself to that trifling
nonsense, and would, for the sake of deserving greater favour at their
hands, endeavour to undeceive them and to take my place in their
confidence.
I soon found out that I had acted with prudence, for in less than three
weeks the cunning fox had obtained so great an influence over the mind of
my three friends that he was foolish enough, not only to believe that he
did not want me any more to support his credit with them, but likewise
that he could supplant me whenever he chose. I could see it clearly in
his way of addressing me, as well as in the change in his proceedings.
He was beginning to hold with my friends frequent conversations to which
I was not summoned, and he had contrived to make them introduce him to
several families which I was not in the habit of visiting. He assumed his
grand jesuitic airs, and, although with honeyed word he would take the
liberty of censuring me because I sometimes spent a night out, and, as he
would say, "God knows where!"
I was particularly vexed at his seeming to accuse me of leading his pupil
astray. He then would assume the tone of a man speaking jestingly, but I
was not deceived. I thought it was time to put an end to his game, and
with that intention I paid him a visit in his bedroom. When I was seated,
I said,
"I come, as a true worshipper of the Gospel, to tell you in private
something that, another time, I would say in public."
"What is it, my dear friend?"
"I advise you for the future not to hurl at me the slightest taunt
respecting the life I am leading with Bavois, when we are in the presence
of my three worthy friends. I do not object to listen to you when we are
alone."
"You are wrong in taking my innocent jests seriously."
"Wrong or right, that does not matter. Why do you never attack your
proselyte? Be careful for the future, or I might on my side, and only in
jest like you, throw at your head some repartee which you have every
reason to fear, and thus repay you with interest."
And bowing to him I left his room.
A few days afterwards I spent a few hours with my friends and Paralis,
and the oracle enjoined them never to accomplish without my advice
anything that might be recommended or even insinuated by Valentine; that
was the cabalistic name of the disciple of Escobar. I knew I could rely
upon their obedience to that order.
De la Haye soon took notice of some slight change; he became more
reserved, and Bavois, whom I informed of what I had done, gave me his
full approbation. He felt convinced, as I was, that De la Haye had been
useful to him only through weak or selfish reasons, that is, that he
would have cared little for his soul if his face had not been handsome,
and if he had not known that he would derive important advantages from
having caused his so-called conversion.
Finding that the Venetian government was postponing his appointment from
day to day, Bavois entered the service of the French ambassador. The
decision made it necessary for him not only to cease his visits to M. de
Bragadin, but even to give up his intercourse with De la Haye, who was
the guest of that senator.
It is one of the strictest laws of the Republic that the patricians and
their families shall not hold any intercourse with the foreign
ambassadors and their suites. But the decision taken by Bavois did not
prevent my friends speaking in his favour, and they succeeded in
obtaining employment for him, as will be seen further on.
The husband of Christine, whom I never visited, invited me to go to the
casino which he was in the habit of frequenting with his aunt and his
wife, who had already presented him with a token of their mutual
affection. I accepted his invitation, and I found Christine as lovely as
ever, and speaking the Venetian dialect like her husband. I made in that
casino the acquaintance of a chemist, who inspired me with the wish to
follow a course of chemistry. I went to his house, where I found a young
girl who greatly pleased me. She was a neighbour, and came every evening
to keep the chemist's elderly wife company, and at a regular hour a
servant called to take her home. I had never made love to her but once in
a trifling sort of way, and in the presence of the old lady, but I was
surprised not to see her after that for several days, and I expressed my
astonishment. The good lady told me that very likely the girl's cousin,
an abbe, with whom she was residing, had heard of my seeing her every
evening, had become jealous, and would not allow her to come again.
"An abbe jealous?"
"Why not? He never allows her to go out except on Sundays to attend the
first mass at the Church of Santa Maria Mater Domini, close by his
dwelling. He did not object to her coming here, because he knew that we
never had any visitors, and very likely he has heard through the servant
of your being here every evening."
A great enemy to all jealous persons, and a greater friend to my amorous
fancies, I wrote to the young girl that, if she would leave her cousin
for me, I would give her a house in which she should be the mistress, and
that I would surround her with good society and with every luxury to be
found in Venice. I added that I would be in the church on the following
Sunday to receive her answer.
I did not forget my appointment, and her answer was that the abbe being
her tyrant, she would consider herself happy to escape out of his
clutches, but that she could not make up her mind to follow me unless I
consented to marry her. She concluded her letter by saying that, in case
I entertained honest intentions towards her, I had only to speak to her
mother, Jeanne Marchetti, who resided in Lusia, a city thirty miles
distant from Venice.
This letter piqued my curiosity, and I even imagined that she had written
it in concert with the abbe. Thinking that they wanted to dupe me, and
besides, finding the proposal of marriage ridiculous, I determined on
having my revenge. But I wanted to get to the bottom of it, and I made up
my mind to see the girl's mother. She felt honoured by my visit, and
greatly pleased when, after I had shewn her her daughter's letter, I told
her that I wished to marry her, but that I should never think of it as
long as she resided with the abbe.
"That abbe," she said, "is a distant relative. He used to live alone in
his house in Venice, and two years ago he told me that he was in want of
a housekeeper. He asked me to let my daughter go to him in that capacity,
assuring me that in Venice she would have good opportunities of getting
married. He offered to give me a deed in writing stating that, on the day
of her marriage, he would give her all his furniture valued at about one
thousand ducats, and the inheritance of a small estate, bringing one
hundred ducats a year, which lie possesses here. It seemed to me a good
bargain, and, my daughter being pleased with the offer, I accepted. He
gave me the deed duly drawn by a notary, and my daughter went with him. I
know that he makes a regular slave of her, but she chose to go.
Nevertheless, I need not tell you that my most ardent wish is to see her
married, for, as long as a girl is without a husband, she is too much
exposed to temptation, and the poor mother cannot rest in peace."
"Then come to Venice with me. You will take your daughter out of the
abbe's house, and I will make her my wife. Unless that is done I cannot
marry her, for I should dishonour myself if I received my wife from his
hands."
"Oh, no! for he is my cousin, although only in the fourth degree, and,
what is more, he is a priest and says the mass every day."
"You make me laugh, my good woman. Everybody knows that a priest says the
mass without depriving himself of certain trifling enjoyments. Take your
daughter with you, or give up all hope of ever seeing her married."
"But if I take her with me, he will not give her his furniture, and
perhaps he will sell his small estate here."
"I undertake to look to that part of the business. I promise to take her
out of his hands, and to make her come back to you with all the
furniture, and to obtain the estate when she is my wife. If you knew me
better, you would not doubt what I say. Come to Venice, and I assure you
that you shall return here in four or five days with your daughter."
She read the letter which had been written to me by her daughter again,
and told me that, being a poor widow, she had not the money necessary to
pay the expenses of her journey to Venice, or of her return to Louisa.
"In Venice you shall not want for anything," I said; "in the mean time,
here are ten sequins."
"Ten sequins! Then I can go with my sister-in-law?"
"Come with anyone you like, but let us go soon so as to reach Chiozza,
where we must sleep. To-morrow we shall dine in Venice, and I undertake
to defray all expenses."
We arrived in Venice the next day at ten o'clock, and I took the two
women to Castello, to a house the first floor of which was empty. I left
them there, and provided with the deed signed by the abbe I went to dine
with my three friends, to whom I said that I had been to Chiozza on
important business. After dinner, I called upon the lawyer, Marco de
Lesse, who told me that if the mother presented a petition to the
President of the Council of Ten, she would immediately be invested with
power to take her daughter away with all the furniture in the house,
which she could send wherever she pleased. I instructed him to have the
petition ready, saying that I would come the next morning with the
mother, who would sign it in his presence.
I brought the mother early in the morning, and after she had signed the
petition we went to the Boussole, where she presented it to the President
of the Council. In less than a quarter of an hour a bailiff was ordered
to repair to the house of the priest with the mother, and to put her in
possession of her daughter, and of all the furniture, which she would
immediately take away.
The order was carried into execution to the very letter. I was with the
mother in a gondola as near as possible to the house, and I had provided
a large boat in which the sbirri stowed all the furniture found on the
premises. When it was all done, the daughter was brought to the gondola,
and she was extremely surprised to see me. Her mother kissed her, and
told her that I would be her husband the very next day. She answered that
she was delighted, and that nothing had been left in her tyrant's house
except his bed and his clothes.
When we reached Castello, I ordered the furniture to be brought out of
the boat; we had dinner, and I told the three women that they must go
back to Lusia, where I would join them as soon as I had settled all my
affairs. I spent the afternoon gaily with my intended. She told us that
the abbe was dressing when the bailiff presented the order of the Council
of Ten, with injunctions to allow its free execution under penalty of
death; that the abbe finished his toilet, went out to say his mass, and
that everything had been done without the slightest opposition. "I was
told," she added, "that my mother was waiting for me in the gondola, but
I did not expect to find you, and I never suspected that you were at the
bottom of the whole affair."
"It is the first proof I give you of my love."
These words made her smile very pleasantly.
I took care to have a good supper and some excellent wines, and after we
had spent two hours at table in the midst of the joys of Bacchus, I
devoted four more to a pleasant tete-a-tete with my intended bride.
The next morning, after breakfast, I had the whole of the furniture
stowed in a peotta, which I had engaged for the purpose and paid for
beforehand. I gave ten more sequins to the mother, and sent them away all
three in great delight. The affair was completed to my honour as well as
to my entire satisfaction, and I returned home.
The case had made so much noise that my friends could not have remained
ignorant of it; the consequence was that, when they saw me, they shewed
their surprise and sorrow. De la Haye embraced me with an air of profound
grief, but it was a feigned feeling--a harlequin's dress, which he had
the talent of assuming with the greatest facility. M. de Bragadin alone
laughed heartily, saying to the others that they did not understand the
affair, and that it was the forerunner of something great which was known
only to heavenly spirits. On my side, being ignorant of the opinion they
entertained of the matter, and certain that they were not informed of all
the circumstances, I laughed like M. de Bragadin, but said nothing. I had
nothing to fear, and I wanted to amuse myself with all that would be
said.
We sat down to table, and M. Barbaro was the first to tell me in a
friendly manner that he hoped at least that this was not the day after my
wedding.
"Then people say that I am married?"
"It is said everywhere and by everybody. The members of the Council
themselves believe it, and they have good reason to believe that they are
right."
"To be right in believing such a thing, they ought to be certain of it,
and those gentlemen have no such certainty. As they are not infallible
any more than any one, except God, I tell you that they are mistaken. I
like to perform good actions and to get pleasure for my money, but not at
the expense of my liberty: Whenever you want to know my affairs,
recollect that you can receive information about them only from me, and
public rumour is only good to amuse fools."
"But," said M. Dandolo, "you spent the night with the person who is
represented as your wife?"
"Quite true, but I have no account to give to anyone respecting what I
have done last night. Are you not of my opinion, M. de la Haye?"
"I wish you would not ask my opinion, for I do not know. But I must say
that public rumour ought not to be despised. The deep affection I have
for you causes me to grieve for what the public voice says about you."
"How is it that those reports do not grieve M. de Bragadin, who has
certainly greater affection for me than you have?"
"I respect you, but I have learned at my own expense that slander is to
be feared. It is said that, in order to get hold of a young girl who was
residing with her uncle--a worthy priest, you suborned a woman who
declared herself to be the girl's mother, and thus deceived the Supreme
Council, through the authority of which she obtained possession of the
girl for you. The bailiff sent by the Council swears that you were in the
gondola with the false mother when the young girl joined her. It is said
that the deed, in virtue of which you caused the worthy ecclesiastic's
furniture to be carried off, is false, and you are blamed for having made
the highest body of the State a stepping-stone to crime. In fine, it is
said that, even if you have married the girl, and no doubt of it is
entertained, the members of the Council will not be silent as to the
fraudulent means you have had recourse to in order to carry out your
intentions successfully."
"That is a very long speech," I said to him, coldly, "but learn from me
that a wise man who has heard a criminal accusation related with so many
absurd particulars ceases to be wise when he makes himself the echo of
what he has heard, for if the accusation should turn out to be a calumny,
he would himself become the accomplice of the slanderer."
After that sentence, which brought the blood to the face of the Jesuit,
but which my friends thought very wise, I entreated him, in a meaning
voice, to spare his anxiety about me, and to be quite certain that I knew
the laws of honour, and that I had judgment enough to take care of
myself, and to let foul tongues say what they liked about me, just as I
did when I heard them speak ill of him.
The adventure was the talk of the city for five or six days, after which
it was soon forgotten.
But three months having elapsed without my having paid any visit to
Lusia, or having answered the letters written to me by the damigella
Marchetti, and without sending her the money she claimed of me, she made
up her mind to take certain proceedings which might have had serious
consequences, although they had none whatever in the end.
One day, Ignacio, the bailiff of the dreaded tribunal of the State
inquisitors, presented himself as I was sitting at table with my friends,
De la Haye, and two other guests. He informed me that the Cavaliere
Cantarini dal Zoffo wished to see me, and would wait for me the next
morning at such an hour at the Madonna de l'Orto. I rose from the table
and answered, with a bow, that I would not fail to obey the wishes of his
excellency. The bailiff then left us.
I could not possibly guess what such a high dignitary of State could want
with my humble person, yet the message made us rather anxious, for
Cantarini dal Zoffo was one of the Inquisitors, that is to say, a bird of
very ill omen. M. de Bragadin, who had been Inquisitor while he was
Councillor, and therefore knew the habits of the tribunal, told me that I
had nothing to fear.
"Ignacio was dressed in private clothes," he added, "and therefore he did
not come as the official messenger of the dread tribunal. M. Cantarini
wishes to speak to you only as a private citizen, as he sends you word to
call at his palace and not at the court-house. He is an elderly man,
strict but just, to whom you must speak frankly and without equivocating,
otherwise you would make matters worse."
I was pleased with M. de Bragadin's advice, which was of great use to me.
I called at the appointed time.
I was immediately announced, and I had not long to wait. I entered the
room, and his excellency, seated at a table, examined me from head to
foot for one minute without speaking to me; he then rang the bell, and
ordered his servant to introduce the two ladies who were waiting in the
next room. I guessed at once what was the matter, and felt no surprise
when I saw the woman Marchetti and her daughter. His excellency asked me
if I knew them.
"I must know them, monsignor, as one of them will become my wife when she
has convinced me by her good conduct that she is worthy of that honour."
"Her conduct is good, she lives with her mother at Lusia; you have
deceived her. Why do you postpone your marriage with her? Why do you not
visit her? You never answer her letters, and you let her be in want."
"I cannot marry her, your excellency, before I have enough to support
her. That will come in three or four years, thanks to a situation which
M. de Bragadin, my only protector, promises to obtain for me. Until then
she must live honestly, and support herself by working. I will only marry
her when I am convinced of her honesty, and particularly when I am
certain that she has given up all intercourse with the abbe, her cousin
in the fourth degree. I do not visit her because my confessor and my
conscience forbid me to go to her house."
"She wishes you to give her a legal promise of marriage, and
sustentation."
"Monsignor, I am under no obligation to give her a promise of marriage,
and having no means whatever I cannot support her. She must earn her own
living with her mother"
"When she lived with her cousin," said her mother, "she never wanted
anything, and she shall go back to him."
"If she returns to his house I shall not take the trouble of taking her
out of his hands a second time, and your excellency will then see that I
was right to defer my marriage with her until I was convinced of her
honesty."
The judge told me that my presence, was no longer necessary. It was the
end of the affair, and I never heard any more about it. The recital of
the dialogue greatly amused my friends.
At the beginning of the Carnival of 1750 I won a prize of three thousand
ducats at the lottery. Fortune made me that present when I did not
require it, for I had held the bank during the autumn, and had won. It
was at a casino where no nobleman dared to present himself, because one
of the partners was an officer in the service of the Duke de Montalegre,
the Spanish Ambassador. The citizens of Venice felt ill at ease with the
patricians, and that is always the case under an aristocratic government,
because equality exists in reality only between the members of such a
government.
As I intended to take a trip to Paris, I placed one thousand sequins in
M. de Bragadin's hands, and with that project in view I had the courage
to pass the carnival without risking my money at the faro-table. I had
taken a share of one-fourth in the bank of an honest patrician, and early
in Lent he handed me a large sum.
Towards mid-Lent my friend Baletti returned from Mantua to Venice. He was
engaged at the St. Moses Theatre as ballet-master during the Fair of the
Assumption. He was with Marina, but they did not live together. She made
the conquest of an English Jew, called Mendez, who spent a great deal of
money for her. That Jew gave me good news of Therese, whom he had known
in Naples, and in whose hands he had left some of his spoils. The
information pleased me, and I was very glad to have been prevented by
Henriette from joining Therese in Naples, as I had intended, for I should
certainly have fallen in love with her again, and God knows what the
consequences might have been.
It was at that time that Bavois was appointed captain in the service of
the Republic; he rose rapidly in his profession, as I shall mention
hereafter.
De la Haye undertook the education of a young nobleman called Felix
Calvi, and a short time afterwards he accompanied him to Poland. I met
him again in Vienna three years later.
I was making my preparations to go to the Fair of Reggio, then to Turin,
where the whole of Italy was congregating for the marriage of the Duke of
Savoy with a princess of Spain, daughter of Philip V., and lastly to
Paris, where, Madame la Dauphine being pregnant, magnificent preparations
were made in the expectation of the birth of a prince. Baletti was
likewise on the point of undertaking the same journey. He was recalled by
his parents, who were dramatic artists: his mother was the celebrated
Silvia.
Baletti was engaged at the Italian Theatre in Paris as dancer and first
gentleman. I could not choose a companion more to my taste, more
agreeable, or in a better position to procure me numerous advantageous
acquaintances in Paris.
I bade farewell to my three excellent friends, promising to return within
two years.
I left my brother Francois in the studio of Simonetti, the painter of
battle pieces, known as the Parmesan. I gave him a promise to think of
him in Paris, where, at that time particularly, great talent was always
certain of a high fortune. My readers will see how I kept my word.
I likewise left in Venice my brother Jean, who had returned to that city
after having travelled through Italy with Guarienti. He was on the point
of going to Rome, where he remained fourteen years in the studio of
Raphael Mengs. He left Rome for Dresden in 1764, where he died in the
year 1795.
Baletti started before me, and I left Venice, to meet him in Reggio, on
the 1st of June, 1750. I was well fitted out, well supplied with money,
and sure not to want for any, if I led a proper life. We shall soon see,
dear reader, what judgment you will pass on my conduct, or rather I shall
not see it, for I know that when you are able to judge, I shall no longer
care for your sentence.
CHAPTER V
I Stop at Ferrara, Where I Have a Comic Adventure--
My Arrival in Paris
Precisely at twelve o'clock the peotta landed me at Ponte di Lago Oscuro,
and I immediately took a post-chaise to reach Ferrara in time for dinner.
I put up at St. Mark's Hotel. I was following the waiter up the stairs,
when a joyful uproar, which suddenly burst from a room the door of which
was open, made me curious to ascertain the cause of so much mirth. I
peeped into the room, and saw some twelve persons, men and women, seated
round a well-supplied table. It was a very natural thing, and I was
moving on, when I was stopped by the exclamation, "Ah, here he is!"
uttered by the pretty voice of a woman, and at the same moment, the
speaker, leaving the table, came to me with open arms and embraced me,
saying,
"Quick, quick, a seat for him near me; take his luggage to his room."
A young man came up, and she said to him, "Well, I told you he would
arrive to-day?"
She made me sit near her at the table, after I had been saluted by all
the guests who had risen to do me honour.
"My dear cousin," she said, addressing me, "you must be hungry;" and as
she spoke she squeezed my foot under the table. "Here is my intended
husband whom I beg to introduce to you, as well as my father and
mother-in-law. The other guests round the table are friends of the
family. But, my dear cousin, tell me why my mother has not come with
you?"
At last I had to open my lips!
"Your mother, my dear cousin, will be here in three or four days, at the
latest."
I thought that my newly-found cousin was unknown to me, but when I looked
at her with more attention, I fancied I recollected her features. She was
the Catinella, a dancer of reputation, but I had never spoken to her
before. I easily guessed that she was giving me an impromptu part in a
play of her own composition, and I was to be a 'deux ex machina'.
Whatever is singular and unexpected has always attracted me, and as my
cousin was pretty, I lent myself most willingly to the joke, entertaining
no doubt that she would reward me in an agreeable manner. All I had to do
was to play my part well, but without implicating myself. Therefore,
pretending to be very hungry, I gave her the opportunity of speaking and
of informing me by hints of what I had to know, in order not to make
blunders. Understanding the reason of my reserve, she afforded me the
proof of her quick intelligence by saying sometimes to one person,
sometimes to the other, everything it was necessary for me to know. Thus
I learnt that the wedding could not take place until the arrival of her
mother, who was to bring the wardrobe and the diamonds of my cousin. I
was the precentor going to Turin to compose the music of the opera which
was to be represented at the marriage of the Duke of Savoy. This last
discovery pleased me greatly, because I saw that I should have no
difficulty in taking my departure the next morning, and I began to enjoy
the part I had to play. Yet, if I had not reckoned upon the reward, I
might very well have informed the honourable company that my false cousin
was mad, but, although Catinella was very near thirty, she was very
pretty and celebrated for her intrigues; that was enough, and she could
turn me round her little finger.
The future mother-in-law was seated opposite, and to do me honour she
filled a glass and offered it to me. Already identified with my part in
the comedy, I put forth my hand to take the glass, but seeing that my
hand was somewhat bent, she said to me,
"What is the matter with your hand, sir?"
"Nothing serious, madam; only a slight sprain which a little rest will
soon cure."
At these words, Catinella, laughing heartily, said that she regretted the
accident because it would deprive her friends of the pleasure they would
have enjoyed in hearing me play the harpsichord.
"I am glad to find it a laughing matter, cousin."
"I laugh, because it reminds me of a sprained ankle which I once feigned
to have in order not to dance."
After coffee, the mother-in-law, who evidently understood what was
proper, said that most likely my cousin wanted to talk with me on family
matters, and that we ought to be left alone.
Every one of the guests left the room.
As soon as I was alone with her in my room, which was next to her own she
threw herself on a sofa, and gave way to a most immoderate fit of
laughter.
"Although I only know you by name," she said to me, "I have entire
confidence in you, but you will do well to go away to-morrow. I have been
here for two months without any money. I have nothing but a few dresses
and some linen, which I should have been compelled to sell to defray my
expenses if I had not been lucky enough to inspire the son of the
landlord with the deepest love. I have flattered his passion by promising
to become his wife, and to bring him as a marriage portion twenty
thousand crowns' worth of diamonds which I am supposed to have in Venice,
and which my mother is expected to bring with her. But my mother has
nothing and knows nothing of the affair, therefore she is not likely to
leave Venice."
"But, tell me, lovely madcap, what will be the end of this extravaganza?
I am afraid it will take a tragic turn at the last."
"You are mistaken; it will remain a comedy, and a very amusing one, too.
I am expecting every hour the arrival of Count Holstein, brother of the
Elector of Mainz. He has written to me from Frankfort; he has left that
city, and must by this time have reached Venice. He will take me to the
Fair of Reggio, and if my intended takes it into his head to be angry,
the count will thrash him and pay my bill, but I am determined that he
shall be neither thrashed nor paid. As I go away, I have only to whisper
in his ear that I will certainly return, and it will be all right. I know
my promise to become his wife as soon as I come back will make him
happy."
"That's all very well! You are as witty as a cousin of Satan, but I shall
not wait your return to marry you; our wedding must take place at once."
"What folly! Well, wait until this evening."
"Not a bit of it, for I can almost fancy I hear the count's carriage. If
he should not arrive, we can continue the sport during the night."
"Do you love me?"
"To distraction! but what does it matter? However, your excellent comedy
renders you worthy of adoration. Now, suppose we do not waste our time."
"You are right: it is an episode, and all the more agreeable for being
impromptu."
I can well recollect that I found it a delightful episode. Towards
evening all the family joined us again, a walk was proposed, and we were
on the point of going out, when a carriage drawn by six post-horses
noisily entered the yard. Catinella looked through the window, and
desired to be left alone, saying that it was a prince who had come to see
her. Everybody went away, she pushed me into my room and locked me in. I
went to the window, and saw a nobleman four times as big as myself
getting out of the carriage. He came upstairs, entered the room of the
intended bride, and all that was left to me was the consolation of having
seized fortune by the forelock, the pleasure of hearing their
conversation, and a convenient view, through a crevice in the partition,
of what Catinella contrived to do with that heavy lump of flesh. But at
last the stupid amusement wearied me, for it lasted five hours, which
were employed in amorous caresses, in packing Catinella's rags, in
loading them on the carriage, in taking supper, and in drinking numerous
bumpers of Rhenish wine. At midnight the count left the hotel, carrying
away with him the beloved mistress of the landlord's son.
No one during those long hours had come to my room, and I had not called.
I was afraid of being discovered, and I did not know how far the German
prince would have been pleased if he had found out that he had an
indiscreet witness of the heavy and powerless demonstrations of his
tenderness, which were a credit to neither of the actors, and which
supplied me with ample food for thoughts upon the miseries of mankind.
After the departure of the heroine, catching through the crevice a
glimpse of the abandoned lover, I called out to him to unlock my door.
The poor silly fellow told me piteously that, Catinella having taken the
key with her, it would be necessary to break the door open. I begged him
to have it done at once, because I was hungry. As soon as I was out of my
prison I had my supper, and the unfortunate lover kept me company. He
told me that Catinella had found a moment to promise him that she would
return within six weeks, that she was shedding tears in giving him that
assurance, and that she had kissed him with great tenderness.
"Has the prince paid her expenses?"
"Not at all. We would not have allowed him to do it, even if he had
offered. My future wife would have felt offended, for you can have no
idea of the delicacy of her feelings."
"What does your father say of her departure?"
"My father always sees the worst side of everything; he says that she
will never come back, and my mother shares his opinion rather than mine.
But you, signor maestro, what do you think?"
"That if she has promised to return, she will be sure to keep her word."
"Of course; for if she did not mean to come back, she would not have
given me her promise."
"Precisely; I call that a good argument."
I had for my supper what was left of the meal prepared by the count's
cook, and I drank a bottle of excellent Rhenish wine which Catinella had
juggled away to treat her intended husband, and which the worthy fellow
thought could not have a better destination than to treat his future
cousin. After supper I took post-horses and continued my journey,
assuring the unhappy, forlorn lover that I would do all I could to
persuade my cousin to come back very soon. I wanted to pay my bill, but
he refused to receive any money. I reached Bologna a few minutes after
Catinella, and put up at the same hotel, where I found an opportunity of
telling her all her lover had said. I arrived in Reggio before her, but I
could not speak to her in that city, for she was always in the company of
her potent and impotent lord. After the fair, during which nothing of
importance occurred to me, I left Reggio with my friend Baletti and we
proceeded to Turin, which I wanted to see, for the first time I had gone
to that city with Henriette I had stopped only long enough to change
horses.
I found everything beautiful in Turin, the city, the court, the theatre,
and the women, including the Duchess of Savoy, but I could not help
laughing when I was told that the police of the city was very efficient,
for the streets were full of beggars. That police, however, was the
special care of the king, who was very intelligent; if we are to believe
history, but I confess that I laughed when I saw the ridiculous face of
that sovereign.
I had never seen a king before in my life, and a foolish idea made me
suppose that a king must be preeminent--a very rare being--by his beauty
and the majesty of his appearance, and in everything superior to the rest
of men. For a young Republican endowed with reason, my idea was not,
after all, so very foolish, but I very soon got rid of it when I saw that
King of Sardinia, ugly, hump-backed, morose and vulgar even in his
manners. I then realized that it was possible to be a king without being
entirely a man.
I saw L'Astrua and Gafarello, those two magnificent singers on the stage,
and I admired the dancing of La Geofroi, who married at that time a
worthy dancer named Bodin.
During my stay in Turin, no amorous fancy disturbed the peace of my soul,
except an accident which happened to me with the daughter of my
washerwoman, and which increased my knowledge in physics in a singular
manner. That girl was very pretty, and, without being what might be
called in love with her, I wished to obtain her favours. Piqued at my not
being able to obtain an appointment from her, I contrived one day to
catch her at the bottom of a back staircase by which she used to come to
my room, and, I must confess, with the intention of using a little
violence, if necessary.
Having concealed myself for that purpose at the time I expected her, I
got hold of her by surprise, and, half by persuasion, half by the
rapidity of my attack, she was brought to a right position, and I lost no
time in engaging in action. But at the first movement of the connection a
loud explosion somewhat cooled my ardour, the more so that the young girl
covered her face with her hands as if she wished to hide her shame.
However, encouraging her with a loving kiss, I began again. But, a
report, louder even than the first, strikes at the same moment my ear and
my nose. I continue; a third, a fourth report, and, to make a long matter
short, each movement gives an explosion with as much regularity as a
conductor making the time for a piece of music!
This extraordinary phenomenon, the confusion of the poor girl, our
position--everything, in fact, struck me as so comical, that I burst into
the most immoderate laughter, which compelled me to give up the
undertaking. Ashamed and confused, the young girl ran away, and I did
nothing to hinder her. After that she never had the courage to present
herself before me. I remained seated on the stairs for a quarter of an
hour after she had left me, amused at the funny character of a scene
which even now excites my mirth. I suppose that the young girl was
indebted for her virtue to that singular disease, and most likely, if it
were common to all the fair sex, there would be fewer gallant women,
unless we had different organs; for to pay for one moment of enjoyment at
the expense both of the hearing and of the smell is to give too high a
price.
Baletti, being in a hurry to reach Paris, where great preparations were
being made for the birth of a Duke of Burgundy--for the duchess was near
the time of her delivery--easily persuaded me to shorten my stay in
Turin. We therefore left that city, and in five days we arrived at Lyons,
where I stayed about a week.
Lyons is a very fine city in which at that time there were scarcely three
or four noble houses opened to strangers; but, in compensation, there
were more than a hundred hospitable ones belonging to merchants,
manufacturers, and commission agents, amongst whom was to be found an
excellent society remarkable for easy manners, politeness, frankness, and
good style, without the absurd pride to be met with amongst the nobility
in the provinces, with very few honourable exceptions. It is true that
the standard of good manners is below that of Paris, but one soon gets
accustomed to it. The wealth of Lyons arises from good taste and low
prices, and Fashion is the goddess to whom that city owes its prosperity.
Fashion alters every year, and the stuff, to which the fashion of the day
gives a value equal, say to thirty, is the next year reduced to fifteen
or twenty, and then it is sent to foreign countries where it is bought up
as a novelty.
The manufacturers of Lyons give high salaries to designers of talent; in
that lies the secret of their success. Low prices come from
Competition--a fruitful source of wealth, and a daughter of Liberty.
Therefore, a government wishing to establish on a firm basis the
prosperity of trade must give commerce full liberty; only being careful
to prevent the frauds which private interests, often wrongly understood,
might invent at the expense of public and general interests. In fact, the
government must hold the scales, and allow the citizens to load them as
they please.
In Lyons I met the most famous courtezan of Venice. It was generally
admitted that her equal had never been seen. Her name was Ancilla. Every
man who saw her coveted her, and she was so kindly disposed that she
could not refuse her favours to anyone; for if all men loved her one
after the other, she returned the compliment by loving them all at once,
and with her pecuniary advantages were only a very secondary
consideration.
Venice has always been blessed with courtezans more celebrated by their
beauty than their wit. Those who were most famous in my younger days were
Ancilla and another called Spina, both the daughters of gondoliers, and
both killed very young by the excesses of a profession which, in their
eyes, was a noble one. At the age of twenty-two, Ancilla turned a dancer
and Spina became a singer. Campioni, a celebrated Venetian dancer,
imparted to the lovely Ancilla all the graces and the talents of which
her physical perfections were susceptible, and married her. Spina had for
her master a castrato who succeeded in making of her only a very ordinary
singer, and in the absence of talent she was compelled, in order to get a
living, to make the most of the beauty she had received from nature.
I shall have occasion to speak again of Ancilla before her death. She was
then in Lyons with her husband; they had just returned from England,
where they had been greatly applauded at the Haymarket Theatre. She had
stopped in Lyons only for her pleasure, and, the moment she shewed
herself, she had at her feet the most brilliant young men of the town,
who were the slaves of her slightest caprice. Every day parties of
pleasure, every evening magnificent suppers, and every night a great faro
bank. The banker at the gaming table was a certain Don Joseph Marratti,
the same man whom I had known in the Spanish army under the name of Don
Pepe il Cadetto, and a few years afterwards assumed the name of Afflisio,
and came to such a bad end. That faro bank won in a few days three
hundred thousand francs. In a capital that would not have been considered
a large sum, but in a commercial and industrial city like Lyons it raised
the alarm amongst the merchants, and the Ultramontanes thought of taking
their leave.
It was in Lyons that a respectable individual, whose acquaintance I made
at the house of M. de Rochebaron, obtained for me the favour of being
initiated in the sublime trifles of Freemasonry. I arrived in Paris a
simple apprentice; a few months after my arrival I became companion and
master; the last is certainly the highest degree in Freemasonry, for all
the other degrees which I took afterwards are only pleasing inventions,
which, although symbolical, add nothing to the dignity of master.
No one in this world can obtain a knowledge of everything, but every man
who feels himself endowed with faculties, and can realize the extent of
his moral strength, should endeavour to obtain the greatest possible
amount of knowledge. A well-born young man who wishes to travel and know
not only the world, but also what is called good society, who does not
want to find himself, under certain circumstances, inferior to his
equals, and excluded from participating in all their pleasures, must get
himself initiated in what is called Freemasonry, even if it is only to
know superficially what Freemasonry is. It is a charitable institution,
which, at certain times and in certain places, may have been a pretext
for criminal underplots got up for the overthrow of public order, but is
there anything under heaven that has not been abused? Have we not seen
the Jesuits, under the cloak of our holy religion, thrust into the
parricidal hand of blind enthusiasts the dagger with which kings were to
be assassinated! All men of importance, I mean those whose social
existence is marked by intelligence and merit, by learning or by wealth,
can be (and many of them are) Freemasons: is it possible to suppose that
such meetings, in which the initiated, making it a law never to speak,
'intra muros', either of politics, or of religions, or of governments,
converse only concerning emblems which are either moral or trifling; is
it possible to suppose, I repeat, that those meetings, in which the
governments may have their own creatures, can offer dangers sufficiently
serious to warrant the proscriptions of kings or the excommunications of
Popes?
In reality such proceedings miss the end for which they are undertaken,
and the Pope, in spite of his infallibility, will not prevent his
persecutions from giving Freemasonry an importance which it would perhaps
have never obtained if it had been left alone. Mystery is the essence of
man's nature, and whatever presents itself to mankind under a mysterious
appearance will always excite curiosity and be sought, even when men are
satisfied that the veil covers nothing but a cypher.
Upon the whole, I would advise all well-born young men, who intend to
travel, to become Freemasons; but I would likewise advise them to be
careful in selecting a lodge, because, although bad company cannot have
any influence while inside of the lodge, the candidate must guard against
bad acquaintances.
Those who become Freemasons only for the sake of finding out the secret
of the order, run a very great risk of growing old under the trowel
without ever realizing their purpose. Yet there is a secret, but it is so
inviolable that it has never been confided or whispered to anyone. Those
who stop at the outward crust of things imagine that the secret consists
in words, in signs, or that the main point of it is to be found only in
reaching the highest degree. This is a mistaken view: the man who guesses
the secret of Freemasonry, and to know it you must guess it, reaches that
point only through long attendance in the lodges, through deep thinking,
comparison, and deduction. He would not trust that secret to his best
friend in Freemasonry, because he is aware that if his friend has not
found it out, he could not make any use of it after it had been whispered
in his ear. No, he keeps his peace, and the secret remains a secret.
Everything done in a lodge must be secret; but those who have
unscrupulously revealed what is done in the lodge, have been unable to
reveal that which is essential; they had no knowledge of it, and had they
known it, they certainly would not have unveiled the mystery of the
ceremonies.
The impression felt in our days by the non-initiated is of the same
nature as that felt in former times by those who were not initiated in
the mysteries enacted at Eleusis in honour of Ceres. But the mysteries of
Eleusis interested the whole of Greece, and whoever had attained some
eminence in the society of those days had an ardent wish to take a part
in those mysterious ceremonies, while Freemasonry, in the midst of many
men of the highest merit, reckons a crowd of scoundrels whom no society
ought to acknowledge, because they are the refuse of mankind as far as
morality is concerned.
In the mysteries of Ceres, an inscrutable silence was long kept, owing to
the veneration in which they were held. Besides, what was there in them
that could be revealed? The three words which the hierophant said to the
initiated? But what would that revelation have come to? Only to dishonour
the indiscreet initiate, for they were barbarous words unknown to the
vulgar. I have read somewhere that the three sacred words of the
mysteries of Eleusis meant: Watch, and do no evil. The sacred words and
the secrets of the various masonic degrees are about as criminal.
The initiation in the mysteries of Eleusis lasted nine days. The
ceremonies were very imposing, and the company of the highest. Plutarch
informs us that Alcibiades was sentenced to death and his property
confiscated, because he had dared to turn the mysteries into ridicule in
his house. He was even sentenced to be cursed by the priests and
priestesses, but the curse was not pronounced because one of the
priestesses opposed it, saying:
"I am a priestess to bless and not to curse!"
Sublime words! Lessons of wisdom and of morality which the Pope despises,
but which the Gospel teaches and which the Saviour prescribes.
In our days nothing is important, and nothing is sacred, for our
cosmopolitan philosophers.
Botarelli publishes in a pamphlet all the ceremonies of the Freemasons,
and the only sentence passed on him is:
"He is a scoundrel. We knew that before!"
A prince in Naples, and M. Hamilton in his own house, perform the miracle
of St. Januarius; they are, most likely, very merry over their
performance, and many more with them. Yet the king wears on his royal
breast a star with the following device around the image of St.
Januarius: 'In sanguine foedus'. In our days everything is inconsistent,
and nothing has any meaning. Yet it is right to go ahead, for to stop on
the road would be to go from bad to worse.
We left Lyons in the public diligence, and were five days on our road to
Paris. Baletti had given notice of his departure to his family; they
therefore knew when to expect him. We were eight in the coach and our
seats were very uncomfortable, for it was a large oval in shape, so that
no one had a corner. If that vehicle had been built in a country where
equality was a principle hallowed by the laws, it would not have been a
bad illustration. I thought it was absurd, but I was in a foreign
country, and I said nothing. Besides, being an Italian, would it have
been right for me not to admire everything which was French, and
particularly in France?--Example, an oval diligence: I respected the
fashion, but I found it detestable, and the singular motion of that
vehicle had the same effect upon me as the rolling of a ship in a heavy
sea. Yet it was well hung, but the worst jolting would have disturbed me
less.
As the diligence undulates in the rapidity of its pace, it has been
called a gondola, but I was a judge of gondolas, and I thought that there
was no family likeness between the coach and the Venetian boats which,
with two hearty rowers, glide along so swiftly and smoothly. The effect
of the movement was that I had to throw up whatever was on my stomach. My
travelling companions thought me bad company, but they did not say so. I
was in France and among Frenchmen, who know what politeness is. They only
remarked that very likely I had eaten too much at my supper, and a
Parisian abbe, in order to excuse me, observed that my stomach was weak.
A discussion arose.
"Gentlemen," I said, in my vexation, and rather angrily, "you are all
wrong, for my stomach is excellent, and I have not had any supper."
Thereupon an elderly man told me, with a voice full of sweetness, that I
ought not to say that the gentlemen were wrong, though I might say that
they were not right, thus imitating Cicero, who, instead of declaring to
the Romans that Catilina and the other conspirators were dead, only said
that they had lived.
"Is it not the same thing?"
"I beg your pardon, sir, one way of speaking is polite, the other is
not." And after treating me to a long dissection on politeness, he
concluded by saying, with a smile, "I suppose you are an Italian?"
"Yes, I am, but would you oblige me by telling me how you have found it
out?"
"Oh! I guessed it from the attention with which you have listened to my
long prattle."
Everybody laughed, and, I, much pleased with his eccentricity, began to
coax him. He was the tutor of a young boy of twelve or thirteen years who
was seated near him. I made him give me during the journey lessons in
French politeness, and when we parted he took me apart in a friendly
manner, saying that he wished to make me a small present.
"What is it?"
"You must abandon, and, if I may say so, forget, the particle 'non',
which you use frequently at random. 'Non' is not a French word; instead
of that unpleasant monosyllable, say, 'Pardon'. 'Non' is equal to giving
the lie: never say it, or prepare yourself to give and to receive
sword-stabs every moment."
"I thank you, monsieur, your present is very precious, and I promise you
never to say non again."
During the first fortnight of my stay in Paris, it seemed to me that I
had become the most faulty man alive, for I never ceased begging pardon.
I even thought, one evening at the theatre, that I should have a quarrel
for having begged somebody's pardon in the wrong place. A young fop,
coming to the pit, trod on my foot, and I hastened to say,
"Your pardon, sir."
"Sir, pardon me yourself."
"No, yourself."
"Yourself!"
"Well, sir, let us pardon and embrace one another!" The embrace put a
stop to the discussion.
One day during the journey, having fallen asleep from fatigue in the
inconvenient gondola, someone pushed my arm.
"Ah, sir! look at that mansion!"
"I see it; what of it?"
"Ah! I pray you, do you not find it...."
"I find nothing particular; and you?"
"Nothing wonderful, if it were not situated at a distance of forty
leagues from Paris. But here! Ah! would my 'badauds' of Parisians believe
that such a beautiful mansion can be found forty leagues distant from the
metropolis? How ignorant a man is when he has never travelled!"
"You are quite right."
That man was a Parisian and a 'badaud' to the backbone, like a Gaul in
the days of Caesar.
But if the Parisians are lounging about from morning till night, enjoying
everything around them, a foreigner like myself ought to have been a
greater 'badaud' than they! The difference between us was that, being
accustomed to see things such as they are, I was astonished at seeing
them often covered with a mask which changed their nature, while their
surprise often arose from their suspecting what the mask concealed.
What delighted me, on my arrival in Paris, was the magnificent road made
by Louis XV., the cleanliness of the hotels, the excellent fare they
give, the quickness of the service, the excellent beds, the modest
appearance of the attendant, who generally is the most accomplished girl
of the house, and whose decency, modest manners, and neatness, inspire
the most shameless libertine with respect. Where is the Italian who is
pleased with the effrontery and the insolence of the hotel-waiters in
Italy? In my days, people did not know in France what it was to
overcharge; it was truly the home of foreigners. True, they had the
unpleasantness of often witnessing acts of odious despotism, 'lettres de
cachet', etc.; it was the despotism of a king. Since that time the French
have the despotism of the people. Is it less obnoxious?
We dined at Fontainebleau, a name derived from Fontaine-belle-eau; and
when we were only two leagues from Paris we saw a berlin advancing
towards us. As it came near the diligence, my friend Baletti called out
to the postillions to stop. In the berlin was his mother, who offered me
the welcome given to an expected friend. His mother was the celebrated
actress Silvia, and when I had been introduced to her she said to me;
"I hope, sir, that my son's friend will accept a share of our family
supper this evening."
I accepted gratefully, sat down again in the gondola, Baletti got into
the berlin with his mother, and we continued our journey.
On reaching Paris, I found a servant of Silvia's waiting for me with a
coach; he accompanied me to my lodging to leave my luggage, and we
repaired to Baletti's house, which was only fifty yards distant from my
dwelling.
Baletti presented me to his father, who was known under the name of
Mario. Silvia and Mario were the stage names assumed by M. and Madame
Baletti, and at that time it was the custom in France to call the Italian
actors by the names they had on the stage. 'Bon jour', Monsieur Arlequin;
'bon jour', Monsieur Pantalon: such was the manner in which the French
used to address the actors who personified those characters on the stage.
CHAPTER VI
My Apprenticeship in Paris--Portraits--Oddities--All Sorts
of Things
To celebrate the arrival of her son, Silvia gave a splendid supper to
which she had invited all her relatives, and it was a good opportunity
for me to make their acquaintance. Baletti's father, who had just
recovered from a long illness, was not with us, but we had his father's
sister, who was older than Mario. She was known, under her theatrical
name of Flaminia, in the literary world by several translations, but I
had a great wish to make her acquaintance less on that account than in
consequence of the story, known throughout Italy, of the stay that three
literary men of great fame had made in Paris. Those three literati were
the Marquis Maffei, the Abbe Conti, and Pierre Jacques Martelli, who
became enemies, according to public rumour, owing to the belief
entertained by each of them that he possessed the favours of the actress,
and, being men of learning, they fought with the pen. Martelli composed a
satire against Maffei, in which he designated him by the anagram of
Femia.
I had been announced to Flaminia as a candidate for literary fame, and
she thought she honoured me by addressing me at all, but she was wrong,
for she displeased me greatly by her face, her manners, her style, even
by the sound of her voice. Without saying it positively, she made me
understand that, being herself an illustrious member of the republic of
letters, she was well aware that she was speaking to an insect. She
seemed as if she wanted to dictate to everybody around her, and she very
likely thought that she had the right to do so at the age of sixty,
particularly towards a young novice only twenty-five years old, who had
not yet contributed anything to the literary treasury. In order to please
her, I spoke to her of the Abbe Conti, and I had occasion to quote two
lines of that profound writer. Madam corrected me with a patronizing air
for my pronunciation of the word 'scevra', which means divided, saying
that it ought to be pronounced 'sceura', and she added that I ought to be
very glad to have learned so much on the first day of my arrival in
Paris, telling me that it would be an important day in my life.
"Madam, I came here to learn and not to unlearn. You will kindly allow me
to tell you that the pronunciation of that word 'scevra' with a v, and
not 'sceura' with a u, because it is a contraction of 'sceverra'."
"It remains to be seen which of us is wrong."
"You, madam, according to Ariosto, who makes 'scevra' rhyme with
'persevra', and the rhyme would be false with 'sceura', which is not an
Italian word."
She would have kept up the discussion, but her husband, a man eighty
years of age, told her that she was wrong. She held her tongue, but from
that time she told everybody that I was an impostor.
Her husband, Louis Riccoboni, better known as Lelio, was the same who had
brought the Italian company to Paris in 1716, and placed it at the
service of the regent: he was a man of great merit. He had been very
handsome, and justly enjoyed the esteem of the public, in consequence not
only of his talent but also of the purity of his life.
During supper my principal occupation was to study Silvia, who then
enjoyed the greatest reputation, and I judged her to be even above it.
She was then about fifty years old, her figure was elegant, her air
noble, her manners graceful and easy; she was affable, witty, kind to
everybody, simple and unpretending. Her face was an enigma, for it
inspired everyone with the warmest sympathy, and yet if you examined it
attentively there was not one beautiful feature; she could not be called
handsome, but no one could have thought her ugly. Yet she was not one of
those women who are neither handsome nor ugly, for she possessed a
certain something which struck one at first sight and captivated the
interest. Then what was she?
Beautiful, certainly, but owing to charms unknown to all those who, not
being attracted towards her by an irresistible feeling which compelled
them to love her, had not the courage to study her, or the constancy to
obtain a thorough knowledge of her.
Silvia was the adoration of France, and her talent was the real support
of all the comedies which the greatest authors wrote for her, especially
of, the plays of Marivaux, for without her his comedies would never have
gone to posterity. Never was an actress found who could replace her, and
to find one it would be necessary that she should unite in herself all
the perfections which Silvia possessed for the difficult profession of
the stage: action, voice, intelligence, wit, countenance, manners, and a
deep knowledge of the human heart. In Silvia every quality was from
nature, and the art which gave the last touch of perfection to her
qualities was never seen.
To the qualities which I have just mentioned, Silvia added another which
surrounded her with a brilliant halo, and the absence of which would not
have prevented her from being the shining star of the stage: she led a
virtuous life. She had been anxious to have friends, but she had
dismissed all lovers, refusing to avail herself of a privilege which she
could easily have enjoyed, but which would have rendered her contemptible
in her own estimation. The irreproachable conduct obtained for her a
reputation of respectability which, at her age, would have been held as
ridiculous and even insulting by any other woman belonging to the same
profession, and many ladies of the highest rank honoured her with her
friendship more even than with their patronage. Never did the capricious
audience of a Parisian pit dare to hiss Silvia, not even in her
performance of characters which the public disliked, and it was the
general opinion that she was in every way above her profession.
Silvia did not think that her good conduct was a merit, for she knew that
she was virtuous only because her self-love compelled her to be so, and
she never exhibited any pride or assumed any superiority towards her
theatrical sisters, although, satisfied to shine by their talent or their
beauty, they cared little about rendering themselves conspicuous by their
virtue. Silvia loved them all, and they all loved her; she always was the
first to praise, openly and with good faith, the talent of her rivals;
but she lost nothing by it, because, being their superior in talent and
enjoying a spotless reputation, her rivals could not rise above her.
Nature deprived that charming woman of ten year of life; she became
consumptive at the age of sixty, ten years after I had made her
acquaintance. The climate of Paris often proves fatal to our Italian
actresses. Two years before her death I saw her perform the character of
Marianne in the comedy of Marivaux, and in spite of her age and declining
health the illusion was complete. She died in my presence, holding her
daughter in her arms, and she was giving her the advice of a tender
mother five minutes before she breathed her last. She was honourably
buried in the church of St. Sauveur, without the slightest opposition
from the venerable priest, who, far from sharing the anti-christain
intolerancy of the clergy in general, said that her profession as an
actress had not hindered her from being a good Christian, and that the
earth was the common mother of all human beings, as Jesus Christ had been
the Saviour of all mankind.
You will forgive me, dear reader, if I have made you attend the funeral
of Silvia ten years before her death; believe me I have no intention of
performing a miracle; you may console yourself with the idea that I shall
spare you that unpleasant task when poor Silvia dies.
Her only daughter, the object of her adoration, was seated next to her at
the supper-table. She was then only nine years old, and being entirely
taken up by her mother I paid no attention to her; my interest in her was
to come.
After the supper, which was protracted to a late hour, I repaired to the
house of Madame Quinson, my landlady, where I found myself very
comfortable. When I woke in the morning, the said Madame Quinson came to
my room to tell me that a servant was outside and wished to offer me his
services. I asked her to send him in, and I saw a man of very small
stature; that did not please me, and I told him so.
"My small stature, your honour, will be a guarantee that I shall never
borrow your clothes to go to some amorous rendezvous."
"Your name?"
"Any name you please."
"What do you mean? I want the name by which you are known."
"I have none. Every master I serve calls me according to his fancy, and I
have served more than fifty in my life. You may call me what you like."
"But you must have a family name."
"I never had any family. I had a name, I believe, in my young days, but I
have forgotten it since I have been in service. My name has changed with
every new master."
"Well! I shall call you Esprit."
"You do me a great honour."
"Here, go and get me change for a Louis."
"I have it, sir."
"I see you are rich."
"At your service, sir."
"Where can I enquire about you?"
"At the agency for servants. Madame Quinson, besides, can answer your
enquiries. Everybody in Paris knows me."
"That is enough. I shall give you thirty sous a day; you must find your
own clothes: you will sleep where you like, and you must be here at seven
o'clock every morning."
Baletti called on me and entreated me to take my meals every day at his
house. After his visit I told Esprit to take me to the Palais-Royal, and
I left him at the gates. I felt the greatest curiosity about that
renowned garden, and at first I examined everything. I see a rather fine
garden, walks lined with big trees, fountains, high houses all round the
garden, a great many men and women walking about, benches here and there
forming shops for the sale of newspapers, perfumes, tooth-picks, and
other trifles. I see a quantity of chairs for hire at the rate of one
sou, men reading the newspaper under the shade of the trees, girls and
men breakfasting either alone or in company, waiters who were rapidly
going up and down a narrow staircase hidden under the foliage.
I sit down at a small table: a waiter comes immediately to enquire my
wishes. I ask for some chocolate made with water; he brings me some, but
very bad, although served in a splendid silver-gilt cup. I tell him to
give me some coffee, if it is good.
"Excellent, I made it myself yesterday."
"Yesterday! I do not want it."
"The milk is very good."
"Milk! I never drink any. Make me a cup of fresh coffee without milk."
"Without milk! Well, sir, we never make coffee but in the afternoon.
Would you like a good bavaroise, or a decanter of orgeat?"
"Yes, give me the orgeat."
I find that beverage delicious, and make up my mind to have it daily for
my breakfast. I enquire from the waiter whether there is any news; he
answers that the dauphine has been delivered of a prince. An abbe, seated
at a table close by, says to him,--
"You are mad, she has given birth to a princess."
A third man comes forward and exclaims,--
"I have just returned from Versailles, and the dauphine has not been
delivered either of a prince or of a princess."
Then, turning towards me, he says that I look like a foreigner, and when
I say that I am an Italian he begins to speak to me of the court, of the
city, of the theatres, and at last he offers to accompany me everywhere.
I thank him and take my leave. The abbe rises at the same time, walks
with me, and tells me the names of all the women we meet in the garden.
A young man comes up to him, they embrace one another, and the abbe
presents him to me as a learned Italian scholar. I address him in
Italian, and he answers very wittily, but his way of speaking makes me
smile, and I tell him why. He expressed himself exactly in the style of
Boccacio. My remark pleases him, but I soon prove to him that it is not
the right way to speak, however perfect may have been the language of
that ancient writer. In less than a quarter of an hour we are excellent
friends, for we find that our tastes are the same.
My new friend was a poet as I was; he was an admirer of Italian
literature, while I admired the French.
We exchanged addresses, and promise to see one another very often.
I see a crowd in one corner of the garden, everybody standing still and
looking up. I enquire from my friend whether there is anything wonderful
going on.
"These persons are watching the meridian; everyone holds his watch in his
hand in order to regulate it exactly at noon."
"Is there not a meridian everywhere?"
"Yes, but the meridian of the Palais-Royal is the most exact."
I laugh heartily.
"Why do you laugh?"
"Because it is impossible for all meridians not to be the same. That is
true 'badauderie'."
My friend looks at me for a moment, then he laughs likewise, and supplies
me with ample food to ridicule the worthy Parisians. We leave the
Palais-Royal through the main gate, and I observe another crowd of people
before a shop, on the sign-board of which I read "At the Sign of the
Civet Cat."
"What is the matter here?"
"Now, indeed, you are going to laugh. All these honest persons are
waiting their turn to get their snuff-boxes filled."
"Is there no other dealer in snuff?"
"It is sold everywhere, but for the last three weeks nobody will use any
snuff but that sold at the 'Civet Cat.'"
"Is it better than anywhere else?"
"Perhaps it is not as good, but since it has been brought into fashion by
the Duchesse de Chartres, nobody will have any other."
"But how did she manage to render it so fashionable?"
"Simply by stopping her carriage two or three times before the shop to
have her snuff-box filled, and by saying aloud to the young girl who
handed back the box that her snuff was the very best in Paris. The
'badauds', who never fail to congregate near the carriage of princes, no
matter if they have seen them a hundred times, or if they know them to be
as ugly as monkeys, repeated the words of the duchess everywhere, and
that was enough to send here all the snuff-takers of the capital in a
hurry. This woman will make a fortune, for she sells at least one hundred
crowns' worth of snuff every day."
"Very likely the duchess has no idea of the good she has done."
"Quite the reverse, for it was a cunning artifice on her part. The
duchess, feeling interested in the newly-married young woman, and wishing
to serve her in a delicate manner, thought of that expedient which has
met with complete success. You cannot imagine how kind Parisians are. You
are now in the only country in the world where wit can make a fortune by
selling either a genuine or a false article: in the first case, it
receives the welcome of intelligent and talented people, and in the
second, fools are always ready to reward it, for silliness is truly a
characteristic of the people here, and, however wonderful it may appear,
silliness is the daughter of wit. Therefore it is not a paradox to say
that the French would be wiser if they were less witty.
"The gods worshipped here although no altars are raised for them--are
Novelty and Fashion. Let a man run, and everybody will run after him. The
crowd will not stop, unless the man is proved to be mad; but to prove it
is indeed a difficult task, because we have a crowd of men who, mad from
their birth, are still considered wise.
"The snuff of the 'Civet Cat' is but one example of the facility with
which the crowd can be attracted to one particular spot. The king was one
day hunting, and found himself at the Neuilly Bridge; being thirsty, he
wanted a glass of ratafia. He stopped at the door of a drinking-booth,
and by the most lucky chance the poor keeper of the place happened to
have a bottle of that liquor. The king, after he had drunk a small glass,
fancied a second one, and said that he had never tasted such delicious
ratafia in his life. That was enough to give the ratafia of the good man
of Neuilly the reputation of being the best in Europe: the king had said
so. The consequence was that the most brilliant society frequented the
tavern of the delighted publican, who is now a very wealthy man, and has
built on the very spot a splendid house on which can be read the
following rather comic motto: 'Ex liquidis solidum,' which certainly came
out of the head of one of the forty immortals. Which gods must the worthy
tavern-keeper worship? Silliness, frivolity, and mirth."
"It seems to me," I replied, "that such approval, such ratification of
the opinion expressed by the king, the princes of the blood, etc., is
rather a proof of the affection felt for them by the nation, for the
French carry that affection to such an extent that they believe them
infallible."
"It is certain that everything here causes foreigners to believe that the
French people adore the king, but all thinking men here know well enough
that there is more show than reality in that adoration, and the court has
no confidence in it. When the king comes to Paris, everybody calls out,
'Vive le Roi!' because some idle fellow begins, or because some policeman
has given the signal from the midst of the crowd, but it is really a cry
which has no importance, a cry given out of cheerfulness, sometimes out
of fear, and which the king himself does not accept as gospel. He does
not feel comfortable in Paris, and he prefers being in Versailles,
surrounded by twenty-five thousand men who protect him against the fury
of that same people of Paris, who, if ever they became wiser, might very
well one day call out, 'Death to the King!' instead of, 'Long life to the
King!' Louis XIV. was well aware of it, and several councillors of the
upper chamber lost their lives for having advised the assembling of the
states-general in order to find some remedy for the misfortunes of the
country. France never had any love for any kings, with the exception of
St. Louis, of Louis XII, and of the great and good Henry IV.; and even in
the last case the love of the nation was not sufficient to defend the
king against the dagger of the Jesuits, an accursed race, the enemy of
nations as well as of kings. The present king, who is weak and entirely
led by his ministers, said candidly at the time he was just recovering
from illness, 'I am surprised at the rejoicings of the people in
consequence of my health being restored, for I cannot imagine why they
should love me so dearly.' Many kings might repeat the same words, at
least if love is to be measured according to the amount of good actually
done. That candid remark of Louis XV. has been highly praised, but some
philosopher of the court ought to have informed him that he was so much
loved because he had been surnamed 'le bien aime'."
"Surname or nickname; but are there any philosophers at the court of
France?"
"No, for philosophers and courtiers are as widely different as light and
darkness; but there are some men of intelligence who champ the bit from
motives of ambition and interest."
As we were thus conversing, M. Patu (such was the name of my new
acquaintance) escorted me as far as the door of Silvia's house; he
congratulated me upon being one of her friends, and we parted company.
I found the amiable actress in good company. She introduced me to all her
guests, and gave me some particulars respecting every one of them. The
name of Crebillon struck my ear.
"What, sir!" I said to him, "am I fortunate enough to see you? For eight
years you have charmed me, for eight years I have longed to know you.
Listen, I beg 'of you."
I then recited the finest passage of his 'Zenobie et Rhadamiste', which I
had translated into blank verse. Silvia was delighted to see the pleasure
enjoyed by Crebillon in hearing, at the age of eighty, his own lines in a
language which he knew thoroughly and loved as much as his own. He
himself recited the same passage in French, and politely pointed out the
parts in which he thought that I had improved on the original. I thanked
him, but I was not deceived by his compliment.
We sat down to supper, and, being asked what I had already seen in Paris,
I related everything I had done, omitting only my conversation with Patu.
After I had spoken for a long time, Crebillon, who had evidently observed
better than anyone else the road I had chosen in order to learn the good
as well as the bad qualities by his countrymen, said to me,
"For the first day, sir, I think that what you have done gives great
hopes of you, and without any doubt you will make rapid progress. You
tell your story well, and you speak French in such a way as to be
perfectly understood; yet all you say is only Italian dressed in French.
That is a novelty which causes you to be listened to with interest, and
which captivates the attention of your audience; I must even add that
your Franco-Italian language is just the thing to enlist in your favour
the sympathy of those who listen to you, because it is singular, new, and
because you are in a country where everybody worships those two
divinities--novelty and singularity. Nevertheless, you must begin
to-morrow and apply yourself in good earnest, in order to acquire a
thorough knowledge of our language, for the same persons who warmly
applaud you now, will, in two or three months, laugh at you."
"I believe it, sir, and that is what I fear; therefore the principal
object of my visit here is to devote myself entirely to the study of the
French language. But, sir, how shall I find a teacher? I am a very
unpleasant pupil, always asking questions, curious, troublesome,
insatiable, and even supposing that I could meet with the teacher I
require, I am afraid I am not rich enough to pay him."
"For fifty years, sir, I have been looking out for a pupil such as you
have just described yourself, and I would willingly pay you myself if you
would come to my house and receive my lessons. I reside in the Marais,
Rue de Douze Portes. I have the best Italian poets. I will make you
translate them into French, and you need not be afraid of my finding you
insatiable."
I accepted with joy. I did not know how to express my gratitude, but both
his offer and the few words of my answer bore the stamp of truth and
frankness.
Crebillon was a giant; he was six feet high, and three inches taller than
I. He had a good appetite, could tell a good story without laughing, was
celebrated for his witty repartees and his sociable manners, but he spent
his life at home, seldom going out, and seeing hardly anyone because he
always had a pipe in his mouth and was surrounded by at least twenty
cats, with which he would amuse himself all day. He had an old
housekeeper, a cook, and a man-servant. His housekeeper had the
management of everything; she never allowed him to be in need of
anything, and she gave no account of his money, which she kept
altogether, because he never asked her to render any accounts. The
expression of Crebillon's face was that of the lion's or of the cat's,
which is the same thing. He was one of the royal censors, and he told me
that it was an amusement for him. His housekeeper was in the habit of
reading him the works brought for his examination, and she would stop
reading when she came to a passage which, in her opinion, deserved his
censure, but sometimes they were of a different opinion, and then their
discussions were truly amusing. I once heard the housekeeper send away an
author with these words:
"Come again next week; we have had no time to examine your manuscript."
During a whole year I paid M. Crebillon three visits every week, and from
him I learned all I know of the French language, but I found it
impossible to get rid of my Italian idioms. I remark that turn easily
enough when I meet with it in other people, but it flows naturally from
my pen without my being aware of it. I am satisfied that, whatever I may
do, I shall never be able to recognize it any more than I can find out in
what consists the bad Latin style so constantly alleged against Livy.
I composed a stanza of eight verses on some subject which I do not
recollect, and I gave it to Crebillon, asking him to correct it. He read
it attentively, and said to me,
"These eight verses are good and regular, the thought is fine and truly
poetical, the style is perfect, and yet the stanza is bad."
"How so?"
"I do not know. I cannot tell you what is wanting. Imagine that you see a
man handsome, well made, amiable, witty-in fact, perfect, according to
your most severe judgment. A woman comes in, sees him, looks at him, and
goes away telling you that the man does not please her. 'But what fault
do you find in him, madam?' 'None, only he does not please me.' You look
again at the man, you examine him a second time, and you find that, in
order to give him a heavenly voice, he has been deprived of that which
constitutes a man, and you are compelled to acknowledge that a
spontaneous feeling has stood the woman in good stead."
It was by that comparison that Crebillon explained to me a thing almost
inexplicable, for taste and feeling alone can account for a thing which
is subject to no rule whatever.
We spoke a great deal of Louis XIV., whom Crebillon had known well for
fifteen years, and he related several very curious anecdotes which were
generally unknown. Amongst other things he assured me that the Siamese
ambassadors were cheats paid by Madame de Maintenon. He told us likewise
that he had never finished his tragedy of Cromwell, because the king had
told him one day not to wear out his pen on a scoundrel.
Crebillon mentioned likewise his tragedy of Catilina, and he told me
that, in his opinion, it was the most deficient of his works, but that he
never would have consented, even to make a good tragedy, to represent
Caesar as a young man, because he would in that case have made the public
laugh, as they would do if Madea were to appear previous to her
acquaintances with Jason.
He praised the talent of Voltaire very highly, but he accused him of
having stolen from him, Crebillon, the scene of the senate. He, however,
rendered him full justice, saying that he was a true historian, and able
to write history as well as tragedies, but that he unfortunately
adulterated history by mixing with it such a number of light anecdotes
and tales for the sake of rendering it more attractive. According to
Crebillon, the Man with the Iron Mask was nothing but an idle tale, and
he had been assured of it by Louis XIV. himself.
On the day of my first meeting with Crebillon at Silvia's, 'Cenie', a
play by Madame de Graffigny, was performed at the Italian Theatre, and I
went away early in order to get a good seat in the pit.
The ladies all covered with diamonds, who were taking possession of the
private boxes, engrossed all my interest and all my attention. I wore a
very fine suit, but my open ruffles and the buttons all along my coat
shewed at once that I was a foreigner, for the fashion was not the same
in Paris. I was gaping in the air and listlessly looking round, when a
gentleman, splendidly dressed, and three times stouter than I, came up
and enquired whether I was a foreigner. I answered affirmatively, and he
politely asked me how I liked Paris. I praised Paris very warmly. But at
that moment a very stout lady, brilliant with diamonds, entered the box
near us. Her enormous size astonished me, and, like a fool, I said to the
gentleman:
"Who is that fat sow?"
"She is the wife of this fat pig."
"Ah! I beg your pardon a thousand times!"
But my stout gentleman cared nothing for my apologies, and very far from
being angry he almost choked with laughter. This was the happy result of
the practical and natural philosophy which Frenchmen cultivate so well,
and which insures the happiness of their existence under an appearance of
frivolity!
I was confused, I was in despair, but the stout gentleman continued to
laugh heartily. At last he left the pit, and a minute afterwards I saw
him enter the box and speak to his wife. I was keeping an eye on them
without daring to look at them openly, and suddenly the lady, following
the example of her husband, burst into a loud laugh. Their mirth making
me more uncomfortable, I was leaving the pit, when the husband called out
to me, "Sir! Sir!"
"I could not go away without being guilty of impoliteness, and I went up
to their box. Then, with a serious countenance and with great affability,
he begged my pardon for having laughed so much, and very graciously
invited me to come to his house and sup with them that same evening. I
thanked him politely, saying that I had a previous engagement. But he
renewed his entreaties, and his wife pressing me in the most engaging
manner I told them, in order to prove that I was not trying to elude
their invitation, that I was expected to sup at Silvia's house.
"In that case I am certain," said the gentleman, "of obtaining your
release if you do not object. Allow me to go myself to Silvia."
It would have been uncourteous on my part to resist any longer. He left
the box and returned almost immediately with my friend Baletti, who told
me that his mother was delighted to see me making such excellent
acquaintances, and that she would expect to see me at dinner the next
day. He whispered to me that my new acquaintance was M. de Beauchamp,
Receiver-General of Taxes.
As soon as the performance was over, I offered my hand to madame, and we
drove to their mansion in a magnificent carriage. There I found the
abundance or rather the profusion which in Paris is exhibited by the men
of finance; numerous society, high play, good cheer, and open
cheerfulness. The supper was not over till one o'clock in the morning.
Madame's private carriage drove me to my lodgings. That house offered me
a kind welcome during the whole of my stay in Paris, and I must add that
my new friends proved very useful to me. Some persons assert that
foreigners find the first fortnight in Paris very dull, because a little
time is necessary to get introduced, but I was fortunate enough to find
myself established on as good a footing as I could desire within
twenty-four hours, and the consequence was that I felt delighted with
Paris, and certain that my stay would prove an agreeable one.
The next morning Patu called and made me a present of his prose panegyric
on the Marechal de Saxe. We went out together and took a walk in the
Tuileries, where he introduced me to Madame du Boccage, who made a good
jest in speaking of the Marechal de Saxe.
"It is singular," she said, "that we cannot have a 'De profundis' for a
man who makes us sing the 'Te Deum' so often."
As we left the Tuileries, Patu took me to the house of a celebrated
actress of the opera, Mademoiselle Le Fel, the favourite of all Paris,
and member of the Royal Academy of Music. She had three very young and
charming children, who were fluttering around her like butterflies.
"I adore them," she said to me.
"They deserve adoration for their beauty," I answered, "although they
have all a different cast of countenance."
"No wonder! The eldest is the son of the Duke d'Anneci, the second of
Count d'Egmont, and the youngest is the offspring of Maison-Rouge, who
has just married the Romainville."
"Ah! pray excuse me, I thought you were the mother of the three."
"You were not mistaken, I am their mother."
As she said these words she looked at Patu, and both burst into hearty
laughter which did not make me blush, but which shewed me my blunder.
I was a, novice in Paris, and I had not been accustomed to see women
encroach upon the privilege which men alone generally enjoy. Yet
mademoiselle Le Fel was not a bold-faced woman; she was even rather
ladylike, but she was what is called above prejudices. If I had known the
manners of the time better, I should have been aware that such things
were every-day occurrences, and that the noblemen who thus sprinkled
their progeny everywhere were in the habit of leaving their children in
the hands of their mothers, who were well paid. The more fruitful,
therefore, these ladies were, the greater was their income.
My want of experience often led me into serious blunders, and
Mademoiselle Le Fel would, I have no doubt, have laughed at anyone
telling her that I had some wit, after the stupid mistake of which I had
been guilty.
Another day, being at the house of Lani, ballet-master of the opera, I
saw five or six young girls of thirteen or fourteen years of age
accompanied by their mothers, and all exhibiting that air of modesty
which is the characteristic of a good education. I addressed a few
gallant words to them, and they answered me with down-cast eyes. One of
them having complained of the headache, I offered her my smelling-bottle,
and one of her companions said to her,
"Very likely you did not sleep well last night."
"Oh! it is not that," answered the modest-looking Agnes, "I think I am in
the family-way."
On receiving this unexpected reply from a girl I had taken for a maiden,
I said to her,
"I should never have supposed that you were married, madam."
She looked at me with evident surprise for a moment, then she turned
towards her friend, and both began to laugh immoderately. Ashamed, but
for them more than myself, I left the house with a firm resolution never
again to take virtue for granted in a class of women amongst whom it is
so scarce. To look for, even to suppose, modesty, amongst the nymphs of
the green room, is, indeed, to be very foolish; they pride themselves
upon having none, and laugh at those who are simple enough to suppose
them better than they are.
Thanks to my friend Patu, I made the acquaintance of all the women who
enjoyed some reputation in Paris. He was fond of the fair sex, but
unfortunately for him he had not a constitution like mine, and his love
of pleasure killed him very early. If he had lived, he would have gone
down to posterity in the wake of Voltaire, but he paid the debt of nature
at the age of thirty.
I learned from him the secret which several young French literati employ
in order to make certain of the perfection of their prose, when they want
to write anything requiring as perfect a style as they can obtain, such
as panegyrics, funeral orations, eulogies, dedications, etc. It was by
surprise that I wrested that secret from Patu.
Being at his house one morning, I observed on his table several sheets of
paper covered with dode-casyllabic blank verse.
I read a dozen of them, and I told him that, although the verses were
very fine, the reading caused me more pain than pleasure.
"They express the same ideas as the panegyric of the Marechal de Saxe,
but I confess that your prose pleases me a great deal more."
"My prose would not have pleased you so much, if it had not been at first
composed in blank verse."
"Then you take very great trouble for nothing."
"No trouble at all, for I have not the slightest difficulty in writing
that sort of poetry. I write it as easily as prose."
"Do you think that your prose is better when you compose it from your own
poetry?"
"No doubt of it, it is much better, and I also secure the advantage that
my prose is not full of half verses which flow from the pen of the writer
without his being aware of it."
"Is that a fault?"
"A great one and not to be forgiven. Prose intermixed with occasional
verses is worse than prosaic poetry."
"Is it true that the verses which, like parasites, steal into a funeral
oration, must be sadly out of place?"
"Certainly. Take the example of Tacitus, who begins his history of Rome
by these words: 'Urbem Roman a principio reges habuere'. They form a very
poor Latin hexameter, which the great historian certainly never made on
purpose, and which he never remarked when he revised his work, for there
is no doubt that, if he had observed it, he would have altered that
sentence. Are not such verses considered a blemish in Italian prose?"
"Decidedly. But I must say that a great many poor writers have purposely
inserted such verses into their prose, believing that they would make it
more euphonious. Hence the tawdriness which is justly alleged against
much Italian literature. But I suppose you are the only writer who takes
so much pains."
"The only one? Certainly not. All the authors who can compose blank
verses very easily, as I can, employ them when they intend to make a fair
copy of their prose. Ask Crebillon, the Abby de Voisenon, La Harpe,
anyone you like, and they will all tell you the same thing. Voltaire was
the first to have recourse to that art in the small pieces in which his
prose is truly charming. For instance, the epistle to Madame du Chatelet,
which is magnificent. Read it, and if you find a single hemistich in it I
will confess myself in the wrong."
I felt some curiosity about the matter, and I asked Crebillon about it.
He told me that Fatu was right, but he added that he had never practised
that art himself.
Patu wished very much to take me to the opera in order to witness the
effect produced upon me by the performance, which must truly astonish an
Italian. 'Les Fetes Venitiennes' was the title of the opera which was in
vogue just then--a title full of interest for me. We went for our forty
sous to the pit, in which, although the audience was standing, the
company was excellent, for the opera was the favourite amusement of the
Parisians.
After a symphony, very fine in its way and executed by an excellent
orchestra, the curtain rises, and I see a beautiful scene representing
the small St. Mark's Square in Venice, taken from the Island of St.
George, but I am shocked to see the ducal palace on my left, and the tall
steeple on my right, that is to say the very reverse of reality. I laugh
at this ridiculous mistake, and Patu, to whom I say why I am laughing,
cannot help joining me. The music, very fine although in the ancient
style, at first amused me on account of its novelty, but it soon wearied
me. The melopaeia fatigued me by its constant and tedious monotony, and
by the shrieks given out of season. That melopaeia, of the French
replaces--at least they think so--the Greek melapaeia and our recitative
which they dislike, but which they would admire if they understood
Italian.
The action of the opera was limited to a day in the carnival, when the
Venetians are in the habit of promenading masked in St. Mark's Square.
The stage was animated by gallants, procuresses, and women amusing
themselves with all sorts of intrigues. The costumes were whimsical and
erroneous, but the whole was amusing. I laughed very heartily, and it was
truly a curious sight for a Venetian, when I saw the Doge followed by
twelve Councillors appear on the stage, all dressed in the most ludicrous
style, and dancing a 'pas d'ensemble'. Suddenly the whole of the pit
burst into loud applause at the appearance of a tall, well-made dancer,
wearing a mask and an enormous black wig, the hair of which went half-way
down his back, and dressed in a robe open in front and reaching to his
heels. Patu said, almost reverently, "It is the inimitable Dupres." I had
heard of him before, and became attentive. I saw that fine figure coming
forward with measured steps, and when the dancer had arrived in front of
the stage, he raised slowly his rounded arms, stretched them gracefully
backward and forward, moved his feet with precision and lightness, took a
few small steps, made some battements and pirouettes, and disappeared
like a butterfly. The whole had not lasted half a minute. The applause
burst from every part of the house. I was astonished, and asked my friend
the cause of all those bravos.
"We applaud the grace of Dupres and, the divine harmony of his movements.
He is now sixty years of age, and those who saw him forty years ago say
that he is always the same."
"What! Has he never danced in a different style?"
"He could not have danced in a better one, for his style is perfect, and
what can you want above perfection?"
"Nothing, unless it be a relative perfection."
"But here it is absolute. Dupres always does the same thing, and everyday
we fancy we see it for the first time. Such is the power of the good and
beautiful, of the true and sublime, which speak to the soul. His dance is
true harmony, the real dance, of which you have no idea in Italy."
At the end of the second act, Dupres appeared again, still with a mask,
and danced to a different tune, but in my opinion doing exactly the same
as before. He advanced to the very footlights, and stopped one instant in
a graceful attitude. Patu wanted to force my admiration, and I gave way.
Suddenly everyone round me exclaimed,--
"Look! look! he is developing himself!"
And in reality he was like an elastic body which, in developing itself,
would get larger. I made Patu very happy by telling him that Dupres was
truly very graceful in all his movements. Immediately after him we had a
female dancer, who jumped about like a fury, cutting to right and left,
but heavily, yet she was applauded 'con furore'.
"This is," said Patu, "the famous Camargo. I congratulate you, my friend,
upon having arrived in Paris in time to see her, for she has accomplished
her twelfth lustre."
I confessed that she was a wonderful dancer.
"She is the first artist," continued my friend, "who has dared to spring
and jump on a French stage. None ventured upon doing it before her, and,
what is more extraordinary, she does not wear any drawers."
"I beg your pardon, but I saw...."
"What? Nothing but her skin which, to speak the truth, is not made of
lilies and roses."
"The Camargo," I said, with an air of repentance, "does not please me. I
like Dupres much better."
An elderly admirer of Camargo, seated on my left, told me that in her
youth she could perform the 'saut de basque' and even the 'gargouillade',
and that nobody had ever seen her thighs, although she always danced
without drawers.
"But if you never saw her thighs, how do you know that she does not wear
silk tights?"
"Oh! that is one of those things which can easily be ascertained. I see
you are a foreigner, sir."
"You are right."
But I was delighted at the French opera, with the rapidity of the scenic
changes which are done like lightning, at the signal of a whistle--a
thing entirely unknown in Italy. I likewise admired the start given to
the orchestra by the baton of the leader, but he disgusted me with the
movements of his sceptre right and left, as if he thought that he could
give life to all the instruments by the mere motion of his arm. I admired
also the silence of the audience, a thing truly wonderful to an Italian,
for it is with great reason that people complain of the noise made in
Italy while the artists are singing, and ridicule the silence which
prevails through the house as soon as the dancers make their appearance
on the stage. One would imagine that all the intelligence of the Italians
is in their eyes. At the same time I must observe that there is not one
country in the world in which extravagance and whimsicalness cannot be
found, because the foreigner can make comparisons with what he has seen
elsewhere, whilst the natives are not conscious of their errors.
Altogether the opera pleased me, but the French comedy captivated me.
There the French are truly in their element; they perform splendidly, in
a masterly manner, and other nations cannot refuse them the palm which
good taste and justice must award to their superiority. I was in the
habit of going there every day, and although sometimes the audience was
not composed of two hundred persons, the actors were perfect. I have seen
'Le Misanthrope', 'L'Avare', 'Tartufe', 'Le Joueur', 'Le Glorieux', and
many other comedies; and, no matter how often I saw them. I always
fancied it was the first time. I arrived in Paris to admire Sarrazin, La
Dangeville, La Dumesnil, La Gaussin, La Clairon, Preville, and several
actresses who, having retired from the stage, were living upon their
pension, and delighting their circle of friends. I made, amongst others,
the acquaintance of the celebrated Le Vasseur. I visited them all with
pleasure, and they related to me several very curious anecdotes. They
were generally most kindly disposed in every way.
One evening, being in the box of Le Vasseur, the performance was composed
of a tragedy in which a very handsome actress had the part of a dumb
priestess.
"How pretty she is!" I said.
"Yes, charming," answered Le Vasseur, "She is the daughter of the actor
who plays the confidant. She is very pleasant in company, and is an
actress of good promise."
"I should be very happy to make her acquaintance."
"Oh! well; that is not difficult. Her father and mother are very worthy
people, and they will be delighted if you ask them to invite you to
supper. They will not disturb you; they will go to bed early, and will
let you talk with their daughter as long as you please. You are in
France, sir; here we know the value of life, and try to make the best of
it. We love pleasure, and esteem ourselves fortunate when we can find the
opportunity of enjoying life."
"That is truly charming, madam; but how could I be so bold as to invite
myself to supper with worthy persons whom I do not know, and who have not
the slightest knowledge of me?"
"Oh, dear me! What are you saying? We know everybody. You see how I treat
you myself. After the performance, I shall be happy to introduce you, and
the acquaintance will be made at once."
"I certainly must ask you to do me that honour, but another time."
"Whenever you like."
CHAPTER VII
My Blunders in the French Language, My Success, My Numerous
Acquaintances--Louis XV.--My Brother Arrives in Paris.
All the Italian actors in Paris insisted upon entertaining me, in order
to shew me their magnificence, and they all did it in a sumptuous style.
Carlin Bertinazzi who played Harlequin, and was a great favourite of the
Parisians, reminded me that he had already seen me thirteen years before
in Padua, at the time of his return from St. Petersburg with my mother.
He offered me an excellent dinner at the house of Madame de la Caillerie,
where he lodged. That lady was in love with him. I complimented her upon
four charming children whom I saw in the house. Her husband, who was
present, said to me;
"They are M. Carlin's children."
"That may be, sir, but you take care of them, and as they go by your
name, of course they will acknowledge you as their father."
"Yes, I should be so legally; but M. Carlin is too honest a man not to
assume the care of his children whenever I may wish to get rid of them.
He is well aware that they belong to him, and my wife would be the first
to complain if he ever denied it."
The man was not what is called a good, easy fellow, far from it; but he
took the matter in a philosophical way, and spoke of it with calm, and
even with a sort of dignity. He was attached to Carlin by a warm
friendship, and such things were then very common in Paris amongst people
of a certain class. Two noblemen, Boufflers and Luxembourg, had made a
friendly exchange of each other's wives, and each had children by the
other's wife. The young Boufflers were called Luxembourg, and the young
Luxembourg were called Boufflers. The descendants of those tiercelets are
even now known in France under those names. Well, those who were in the
secret of that domestic comedy laughed, as a matter of course, and it did
not prevent the earth from moving according to the laws of gravitation.
The most wealthy of the Italian comedians in Paris was Pantaloon, the
father of Coraline and Camille, and a well-known usurer. He also invited
me to dine with his family, and I was delighted with his two daughters.
The eldest, Coraline, was kept by the Prince of Monaco, son of the Duke
of Valentinois, who was still alive; and Camille was enamoured of the
Count of Melfort, the favourite of the Duchess of Chartres, who had just
become Duchess of Orleans by the death of her father-in-law.
Coraline was not so sprightly as Camille, but she was prettier. I began
to make love to her as a young man of no consequence, and at hours which
I thought would not attract attention: but all hours belong by right to
the established lover, and I therefore found myself sometimes with her
when the Prince of Monaco called to see her. At first I would bow to the
prince and withdraw, but afterwards I was asked to remain, for as a
general thing princes find a tete-a-tete with their mistresses rather
wearisome. Therefore we used to sup together, and they both listened,
while it was my province to eat, and to relate stories.
I bethought myself of paying my court to the prince, and he received my
advances very well. One morning, as I called on Coraline, he said to me,
"Ah! I am very glad to see you, for I have promised the Duchess of Rufe
to present you to her, and we can go to her immediately."
Again a duchess! My star is decidedly in the ascendant. Well, let us go!
We got into a 'diable', a sort of vehicle then very fashionable, and at
eleven o'clock in the morning we were introduced to the duchess.
Dear reader, if I were to paint it with a faithful pen, my portrait of
that lustful vixen would frighten you. Imagine sixty winters heaped upon
a face plastered with rouge, a blotched and pimpled complexion, emaciated
and gaunt features, all the ugliness of libertinism stamped upon the
countenance of that creature relining upon the sofa. As soon as she sees
me, she exclaims with rapid joy,
"Ah! this is a good-looking man! Prince, it is very amiable on your part
to bring him to me. Come and sit near me, my fine fellow!"
I obeyed respectfully, but a noxious smell of musk, which seemed to me
almost corpse-like, nearly upset me. The infamous duchess had raised
herself on the sofa and exposed all the nakedness of the most disgusting
bosom, which would have caused the most courageous man to draw back. The
prince, pretending to have some engagement, left us, saying that he would
send his carriage for me in a short time.
As soon as we were alone, the plastered skeleton thrust its arms forward,
and, without giving me time to know what I was about, the creature gave
me a horrible kiss, and then one of her hands began to stray with the
most bare-faced indecency.
"Let me see, my fine cock," she said, "if you have a fine . . ."
I was shuddering, and resisted the attempt.
"Well, well! What a baby you are!" said the disgusting Messaline; "are
you such a novice?"
"No, madam; but...."
"But what?"
"I have...."
"Oh, the villain!" she exclaimed, loosing her hold; "what was I going to
expose myself to!"
I availed myself of the opportunity, snatched my hat, and took to my
heels, afraid lest the door-keeper should stop me.
I took a coach and drove to Coraline's, where I related the adventure.
She laughed heartily, and agreed with me that the prince had played me a
nasty trick. She praised the presence of mind with which I had invented
an impediment, but she did not give me an opportunity of proving to her
that I had deceived the duchess.
Yet I was not without hope, and suspected that she did not think me
sufficiently enamoured of her.
Three or four days afterwards, however, as we had supper together and
alone, I told her so many things, and I asked her so clearly to make me
happy or else to dismiss me, that she gave me an appointment for the next
day.
"To-morrow," she said, "the prince goes to Versailles, and he will not
return until the day after; we will go together to the warren to hunt
ferrets, and have no doubt we shall come back to Paris pleased with one
another."
"That is right."
The next day at ten o'clock we took a coach, but as we were nearing the
gate of the city a vis-a-vis, with servants in a foreign livery came tip
to us, and the person who was in it called out, "Stop! Stop!"
The person was the Chevalier de Wurtemburg, who, without deigning to cast
even one glance on me, began to say sweet words to Coraline, and
thrusting his head entirely out of his carriage he whispered to her. She
answered him likewise in a whisper; then taking my hand, she said to me,
laughingly,
"I have some important business with this prince; go to the warren alone,
my dear friend, enjoy the hunt, and come to me to-morrow."
And saying those words she got out, took her seat in the vis-a-vis, and I
found myself very much in the position of Lot's wife, but not motionless.
Dear reader, if you have ever been in such a predicament you will easily
realize the rage with which I was possessed: if you have never been
served in that way, so much the better for you, but it is useless for me
to try to give you an idea of my anger; you would not understand me.
I was disgusted with the coach, and I jumped out of it, telling the
driver to go to the devil. I took the first hack which happened to pass,
and drove straight to Patu's house, to whom I related my adventure,
almost foaming with rage. But very far from pitying me or sharing my
anger, Patu, much wiser, laughed and said,
"I wish with all my heart that the same thing might happen to me; for you
are certain of possessing our beautiful Coraline the very first time you
are with her."
"I would not have her, for now I despise her heartily." "Your contempt
ought to have come sooner. But, now that is too late to discuss the
matter, I offer you, as a compensation, a dinner at the Hotel du Roule."
"Most decidedly yes; it is an excellent idea. Let us go."
The Hotel du Roule was famous in Paris, and I had not been there yet. The
woman who kept it had furnished the place with great elegance, and she
always had twelve or fourteen well-chosen nymphs, with all the
conveniences that could be desired. Good cooking, good beds, cleanliness,
solitary and beautiful groves. Her cook was an artist, and her
wine-cellar excellent. Her name was Madame Paris; probably an assumed
name, but it was good enough for the purpose. Protected by the police,
she was far enough from Paris to be certain that those who visited her
liberally appointed establishment were above the middle class. Everything
was strictly regulated in her house and every pleasure was taxed at a
reasonable tariff. The prices were six francs for a breakfast with a
nymph, twelve for dinner, and twice that sum to spend a whole night. I
found the house even better than its reputation, and by far superior to
the warren.
We took a coach, and Patu said to the driver,
"To Chaillot."
"I understand, your honour."
After a drive of half an hour, we stopped before a gate on which could be
read, "Hotel du Roule."
The gate was closed. A porter, sporting long mustachioes, came out
through a side-door and gravely examined us. He was most likely pleased
with our appearance, for the gate was opened and we went in. A woman,
blind of one eye, about forty years old, but with a remnant of beauty,
came up, saluted us politely, and enquired whether we wished to have
dinner. Our answer being affirmative, she took us to a fine room in which
we found fourteen young women, all very handsome, and dressed alike in
muslin. As we entered the room, they rose and made us a graceful
reverence; they were all about the same age, some with light hair, some
with dark; every taste could be satisfied. We passed them in review,
addressing a few words to each, and made our choice. The two we chose
screamed for joy, kissed us with a voluptuousness which a novice might
have mistaken for love, and took us to the garden until dinner would be
ready. That garden was very large and artistically arranged to minister
to the pleasures of love. Madame Paris said to us,
"Go, gentlemen, enjoy the fresh air with perfect security in every way;
my house is the temple of peace and of good health."
The girl I had chosen was something like Coraline, and that made me find
her delightful. But in the midst of our amorous occupations we were
called to dinner. We were well served, and the dinner had given us new
strength, when our single-eyed hostess came, watch in hand, to announce
that time was up. Pleasure at the "Hotel du Roule" was measured by the
hour.
I whispered to Patu, and, after a few philosophical considerations,
addressing himself to madame la gouvernante, he said to her,
"We will have a double dose, and of course pay double."
"You are quite welcome, gentlemen."
We went upstairs, and after we had made our choice a second time, we
renewed our promenade in the garden. But once more we were disagreeably
surprised by the strict punctuality of the lady of the house. "Indeed!
this is too much of a good thing, madam."
"Let us go up for the third time, make a third choice, and pass the whole
night here."
"A delightful idea which I accept with all my heart."
"Does Madame Paris approve our plan?"
"I could not have devised a better one, gentlemen; it is a masterpiece."
When we were in the room, and after we had made a new choice, the girls
laughed at the first ones who had not contrived to captivate us, and by
way of revenge these girls told their companions that we were lanky
fellows.
This time I was indeed astonished at my own choice. I had taken a true
Aspasia, and I thanked my stars that I had passed her by the first two
times, as I had now the certainty of possessing her for fourteen hours.
That beauty's name was Saint Hilaire; and under that name she became
famous in England, where she followed a rich lord the year after. At
first, vexed because I had not remarked her before, she was proud and
disdainful; but I soon proved to her that it was fortunate that my first
or second choice had not fallen on her, as she would now remain longer
with me. She then began to laugh, and shewed herself very agreeable.
That girl had wit, education and talent-everything, in fact, that is
needful to succeed in the profession she had adopted. During the supper
Patu told me in Italian that he was on the point of taking her at the
very moment I chose her, and the next morning he informed me that he had
slept quietly all night. The Saint Hilaire was highly pleased with me,
and she boasted of it before her companions. She was the cause of my
paying several visits to the Hotel du Roule, and all for her; she was
very proud of my constancy.
Those visits very naturally cooled my ardour for Coraline. A singer from
Venice, called Guadani, handsome, a thorough musician, and very witty,
contrived to captivate her affections three weeks after my quarrel with
her. The handsome fellow, who was a man only in appearance, inflamed her
with curiosity if not with love, and caused a rupture with the prince,
who caught her in the very act. But Coraline managed to coax him back,
and, a short time after, a reconciliation took place between them, and
such a good one, that a babe was the consequence of it; a girl, whom the
prince named Adelaide, and to whom he gave a dowry. After the death of
his father, the Duke of Valentinois, the prince left her altogether and
married Mlle. de Brignole, from Genoa. Coraline became the mistress of
Count de la Marche, now Prince de Conti. Coraline is now dead, as well as
a son whom she had by the count, and whom his father named Count de
Monreal.
Madame la Dauphine was delivered of a princess, who received the title of
Madame de France.
In the month of August the Royal Academy had an exhibition at the Louvre,
and as there was not a single battle piece I conceived the idea of
summoning my brother to Paris. He was then in Venice, and he had great
talent in that particular style. Passorelli, the only painter of battles
known in France, was dead, and I thought that Francois might succeed and
make a fortune. I therefore wrote to M. Grimani and to my brother; I
persuaded them both, but Francois did not come to Paris till the
beginning of the following year.
Louis XV., who was passionately fond of hunting, was in the habit of
spending six weeks every year at the Chateau of Fontainebleau. He always
returned to Versailles towards the middle of November. That trip cost
him, or rather cost France, five millions of francs. He always took with
him all that could contribute to the amusement of the foreign ambassadors
and of his numerous court. He was followed by the French and the Italian
comedians, and by the actors and actresses of the opera.
During those six weeks Fontainebleau was more brilliant than Versailles;
nevertheless, the artists attached to the theatres were so numerous that
the Opera, the French and Italian Comedies, remained open in Paris.
Baletti's father, who had recovered his health, was to go to
Fontainebleau with Silvia and all his family. They invited me to
accompany them, and to accept a lodging in a house hired by them.
It was a splendid opportunity; they were my friends, and I accepted, for
I could not have met with a better occasion to see the court and all the
foreign ministers. I presented myself to M. de Morosini, now Procurator
at St. Mark's, and then ambassador from the Republic to the French court.
The first night of the opera he gave me permission to accompany him; the
music was by Lulli. I had a seat in the pit precisely under the private
box of Madame de Pompadour, whom I did not know. During the first scene
the celebrated Le Maur gave a scream so shrill and so unexpected that I
thought she had gone mad. I burst into a genuine laugh, not supposing
that any one could possibly find fault with it. But a knight of the Order
of the Holy Ghost, who was near the Marquise de Pompadour, dryly asked me
what country I came from. I answered, in the same tone,
"From Venice."
"I have been there, and have laughed heartily at the recitative in your
operas."
"I believe you, sir, and I feel certain that no one ever thought of
objecting to your laughing."
My answer, rather a sharp one, made Madame de Pompadour laugh, and she
asked me whether I truly came from down there.
"What do you mean by down there?"
"I mean Venice."
"Venice, madam, is not down there, but up there."
That answer was found more singular than the first, and everybody in the
box held a consultation in order to ascertain whether Venice was down or
up. Most likely they thought I was right, for I was left alone.
Nevertheless, I listened to the opera without laughing; but as I had a
very bad cold I blew my nose often. The same gentleman addressing himself
again to me, remarked that very likely the windows of my room did not
close well. That gentleman, who was unknown to me was the Marechal de
Richelieu. I told him he was mistaken, for my windows were well
'calfoutrees'. Everyone in the box burst into a loud laugh, and I felt
mortified, for I knew my mistake; I ought to have said 'calfeutrees'. But
these 'eus' and 'ous' cause dire misery to all foreigners.
Half an hour afterwards M. de Richelieu asked me which of the two
actresses pleased me most by her beauty.
"That one, sir."
"But she has ugly legs."
"They are not seen, sir; besides, whenever I examine the beauty of a
woman, 'la premiere chose que j'ecarte, ce sont les jambes'."
That word said quite by chance, and the double meaning of which I did not
understand, made at once an important personage of me, and everybody in
the box of Madame de Pompadour was curious to know me. The marshal
learned who I was from M. de Morosini, who told me that the duke would be
happy to receive me. My 'jeu de mots' became celebrated, and the marshal
honoured me with a very gracious welcome. Among the foreign ministers,
the one to whom I attached myself most was Lord Keith, Marshal of
Scotland and ambassador of the King of Prussia. I shall have occasion to
speak of him.
The day after my arrival in Fontainebleau I went alone to the court, and
I saw Louis XV., the handsome king, go to the chapel with the royal
family and all the ladies of the court, who surprised me by their
ugliness as much as the ladies of the court of Turin had astonished me by
their beauty. Yet in the midst of so many ugly ones I found out a regular
beauty. I enquired who she was.
"She is," answered one of my neighbours, "Madame de Brionne, more
remarkable by her virtue even than by her beauty. Not only is there no
scandalous story told about her, but she has never given any opportunity
to scandal-mongers of inventing any adventure of which she was the
heroine."
"Perhaps her adventures are not known."
"Ah, monsieur! at the court everything is known."
I went about alone, sauntering through the apartments, when suddenly I
met a dozen ugly ladies who seemed to be running rather than walking;
they were standing so badly upon their legs that they appeared as if they
would fall forward on their faces. Some gentleman happened to be near me,
curiosity impelled me to enquire where they were coming from, and where
they were going in such haste.
"They are coming from the apartment of the queen who is going to dine,
and the reason why they walk so badly is that their shoes have heels six
inches high, which compel them to walk on their toes and with bent knees
in order to avoid falling on their faces."
"But why do they not wear lower heels?"
"It is the fashion."
"What a stupid fashion!"
I took a gallery at random, and saw the king passing along, leaning with
one arm on the shoulder of M. d'Argenson. "Oh, base servility!" I thought
to myself. "How can a man make up his mind thus to bear the yoke, and how
can a man believe himself so much above all others as to take such
unwarrantable liberties!"
Louis XV. had the most magnificent head it was possible to see, and he
carried it with as much grace as majesty. Never did even the most skilful
painter succeed in rendering justice to the expression of that beautiful
head, when the king turned it on one side to look with kindness at
anyone. His beauty and grace compelled love at once. As I saw him, I
thought I had found the ideal majesty which I had been so surprised not
to find in the king of Sardinia, and I could not entertain a doubt of
Madame de Pompadour having been in love with the king when she sued for
his royal attention. I was greatly mistaken, perhaps, but such a thought
was natural in looking at the countenance of Louis XV.
I reached a splendid room in which I saw several courtiers walking about,
and a table large enough for twelve persons, but laid out only for one.
"For whom is this table?"
"For the queen. Her majesty is now coming in."
It was the queen of France, without rouge, and very simply dressed; her
head was covered with a large cap; she looked old and devout. When she
was near the table, she graciously thanked two nuns who were placing a
plate with fresh butter on it. She sat down, and immediately the
courtiers formed a semicircle within five yards of the table; I remained
near them, imitating their respectful silence.
Her majesty began to eat without looking at anyone, keeping her eyes on
her plate. One of the dishes being to her taste, she desired to be helped
to it a second time, and she then cast her eyes round the circle of
courtiers, probably in order to see if among them there was anyone to
whom she owed an account of her daintiness. She found that person, I
suppose, for she said,
"Monsieur de Lowendal!"
At that name, a fine-looking man came forward with respectful
inclination, and said,
"Your majesty?"
"I believe this is a fricassee of chickens."
"I am of the same opinion, madam."
After this answer, given in the most serious tone, the queen continued
eating, and the marshal retreated backward to his original place. The
queen finished her dinner without uttering a single word, and retired to
her apartments the same way as she had come. I thought that if such was
the way the queen of France took all her meals, I would not sue for the
honour of being her guest.
I was delighted to have seen the famous captain who had conquered
Bergen-op-Zoom, but I regretted that such a man should be compelled to
give an answer about a fricassee of chickens in the serious tone of a
judge pronouncing a sentence of death.
I made good use of this anecdote at the excellent dinner Silvia gave to
the elite of polite and agreeable society.
A few days afterwards, as I was forming a line with a crowd of courtiers
to enjoy the ever new pleasure of seeing the king go to mass, a pleasure
to which must be added the advantage of looking at the naked and entirely
exposed arms and bosoms of Mesdames de France, his daughters, I suddenly
perceived the Cavamacchia, whom I had left in Cesena under the name of
Madame Querini. If I was astonished to see her, she was as much so in
meeting me in such a place. The Marquis of Saint Simon, premier
'gentilhomme' of the Prince de Conde, escorted her.
"Madame Querini in Fontainebleau?"
"You here? It reminds me of Queen Elizabeth saying,
"'Pauper ubique facet.'"
"An excellent comparison, madam."
"I am only joking, my dear friend; I am here to see the king, who does
not know me; but to-morrow the ambassador will present me to his
majesty."
She placed herself in the line within a yard or two from me, beside the
door by which the king was to come. His majesty entered the gallery with
M. de Richelieu, and looked at the so-called Madame Querini. But she very
likely did not take his fancy, for, continuing to walk on, he addressed
to the marshal these remarkable words, which Juliette must have
overheard,
"We have handsomer women here."
In the afternoon I called upon the Venetian ambassador. I found him in
numerous company, with Madame Querini sitting on his right. She addressed
me in the most flattering and friendly manner; it was extraordinary
conduct on the part of a giddy woman who had no cause to like me, for she
was aware that I knew her thoroughly, and that I had mastered her vanity;
but as I understood her manoeuvring I made up my mind not to disoblige
her, and even to render her all the good offices I could; it was a noble
revenge.
As she was speaking of M. Querini, the ambassador congratulated her upon
her marriage with him, saying that he was glad M. Querini had rendered
justice to her merit, and adding,
"I was not aware of your marriage."
"Yet it took place more than two years since," said Juliette.
"I know it for a fact," I said, in my turn; "for, two years ago, the lady
was introduced as Madame Querini and with the title of excellency by
General Spada to all the nobility in Cesena, where I was at that time."
"I have no doubt of it," answered the ambassador, fixing his eyes upon
me, "for Querini has himself written to me on the subject."
A few minutes afterwards, as I was preparing to take my leave, the
ambassador, under pretense of some letters the contents of which he
wished to communicate to me, invited me to come into his private room,
and he asked me what people generally thought of the marriage in Venice.
"Nobody knows it, and it is even rumoured that the heir of the house of
Querini is on the point of marrying a daughter of the Grimani family; but
I shall certainly send the news to Venice."
"What news?"
"That Juliette is truly Madame Querini, since your excellency will
present her as such to Louis XV."
"Who told you so?"
"She did."
"Perhaps she has altered her mind."
I repeated to the ambassador the words which the king had said to M. de
Richelieu after looking at Juliette.
"Then I can guess," remarked the ambassador, "why Juliette does not wish
to be presented to the king."
I was informed some time afterwards that M. de Saint Quentin, the king's
confidential minister, had called after mass on the handsome Venetian,
and had told her that the king of France had most certainly very bad
taste, because he had not thought her beauty superior to that of several
ladies of his court. Juliette left Fontainebleau the next morning.
In the first part of my Memoirs I have spoken of Juliette's beauty; she
had a wonderful charm in her countenance, but she had already used her
advantages too long, and her beauty was beginning to fade when she
arrived in Fontainebleau.
I met her again in Paris at the ambassador's, and she told me with a
laugh that she had only been in jest when she called herself Madame
Querini, and that I should oblige her if for the future I would call her
by her real name of Countess Preati. She invited me to visit her at the
Hotel de Luxembourg, where she was staying. I often called on her, for
her intrigues amused me, but I was wise enough not to meddle with them.
She remained in Paris four months, and contrived to infatuate M. Ranchi,
secretary of the Venetian Embassy, an amiable and learned man. He was so
deeply in love that he had made up his mind to marry her; but through a
caprice which she, perhaps, regretted afterwards, she ill-treated him,
and the fool died of grief. Count de Canes. ambassador of Maria Theresa,
had some inclination for her, as well as the Count of Zinzendorf. The
person who arranged these transient and short-lived intrigues was a
certain Guasco, an abbe not over-favoured with the gifts of Plutus. He
was particularly ugly, and had to purchase small favours with great
services.
But the man whom she really wished to marry was Count Saint Simon. He
would have married her if she had not given him false addresses to make
enquiries respecting her birth. The Preati family of Verona denied all
knowledge of her, as a matter of course, and M. de Saint Simon, who, in
spite of all his love, had not entirely lost his senses, had the courage
to abandon her. Altogether, Paris did not prove an 'el dorado' for my
handsome countrywoman, for she was obliged to pledge her diamonds, and to
leave them behind her. After her return to Venice she married the son of
the Uccelli, who sixteen years before had taken her out of her poverty.
She died ten years ago.
I was still taking my French lessons with my good old Crebillon; yet my
style, which was full of Italianisms, often expressed the very reverse of
what I meant to say. But generally my 'quid pro quos' only resulted in
curious jokes which made my fortune; and the best of it is that my
gibberish did me no harm on the score of wit: on the contrary, it
procured me fine acquaintances.
Several ladies of the best society begged me to teach them Italian,
saying that it would afford them the opportunity of teaching me French;
in such an exchange I always won more than they did.
Madame Preodot, who was one of my pupils, received me one morning; she
was still in bed, and told me that she did not feel disposed to have a
lesson, because she had taken medicine the night previous. Foolishly
translating an Italian idiom, I asked her, with an air of deep interest,
whether she had well 'decharge'?
"Sir, what a question! You are unbearable."
I repeated my question; she broke out angrily again.
"Never utter that dreadful word."
"You are wrong in getting angry; it is the proper word."
"A very dirty word, sir, but enough about it. Will you have some
breakfast?"
"No, I thank you. I have taken a 'cafe' and two 'Savoyards'."
"Dear me! What a ferocious breakfast! Pray, explain yourself."
"I say that I have drunk a cafe and eaten two Savoyards soaked in it, and
that is what I do every morning."
"You are stupid, my good friend. A cafe is the establishment in which
coffee is sold, and you ought to say that you have drunk 'use tasse de
cafe'"
"Good indeed! Do you drink the cup? In Italy we say a 'caffs', and we are
not foolish enough to suppose that it means the coffee-house."
"He will have the best of it! And the two 'Savoyards', how did you
swallow them?"
"Soaked in my coffee, for they were not larger than these on your table."
"And you call these 'Savoyards'? Say biscuits."
"In Italy, we call them 'Savoyards' because they were first invented in
Savoy; and it is not my fault if you imagined that I had swallowed two of
the porters to be found at the corner of the streets--big fellows whom
you call in Paris Savoyards, although very often they have never been in
Savoy."
Her husband came in at that moment, and she lost no time in relating the
whole of our conversation. He laughed heartily, but he said I was right.
Her niece arrived a few minutes after; she was a young girl about
fourteen years of age, reserved, modest, and very intelligent. I had
given her five or six lessons in Italian, and as she was very fond of
that language and studied diligently she was beginning to speak.
Wishing to pay me her compliments in Italian, she said to me,
"'Signore, sono in cantata di vi Vader in bona salute'."
"I thank you, mademoiselle; but to translate 'I am enchanted', you must
say 'ho pacer', and for to see you, you must say 'di vedervi'."
"I thought, sir, that the 'vi' was to be placed before."
"No, mademoiselle, we always put it behind."
Monsieur and Madame Preodot were dying with laughter; the young lady was
confused, and I in despair at having uttered such a gross absurdity; but
it could not be helped. I took a book sulkily, in the hope of putting a
stop to their mirth, but it was of no use: it lasted a week. That uncouth
blunder soon got known throughout Paris, and gave me a sort of reputation
which I lost little by little, but only when I understood the double
meanings of words better. Crebillon was much amused with my blunder, and
he told me that I ought to have said after instead of behind. Ah! why
have not all languages the same genius! But if the French laughed at my
mistakes in speaking their language, I took my revenge amply by turning
some of their idioms into ridicule.
"Sir," I once said to a gentleman, "how is your wife?"
"You do her great honour, sir."
"Pray tell me, sir, what her honour has to do with her health?"
I meet in the Bois de Boulogne a young man riding a horse which he cannot
master, and at last he is thrown. I stop the horse, run to the assistance
of the young man and help him up.
"Did you hurt yourself, sir?"
"Oh, many thanks, sir, au contraire."
"Why au contraire! The deuce! It has done you good? Then begin again,
sir."
And a thousand similar expressions entirely the reverse of good sense.
But it is the genius of the language.
I was one day paying my first visit to the wife of President de N----,
when her nephew, a brilliant butterfly, came in, and she introduced me to
him, mentioning my name and my country.
"Indeed, sir, you are Italian?" said the young man. "Upon my word, you
present yourself so gracefully that I would have betted you were French."
"Sir, when I saw you, I was near making the same mistake; I would have
betted you were Italian."
Another time, I was dining at Lady Lambert's in numerous and brilliant
company. Someone remarked on my finger a cornelian ring on which was
engraved very beautifully the head of Louis XV. My ring went round the
table, and everybody thought that the likeness was striking.
A young marquise, who had the reputation of being a great wit, said to me
in the most serious tone,
"It is truly an antique?"
"The stone, madam, undoubtedly."
Everyone laughed except the thoughtless young beauty, who did not take
any notice of it. Towards the end of the dinner, someone spoke of the
rhinoceros, which was then shewn for twenty-four sous at the St.
Germain's Fair.
"Let us go and see it!" was the cry.
We got into the carriages, and reached the fair. We took several turns
before we could find the place. I was the only gentleman; I was taking
care of two ladies in the midst of the crowd, and the witty marquise was
walking in front of us. At the end of the alley where we had been told
that we would find the animal, there was a man placed to receive the
money of the visitors. It is true that the man, dressed in the African
fashion, was very dark and enormously stout, yet he had a human and very
masculine form, and the beautiful marquise had no business to make a
mistake. Nevertheless, the thoughtless young creature went up straight to
him and said,
"Are you the rhinoceros, sir?"
"Go in, madam, go in."
We were dying with laughing; and the marquise, when she had seen the
animal, thought herself bound to apologize to the master; assuring him
that she had never seen a rhinoceros in her life, and therefore he could
not feel offended if she had made a mistake.
One evening I was in the foyer of the Italian Comedy, where between the
acts the highest noblemen were in the habit of coming, in order to
converse and joke with the actresses who used to sit there waiting for
their turn to appear on the stage, and I was seated near Camille,
Coraline's sister, whom I amused by making love to her. A young
councillor, who objected to my occupying Camille's attention, being a
very conceited fellow, attacked me upon some remark I made respecting an
Italian play, and took the liberty of shewing his bad temper by
criticizing my native country. I was answering him in an indirect way,
looking all the time at Camille, who was laughing. Everybody had
congregated around us and was attentive to the discussion, which, being
carried on as an assault of wit, had nothing to make it unpleasant.
But it seemed to take a serious turn when the young fop, turning the
conversation on the police of the city, said that for some time it had
been dangerous to walk alone at night through the streets of Paris.
"During the last month," he added, "the Place de Greve has seen the
hanging of seven men, among whom there were five Italians. An
extraordinary circumstance."
"Nothing extraordinary in that," I answered; "honest men generally
contrive to be hung far away from their native country; and as a proof of
it, sixty Frenchmen have been hung in the course of last year between
Naples, Rome, and Venice. Five times twelve are sixty; so you see that it
is only a fair exchange."
The laughter was all on my side, and the fine councillor went away rather
crestfallen. One of the gentlemen present at the discussion, finding my
answer to his taste, came up to Camille, and asked her in a whisper who I
was. We got acquainted at once.
It was M. de Marigni, whom I was delighted to know for the sake of my
brother whose arrival in Paris I was expecting every day. M. de Marigni
was superintendent of the royal buildings, and the Academy of Painting
was under his jurisdiction. I mentioned my brother to him, and he
graciously promised to protect him. Another young nobleman, who conversed
with me, invited me to visit him. It was the Duke de Matalona.
I told him that I had seen him, then only a child, eight years before in
Naples, and that I was under great obligations to his uncle, Don Lelio.
The young duke was delighted, and we became intimate friends.
My brother arrived in Paris in the spring of 1751, and he lodged with me
at Madame Quinson's. He began at once to work with success for private
individuals; but his main idea being to compose a picture to be submitted
to the judgment of the Academy, I introduced him to M. de Marigni, who
received him with great distinction, and encouraged him by assuring him
of his protection. He immediately set to work with great diligence.
M. de Morosini had been recalled, and M. de Mocenigo had succeeded him as
ambassador of the Republic. M. de Bragadin had recommended me to him, and
he tendered a friendly welcome both to me and to my brother, in whose
favour he felt interested as a Venetian, and as a young artist seeking to
build up a position by his talent.
M. de Mocenigo was of a very pleasant nature; he liked gambling although
he was always unlucky at cards; he loved women, and he was not more
fortunate with them because he did not know how to manage them. Two years
after his arrival in Paris he fell in love with Madame de Colande, and,
finding it impossible to win her affections, he killed himself.
Madame la Dauphine was delivered of a prince, the Duke of Burgundy, and
the rejoicings indulged in at the birth of that child seem to me
incredible now, when I see what the same nation is doing against the
king. The people want to be free; it is a noble ambition, for mankind are
not made to be the slaves of one man; but with a nation populous, great,
witty, and giddy, what will be the end of that revolution? Time alone can
tell us.
The Duke de Matalona procured me the acquaintance of the two princes, Don
Marc Antoine and Don Jean Baptiste Borghese, from Rome, who were enjoying
themselves in Paris, yet living without display. I had occasion to remark
that when those Roman princes were presented at the court of France they
were only styled "marquis:" It was the same with the Russian princes, to
whom the title of prince was refused when they wanted to be presented;
they were called "knees," but they did not mind it, because that word
meant prince. The court of France has always been foolishly particular on
the question of titles, and is even now sparing of the title of monsieur,
although it is common enough everywhere every man who was not titled was
called Sieur. I have remarked that the king never addressed his bishops
otherwise than as abbes, although they were generally very proud of their
titles. The king likewise affected to know a nobleman only when his name
was inscribed amongst those who served him.
Yet the haughtiness of Louis XV. had been innoculated into him by
education; it was not in his nature. When an ambassador presented someone
to him, the person thus presented withdrew with the certainty of having
been seen by the king, but that was all. Nevertheless, Louis XV. was very
polite, particularly with ladies, even with his mistresses, when in
public. Whoever failed in respect towards them in the slightest manner
was sure of disgrace, and no king ever possessed to a greater extent the
grand royal virtue which is called dissimulation. He kept a secret
faithfully, and he was delighted when he knew that no one but himself
possessed it.
The Chevalier d'Eon is a proof of this, for the king alone knew and had
always known that the chevalier was a woman, and all the long discussions
which the false chevalier had with the office for foreign affairs was a
comedy which the king allowed to go on, only because it amused him.
Louis XV. was great in all things, and he would have had no faults if
flattery had not forced them upon him. But how could he possibly have
supposed himself faulty in anything when everyone around him repeated
constantly that he was the best of kings? A king, in the opinion of which
he was imbued respecting his own person, was a being of a nature by far
too superior to ordinary men for him not to have the right to consider
himself akin to a god. Sad destiny of kings! Vile flatterers are
constantly doing everything necessary to reduce them below the condition
of man.
The Princess of Ardore was delivered about that time of a young prince.
Her husband, the Neapolitan ambassador, entreated Louis XV. to be
god-father to the child; the king consented and presented his god-son
with a regiment; but the mother, who did not like the military career for
her son, refused it. The Marshal de Richelieu told me that he had never
known the king laugh so heartily as when he heard of that singular
refusal.
At the Duchess de Fulvie's I made the acquaintance of Mdlle. Gaussin, who
was called Lolotte. She was the mistress of Lord Albemarle, the English
ambassador, a witty and very generous nobleman. One evening he complained
of his mistress praising the beauty of the stars which were shining
brightly over her head, saying that she ought to know he could not give
them to her. If Lord Albemarle had been ambassador to the court of France
at the time of the rupture between France and England, he would have
arranged all difficulties amicably, and the unfortunate war by which
France lost Canada would not have taken place. There is no doubt that the
harmony between two nations depends very often upon their respective
ambassadors, when there is any danger of a rupture.
As to the noble lord's mistress, there was but one opinion respecting
her. She was fit in every way to become his wife, and the highest
families of France did not think that she needed the title of Lady
Albemarle to be received with distinction; no lady considered it debasing
to sit near her, although she was well known as the mistress of the
English lord. She had passed from her mother's arms to those of Lord
Albemarle at the age of thirteen, and her conduct was always of the
highest respectability. She bore children whom the ambassador
acknowledged legally, and she died Countess d'Erouville. I shall have to
mention her again in my Memoirs.
I had likewise occasion to become acquainted at the Venetian Embassy with
a lady from Venice, the widow of an English baronet named Wynne. She was
then coming from London with her children, where she had been compelled
to go in order to insure them the inheritance of their late father, which
they would have lost if they had not declared themselves members of the
Church of England. She was on her way back to Venice, much pleased with
her journey. She was accompanied by her eldest daughter--a young girl of
twelve years, who, notwithstanding her youth, carried on her beautiful
face all the signs of perfection.
She is now living in Venice, the widow of Count de Rosenberg, who died in
Venice ambassador of the Empress-Queen Maria Theresa. She is surrounded
by the brilliant halo of her excellent conduct and of all her social
virtues. No one can accuse her of any fault, except that of being poor,
but she feels it only because it does not allow her to be as charitable
as she might wish.
The reader will see in the next chapter how I managed to embroil myself
with the French police.
CHAPTER VIII
My Broil With Parisian Justice--Mdlle. Vesian
[Illustration: Chapter 8]
The youngest daughter of my landlady, Mdlle. Quinson, a young girl
between fifteen and sixteen years of age, was in the habit of often
coming to my room without being called. It was not long before I
discovered that she was in love with me, and I should have thought myself
ridiculous if I had been cruel to a young brunette who was piquant,
lively, amiable, and had a most delightful voice.
During the first four or five months nothing but childish trifles took
place between us; but one night, coming home very late and finding her
fast asleep on my bed, I did not see the necessity of waking her up, and
undressing myself I lay down beside her.... She left me at daybreak.
Mimi had not been gone three hours when a milliner came with a charming
young girl, to invite herself and her friend to breakfast; I thought the
young girl well worth a breakfast, but I was tired and wanted rest, and I
begged them both to withdraw. Soon after they had left me, Madame Quinson
came with her daughter to make my bed. I put my dressing-gown on, and
began to write.
"Ah! the nasty hussies!" exclaims the mother.
"What is the matter, madam?"
"The riddle is clear enough, sir; these sheets are spoiled."
"I am very sorry, my dear madam, but change them, and the evil will be
remedied at once."
She went out of the room, threatening and grumbling,
"Let them come again, and see if I don't take care of them!"
Mimi remained alone with me, and I addressed her some reproaches for her
imprudence. But she laughed, and answered that Love had sent those women
on purpose to protect Innocence! After that, Mimi was no longer under any
restraint, she would come and share my bed whenever she had a fancy to do
so, unless I sent her back to her own room, and in the morning she always
left me in good time. But at the end of four months my beauty informed me
that our secret would soon be discovered.
"I am very sorry," I said to her, "but I cannot help it."
"We ought to think of something."
"Well, do so."
"What can I think of? Well, come what will; the best thing I can do is
not to think of it."
Towards the sixth month she had become so large, that her mother, no
longer doubting the truth, got into a violent passion, and by dint of
blows compelled her to name the father. Mimi said I was the guilty swain,
and perhaps it was not an untruth.
With that great discovery Madame Quinson burst into my room in high
dudgeon. She threw herself on a chair, and when she had recovered her
breath she loaded me with insulting words, and ended by telling me that I
must marry her daughter. At this intimation, understanding her object and
wishing to cut the matter short, I told her that I was already married in
Italy.
"Then why did you come here and get my daughter with child?"
"I can assure you that I did not mean to do so. Besides, how do you know
that I am the father of the child?"
"Mimi says so, and she is certain of it."
"I congratulate her; but I warn you, madam, that I am ready to swear that
I have not any certainty about it."
"What then?"
"Then nothing. If she is pregnant, she will be confined."
She went downstairs, uttering curses and threats: the next day I was
summoned before the commissary of the district. I obeyed the summons, and
found Madame Quinson fully equipped for the battle. The commissary, after
the preliminary questions usual in all legal cases, asked me whether I
admitted myself guilty towards the girl Quinson of the injury of which
the mother, there present personally, complained.
"Monsieur le Commissaire, I beg of you to write word by word the answer
which I am going to give you."
"Very well."
"I have caused no injury whatever to Mimi, the plaintiff's daughter, and
I refer you to the girl herself, who has always had as much friendship
for me as I have had for her."
"But she declares that she is pregnant from your doings."
"That may be, but it is not certain."
"She says it is certain, and she swears that she has never known any
other man."
"If it is so, she is unfortunate; for in such a question a man cannot
trust any woman but his own wife."
"What did you give her in order to seduce her?"
"Nothing; for very far from having seduced her, she has seduced me, and
we agreed perfectly in one moment; a pretty woman does not find it very
hard to seduce me."
"Was she a virgin?"
"I never felt any curiosity about it either before or after; therefore,
sir, I do not know."
"Her mother claims reparation, and the law is against you."
"I can give no reparation to the mother; and as for the law I will obey
it when it has been explained to me, and when I am convinced that I have
been guilty against it."
"You are already convinced. Do you imagine that a man who gets an honest
girl with child in a house of which he is an inmate does not transgress
the laws of society?"
"I admit that to be the case when the mother is deceived; but when that
same mother sends her daughter to the room of a young man, are we not
right in supposing that she is disposed to accept peacefully all the
accidents which may result from such conduct?"
"She sent her daughter to your room only to wait on you."
"And she has waited on me as I have waited on her if she sends her to my
room this evening, and if it is agreeable to Mimi, I will certainly serve
her as well as I can; but I will have nothing to do with her against her
will or out of my room, the rent of which I have always paid punctually."
"You may say what you like, but you must pay the fine."
"I will say what I believe to be just, and I will pay nothing; for there
can be no fine where there is no law transgressed. If I am sentenced to
pay I shall appeal even to the last jurisdiction and until I obtain
justice, for believe me, sir, I know that I am not such an awkward and
cowardly fellow as to refuse my caresses to a pretty woman who pleases
me, and comes to provoke them in my own room, especially when I feel
myself certain of the mother's agreement."
I signed the interrogatory after I had read it carefully, and went away.
The next day the lieutenant of police sent for me, and after he had heard
me, as well as the mother and the daughter, he acquitted me and condemned
Madame Quinson in costs. But I could not after all resist the tears of
Mimi, and her entreaties for me to defray the expenses of her
confinement. She was delivered of a boy, who was sent to the Hotel Dieu
to be brought up at the nation's expense. Soon afterwards Mimi ran away
from her mother's house, and she appeared on the stage at St. Laurent's
Fair. Being unknown, she had no difficulty in finding a lover who took
her for a maiden. I found her very pretty on the stage.
"I did not know," I said to her, "that you were a musician."
"I am a musician about as much as all my companions, not one of whom
knows a note of music. The girls at the opera are not much more clever,
and in spite of that, with a good voice and some taste, one can sing
delightfully."
I advised her to invite Patu to supper, and he was charmed with her. Some
time afterwards, however, she came to a bad end, and disappeared.
The Italian comedians obtained at that time permission to perform
parodies of operas and of tragedies. I made the acquaintance at that
theatre of the celebrated Chantilly, who had been the mistress of the
Marechal de Saxe, and was called Favart because the poet of that name had
married her. She sang in the parody of 'Thetis et Pelee', by M. de
Fontelle, the part of Tonton, amidst deafening applause. Her grace and
talent won the love of a man of the greatest merit, the Abbe de Voisenon,
with whom I was as intimate as with Crebillon. All the plays performed at
the Italian Comedy, under the name of Madame Favart, were written by the
abbe, who became member of the Academie after my departure from Paris. I
cultivated an acquaintance the value of which I could appreciate, and he
honoured me with his friendship. It was at my suggestions that the Abbe
de Voisenon conceived the idea of composing oratorios in poetry; they
were sung for the first time at the Tuileries, when the theatres were
closed in consequence of some religious festival. That amiable abbe, who
had written several comedies in secret, had very poor health and a very
small body; he was all wit and gracefulness, famous for his shrewd
repartees which, although very cutting, never offended anyone. It was
impossible for him to have any enemies, for his criticism only grazed the
skin and never wounded deeply. One day, as he was returning from
Versailles, I asked him the news of the court.
"The king is yawning," he answered, "because he must come to the
parliament to-morrow to hold a bed of justice."
"Why is it called a bed of justice?"
"I do not know, unless it is because justice is asleep during the
proceedings."
I afterwards met in Prague the living portrait of that eminent writer in
Count Francois Hardig, now plenipotentiary of the emperor at the court of
Saxony.
The Abbe de Voisenon introduced me to Fontenelle, who was then
ninety-three years of age. A fine wit, an amiable and learned man,
celebrated for his quick repartees, Fontenelle could not pay a compliment
without throwing kindness and wit into it. I told him that I had come
from Italy on purpose to see him.
"Confess, sir," he said to me, "that you have kept me waiting a very long
time."
This repartee was obliging and critical at the same time, and pointed out
in a delicate and witty manner the untruth of my compliment. He made me a
present of his works, and asked me if I liked the French plays; I told
him that I had seen 'Thetis et Pelee' at the opera. That play was his own
composition, and when I had praised it, he told me that it was a 'tete
pelee'.
"I was at the Theatre Francais last night," I said, "and saw Athalie."
"It is the masterpiece of Racine; Voltaire, has been wrong in accusing me
of having criticized that tragedy, and in attributing to me an epigram,
the author of which has never been known, and which ends with two very
poor lines:
"Pour avoir fait pis qu'Esther,
Comment diable as-to pu faire"
I have been told that M. de Fontenelle had been the tender friend of
Madame du Tencin, that M. d'Alembert was the offspring of their intimacy,
and that Le Rond had only been his foster-father. I knew d'Alembert at
Madame de Graffigny's. That great philosopher had the talent of never
appearing to be a learned man when he was in the company of amiable
persons who had no pretension to learning or the sciences, and he always
seemed to endow with intelligence those who conversed with him.
When I went to Paris for the second time, after my escape from The Leads
of Venice, I was delighted at the idea of seeing again the amiable,
venerable Fontenelle, but he died a fortnight after my arrival, at the
beginning of the year 1757.
When I paid my third visit to Paris with the intention of ending my days
in that capital, I reckoned upon the friendship of M. d'Alembert, but he
died, like Fontenelle, a fortnight after my arrival, towards the end of
1783. Now I feel that I have seen Paris and France for the last time. The
popular effervescence has disgusted me, and I am too old to hope to see
the end of it.
Count de Looz, Polish ambassador at the French court, invited me in 1751
to translate into Italian a French opera susceptible of great
transformations, and of having a grand ballet annexed to the subject of
the opera itself. I chose 'Zoroastre', by M. de Cahusac. I had to adapt
words to the music of the choruses, always a difficult task. The music
remained very beautiful, of course, but my Italian poetry was very poor.
In spite of that the generous sovereign sent me a splendid gold
snuff-box, and I thus contrived at the same time to please my mother very
highly.
It was about that time that Mdlle. Vesian arrived in Paris with her
brother. She was quite young, well educated, beautiful, most amiable, and
a novice; her brother accompanied her. Her father, formerly an officer in
the French army, had died at Parma, his native city. Left an orphan
without any means of support, she followed the advice given by her
friends; she sold the furniture left by her father, with the intention of
going to Versailles to obtain from the justice and from the generosity of
the king a small pension to enable her to live. As she got out of the
diligence, she took a coach, and desired to be taken to some hotel close
by the Italian Theatre; by the greatest chance she was brought to the
Hotel de Bourgogne, where I was then staying myself.
In the morning I was told that there were two young Italians, brother and
sister, who did not appear very wealthy, in the next room to mine.
Italians, young, poor and newly arrived, my curiosity was excited. I went
to the door of their room, I knocked, and a young man came to open it in
his shirt.
"I beg you to excuse me, sir," he said to me, "if I receive you in such a
state."
"I have to ask your pardon myself. I only come to offer you my services,
as a countryman and as a neighbour."
A mattress on the floor told me where the young man had slept; a bed
standing in a recess and hid by curtains made me guess where the sister
was. I begged of her to excuse me if I had presented myself without
enquiring whether she was up.
She answered without seeing me, that the journey having greatly tried her
she had slept a little later than usual, but that she would get up
immediately if I would excuse her for a short time.
"I am going to my room, mademoiselle, and I will come back when you send
for me; my room is next door to your own."
A quarter of an hour after, instead of being sent for, I saw a young and
beautiful person enter my room; she made a modest bow, saying that she
had come herself to return my visit, and that her brother would follow
her immediately.
I thanked her for her visit, begged her to be seated, and I expressed all
the interest I felt for her. Her gratitude shewed itself more by the tone
of her voice than by her words, and her confidence being already
captivated she told me artlessly, but not without some dignity, her short
history or rather her situation, and she concluded by these words:
"I must in the course of the day find a less expensive lodging, for I
only possess six francs."
I asked her whether she had any letters of recommendation, and she drew
out of her pocket a parcel of papers containing seven or eight
testimonials of good conduct and honesty, and a passport.
"Is this all you have, my dear countrywoman?"
"Yes. I intend to call with my brother upon the secretary of war, and I
hope he will take pity on me."
"You do not know anybody here?"
"Not one person, sir; you are the first man in France to whom I have
exposed my situation."
"I am a countryman of yours, and you are recommended to me by your
position as well as by your age; I wish to be your adviser, if you will
permit me."
"Ah, sir! how grateful I would be!"
"Do not mention it. Give me your papers, I will see what is to be done
with them. Do not relate your history to anyone, and do not say one word
about your position. You had better remain at this hotel. Here are two
Louis which I will lend you until you are in a position to return them to
me."
She accepted, expressing her heart-felt gratitude.
Mademoiselle Vesian was an interesting brunette of sixteen. She had a
good knowledge of French and Italian, graceful manners, and a dignity
which endowed her with a very noble appearance. She informed me of her
affairs without meanness, yet without that timidity which seems to arise
from a fear of the person who listens being disposed to take advantage of
the distressing position confided to his honour. She seemed neither
humiliated nor bold; she had hope, and she did not boast of her courage.
Her virtue was by no means ostentatious, but there was in her an air of
modesty which would certainly have put a restraint upon anyone disposed
to fail in respect towards her. I felt the effect of it myself, for in
spite of her beautiful eyes, her fine figure, of the freshness of her
complexion, her transparent skin, her negligee--in one word, all that can
tempt a man and which filled me with burning desires, I did not for one
instant lose control over myself; she had inspired me with a feeling of
respect which helped me to master my senses, and I promised myself not
only to attempt nothing against her virtue, but also not to be the first
man to make her deviate from the right path. I even thought it better to
postpone to another interview a little speech on that subject, the result
of which might be to make me follow a different course.
"You are now in a city," I said to her, "in which your destiny must
unfold itself, and in which all the fine qualities which nature has so
bountifully bestowed upon you, and which may ultimately cause your
fortune, may likewise cause your ruin; for here, by dear countrywoman,
wealthy men despise all libertine women except those who have offered
them the sacrifice of their virtue. If you are virtuous, and are
determined upon remaining so, prepare yourself to bear a great deal of
misery; if you feel yourself sufficiently above what is called prejudice,
if, in one word, you feel disposed to consent to everything, in order to
secure a comfortable position, be very careful not to make a mistake.
Distrust altogether the sweet words which every passionate man will
address to you for the sake of obtaining your favours, for, his passion
once satisfied, his ardour will cool down, and you will find yourself
deceived. Be wary of your adorers; they will give you abundance of
counterfeit coin, but do not trust them far. As far as I am concerned, I
feel certain that I shall never injure you, and I hope to be of some use
to you. To reassure you entirely on my account, I will treat you as if
you were my sister, for I am too young to play the part of your father,
and I would not tell you all this if I did not think you a very charming
person."
Her brother joined us as we were talking together. He was a good-looking
young man of eighteen, well made, but without any style about him; he
spoke little, and his expression was devoid of individuality. We
breakfasted together, and having asked him as we were at table for what
profession he felt an inclination, he answered that he was disposed to do
anything to earn an honourable living.
"Have you any peculiar talent?"
"I write pretty well."
"That is something. When you go out, mistrust everybody; do not enter any
cafe, and never speak to anyone in the streets. Eat your meals in your
room with your sister, and tell the landlady to give you a small closet
to sleep in. Write something in French to-day, let me have it to-morrow
morning, and we will see what can be done. As for you, mademoiselle, my
books are at your disposal, I have your papers; to-morrow I may have some
news to tell you; we shall not see each other again to-day, for I
generally come home very late." She took a few books, made a modest
reverence, and told me with a charming voice that she had every
confidence in me.
Feeling disposed to be useful to her, wherever I went during that day I
spoke of nothing but of her and of her affairs; and everywhere men and
women told me that if she was pretty she could not fail, but that at all
events it would be right for her to take all necessary steps. I received
a promise that the brother should be employed in some office. I thought
that the best plan would be to find some influential lady who would
consent to present Mdlle. Vesian to M. d'Argenson, and I knew that in the
mean time I could support her. I begged Silvia to mention the matter to
Madame de Montconseil, who had very great influence with the secretary of
war. She promised to do so, but she wished to be acquainted with the
young girl.
I returned to the hotel towards eleven o'clock, and seeing that there was
a light still burning in the room of Mdlle. Vesian I knocked at her door.
She opened it, and told me that she had sat up in the hope of seeing me.
I gave her an account of what I had done. I found her disposed to
undertake all that was necessary, and most grateful for my assistance.
She spoke of her position with an air of noble indifference which she
assumed in order to restrain her tears; she succeeded in keeping them
back, but the moisture in her eyes proved all the efforts she was making
to prevent them from falling. We had talked for two hours, and going from
one subject to another I learned that she had never loved, and that she
was therefore worthy of a lover who would reward her in a proper manner
for the sacrifice of her virtue. It would have been absurd to think that
marriage was to be the reward of that sacrifice; the young girl had not
yet made what is called a false step, but she had none of the prudish
feelings of those girls who say that they would not take such a step for
all the gold in the universe, and usually give way before the slightest
attack; all my young friend wanted was to dispose of herself in a proper
and advantageous manner.
I could not help sighing as I listened to her very sensible remarks,
considering the position in which she was placed by an adverse destiny.
Her sincerity was charming to me; I was burning with desire. Lucie of
Pasean came back to my memory; I recollected how deeply I had repented
the injury I had done in neglecting a sweet flower, which another man,
and a less worthy one, had hastened to pluck; I felt myself near a lamb
which would perhaps become the prey of some greedy wolf; and she, with
her noble feelings, her careful education, and a candour which an impure
breath would perhaps destroy for ever, was surely not destined for a lot
of shame. I regretted I was not rich enough to make her fortune, and to
save her honour and her virtue. I felt that I could neither make her mine
in an illegitimate way nor be her guardian angel, and that by becoming
her protector I should do her more harm than good; in one word, instead
of helping her out of the unfortunate position in which she was, I
should, perhaps, only contribute to her entire ruin. During that time I
had her near me, speaking to her in a sentimental way, and not uttering
one single word of love; but I kissed her hand and her arms too often
without coming to a resolution, without beginning a thing which would
have too rapidly come to an end, and which would have compelled me to
keep her for myself; in that case, there would have been no longer any
hope of a fortune for her, and for me no means of getting rid of her. I
have loved women even to madness, but I have always loved liberty better;
and whenever I have been in danger of losing it fate has come to my
rescue.
I had remained about four hours with Mdlle. Vesian, consumed by the most
intense desires, and I had had strength enough to conquer them. She could
not attribute my reserve to a feeling of modesty, and not knowing why I
did not shew more boldness she must have supposed that I was either ill
or impotent. I left her, after inviting her to dinner for the next day.
We had a pleasant dinner, and her brother having gone out for a walk
after our meal we looked together out of the window from which we could
see all the carriages going to the Italian Comedy. I asked her whether
she would like to go; she answered me with a smile of delight, and we
started at once.
I placed her in the amphitheatre where I left her, telling her that we
would meet at the hotel at eleven o'clock. I would not remain with her,
in order to avoid the questions which would have been addressed to me,
for the simpler her toilet was the more interesting she looked.
After I had left the theatre, I went to sup at Silvia's and returned to
the hotel. I was surprised at the sight of an elegant carriage; I
enquired to whom it belonged, and I was told that it was the carriage of
a young nobleman who had supped with Mdlle. Vesian. She was getting on.
The first thing next morning, as I was putting my head out of the window,
I saw a hackney coach stop at the door of the hotel; a young man, well
dressed in a morning costume, came out of it, and a minute after I heard
him enter the room of Mdlle. Vesian. Courage! I had made up my mind; I
affected a feeling of complete indifference in order to deceive myself.
I dressed myself to go out, and while I was at my toilet Vesian came in
and told me that he did not like to go into his sister's room because the
gentleman who had supped with her had just arrived.
"That's a matter of course," I said.
"He is rich and very handsome. He wishes to take us himself to
Versailles, and promises to procure some employment for me."
"I congratulate you. Who is he?"
"I do not know."
I placed in an envelope the papers she had entrusted to me, and I handed
them to him to return to his sister. I then went out. When I came home
towards three o'clock, the landlady gave me a letter which had been left
for me by Mdlle. Vesian, who had left the hotel.
I went to my room, opened the letter, and read the following lines:
"I return the money you have lent me with my best thanks. The Count de
Narbonne feels interested in me, and wishes to assist me and my brother.
I shall inform you of everything, of the house in which he wishes me to
go and live, where he promises to supply me all I want. Your friendship
is very dear to me, and I entreat you not to forget me. My brother
remains at the hotel, and my room belongs to me for the month. I have
paid everything."
"Here is," said I to myself, "a second Lucie de Pasean, and I am a second
time the dupe of my foolish delicacy, for I feel certain that the count
will not make her happy. But I wash my hands of it all."
I went to the Theatre Francais in the evening, and enquired about
Narbonne. The first person I spoke to told me,
"He is the son of a wealthy man, but a great libertine and up to his neck
in debts."
Nice references, indeed! For a week I went to all the theatres and public
places in the hope of making the acquaintance of the count, but I could
not succeed, and I was beginning to forget the adventure when one
morning, towards eight o'clock Vesian calling on me, told me that his
sister was in her room and wished to speak to me. I followed him
immediately. I found her looking unhappy and with eyes red from crying.
She told her brother to go out for a walk, and when he had gone she spoke
to me thus:
"M. de Narbonne, whom I thought an honest man, because I wanted him to be
such, came to sit by me where you had left me at the theatre; he told me
that my face had interested him, and he asked me who I was. I told him
what I had told you. You had promised to think of me, but Narbonne told
me that he did not want your assistance, as he could act by himself. I
believed him, and I have been the dupe of my confidence in him; he has
deceived me; he is a villain."
The tears were choking her: I went to the window so as to let her cry
without restraint: a few minutes after, I came back and I sat down by
her.
"Tell me all, my dear Vesian, unburden your heart freely, and do not
think yourself guilty towards me; in reality I have been wrong more than
you. Your heart would not now be a prey to sorrow if I had not been so
imprudent as to leave you alone at the theatre."
"Alas, sir! do not say so; ought I to reproach you because you thought me
so virtuous? Well, in a few words, the monster promised to shew me every
care, every attention, on condition of my giving him an undeniable, proof
of my affection and confidence--namely, to take a lodging without my
brother in the house of a woman whom he represented as respectable. He
insisted upon my brother not living with me, saying that evil-minded
persons might suppose him to be my lover. I allowed myself to be
persuaded. Unhappy creature! How could I give way without consulting you?
He told me that the respectable woman to whom he would take me would
accompany me to Versailles, and that he would send my brother there so
that we should be both presented to the war secretary. After our first
supper he told me that he would come and fetch me in a hackney coach the
next morning. He presented me with two louis and a gold watch, and I
thought I could accept those presents from a young nobleman who shewed so
much interest in me. The woman to whom he introduced me did not seem to
me as respectable as he had represented her to be. I have passed one week
with her without his doing anything to benefit my position. He would
come, go out, return as he pleased, telling me every day that it would be
the morrow, and when the morrow came there was always some impediment. At
last, at seven o'clock this morning, the woman told me that the count was
obliged to go into the country, that a hackney coach would bring me back
to his hotel, and that he would come and see me on his return. Then,
affecting an air of sadness, she told me that I must give her back the
watch because the count had forgotten to pay the watchmaker for it. I
handed it to her immediately without saying a word, and wrapping the
little I possessed in my handkerchief I came back here, where I arrived
half an hour since."
"Do you hope to see him on his return from the country?"
"To see him again! Oh, Lord! why have I ever seen him?"
She was crying bitterly, and I must confess that no young girl ever moved
me so deeply as she did by the expression of her grief. Pity replaced in
my heart the tenderness I had felt for her a week before. The infamous
proceedings of Narbonne disgusted me to that extent that, if I had known
where to find him alone, I would immediately have compelled him to give
me reparation. Of course, I took good care not to ask the poor girl to
give me a detailed account of her stay in the house of Narbonne's
respectable procurers; I could guess even more than I wanted to know, and
to insist upon that recital would have humiliated Mdlle. Vesian. I could
see all the infamy of the count in the taking back of the watch which
belonged to her as a gift, and which the unhappy girl had earned but too
well. I did all I could to dry her tears, and she begged me to be a
father to her, assuring me that she would never again do anything to
render her unworthy of my friendship, and that she would always be guided
by my advice.
"Well, my dear young friend, what you must do now is not only to forget
the unworthy count and his criminal conduct towards you, but also the
fault of which you have been guilty. What is done cannot be undone, and
the past is beyond remedy; but compose yourself, and recall the air of
cheerfulness which shone on your countenance a week ago. Then I could
read on your face honesty, candour, good faith, and the noble assurance
which arouses sentiment in those who can appreciate its charm. You must
let all those feelings shine again on your features; for they alone can
interest honest people, and you require the general sympathy more than
ever. My friendship is of little importance to you, but you may rely upon
it all the more because I fancy that you have now a claim upon it which
you had not a week ago: Be quite certain, I beg, that I will not abandon
you until your position is properly settled. I cannot at present tell you
more; but be sure that I will think of you."
"Ah, my friend! if you promise to think of me, I ask for no more. Oh!
unhappy creature that I am; there is not a soul in the world who thinks
of me."
She was: so deeply moved that she fainted away. I came to her assistance
without calling anyone, and when she had recovered her consciousness and
some calm, I told her a hundred stories, true or purely imaginary, of the
knavish tricks played in Paris by men who think of nothing but of
deceiving young girls. I told her a few amusing instances in order to
make her more cheerful, and at last I told her that she ought to be
thankful for what had happened to her with Narbonne, because that
misfortune would give her prudence for the future.
During that long tete-a-tete I had no difficulty in abstaining from
bestowing any caresses upon her; I did not even take her hand, for what I
felt for her was a tender pity; and I was very happy when at the end of
two hours I saw her calm and determined upon bearing misfortune like a
heroine.
She suddenly rose from her seat, and, looking at me with an air of modest
trustfulness, she said to me,
"Are, you particularly engaged in any way to-day?"
"No, my dear:"
"Well, then, be good enough to take me somewhere out of Paris; to some
place where I can breathe the fresh air freely; I shall then recover that
appearance which you think I must have to interest in my favour those who
will see me; and if I can enjoy a quiet sleep throughout the next night I
feel I shall be happy again."
"I am grateful to you for your confidence in me. We will go out as soon
as I am dressed. Your brother will return in the mean time."
"Oh, never mind my brother!"
"His presence is, on the contrary, of great importance. Recollect, my
dear Vesian, you must make Narbonne ashamed of his own conduct. You must
consider that if he should happen to hear that, on the very day he
abandoned you, you went into the country alone with me, he would triumph,
and would certainly say that he has only treated you as you deserved. But
if you go with your brother and me your countryman, you give no occasion
for slander."
"I blush not to have made that remark myself. We will wait for my
brother's return."
He was not long in coming back, and having sent for a coach we were on
the point of going, when Baletti called on me. I introduced him to the
young lady, and invited him to join our party. He accepted, and we
started. As my only purpose was to amuse Mdlle. Vesian, I told the
coachman to drive us to the Gros Caillou, where we made an excellent
impromptu dinner, the cheerfulness of the guests making up for the
deficiencies of the servants.
Vesian, feeling his head rather heavy, went out for a walk after dinner,
and I remained alone with his sister and my friend Baletti. I observed
with pleasure that Baletti thought her an agreeable girl, and it gave me
the idea of asking him to teach her dancing. I informed him of her
position, of the reason which had brought her to Paris, of the little
hope there was of her obtaining a pension from the king, and of the
necessity there was for her to do something to earn a living. Baletti
answered that he would be happy to do anything, and when he had examined
the figure and the general conformation of the young girl he said to her,
"I will get Lani to take you for the ballet at the opera."
"Then," I said, "you must begin your lessons tomorrow. Mdlle. Vesian
stops at my hotel."
The young girl, full of wonder at my plan, began to laugh heartily, and
said,
"But can an opera dancer be extemporized like a minister of state? I can
dance the minuet, and my ear is good enough to enable me to go through a
quadrille; but with the exception of that I cannot dance one step."
"Most of the ballet girls," said Baletti, "know no more than you do."
"And how much must I ask from M. Lani? I do not think I can expect much."
"Nothing. The ballet girls are not paid."
"Then where is the advantage for me?" she said, with a sigh; "how shall I
live?"
"Do not think of that. Such as you are, you will soon find ten wealthy
noblemen who will dispute amongst themselves for the honour of making up
for the absence of salary. You have only to make a good choice, and I am
certain that it will not be long before we see you covered with
diamonds."
"Now I understand you. You suppose some great lord will keep me?"
"Precisely; and that will be much better than a pension of four hundred
francs, which you would, perhaps, not obtain without making the same
sacrifice."
Very much surprised, she looked at me to ascertain whether I was serious
or only jesting.
Baletti having left us, I told her it was truly the best thing she could
do, unless she preferred the sad position of waiting-maid to some grand
lady.
"I would not be the 'femme de chambre' even of the queen."
"And 'figurante' at the opera?"
"Much rather."
"You are smiling?"
"Yes, for it is enough to make me laugh. I the mistress of a rich
nobleman, who will cover me with diamonds! Well, I mean to choose the
oldest."
"Quite right, my dear; only do not make him jealous."
"I promise you to be faithful to him. But shall he find a situation for
my brother? However, until I am at the opera, until I have met with my
elderly lover, who will give me the means to support myself?"
"I, my dear girl, my friend Baletti, and all my friends, without other
interest than the pleasure of serving you, but with the hope that you
will live quietly, and that we shall contribute to your happiness. Are
you satisfied?"
"Quite so; I have promised myself to be guided entirely by your advice,
and I entreat you to remain always my best friend."
We returned to Paris at night, I left Mdlle. Vesian at the hotel, and
accompanied Baletti to his mother's. At supper-time, my friend begged
Silvia to speak to M. Lani in favour of our 'protegee', Silvia said that
it was a much better plan than to solicit a miserable pension which,
perhaps, would not be granted. Then we talked of a project which was then
spoken of, namely to sell all the appointments of ballet girls and of
chorus singers at the opera. There was even some idea of asking a high
price for them, for it was argued that the higher the price the more the
girls would be esteemed. Such a project, in the midst of the scandalous
habits and manners of the time, had a sort of apparent wisdom; for it
would have ennobled in a way a class of women who with very few
exceptions seem to glory in being contemptible.
There were, at that time at the opera, several figurantes, singers and
dancers, ugly rather than plain, without any talent, who, in spite of it
all, lived in great comfort; for it is admitted that at the opera a girl
must needs renounce all modesty or starve. But if a girl, newly arrived
there, is clever enough to remain virtuous only for one month, her
fortune is certainly made, because then the noblemen enjoying a
reputation of wisdom and virtue are the only ones who seek to get hold of
her. Those men are delighted to hear their names mentioned in connection
with the newly-arrived beauty; they even go so far as to allow her a few
frolics, provided she takes pride in what they give her, and provided her
infidelities are not too public. Besides, it is the fashion never to go
to sup with one's mistress without giving her notice of the intended
visit, and everyone must admit that it is a very wise custom.
I came back to the hotel towards eleven o'clock, and seeing that Mdlle.
Vesian's room was still open I went in. She was in bed.
"Let me get up," she said, "for I want to speak to you."
"Do not disturb yourself; we can talk all the same, and I think you much
prettier as you are."
"I am very glad of it."
"What have you got to tell me?"
"Nothing, except to speak of the profession I am going to adopt. I am
going to practice virtue in order to find a man who loves it only to
destroy it."
"Quite true; but almost everything is like that in this life. Man always
refers everything to himself, and everyone is a tyrant in his own way. I
am pleased to see you becoming a philosopher."
"How can one become a philosopher?"
"By thinking."
"Must one think a long while?"
"Throughout life."
"Then it is never over?"
"Never; but one improves as much as possible, and obtains the sum of
happiness which one is susceptible of enjoying."
"And how can that happiness be felt?"
"By all the pleasure which the philosopher can procure when he is
conscious of having obtained them by his own exertions, and especially by
getting rid of the many prejudices which make of the majority of men a
troop of grown-up children."
"What is pleasure? What is meant by prejudices?"
"Pleasure is the actual enjoyment of our senses; it is a complete
satisfaction given to all our natural and sensual appetites; and, when
our worn-out senses want repose, either to have breathing time, or to
recover strength, pleasure comes from the imagination, which finds
enjoyment in thinking of the happiness afforded by rest. The philosopher
is a person who refuses no pleasures which do not produce greater
sorrows, and who knows how to create new ones."
"And you say that it is done by getting rid of prejudices? Then tell me
what prejudices are, and what must be done to get rid of them."
"Your question, my dear girl, is not an easy one to answer, for moral
philosophy does not know a more important one, or a more difficult one to
decide; it is a lesson which lasts throughout life. I will tell you in a
few words that we call prejudice every so-called duty for the existence
of which we find no reason in nature."
"Then nature must be the philosopher's principal study?"
"Indeed it is; the most learned of philosophers is the one who commits
the fewest errors."
"What philosopher, in your opinion, has committed the smallest quantity
of errors?"
"Socrates."
"Yet he was in error sometimes?"
"Yes, in metaphysics."
"Oh! never mind that, for I think he could very well manage without that
study."
"You are mistaken; morals are only the metaphysics of physics; nature is
everything, and I give you leave to consider as a madman whoever tells
you that he has made a new discovery in metaphysics. But if I went on, my
dear, I might appear rather obscure to you. Proceed slowly, think; let
your maxims be the consequence of just reasoning, and keep your happiness
in view; in the end you must be happy."
"I prefer the lesson you have just taught me to the one which M. Baletti
will give me to-morrow; for I have an idea that it will weary me, and now
I am much interested."
"How do you know that you are interested?"
"Because I wish you not to leave me."
"Truly, my dear Vesian, never has a philosopher described sympathy better
than you have just done. How happy I feel! How is it that I wish to prove
it by kissing you?"
"No doubt because, to be happy, the soul must agree with the senses."
"Indeed, my divine Vesian? Your intelligence is charming."
"It is your work, dear friend; and I am so grateful to you that I share
your desires."
"What is there to prevent us from satisfying such natural desires? Let us
embrace one another tenderly."
What a lesson in philosophy! It seemed to us such a sweet one, our
happiness was so complete, that at daybreak we were still kissing one
another, and it was only when we parted in the morning that we discovered
that the door of the room had remained open all night.
Baletti gave her a few lessons, and she was received at the opera; but
she did not remain there more than two or three months, regulating her
conduct carefully according to the precepts I had laid out for her. She
never received Narbonne again, and at last accepted a nobleman who proved
himself very different from all others, for the first thing he did was to
make her give up the stage, although it was not a thing according to the
fashion of those days. I do not recollect his name exactly; it was Count
of Tressan or Trean. She behaved in a respectable way, and remained with
him until his death. No one speaks of her now, although she is living in
very easy circumstances; but she is fifty-six, and in Paris a woman of
that age is no longer considered as being among the living.
After she left the Hotel de Bourgogne, I never spoke to her. Whenever I
met her covered with jewels and diamonds, our souls saluted each other
with joy, but her happiness was too precious for me to make any attempt
against it. Her brother found a situation, but I lost sight of him.
CHAPTER IX
The Beautiful O-Morphi--The Deceitful Painter--I Practice
Cabalism for the Duchess de Chartres I Leave Paris--My Stay
in Dresden and My Departure from that City
[Illustration: Chapter 9]
I went to St. Lawrence's Fair with my friend Patu, who, taking it into
his head to sup with a Flemish actress known by the name of Morphi,
invited me to go with him. I felt no inclination for the girl, but what
can we refuse to a friend? I did as he wished. After we had supped with
the actress, Patu fancied a night devoted to a more agreeable occupation,
and as I did not want to leave him I asked for a sofa on which I could
sleep quietly during the night.
Morphi had a sister, a slovenly girl of thirteen, who told me that if I
would give her a crown she would abandon her bed to me. I agreed to her
proposal, and she took me to a small closet where I found a straw
palliasse on four pieces of wood.
"Do you call this a bed, my child?"
"I have no other, sir."
"Then I do not want it, and you shall not have the crown."
"Did you intend undressing yourself?"
"Of course."
"What an idea! There are no sheets."
"Do you sleep with your clothes on?"
"Oh, no!"
"Well, then, go to bed as usual, and you shall have the crown."
"Why?"
"I want to see you undressed."
"But you won't do anything to me?"
"Not the slightest thing."
She undressed, laid herself on her miserable straw bed, and covered
herself with an old curtain. In that state, the impression made by her
dirty tatters disappeared, and I only saw a perfect beauty. But I wanted
to see her entirely. I tried to satisfy my wishes, she opposed some
resistance, but a double crown of six francs made her obedient, and
finding that her only fault was a complete absence of cleanliness, I
began to wash her with my own hands.
You will allow me, dear reader, to suppose that you possess a simple and
natural knowledge, namely, that admiration under such circumstances is
inseparable from another kind of approbation; luckily, I found the young
Morphi disposed to let me do all I pleased, except the only thing for
which I did not care! She told me candidly that she would not allow me to
do that one thing, because in her sister's estimation it was worth
twenty-five louis. I answered that we would bargain on that capital point
another time, but that we would not touch it for the present. Satisfied
with what I said, all the rest was at my disposal, and I found in her a
talent which had attained great perfection in spite of her precocity.
The young Helene faithfully handed to her sister the six francs I had
given her, and she told her the way in which she had earned them. Before
I left the house she told me that, as she was in want of money, she felt
disposed to make some abatement on the price of twenty-five louis. I
answered with a laugh that I would see her about it the next day. I
related the whole affair to Patu, who accused me of exaggeration; and
wishing to prove to him that I was a real connoisseur of female beauty I
insisted upon his seeing Helene as I had seen her. He agreed with me that
the chisel of Praxiteles had never carved anything more perfect. As white
as a lily, Helene possessed all the beauties which nature and the art of
the painter can possibly combine. The loveliness of her features was so
heavenly that it carried to the soul an indefinable sentiment of ecstacy,
a delightful calm. She was fair, but her beautiful blue eyes equalled the
finest black eyes in brilliance.
I went to see her the next evening, and, not agreeing about the price, I
made a bargain with her sister to give her twelve francs every time I
paid her a visit, and it was agreed that we would occupy her room until I
should make up my mind to pay six hundred francs. It was regular usury,
but the Morphi came from a Greek race, and was above prejudices. I had no
idea of giving such a large sum, because I felt no wish to obtain what it
would have procured me; what I obtained was all I cared for.
The elder sister thought I was duped, for in two months I had paid three
hundred francs without having done anything, and she attributed my
reserve to avarice. Avarice, indeed! I took a fancy to possess a painting
of that beautiful body, and a German artist painted it for me splendidly
for six louis. The position in which he painted it was delightful. She
was lying on her stomach, her arms and her bosom leaning on a pillow, and
holding her head sideways as if she were partly on the back. The clever
and tasteful artist had painted her nether parts with so much skill and
truth that no one could have wished for anything more beautiful; I was
delighted with that portrait; it was a speaking likeness, and I wrote
under it, "O-Morphi," not a Homeric word, but a Greek one after all, and
meaning beautiful.
But who can anticipate the wonderful and secret decrees of destiny! My
friend Patu wished to have a copy of that portrait; one cannot refuse
such a slight service to a friend, and I gave an order for it to the same
painter. But the artist, having been summoned to Versailles, shewed that
delightful painting with several others, and M. de St. Quentin found it
so beautiful that he lost no time in shewing it the king. His Most
Christian Majesty, a great connoisseur in that line, wished to ascertain
with his own eyes if the artist had made a faithful copy; and in case the
original should prove as beautiful as the copy, the son of St. Louis knew
very well what to do with it.
M. de St. Quentin, the king's trusty friend, had the charge of that
important affair; it was his province: He enquired from the painter
whether the original could be brought to Versailles, and the artist, not
supposing there would be any difficulty, promised to attend to it.
He therefore called on me to communicate the proposal; I thought it was
delightful, and I immediately told the sister, who jumped for joy. She
set to work cleaning, washing and clothing the young beauty, and two or
three days after they went to Versailles with the painter to see what
could be done. M. de St. Quentin's valet, having received his
instructions from his master, took the two females to a pavilion in the
park, and the painter went to the hotel to await the result of his
negotiation. Half an hour afterwards the king entered the pavilion alone,
asked the young O-Morphi if she was a Greek woman, took the portrait out
of his pocket, and after a careful examination exclaimed,
"I have never seen a better likeness."
His majesty then sat down, took the young girl on his knees, bestowed a
few caresses on her, and having ascertained with his royal hand that the
fruit had not yet been plucked, he gave her a kiss.
O-Morphi was looking attentively at her master, and smiled.
"What are you laughing at?" said the king.
"I laugh because you and a crown of six francs are as like as two peas."
That naivete made the king laugh heartily, and he asked her whether she
would like to remain in Versailles.
"That depends upon my sister," answered the child.
But the sister hastened to tell the king that she could not aspire to a
greater honour. The king locked them up again in the pavilion and went
away, but in less than a quarter of an hour St. Quentin came to fetch
them, placed the young girl in an apartment under the care of a female
attendant, and with the sister he went to meet at the hotel the German
artist to whom he gave fifty Louis for the portrait, and nothing to
Morphi. He only took her address, promising her that she would soon hear
from him; the next day she received one thousand Louis. The worthy German
gave me twenty-five louis for my portrait, with a promise to make a
careful copy of the one I had given to Patu, and he offered to paint for
me gratuitously the likeness of every girl of whom I might wish to keep a
portrait.
I enjoyed heartily the pleasure of the good Fleeting, when she found
herself in possession of the thousand gold pieces which she had received.
Seeing herself rich, and considering me as the author of her fortune, she
did not know how to shew me her gratitude.
The young and lovely O-Morphi--for the king always called her by that
name--pleased the sovereign by her simplicity and her pretty ways more
even than by her rare beauty--the most perfect, the most regular, I
recollect to have ever seen. He placed her in one of the apartments of
his Parc-dux-cerfs--the voluptuous monarch's harem, in which no one could
get admittance except the ladies presented at the court. At the end of
one year she gave birth to a son who went, like so many others, God knows
where! for as long as Queen Mary lived no one ever knew what became of
the natural children of Louis XV.
O-Morphi fell into disgrace at the end of three years, but the king, as
he sent her away, ordered her to receive a sum of four hundred thousand
francs which she brought as a dowry to an officer from Britanny. In 1783,
happening to be in Fontainebleau, I made the acquaintance of a charming
young man of twenty-five, the offspring of that marriage and the living
portrait of his mother, of the history of whom he had not the slightest
knowledge, and I thought it my duty not to enlighten him. I wrote my name
on his tablets, and I begged him to present my compliments to his mother.
A wicked trick of Madame de Valentinois, sister-in-law of the Prince of
Monaco, was the cause of O-Morphi's disgrace. That lady, who was well
known in Paris, told her one day that, if she wished to make the king
very merry, she had only to ask him how he treated his old wife. Too
simple to guess the snare thus laid out for her, O-Morphi actually asked
that impertinent question; but Louis XV. gave her a look of fury, and
exclaimed,
"Miserable wretch! who taught you to address me that question?"
The poor O-Morphi, almost dead with fright, threw herself on her knees,
and confessed the truth.
The king left her and never would see her again. The Countess de
Valentinois was exiled for two years from the court. Louis XV., who knew
how wrongly he was behaving towards his wife as a husband, would not
deserve any reproach at her hands as a king, and woe to anyone who forgot
the respect due to the queen!
The French are undoubtedly the most witty people in Europe, and perhaps
in the whole world, but Paris is, all the same, the city for impostors
and quacks to make a fortune. When their knavery is found out people turn
it into a joke and laugh, but in the midst of the merriment another
mountebank makes his appearance, who does something more wonderful than
those who preceded him, and he makes his fortune, whilst the scoffing of
the people is in abeyance. It is the unquestionable effects of the power
which fashion has over that amiable, clever, and lively nation. If
anything is astonishing, no matter how extravagant it may be, the crowd
is sure to welcome it greedily, for anyone would be afraid of being taken
for a fool if he should exclaim, "It is impossible!" Physicians are,
perhaps, the only men in France who know that an infinite gulf yawns
between the will and the deed, whilst in Italy it is an axiom known to
everybody; but I do not mean to say that the Italians are superior to the
French.
A certain painter met with great success for some time by announcing a
thing which was an impossibility--namely, by pretending that he could
take a portrait of a person without seeing the individual, and only from
the description given. But he wanted the description to be thoroughly
accurate. The result of it was that the portrait did greater honour to
the person who gave the description than--to the painter himself, but at
the same time the informer found himself under the obligation of finding
the likeness very good; otherwise the artist alleged the most legitimate
excuse, and said that if the likeness was not perfect the fault was to be
ascribed to the person who had given an imperfect description.
One evening I was taking supper at Silvia's when one of the guests spoke
of that wonderful new artist, without laughing, and with every appearance
of believing the whole affair.
"That painter," added he, "has already painted more than one hundred
portraits, and they are all perfect likenesses."
Everybody was of the same opinion; it was splendid. I was the only one
who, laughing heartily, took the liberty of saying it was absurd and
impossible. The gentleman who had brought the wonderful news, feeling
angry, proposed a wager of one hundred louis. I laughed all the more
because his offer could not be accepted unless I exposed myself to being
made a dupe.
"But the portraits are all admirable likenesses."
"I do not believe it, or if they are then there must be cheating
somewhere."
But the gentleman, being bent upon convincing Silvia and me--for she had
taken my part proposed to make us dine with the artist; and we accepted.
The next day we called upon the painter, where we saw a quantity of
portraits, all of which the artist claimed to be speaking likenesses; as
we did not know the persons whom they represented we could not deny his
claim.
"Sir," said Silvia to the artist, "could you paint the likeness of my
daughter without seeing her?"
"Yes, madam, if you are certain of giving me an exact description of the
expression of her features."
We exchanged a glance, and no more was said about it. The painter told us
that supper was his favourite meal, and that he would be delighted if we
would often give him the pleasure of our company. Like all quacks, he
possessed an immense quantity of letters and testimonials from Bordeaux,
Toulouse, Lyons, Rouen, etc., which paid the highest compliments to the
perfection of his portraits, or gave descriptions for new pictures
ordered from him. His portraits, by the way, had to be paid for in
advance.
Two or three days afterwards I met his pretty niece, who obligingly
upbraided me for not having yet availed myself of her uncle's invitation
to supper; the niece was a dainty morsel worthy of a king, and, her
reproaches being very flattering to my vanity I promised I would come the
next day. In less than a week it turned out a serious engagement. I fell
in love with the interesting niece, who, being full of wit and well
disposed to enjoy herself, had no love for me, and granted me no favour.
I hoped, and, feeling that I was caught, I felt it was the only thing I
could do.
One day that I was alone in my room, drinking my coffee and thinking of
her, the door was suddenly opened without anyone being announced, and a
young man came in. I did not recollect him, but, without giving me time
to ask any questions, he said to me,
"Sir, I have had the honour of meeting you at the supper-table of M.
Samson, the painter."
"Ah! yes; I beg you to excuse me, sir, I did not at first recollect you."
"It is natural, for your eyes are always on Mdlle. Samson."
"Very likely, but you must admit that she is a charming creature."
"I have no difficulty whatever in agreeing with you; to my misery, I know
it but too well."
"You are in love with her?"
"Alas, yes! and I say, again, to my misery."
"To your misery? But why, do not you gain her love?"
"That is the very thing I have been striving for since last year, and I
was beginning to have some hope when your arrival has reduced me to
despair."
"I have reduced you to despair?"
"Yes, sir."
"I am very sorry, but I cannot help it."
"You could easily help it; and, if you would allow me, I could suggest to
you the way in which you could greatly oblige me."
"Speak candidly."
"You might never put your foot in the house again."
"That is a rather singular proposal, but I agree that it is truly the
only thing I can do if I have a real wish to oblige you. Do you think,
however, that in that case you would succeed in gaining her affection?"
"Then it will be my business to succeed. Do not go there again, and I
will take care of the rest."
"I might render you that very great service; but you must confess that
you must have a singular opinion of me to suppose that I am a man to do
such a thing."
"Yes, sir, I admit that it may appear singular; but I take you for a man
of great sense and sound intellect, and after considering the subject
deeply I have thought that you would put yourself in my place; that you
would not wish to make me miserable, or to expose your own life for a
young girl who can have inspired you with but a passing fancy, whilst my
only wish is to secure the happiness or the misery of my life, whichever
it may prove, by uniting her existence with mine."
"But suppose that I should intend, like you, to ask her in marriage?"
"Then we should both be worthy of pity, and one of us would have ceased
to exist before the other obtained her, for as long as I shall live
Mdlle. Samson shall not be the wife of another."
This young man, well-made, pale, grave, as cold as a piece of marble,
madly in love, who, in his reason mixed with utter despair, came to speak
to me in such a manner with the most surprising calm, made me pause and
consider. Undoubtedly I was not afraid, but although in love with Mdlle.
Samson I did not feel my passion sufficiently strong to cut the throat of
a man for the sake of her beautiful eyes, or to lose my own life to
defend my budding affection. Without answering the young man, I began to
pace up and down my room, and for a quarter of an hour I weighed the
following question which I put to myself: Which decision will appear more
manly in the eyes of my rival and will win my own esteem to the deeper
degree, namely-to accept coolly his offer to cut one another's throats,
or to allay his anxiety by withdrawing from the field with dignity?
Pride whispered, Fight; Reason said, Compel thy rival to acknowledge thee
a wiser man than he is.
"What would you think of me, sir," I said to him, with an air of
decision, "if I consented to give up my visits to Mdlle. Samson?"
"I would think that you had pity on a miserable man, and I say that in
that case you will ever find me ready to shed the last drop of my blood
to prove my deep gratitude."
"Who are you?"
"My name is Garnier, I am the only son of M. Garnier, wine merchant in
the Rue de Seine."
"Well, M. Gamier, I will never again call on Mdlle. Samson. Let us be
friends."
"Until death. Farewell, sir."
"Adieu, be happy!"
Patu came in five minutes after Garnier had left me: I related the
adventure to him, and he thought I was a hero.
"I would have acted as you have done," he observed, "but I would not have
acted like Garnier."
It was about that time that the Count de Melfort, colonel of the Orleans
regiment, entreated me through Camille, Coraline's sister, to answer two
questions by means of my cabalism. I gave two answers very vague, yet
meaning a great deal; I put them under a sealed envelope and gave them to
Camille, who asked me the next day to accompany her to a place which she
said she could not name to me. I followed her; she took me to the
Palais-Royal, and then, through a narrow staircase, to the apartments of
the Duchess de Chartres. I waited about a quarter of an hour, at the end
of which time the duchess came in and loaded Camille with caresses for
having brought me. Then addressing herself to me, she told me, with
dignity yet very graciously, the difficulty she experienced in
understanding the answers I had sent and which she was holding in her
hand. At first I expressed some perplexity at the questions having
emanated from her royal highness, and I told her afterwards that I
understood cabalism, but that I could not interpret the meaning of the
answers obtained through it, and that her highness must ask new questions
likely to render the answers easier to be understood. She wrote down all
she could not make out and all she wanted to know.
"Madam, you must be kind enough to divide the questions, for the
cabalistic oracle never answers two questions at the same time."
"Well, then, prepare the questions yourself."
"Your highness will excuse me, but every word must be written with your
own hand. Recollect, madam, that you will address yourself to a superior
intelligence knowing all your secrets"
She began to write, and asked seven or eight questions. She read them
over carefully, and said, with a face beaming with noble confidence,
"Sir, I wish to be certain that no one shall ever know what I have just
written."
"Your highness may rely on my honour."
I read attentively, and I saw that her wish for secrecy was reasonable,
and that if I put the questions in my pocket I should run the risk of
losing them and implicating myself.
"I only require three hours to complete my task," I said to the duchess,
"and I wish your highness to feel no anxiety. If you have any other
engagement you can leave me here alone, provided I am not disturbed by
anybody. When it is completed, I will put it all in a sealed envelope; I
only want your highness to tell me to whom I must deliver the parcel."
"Either to me or to Madame de Polignac, if you know her."
"Yes, madam, I have the honour to know her."
The duchess handed me a small tinder-box to enable me to light a
wax-candle, and she went away with Camille. I remained alone locked up in
the room, and at the end of three hours, just as I had completed my task,
Madame de Polignac came for the parcel and I left the palace.
The Duchess de Chartres, daughter of the Prince of Conti, was twenty-six
years of age. She was endowed with that particular sort of wit which
renders a woman adorable. She was lively, above the prejudices of rank,
cheerful, full of jest, a lover of pleasure, which she preferred to a
long life. "Short and sweet," were the words she had constantly on her
lips. She was pretty but she stood badly, and used to laugh at Marcel,
the teacher of graceful deportment, who wanted to correct her awkward
bearing. She kept her head bent forward and her feet turned inside when
dancing; yet she was a charming dancer. Unfortunately her face was
covered with pimples, which injured her beauty very greatly. Her
physicians thought that they were caused by a disease of the liver, but
they came from impurity of the blood, which at last killed her, and from
which she suffered throughout her life.
The questions she had asked from my oracle related to affairs connected
with her heart, and she wished likewise to know how she could get rid of
the blotches which disfigured her. My answers were rather obscure in such
matters as I was not specially acquainted with, but they were very clear
concerning her disease, and my oracle became precious and necessary to
her highness.
The next day, after dinner, Camille wrote me a note, as I expected,
requesting me to give up all other engagements in order to present myself
at five o'clock at the Palais-Royal, in the same room in which the
duchess had already received me the day before. I was punctual.
An elderly valet de chambre, who was waiting for me, immediately went to
give notice of my arrival, and five minutes after the charming princess
made her appearance. After addressing me in a very complimentary manner,
she drew all my answers from her pocket, and enquired whether I had any
pressing engagements.
"Your highness may be certain that I shall never have any more important
business than to attend to your wishes."
"Very well; I do not intend to go out, and we can work."
She then shewed me all the questions which she had already prepared on
different subjects, and particularly those relating to the cure of her
pimples. One circumstance had contributed to render my oracle precious to
her, because nobody could possibly know it, and I had guessed it. Had I
not done so, I daresay it would have been all the same. I had laboured
myself under the same disease, and I was enough of a physician to be
aware that to attempt the cure of a cutaneous disease by active remedies
might kill the patient.
I had already answered that she could not get rid of the pimples on her
face in less than a week, but that a year of diet would be necessary to
effect a radical cure.
We spent three hours in ascertaining what she was to do, and, believing
implicitly in the power and in the science of the oracle, she undertook
to follow faithfully everything ordered. Within one week all the ugly
pimples had entirely disappeared.
I took care to purge her slightly; I prescribed every day what she was to
eat, and forbade the use of all cosmetics; I only advised her to wash
herself morning and evening with plantain water. The modest oracle told
the princess to make use of the same water for her ablutions of every
part of her body where she desired to obtain the same result, and she
obeyed the prescription religiously.
I went to the opera on purpose on the day when the duchess shewed herself
there with a smooth and rosy shin. After the opera, she took a walk in
the great alley of the Palais-Royal, followed by the ladies of her suite
and flattered by everybody. She saw me, and honoured me with a smile. I
was truly happy. Camille, Madame de Polignac, and M. de Melfort were the
only persons who knew that I was the oracle of the duchess, and I enjoyed
my success. But the next day a few pimples reappeared on her beautiful
complexion, and I received an order to repair at once to the
Palais-Royal.
The valet, who did not know me, shewed me into a delightful boudoir near
a closet in which there was a bath. The duchess came in; she looked sad,
for she had several small pimples on the forehead and the chin. She held
in her hand a question for the oracle, and as it was only a short one I
thought it would give her the pleasure of finding the answer by herself.
The numbers translated by the princess reproached her with having
transgressed the regimen prescribed; she confessed to having drunk some
liquors and eaten some ham; but she was astounded at having found that
answer herself, and she could not understand how such an answer could
result from an agglomeration of numbers. At that moment, one of her women
came in to whisper a few words to her; she told her to wait outside, and
turning towards me, she said,
"Have you any objection to seeing one of your friends who is as delicate
as discreet?"
With these words, she hastily concealed in her pocket all the papers
which did not relate to her disease; then she called out.
A man entered the room, whom I took for a stableboy; it was M. de
Melfort.
"See," said the princess to him, "M. Casanova has taught me the
cabalistic science."
And she shewed him the answer she had obtained herself. The count could
not believe it.
"Well," said the duchess to me, "we must convince him. What shall I ask?"
"Anything your highness chooses."
She considered for one instant, and, drawing from her pocket a small
ivory box, she wrote, "Tell me why this pomatum has no longer any effect"
She formed the pyramid, the columns, and the key, as I had taught her,
and as she was ready to get the answer, I told her how to make the
additions and subtractions which seem to come from the numbers, but which
in reality are only arbitrary; then I told her to interpret the numbers
in letters, and I left the room under some pretext. I came back when I
thought that she had completed her translation, and I found her wrapped
in amazement.
"Ah, sir!" she exclaimed, "what an answer!"
"Perhaps it is not the right one; but that will sometimes happen, madam."
"Not the right one, sir? It is divine! Here it is: That pomatum has no
effect upon the skin of a woman who has been a mother."
"I do not see anything extraordinary in that answer, madam."
"Very likely, sir, but it is because you do not know that the pomatum in
question was given to me five years ago by the Abbe de Brosses; it cured
me at that time, but it was ten months before the birth of the Duke de
Montpensier. I would give anything in the world to be thoroughly
acquainted with that sublime cabalistic science."
"What!" said the count, "is it the pomatum the history of which I know?"
"Precisely."
"It is astonishing."
"I wish to ask one more question concerning a woman the name of whom I
would rather not give."
"Say the woman whom I have in my thoughts."
She then asked this question: "What disease is that woman suffering
from?" She made the calculation, and the answer which I made her bring
forth was this: "She wants to deceive her husband." This time the duchess
fairly screamed with astonishment.
It was getting very late, and I was preparing to take leave, when M. de
Melfort, who was speaking to her highness, told me that we might go
together. When we were out, he told me that the cabalistic answer
concerning the pomatum was truly wonderful. This was the history of it:
"The duchess, pretty as you see her now, had her face so fearfully
covered with pimples that the duke, thoroughly disgusted, had not the
courage to come near her to enjoy his rights as a husband, and the poor
princess was pining with useless longing to become a mother. The Abbe de
Brosses cured her with that pomatum, and her beautiful face having
entirely recovered it original bloom she made her appearance at the
Theatre Francais, in the queen's box. The Duke de Chartres, not knowing
that his wife had gone to the theatre, where she went but very seldom,
was in the king's box. He did not recognize the duchess, but thinking her
very handsome he enquired who she was, and when he was told he would not
believe it; he left the royal box, went to his wife, complimented her,
and announced his visit for the very same night. The result of that visit
was, nine months afterwards, the birth of the Duke of Montpensier, who is
now five years old and enjoys excellent health. During the whole of her
pregnancy the duchess kept her face smooth and blooming, but immediately
after her delivery the pimples reappeared, and the pomatum remained
without any effect."
As he concluded his explanation, the count offered me a tortoise-shell
box with a very good likeness of her royal highness, and said,
"The duchess begs your acceptance of this portrait, and, in case you
would like to have it set she wishes you to make use of this for that
purpose."
It was a purse of one hundred Louis. I accepted both, and entreated the
count to offer the expressions of my profound gratitude to her highness.
I never had the portrait mounted, for I was then in want of money for
some other purpose.
After that, the duchess did me the honour of sending for me several
times; but her cure remained altogether out of the question; she could
not make up her mind to follow a regular diet. She would sometimes keep
me at work for five or six hours, now in one corner, now in another,
going in and out herself all the time, and having either dinner or supper
brought to me by the old valet, who never uttered a word.
Her questions to the oracle alluded only to secret affairs which she was
curious to know, and she often found truths with which I was not myself
acquainted, through the answers. She wished me to teach her the
cabalistic science, but she never pressed her wish upon me. She, however,
commissioned M. de Melfort to tell me that, if I would teach her, she
would get me an appointment with an income of twenty-five thousand
francs. Alas! it was impossible! I was madly in love with her, but I
would not for the world have allowed her to guess my feelings. My pride
was the corrective of my love. I was afraid of her haughtiness
humiliating me, and perhaps I was wrong. All I know is that I even now
repent of having listened to a foolish pride. It is true that I enjoyed
certain privileges which she might have refused me if she had known my
love.
One day she wished my oracle to tell her whether it was possible to cure
a cancer which Madame de la Popeliniere had in the breast; I took it in
my head to answer that the lady alluded to had no cancer, and was
enjoying excellent health.
"How is that?" said the duchess; "everyone in Paris believes her to be
suffering from a cancer, and she has consultation upon consultation. Yet
I have faith in the oracle."
Soon afterwards, seeing the Duke de Richelieu at the court, she told him
she was certain that Madame de la Popeliniere was not ill. The marshal,
who knew the secret, told her that she was mistaken; but she proposed a
wager of a hundred thousand francs. I trembled when the duchess related
the conversation to me.
"Has he accepted your wages?" I enquired, anxiously.
"No; he seemed surprised; you are aware that he ought to know the truth."
Three or four days after that conversation, the duchess told me
triumphantly that M. de Richelieu had confessed to her that the cancer
was only a ruse to excite the pity of her husband, with whom Madame de la
Popeliniere wanted to live again on good terms; she added that the
marshal had expressed his willingness to pay one thousand Louis to know
how she had discovered the truth.
"If you wish to earn that sum," said the duchess to me, "I will tell him
all about it."
But I was afraid of a snare; I knew the temper of the marshal, and the
story of the hole in the wall through which he introduced himself into
that lady's apartment, was the talk of all Paris. M. de la Popeliniere
himself had made the adventure more public by refusing to live with his
wife, to whom he paid an income of twelve thousand francs.
The Duchess de Chartres had written some charming poetry on that amusing
affair; but out of her own coterie no one knew it except the king, who
was fond of the princess, although she was in the habit of scoffing at
him. One day, for instance, she asked him whether it was true that the
king of Prussia was expected in Paris. Louis XV. having answered that it
was an idle rumour,
"I am very sorry," she said, "for I am longing to see a king."
My brother had completed several pictures and having decided on
presenting one to M. de Marigny, we repaired one morning to the apartment
of that nobleman, who lived in the Louvre, where all the artists were in
the habit of paying their court to him. We were shewn into a hall
adjoining his private apartment, and having arrived early we waited for
M. de Marigny. My brother's picture was exposed there; it was a battle
piece in the style of Bourguignon.
The first person who passed through the room stopped before the picture,
examined it attentively, and moved on, evidently thinking that it was a
poor painting; a moment afterwards two more persons came in, looked at
the picture, smiled, and said,
"That's the work of a beginner."
I glanced at my brother, who was seated near me; he was in a fever. In
less than a quarter of an hour the room was full of people, and the
unfortunate picture was the butt of everybody's laughter. My poor brother
felt almost dying, and thanked his stars that no one knew him personally.
The state of his mind was such that I heartily pitied him; I rose with
the intention of going to some other room, and to console him I told him
that M. de Marigny would soon come, and that his approbation of the
picture would avenge him for the insults of the crowd. Fortunately, this
was not my brother's opinion; we left the room hurriedly, took a coach,
went home, and sent our servant to fetch back the painting. As soon as it
had been brought back my brother made a battle of it in real earnest, for
he cut it up with a sword into twenty pieces. He made up his mind to
settle his affairs in Paris immediately, and to go somewhere else to
study an art which he loved to idolatry; we resolved on going to Dresden
together.
Two or three days before leaving the delightful city of Paris I dined
alone at the house of the gate-keeper of the Tuileries; his name was
Conde. After dinner his wife, a rather pretty woman, presented me the
bill, on which every item was reckoned at double its value. I pointed it
out to her, but she answered very curtly that she could not abate one
sou. I paid, and as the bill was receipted with the words 'femme Conde',
I took the pen and to the word 'Conde' I added 'labre', and I went away
leaving the bill on the table.
I was taking a walk in the Tuileries, not thinking any more of my female
extortioner, when a small man, with his hat cocked on one side of his
head and a large nosegay in his button-hole, and sporting a long sword,
swaggered up to me and informed me, without any further explanation, that
he had a fancy to cut my throat.
"But, my small specimen of humanity," I said, "you would require to jump
on a chair to reach my throat. I will cut your ears."
"Sacre bleu, monsieur!"
"No vulgar passion, my dear sir; follow me; you shall soon be satisfied."
I walked rapidly towards the Porte de l'Etoile, where, seeing that the
place was deserted, I abruptly asked the fellow what he wanted, and why
he had attacked me.
"I am the Chevalier de Talvis," he answered. "You have insulted an honest
woman who is under my protection; unsheath!"
With these words he drew his long sword; I unsheathed mine; after a
minute or two I lunged rapidly, and wounded him in the breast. He jumped
backward, exclaiming that I had wounded him treacherously.
"You lie, you rascally mannikin! acknowledge it, or I thrust my sword
through your miserable body."
"You will not do it, for I am wounded; but I insist upon having my
revenge, and we will leave the decision of this to competent judges."
"Miserable wrangler, wretched fighter, if you are not satisfied, I will
cut off your ears!"
I left him there, satisfied that I had acted according to the laws of the
duello, for he had drawn his sword before me, and if he had not been
skilful enough to cover himself in good time, it was not, of course, my
business to teach him. Towards the middle of August I left Paris with my
brother. I had made a stay of two years in that city, the best in the
world. I had enjoyed myself greatly, and had met with no unpleasantness
except that I had been now and then short of money. We went through Metz,
Mayence, and Frankfort, and arrived in Dresden at the end of the same
month. My mother offered us the most affectionate welcome, and was
delighted to see us again. My brother remained four years in that
pleasant city, constantly engaged in the study of his art, and copying
all the fine paintings of battles by the great masters in the celebrated
Electoral Gallery.
He went back to Paris only when he felt certain that he could set
criticism at defiance; I shall say hereafter how it was that we both
reached that city about the same time. But before that period, dear,
reader, you will see what good and adverse fortune did for or against me.
My life in Dresden until the end of the carnival in 1753 does not offer
any extraordinary adventure. To please the actors, and especially my
mother, I wrote a kind of melodrama, in which I brought out two
harlequins. It was a parody of the 'Freres Ennemis', by Racine. The king
was highly amused at the comic fancies which filled my play, and he made
me a beautiful present. The king was grand and generous, and these
qualities found a ready echo in the breast of the famous Count de Bruhl.
I left Dresden soon after that, bidding adieu to my mother, to my brother
Francois, and to my sister, then the wife of Pierre Auguste, chief player
of the harpsichord at the Court, who died two years ago, leaving his
widow and family in comfortable circumstances.
My stay in Dresden was marked by an amorous souvenir of which I got rid,
as in previous similar circumstances, by a diet of six weeks. I have
often remarked that the greatest part of my life was spent in trying to
make myself ill, and when I had succeeded, in trying to recover my
health. I have met with equal success in both things; and now that I
enjoy excellent health in that line, I am very sorry to be physically
unable to make myself ill again; but age, that cruel and unavoidable
disease, compels me to be in good health in spite of myself. The illness
I allude to, which the Italians call 'mal francais', although we might
claim the honour of its first importation, does not shorten life, but it
leaves indelible marks on the face. Those scars, less honourable perhaps
than those which are won in the service of Mars, being obtained through
pleasure, ought not to leave any regret behind.
In Dresden I had frequent opportunities of seeing the king, who was very
fond of the Count de Bruhl, his minister, because that favourite
possessed the double secret of shewing himself more extravagant even than
his master, and of indulging all his whims.
Never was a monarch a greater enemy to economy; he laughed heartily when
he was plundered and he spent a great deal in order to have occasion to
laugh often. As he had not sufficient wit to amuse himself with the
follies of other kings and with the absurdities of humankind, he kept
four buffoons, who are called fools in Germany, although these degraded
beings are generally more witty than their masters. The province of those
jesters is to make their owner laugh by all sorts of jokes which are
usually nothing but disgusting tricks, or low, impertinent jests.
Yet these professional buffoons sometimes captivate the mind of their
master to such an extent that they obtain from him very important favours
in behalf of the persons they protect, and the consequence is that they
are often courted by the highest families. Where is the man who will not
debase himself if he be in want? Does not Agamemnon say, in Homer, that
in such a case man must necessarily be guilty of meanness? And Agamemnon
and Homer lived long before our time! It evidently proves that men are at
all times moved by the same motive-namely, self-interest.
It is wrong to say that the Count de Bruhl was the ruin of Saxony, for he
was only the faithful minister of his royal master's inclinations. His
children are poor, and justify their father's conduct.
The court at Dresden was at that time the most brilliant in Europe; the
fine arts flourished, but there was no gallantry, for King Augustus had
no inclination for the fair sex, and the Saxons were not of a nature to
be thus inclined unless the example was set by their sovereign.
At my arrival in Prague, where I did not intend to stop, I delivered a
letter I had for Locatelli, manager of the opera, and went to pay a visit
to Madame Morelli, an old acquaintance, for whom I had great affection,
and for two or three days she supplied all the wants of my heart.
As I was on the point of leaving Prague, I met in the street my friend
Fabris, who had become a colonel, and he insisted upon my dining with
him. After 'embracing him, I represented to him, but in vain, that I had
made all my arrangements to go away immediately.
"You will go this evening," he said, "with a friend of mine, and you will
catch the coach."
I had to give way, and I was delighted to have done so, for the remainder
of the day passed in the most agreeable manner. Fabris was longing for
war, and his wishes were gratified two years afterwards; he covered
himself with glory.
I must say one word about Locatelli, who was an original character well
worthy to be known. He took his meals every day at a table laid out for
thirty persons, and the guests were his actors, actresses, dancers of
both sexes, and a few friends. He did the honours of his well-supplied
board nobly, and his real passion was good living. I shall have occasion
to mention him again at the time of my journey to St. Petersburg, where I
met him, and where he died only lately at the age of ninety.
EPISODE 7 -- VENICE
CHAPTER X
My Stay in Vienna--Joseph II--My Departure for Venice
Arrived, for the first time, in the capital of Austria, at the age of
eight-and-twenty, well provided with clothes, but rather short of
money--a circumstance which made it necessary for me to curtail my
expenses until the arrival of the proceeds of a letter of exchange which
I had drawn upon M. de Bragadin. The only letter of recommendation I had
was from the poet Migliavacca, of Dresden, addressed to the illustrious
Abbe Metastasio, whom I wished ardently to know. I delivered the letter
the day after my arrival, and in one hour of conversation I found him
more learned than I should have supposed from his works. Besides,
Metastasio was so modest that at first I did not think that modesty
natural, but it was not long before I discovered that it was genuine, for
when he recited something of his own composition, he was the first to
call the attention of his hearers to the important parts or to the fine
passages with as much simplicity as he would remark the weak ones. I
spoke to him of his tutor Gravina, and as we were on that subject he
recited to me five or six stanzas which he had written on his death, and
which had not been printed. Moved by the remembrance of his friend, and
by the sad beauty of his own poetry, his eyes were filled with tears, and
when he had done reciting the stanzas he said, in a tone of touching
simplicity,'Ditemi il vero, si puo air meglio'?
I answered that he alone had the right to believe it impossible. I then
asked him whether he had to work a great deal to compose his beautiful
poetry; he shewed me four or five pages which he had covered with
erasures and words crossed and scratched out only because he had wished
to bring fourteen lines to perfection, and he assured me that he had
never been able to compose more than that number in one day. He confirmed
my knowledge of a truth which I had found out before, namely, that the
very lines which most readers believe to have flowed easily from the
poet's pen are generally those which he has had the greatest difficulty
in composing.
"Which of your operas," I enquired, "do you like best?"
"'Attilio Regolo; ma questo non vuol gia dire che sia il megliore'."
"All your works have been translated in Paris into French prose, but the
publisher was ruined, for it is not possible to read them, and it proves
the elevation and the power of your poetry."
"Several years ago, another foolish publisher ruined himself by a
translation into French prose of the splendid poetry of Ariosto. I laugh
at those who maintain that poetry can be translated into prose."
"I am of your opinion."
"And you are right."
He told me that he had never written an arietta without composing the
music of it himself, but that as a general rule he never shewed his music
to anyone.
"The French," he added, "entertain the very strange belief that it is
possible to adapt poetry to music already composed."
And he made on that subject this very philosophical remark:
"You might just as well say to a sculptor, 'Here is a piece of marble,
make a Venus, and let her expression be shewn before the features are
chiselled.'"
I went to the Imperial Library, and was much surprised to meet De la Haye
in the company of two Poles, and a young Venetian whom his father had
entrusted to him to complete his education. I believed him to be in
Poland, and as the meeting recalled interesting recollections I was
pleased to see him. I embraced him repeatedly with real pleasure.
He told me that he was in Vienna on business, and that he would go to
Venice during the summer. We paid one another several visits, and hearing
that I was rather short of money he lent me fifty ducats, which I
returned a short time after. He told me that Bavois was already
lieutenant-colonel in the Venetian army, and the news afforded me great
pleasure. He had been fortunate enough to be appointed adjutant-general
by M. Morosini, who, after his return from his embassy in France, had
made him Commissary of the Borders. I was delighted to hear of the
happiness and success of two men who certainly could not help
acknowledging me as the original cause of their good fortune. In Vienna I
acquired the certainty of De la Haye being a Jesuit, but he would not let
anyone allude to the subject.
Not knowing where to go, and longing for some recreation, I went to the
rehearsal of the opera which was to be performed after Easter, and met
Bodin, the first dancer, who had married the handsome Jeoffroi, whom I
had seen in Turin. I likewise met in the same place Campioni, the husband
of the beautiful Ancilla. He told me that he had been compelled to apply
for a divorce because she dishonoured him too publicly. Campioni was at
the same time a great dancer and a great gambler. I took up my lodgings
with him.
In Vienna everything is beautiful; money was then very plentiful, and
luxury very great; but the severity of the empress made the worship of
Venus difficult, particularly for strangers. A legion of vile spies, who
were decorated with the fine title of Commissaries of Chastity, were the
merciless tormentors of all the girls. The empress did not practise the
sublime virtue of tolerance for what is called illegitimate love, and in
her excessive devotion she thought that her persecutions of the most
natural inclinations in man and woman were very agreeable to God. Holding
in her imperial hands the register of cardinal sins, she fancied that she
could be indulgent for six of them, and keep all her severity for the
seventh, lewdness, which in her estimation could not be forgiven.
"One can ignore pride," she would say, "for dignity wears the same garb.
Avarice is fearful, it is true; but one might be mistaken about it,
because it is often very like economy. As for anger, it is a murderous
disease in its excess, but murder is punishable with death. Gluttony is
sometimes nothing but epicurism, and religion does not forbid that sin;
for in good company it is held a valuable quality; besides, it blends
itself with appetite, and so much the worse for those who die of
indigestion. Envy is a low passion which no one ever avows; to punish it
in any other way than by its own corroding venom, I would have to torture
everybody at Court; and weariness is the punishment of sloth. But lust is
a different thing altogether; my chaste soul could not forgive such a
sin, and I declare open war against it. My subjects are at liberty to
think women handsome as much as they please; women may do all in their
power to appear beautiful; people may entertain each other as they like,
because I cannot forbid conversation; but they shall not gratify desires
on which the preservation of the human race depends, unless it is in the
holy state of legal marriage. Therefore, all the miserable creatures who
live by the barter of their caresses and of the charms given to them by
nature shall be sent to Temeswar. I am aware that in Rome people are very
indulgent on that point, and that, in order to prevent another greater
crime (which is not prevented), every cardinal has one or more
mistresses, but in Rome the climate requires certain concessions which
are not necessary here, where the bottle and the pipe replace all
pleasures. (She might have added, and the table, for the Austrians are
known to be terrible eaters.)
"I will have no indulgence either for domestic disorders, for the moment
I hear that a wife is unfaithful to her husband, I will have her locked
up, in spite of all, in spite of the generally received opinion that the
husband is the real judge and master of his wife; that privilege cannot
be granted in my kingdom where husbands are by far too indifferent on
that subject. Fanatic husbands may complain as much as they please that I
dishonour them by punishing their wives; they are dishonoured already by
the fact of the woman's infidelity."
"But, madam, dishonour rises in reality only from the fact of infidelity
being made public; besides, you might be deceived, although you are
empress."
"I know that, but that is no business of yours, and I do not grant you
the right of contradicting me."
Such is the way in which Maria Teresa would have argued, and
notwithstanding the principle of virtue from which her argument had
originated, it had ultimately given birth to all the infamous deeds which
her executioners, the Commissaries of Chastity, committed with impunity
under her name. At every hour of the day, in all the streets of Vienna,
they carried off and took to prison the poor girls who happened to live
alone, and very often went out only to earn an honest living. I should
like to know how it was possible to know that a girl was going to some
man to get from him consolations for her miserable position, or that she
was in search of someone disposed to offer her those consolations?
Indeed, it was difficult. A spy would follow them at a distance. The
police department kept a crowd of those spies, and as the scoundrels wore
no particular uniform, it was impossible to know them; as a natural
consequence, there was a general distrust of all strangers. If a girl
entered a house, the spy who had followed her, waited for her, stopped
her as she came out, and subjected her to an interrogatory. If the poor
creature looked uneasy, if she hesitated in answering in such a way as to
satisfy the spy, the fellow would take her to prison; in all cases
beginning by plundering her of whatever money or jewellery she carried
about her person, and the restitution of which could never be obtained.
Vienna was, in that respect a true den of privileged thieves. It happened
to me one day in Leopoldstadt that in the midst of some tumult a girl
slipped in my hand a gold watch to secure it from the clutches of a
police-spy who was pressing upon her to take her up. I did not know the
poor girl, whom I was fortunate enough to see again one month afterwards.
She was pretty, and she had been compelled to more than one sacrifice in
order to obtain her liberty. I was glad to be able to hand her watch back
to her, and although she was well worthy of a man's attention I did not
ask her for anything to reward my faithfulness. The only way in which
girls could walk unmolested in the streets was to go about with their
head bent down with beads in hand, for in that case the disgusting brood
of spies dared not arrest them, because they might be on their way to
church, and Maria Teresa would certainly have sent to the gallows the spy
guilty of such a mistake.
Those low villains rendered a stay in Vienna very unpleasant to
foreigners, and it was a matter of the greatest difficulty to gratify the
slightest natural want without running the risk of being annoyed. One day
as I was standing close to the wall in a narrow street, I was much
astonished at hearing myself rudely addressed by a scoundrel with a round
wig, who told me that, if I did not go somewhere else to finish what I
had begun, he would have me arrested!
"And why, if you please?"
"Because, on your left, there is a woman who can see you."
I lifted up my head, and I saw on the fourth story, a woman who, with the
telescope she had applied to her eye, could have told whether I was a Jew
or a Christian. I obeyed, laughing heartily, and related the adventure
everywhere; but no one was astonished, because the same thing happened
over and over again every day.
In order to study the manners and habits of the people, I took my meals
in all sorts of places. One day, having gone with Campioni to dine at
"The Crawfish," I found, to my great surprise, sitting at the table
d'hote, that Pepe il Cadetto, whose acquaintance I had made at the time
of my arrest in the Spanish army, and whom I had met afterwards in Venice
and in Lyons, under the name of Don Joseph Marcati. Campioni, who had
been his partner in Lyons, embraced him, talked with him in private, and
informed me that the man had resumed his real name, and that he was now
called Count Afflisio. He told me that after dinner there would be a faro
bank in which I would have an interest, and he therefore requested me not
to play. I accepted the offer. Afflisio won: a captain of the name of
Beccaxia threw the cards at his face--a trifle to which the self-styled
count was accustomed, and which did not elicit any remark from him. When
the game was over, we repaired to the coffee-room, where an officer of
gentlemanly appearance, staring at me, began to smile, but not in an
offensive manner.
"Sir," I asked him, politely, "may I ask why you are laughing?"
"It makes me laugh to see that you do not recognize me."
"I have some idea that I have seen you somewhere, but I could not say
where or when I had that honour."
"Nine years ago, by the orders of the Prince de Lobkowitz, I escorted you
to the Gate of Rimini."
"You are Baron Vais:"
"Precisely."
We embraced one another; he offered me his friendly services, promising
to procure me all the pleasure he could in Vienna. I accepted gratefully,
and the same evening he presented me to a countess, at whose house I made
the acquaintance of the Abbe Testagrossa, who was called Grosse-Tete by
everybody. He was minister of the Duke of Modem, and great at Court
because he had negotiated the marriage of the arch-duke with Beatrice
d'Este. I also became acquainted there with the Count of Roquendorf and
Count Sarotin, and with several noble young ladies who are called in
Germany frauleins, and with a baroness who had led a pretty wild life,
but who could yet captivate a man. We had supper, and I was created
baron. It was in vain that I observed that I had no title whatever: "You
must be something," I was told, "and you cannot be less than baron. You
must confess yourself to be at least that, if you wish to be received
anywhere in Vienna."
"Well, I will be a baron, since it is of no importance."
The baroness was not long before she gave me to understand that she felt
kindly disposed towards me, and that she would receive my attentions with
pleasure; I paid her a visit the very next day. "If you are fond of
cards," she said, "come in the evening." At her house I made the
acquaintance of several gamblers, and of three or four frauleins who,
without any dread of the Commissaries of Chastity, were devoted to the
worship of Venus, and were so kindly disposed that they were not afraid
of lowering their nobility by accepting some reward for their kindness--a
circumstance which proved to me that the Commissaries were in the habit
of troubling only the girls who did not frequent good houses.
The baroness invited me to introduce, all my friends, so I brought to her
house Vais, Campioni, and Afflisio. The last one played, held the bank,
won; and Tramontini, with whom I had become acquainted, presented him to
his wife, who was called Madame Tasi. It was through her that Afflisio
made the useful acquaintance of the Prince of Saxe-Hildburghausen. This
introduction was the origin of the great fortune made by that contrabrand
count, because Tramontini, who had become his partner in all important
gambling transactions, contrived to obtain for him from the prince the
rank of captain in the service of their imperial and royal majesties, and
in less than three weeks Afflisio wore the uniform and the insignia of
his grade. When I left Vienna he possessed one: hundred thousand florins.
Their majesties were fond of gambling but not of punting. The emperor had
a creature of his own to hold the bank. He was a kind, magnificent, but
not extravagant, prince. I saw him in his grand imperial costume, and I
was surprised to see him dressed in the Spanish fashion. I almost fancied
I had before my eyes Charles V. of Spain, who had established that
etiquette which was still in existence, although after him no emperor had
been a Spaniard, and although Francis I. had nothing in common with that
nation.
In Poland, some years afterwards, I saw the same caprice at the
coronation of Stanislas Augustus Poniatowski, and the old palatine
noblemen almost broke their hearts at the sight of that costume; but they
had to shew as good a countenance as they could, for under Russian
despotism the only privilege they enjoyed was that of resignation.
The Emperor Francis I. was, handsome, and would have looked so under the
hood of a monk as well as under an imperial crown. He had every possible
consideration for his wife, and allowed her to get the state into debt,
because he possessed the art of becoming himself the creditor of the
state. He favoured commerce because it filled his coffers. He was rather
addicted to gallantry, and the empress, who always called him master
feigned not to notice it, because she did not want the world to know that
her charms could no longer captivate her royal spouse, and the more so
that the beauty of her numerous family was generally admired. All the
archduchesses except the eldest seemed to me very handsome; but amongst
the sons I had the opportunity of seeing only the eldest, and I thought
the expression of his face bad and unpleasant, in spite of the contrary
opinion of Abbe Grosse-Tete, who prided himself upon being a good
physiognomist.
"What do you see," he asked me one day, "on the countenance of that
prince?"
"Self-conceit and suicide."
It was a prophecy, for Joseph II. positively killed himself, although not
wilfully, and it was his self-conceit which prevented him from knowing
it. He was not wanting in learning, but the knowledge which he believed
himself to possess destroyed the learning which he had in reality. He
delighted in speaking to those who did not know how to answer him,
whether because they were amazed at his arguments, or because they
pretended to be so; but he called pedants, and avoided all persons, who
by true reasoning pulled down the weak scaffolding of his arguments.
Seven years ago I happened to meet him at Luxemburg, and he spoke to me
with just contempt of a man who had exchanged immense sums of money, and
a great deal of debasing meanness against some miserable parchments, and
he added,--
"I despise men who purchase nobility."
"Your majesty is right, but what are we to think of those who sell it?"
After that question he turned his back upon me, and hence forth he
thought me unworthy of being spoken to.
The great passion of that king was to see those who listened to him
laugh, whether with sincerity or with affectation, when he related
something; he could narrate well and amplify in a very amusing manner all
the particulars of an anecdote; but he called anyone who did not laugh at
his jests a fool, and that was always the person who understood him best.
He gave the preference to the opinion of Brambilla, who encouraged his
suicide, over that of the physicians who were directing him according to
reason. Nevertheless, no one ever denied his claim to great courage; but
he had no idea whatever of the art of government, for he had not the
slightest knowledge of the human heart, and he could neither dissemble
nor keep a secret; he had so little control over his own countenance that
he could not even conceal the pleasure he felt in punishing, and when he
saw anyone whose features did not please him, he could not help making a
wry face which disfigured him greatly.
Joseph II. sank under a truly cruel disease, which left him until the
last moment the faculty of arguing upon everything, at the same time that
he knew his death to be certain. This prince must have felt the misery of
repenting everything he had done and of seeing the impossibility of
undoing it, partly because it was irreparable, partly because if he had
undone through reason what he had done through senselessness, he would
have thought himself dishonoured, for he must have clung to the last to
the belief of the infallibility attached to his high birth, in spite of
the state of languor of his soul which ought to have proved to him the
weakness and the fallibility of his nature. He had the greatest esteem
for his brother, who has now succeeded him, but he had not the courage to
follow the advice which that brother gave him. An impulse worthy of a
great soul made him bestow a large reward upon the physician, a man of
intelligence, who pronounced his sentence of death, but a completely
opposite weakness had prompted him, a few months before, to load with
benefits the doctors and the quack who made him believe that they had
cured him. He must likewise have felt the misery of knowing that he would
not be regretted after his death--a grievous thought, especially for a
sovereign. His niece, whom he loved dearly, died before him, and, if he
had had the affection of those who surrounded him, they would have spared
him that fearful information, for it was evident that his end was near at
hand, and no one could dread his anger for having kept that event from
him.
Although very much pleased with Vienna and with the pleasures I enjoyed
with the beautiful frauleins, whose acquaintance I had made at the house
of the baroness, I was thinking of leaving that agreeable city, when
Baron Vais, meeting me at Count Durazzo's wedding, invited me to join a
picnic at Schoenbrunn. I went, and I failed to observe the laws of
temperance; the consequence was that I returned to Vienna with such a
severe indigestion that in twenty-four hours I was at the point of death.
I made use of the last particle of intelligence left in me by the disease
to save my own life. Campioni, Roquendorf and Sarotin were by my bedside.
M. Sarotin, who felt great friendship for me, had brought a physician,
although I had almost positively declared that I would not see one. That
disciple of Sangrado, thinking that he could allow full sway to the
despotism of science, had sent for a surgeon, and they were going to
bleed me against my will. I was half-dead; I do not know by what strange
inspiration I opened my eyes, and I saw a man, standing lancet in hand
and preparing to open the vein.
"No, no!" I said.
And I languidly withdrew my arm; but the tormentor wishing, as the
physician expressed it, to restore me to life in spite of myself, got
hold of my arm again. I suddenly felt my strength returning. I put my
hand forward, seized one of my pistols, fired, and the ball cut off one
of the locks of his hair. That was enough; everybody ran away, with the
exception of my servant, who did not abandon me, and gave me as much
water as I wanted to drink. On the fourth day I had recovered my usual
good health.
That adventure amused all the idlers of Vienna for several days, and Abbe
Grosse-Tete assured me that if I had killed the poor surgeon, it would
not have gone any further, because all the witnesses present in my room
at the time would have declared that he wanted to use violence to bleed
me, which made it a case of legitimate self-defence. I was likewise told
by several persons that all the physicians in Vienna were of opinion that
if I had been bled I should have been a dead man; but if drinking water
had not saved me, those gentlemen would certainly not have expressed the
same opinion. I felt, however, that I had to be careful, and not to fall
ill in the capital of Austria, for it was likely that I should not have
found a physician without difficulty. At the opera, a great many persons
wished after that to make my acquaintance, and I was looked upon as a man
who had fought, pistol in hand, against death. A miniature-painter named
Morol, who was subject to indigestions and who was at last killed by one,
had taught me his system which was that, to cure those attacks, all that
was necessary was to drink plenty of water and to be patient. He died
because he was bled once when he could not oppose any resistance.
My indigestion reminded me of a witty saying of a man who was not much in
the habit of uttering many of them; I mean M. de Maisonrouge, who was
taken home one day almost dying from a severe attack of indigestion: his
carriage having been stopped opposite the Quinze-Vingts by some
obstruction, a poor man came up and begged alms, saying,
"Sir, I am starving."
"Eh! what are you complaining of?" answered Maisonrouge, sighing deeply;
"I wish I was in your place, you rogue!"
At that time I made the acquaintance of a Milanese dancer, who had wit,
excellent manners, a literary education, and what is more--great beauty.
She received very good society, and did the honours of her drawing-room
marvellously well. I became acquainted at her house with Count
Christopher Erdodi, an amiable, wealthy and generous man; and with a
certain Prince Kinski who had all the grace of a harlequin. That girl
inspired me with love, but it was in vain, for she was herself enamoured
of a dancer from Florence, called Argiolini. I courted her, but she only
laughed at me, for an actress, if in love with someone, is a fortress
which cannot be taken, unless you build a bridge of gold, and I was not
rich. Yet I did not despair, and kept on burning my incense at her feet.
She liked my society because she used to shew me the letters she wrote,
and I was very careful to admire her style. She had her own portrait in
miniature, which was an excellent likeness. The day before my departure,
vexed at having lost my time and my amorous compliments, I made up my
mind to steal that portrait--a slight compensation for not having won the
original. As I was taking leave of her, I saw the portrait within my
reach, seized it, and left Vienna for Presburg, where Baron Vais had
invited me to accompany him and several lovely frauleins on a party of
pleasure.
When we got out of the carriages, the first person I tumbled upon was the
Chevalier de Talvis, the protector of Madame Conde-Labre, whom I had
treated so well in Paris. The moment he saw me, he came up and told me
that I owed him his revenge.
"I promise to give it to you, but I never leave one pleasure for
another," I answered; "we shall see one another again."
"That is enough. Will you do me the honour to introduce me to these
ladies?"
"Very willingly, but not in the street."
We went inside of the hotel and he followed us. Thinking that the man,
who after all was as brave as a French chevalier, might amuse us, I
presented him to my friends. He had been staying at the same hotel for a
couple of days, and he was in mourning. He asked us if we intended to go
to the prince-bishop's ball; it was the first news we had of it. Vais
answered affirmatively.
"One can attend it," said Talvis, "without being presented, and that is
why we intend to go, for I am not known to anybody here."
He left us, and the landlord, having come in to receive our orders, gave
us some particulars respecting the ball. Our lovely frauleins expressing
a wish to attend it, we made up our minds to gratify them.
We were not known to anyone, and were rambling through the apartments,
when we arrived before a large table at which the prince-bishop was
holding a faro bank. The pile of gold that the noble prelate had before
him could not have been less than thirteen or fourteen thousand florins.
The Chevalier de Talvis was standing between two ladies to whom he was
whispering sweet words, while the prelate was shuffling the cards.
The prince, looking at the chevalier, took it into his head to ask him,
in a most engaging manner to risk a card.
"Willingly, my lord," said Talvis; "the whole of the bank upon this
card."
"Very well," answered the prelate, to shew that he was not afraid.
He dealt, Talvis won, and my lucky Frenchman, with the greatest coolness,
filled his pockets with the prince's gold. The bishop, astonished, and
seeing but rather late how foolish he had been, said to the chevalier,
"Sir, if you had lost, how would you have managed to pay me?"
"My lord, that is my business."
"You are more lucky than wise."
"Most likely, my lord; but that is my business."
Seeing that the chevalier was on the point of leaving, I followed him,
and at the bottom of the stairs, after congratulating him, I asked him to
lend me a hundred sovereigns. He gave them to me at once, assuring me
that he was delighted to have it in his power to oblige me.
"I will give you my bill."
"Nothing of the sort."
I put the gold into my pocket, caring very little for the crowd of masked
persons whom curiosity had brought around the lucky winner, and who had
witnessed the transaction. Talvis went away, and I returned to the
ball-room.
Roquendorf and Sarotin, who were amongst the guests, having heard that
the chevalier had handed me some gold, asked me who he was. I gave them
an answer half true and half false, and I told them that the gold I had
just received was the payment of a sum I had lent him in Paris. Of course
they could not help believing me, or at least pretending to do so.
When we returned to the inn, the landlord informed us that the chevalier
had left the city on horseback, as fast as he could gallop, and that a
small traveling-bag was all his luggage. We sat down to supper, and in
order to make our meal more cheerful, I told Vais and our charming
frauleins the manner in which I had known Talvis, and how I had contrived
to have my share of what he had won.
On our arrival in Vienna, the adventure was already known; people admired
the Frenchman and laughed at the bishop. I was not spared by public
rumour, but I took no notice of it, for I did not think it necessary to
defend myself. No one knew the Chevalier de Talvis, and the French
ambassador was not even acquainted with his name. I do not know whether
he was ever heard of again.
I left Vienna in a post-chaise, after I had said farewell to my friends,
ladies and gentlemen, and on the fourth day I slept in Trieste. The next
day I sailed for Venice, which I reached in the afternoon, two days
before Ascension Day. After an absence of three years I had the happiness
of embracing my beloved protector, M. de Bragadin, and his two
inseparable friends, who were delighted to see me in good health and well
equipped.
CHAPTER XI
I Return the Portrait I Had Stolen in Vienna I Proceed to
Padua; An Adventure on My Way Back, and Its Consequences--
I Meet Therese Imer Again--My Acquaintance With Mademoiselle
C. C.
I found myself again in my native country with that feeling of delight
which is experienced by all true-hearted men, when they see again the
place in which they have received the first lasting impressions. I had
acquired some experience; I knew the laws of honour and politeness; in
one word, I felt myself superior to most of my equals, and I longed to
resume my old habits and pursuits; but I intended to adopt a more regular
and more reserved line of conduct.
I saw with great pleasure, as I entered my study, the perfect 'statu quo'
which had been preserved there. My papers, covered with a thick layer of
dust, testified well enough that no strange hand had ever meddled with
them.
Two days after my arrival, as I was getting ready to accompany the
Bucentoro, on which the Doge was going, as usual, to wed the Adriatic,
the widow of so many husbands, and yet as young as on the first day of
her creation, a gondolier brought me a letter. It was from M. Giovanni
Grimani, a young nobleman, who, well aware that he had no right to
command me, begged me in the most polite manner to call at his house to
receive a letter which had been entrusted to him for delivery in my own
hands. I went to him immediately, and after the usual compliments he
handed me a letter with a flying seal, which he had received the day
before.
Here are the contents:
"Sir, having made a useless search for my portrait after you left, and
not being in the habit of receiving thieves in my apartment, I feel
satisfied that it must be in your possession. I request you to deliver it
to the person who will hand you this letter.
"FOGLIAZZI."
Happening to have the portrait with me, I took it out of my pocket, and
gave it at once to M. Grimani, who received it with a mixture of
satisfaction and surprise for he had evidently thought that the
commission entrusted to him would be more difficult to fulfil, and he
remarked,
"Love has most likely made a thief of you but I congratulate you, for
your passion cannot be a very ardent one."
"How can you judge of that?"
"From the readiness with which you give up this portrait."
"I would not have given it up so easily to anybody else."
"I thank you; and as a compensation I beg you to accept my friendship."
"I place it in my estimation infinitely above the portrait, and even
above the original. May I ask you to forward my answer?"
"I promise you to send it. Here is some paper, write your letter; you
need not seal it."
I wrote the following words:
"In getting rid of the portrait, Casanova experiences a satisfaction by
far superior to that which he felt when, owing to a stupid fancy, he was
foolish enough to put it in his pocket."
Bad weather having compelled the authorities to postpone the wonderful
wedding until the following Sunday, I accompanied M. de Bragadin, who was
going to Padua. The amiable old man ran away from, the noisy pleasures
which no longer suited his age, and he was going to spend in peace the
few days which the public rejoicings would have rendered unpleasant for
him in Venice. On the following Saturday, after dinner, I bade him
farewell, and got into the post-chaise to return to Venice. If I had left
Padua two minutes sooner or later, the whole course of my life would have
been altered, and my destiny, if destiny is truly shaped by fatal
combinations, would have been very different. But the reader can judge
for himself.
Having, therefore, left Padua at the very instant marked by fatality, I
met at Oriago a cabriolet, drawn at full speed by two post-horses,
containing a very pretty woman and a man wearing a German uniform. Within
a few yards from me the vehicle was suddenly upset on the side of the
river, and the woman, falling over the officer, was in great danger of
rolling into the Brenta. I jumped out of my chaise without even stopping
my postillion, and rushing to the assistance of the lady I remedied with
a chaste hand the disorder caused to her toilet by her fall.
Her companion, who had picked himself up without any injury, hastened
towards us, and there was the lovely creature sitting on the ground
thoroughly amazed, and less confused from her fall than from the
indiscretion of her petticoats, which had exposed in all their nakedness
certain parts which an honest woman never shews to a stranger. In the
warmth of her thanks, which lasted until her postillion and mine had
righted the cabriolet, she often called me her saviour, her guardian
angel.
The vehicle being all right, the lady continued her journey towards
Padua, and I resumed mine towards Venice, which I reached just in time to
dress for the opera.
The next day I masked myself early to accompany the Bucentoro, which,
favoured by fine weather, was to be taken to the Lido for the great and
ridiculous ceremony. The whole affair is under the responsibility of the
admiral of the arsenal, who answers for the weather remaining fine, under
penalty of his head, for the slightest contrary wind might capsize the
ship and drown the Doge, with all the most serene noblemen, the
ambassadors, and the Pope's nuncio, who is the sponsor of that burlesque
wedding which the Venetians respect even to superstition. To crown the
misfortune of such an accident it would make the whole of Europe laugh,
and people would not fail to say that the Doge of Venice had gone at last
to consummate his marriage.
I had removed my mask, and was drinking some coffee under the
'procuraties' of St. Mark's Square, when a fine-looking female mask
struck me gallantly on the shoulder with her fan. As I did not know who
she was I did not take much notice of it, and after I had finished my
coffee I put on my mask and walked towards the Spiaggia del Sepulcro,
where M. de Bragadin's gondola was waiting for me. As I was getting near
the Ponte del Paglia I saw the same masked woman attentively looking at
some wonderful monster shewn for a few pence. I went up to her; and asked
her why she had struck me with her fan.
"To punish you for not knowing me again after having saved my life." I
guessed that she was the person I had rescued the day before on the banks
of the Brenta, and after paying her some compliments I enquired whether
she intended to follow the Bucentoro.
"I should like it," she said, "if I had a safe gondola."
I offered her mine, which was one of the largest, and, after consulting a
masked person who accompanied her, she accepted. Before stepping in I
invited them to take off their masks, but they told me that they wished
to remain unknown. I then begged them to tell me if they belonged to the
suite of some ambassador, because in that case I should be compelled,
much to my regret, to withdraw my invitation; but they assured me that
they were both Venetians. The gondola belonging to a patrician, I might
have committed myself with the State Inquisitors-a thing which I wished
particularly to avoid. We were following the Bucentoro, and seated near
the lady I allowed myself a few slight liberties, but she foiled my
intentions by changing her seat. After the ceremony we returned to
Venice, and the officer who accompanied the lady told me that I would
oblige them by dining in their company at "The Savage." I accepted, for I
felt somewhat curious about the woman. What I had seen of her at the time
of her fall warranted my curiosity. The officer left me alone with her,
and went before us to order dinner.
As soon as I was alone with her, emboldened by the mask, I told her that
I was in love with her, that I had a box at the opera, which I placed
entirely at her disposal, and that, if she would only give me the hope
that I was not wasting my time and my attentions, I would remain her
humble servant during the carnival.
"If you mean to be cruel," I added, "pray say so candidly."
"I must ask you to tell me what sort of a woman you take me for?"
"For a very charming one, whether a princess or a maid of low degree.
Therefore, I hope that you will give me, this very day, some marks of
your kindness, or I must part with you immediately after dinner."
"You will do as you please; but I trust that after dinner you will have
changed your opinion and your language, for your way of speaking is not
pleasant. It seems to me that, before venturing upon such an explanation,
it is necessary to know one another. Do you not think so?"
"Yes, I do; but I am afraid of being deceived."
"How very strange! And that fear makes you begin by what ought to be the
end?"
"I only beg to-day for one encouraging word. Give it to me and I will at
once be modest, obedient and discreet."
"Pray calm yourself."
We found the officer waiting for us before the door of "The Savage," and
went upstairs. The moment we were in the room, she took off her mask, and
I thought her more beautiful than the day before. I wanted only to
ascertain, for the sake of form and etiquette, whether the officer was
her husband, her lover, a relative or a protector, because, used as I was
to gallant adventures, I wished to know the nature of the one in which I
was embarking.
We sat down to dinner, and the manners of the gentleman and of the lady
made it necessary for me to be careful. It was to him that I offered my
box, and it was accepted; but as I had none, I went out after dinner
under pretence of some engagement, in order to get one at the
opera-buffa, where Petrici and Lasqui were then the shining stars. After
the opera I gave them a good supper at an inn, and I took them to their
house in my gondola. Thanks to the darkness of the night, I obtained from
the pretty woman all the favours which can be granted by the side of a
third person who has to be treated with caution. As we parted company,
the officer said,
"You shall hear from me to-morrow."
"Where, and how?"
"Never mind that."
The next morning the servant announced an officer; it was my man. After
we had exchanged the usual compliments, after I had thanked him for the
honour he had done me the day before, I asked him to tell me his name. He
answered me in the following manner, speaking with great fluency, but
without looking at me:
"My name is P---- C----. My father is rich, and enjoys great consideration
at the exchange; but we are not on friendly terms at present. I reside in
St. Mark's Square. The lady you saw with me was a Mdlle. O----; she is
the wife of the broker C----, and her sister married the patrician
P---- M----. But Madame C---- is at variance with her husband on my
account, as she is the cause of my quarrel with my father.
"I wear this uniform in virtue of a captaincy in the Austrian service,
but I have never served in reality. I have the contract for the supply of
oxen to the City of Venice, and I get the cattle from Styria and Hungary.
This contract gives me a net profit of ten thousand florins a year; but
an unforeseen embarrassment, which I must remedy; a fraudulent
bankruptcy, and some extraordinary expenditure, place me for the present
in monetary difficulties. Four years ago I heard a great deal about you,
and wished very much to make your acquaintance; I firmly believe that it
was through the interference of Heaven that we became acquainted the day
before yesterday. I have no hesitation in claiming from you an important
service which will unite us by the ties of the warmest friendship. Come
to my assistance without running any risk yourself; back these three
bills of exchange. You need not be afraid of having to pay them, for I
will leave in your hands these three other bills which fall due before
the first. Besides, I will give you a mortgage upon the proceeds of my
contract during the whole year, so that, should I fail to take up these
bills, you could seize my cattle in Trieste, which is the only road
through which they can come."
Astonished at his speech and at his proposal, which seemed to me a lure
and made me fear a world of trouble which I always abhorred, struck by
the strange idea of that man who, thinking that I would easily fall into
the snare, gave me the preference over so many other persons whom he
certainly knew better than me, I did not hesitate to tell him that I
would never accept his offer. He then had recourse to all his eloquence
to persuade me, but I embarrassed him greatly by telling him how
surprised I was at his giving me the preference over all his other
acquaintances, when I had had the honour to know him only for two days.
"Sir" he said, with barefaced impudence, "having recognised in you a man
of great intelligence, I felt certain that you would at once see the
advantages of my offer, and that you would not raise any objection."
"You must see your mistake by this time, and most likely you will take me
for a fool now you see that I should believe myself a dupe if I
accepted."
He left me with an apology for having troubled me, and saying that he
hoped to see me in the evening at St. Mark's Square, where he would be
with Madame C----, he gave me his address, telling me that he had
retained possession of his apartment unknown to his father. This was as
much as to say that he expected me to return his visit, but if I had been
prudent I should not have done so.
Disgusted at the manner in which that man had attempted to get hold of
me, I no longer felt any inclination to try my fortune with his mistress,
for it seemed evident that they were conspiring together to make a dupe
of me, and as I had no wish to afford them that gratification I avoided
them in the evening. It would have been wise to keep to that line of
conduct; but the next day, obeying my evil genius, and thinking that a
polite call could not have any consequences, I called upon him.
A servant having taken me to his room, he gave me the most friendly
welcome, and reproached me in a friendly manner for not having shewn
myself the evening before. After that, he spoke again of his affairs, and
made me look at a heap of papers and documents; I found it very
wearisome.
"If you make up your mind to sign the three bills of exchange," he said,
"I will take you as a partner in my contract."
By this extraordinary mark of friendship, he was offering me--at least he
said so--an income of five thousand florins a year; but my only answer
was to beg that the matter should never be mentioned again. I was going
to take leave of him, when he said that he wished to introduce me to his
mother and sister.
He left the room, and came back with them. The mother was a respectable,
simple-looking woman, but the daughter was a perfect beauty; she
literally dazzled me. After a few minutes, the over-trustful mother
begged leave to retire, and her daughter remained. In less than half an
hour I was captivated; her perfection delighted me; her lively wit, her
artless reasoning, her candour, her ingenuousness, her natural and noble
feelings, her cheerful and innocent quickness, that harmony which arises
from beauty, wit, and innocence, and which had always the most powerful
influence over me--everything in fact conspired to make me the slave of
the most perfect woman that the wildest dreams could imagine.
Mdlle. C---- C---- never went out without her mother who, although very
pious, was full of kind indulgence. She read no books but her father's--a
serious man who had no novels in his library, and she was longing to read
some tales of romance. She had likewise a great wish to know Venice, and
as no one visited the family she had never been told that she was truly a
prodigy of beauty. Her brother was writing while I conversed with her, or
rather answered all the questions which she addressed to me, and which I
could only satisfy by developing the ideas that she already had, and that
she was herself amazed to find in her own mind, for her soul had until
then been unconscious of its own powers. Yet I did not tell her that she
was lovely and that she interested me in the highest degree, because I
had so often said the same to other women, and without truth, that I was
afraid of raising her suspicions.
I left the house with a sensation of dreamy sadness; feeling deeply moved
by the rare qualities I had discovered in that charming girl, I promised
myself not to see her again, for I hardly thought myself the man to
sacrifice my liberty entirely and to ask her in marriage, although I
certainly believed her endowed with all the qualities necessary to
minister to my happiness.
I had not seen Madame Manzoni since my return to Venice, and I went to
pay her a visit. I found the worthy woman the same as she had always been
towards me, and she gave me the most affectionate welcome. She told me
that Therese Imer, that pretty girl who had caused M. de Malipiero to
strike me thirteen years before, had just returned from Bayreuth, where
the margrave had made her fortune. As she lived in the house opposite,
Madame Manzoni, who wanted to enjoy her surprise, sent her word to come
over. She came almost immediately, holding by the hand a little boy of
eight years--a lovely child--and the only one she had given to her
husband, who was a dancer in Bayreuth. Our surprise at seeing one another
again was equal to the pleasure we experienced in recollecting what had
occurred in our young days; it is true that we had but trifles to
recollect. I congratulated her upon her good fortune, and judging of my
position from external appearances, she thought it right to congratulate
me, but her fortune would have been established on a firmer basis than
mine if she had followed a prudent line of conduct. She unfortunately
indulged in numerous caprices with which my readers will become
acquainted. She was an excellent musician, but her fortune was not
altogether owing to her talent; her charms had done more for her than
anything else. She told me her adventures, very likely with some
restrictions, and we parted after a conversation of two hours. She
invited me to breakfast for the following day. She told me that the
margrave had her narrowly watched, but being an old acquaintance I was
not likely to give rise to any suspicion; that is the aphorism of all
women addicted to gallantry. She added that I could, if I liked, see her
that same evening in her box, and that M. Papafava, who was her
god-father, would be glad to see me. I called at her house early the next
morning, and I found her in bed with her son, who, thanks to the
principles in which he had been educated, got up and left the room as
soon as he saw me seated near his mother's bed. I spent three hours with
her, and I recollect that the last was delightful; the reader will know
the consequence of that pleasant hour later. I saw her a second time
during the fortnight she passed in Venice, and when she left I promised
to pay her a visit in Bayreuth, but I never kept my promise.
I had at that time to attend to the affairs of my posthumous brother, who
had, as he said, a call from Heaven to the priesthood, but he wanted a
patrimony. Although he was ignorant and devoid of any merit save a
handsome face, he thought that an ecclesiastical career would insure his
happiness, and he depended a great deal upon his preaching, for which,
according to the opinion of the women with whom he was acquainted, he had
a decided talent. I took everything into my hands, and I succeeded in
obtaining for him a patrimony from M. Grimani, who still owed us the
value of the furniture in my father's house, of which he had never
rendered any account. He transferred to him a life-interest in a house in
Venice, and two years afterwards my brother was ordained. But the
patrimony was only fictitious, the house being already mortgaged; the
Abbe Grimani was, however, a kind Jesuit, and those sainted servants of
God think that all is well that ends well and profitably to themselves. I
shall speak again of my unhappy brother whose destiny became involved
with mine.
Two days had passed since I had paid my visit to P---- C----, when I met
him in the street. He told me that his sister was constantly speaking of
me, that she quoted a great many things which I had told her, and that
his mother was much pleased at her daughter having made my acquaintance.
"She would be a good match for you," he added, "for she will have a dowry
of ten thousand ducats. If you will call on me to-morrow, we will take
coffee with my mother and sister."
I had promised myself never again to enter his house, but I broke my
word. It is easy enough for a man to forget his promises under such
circumstances.
I spent three hours in conversation with the charming girl and when I
left her I was deeply in love. As I went away, I told her that I envied
the destiny of the man who would have her for his wife, and my
compliment, the first she had ever received, made her blush.
After I had left her I began to examine the nature of my feelings towards
her, and they frightened me, for I could neither behave towards Mdlle.
C---- C---- as an honest man nor as a libertine. I could not hope to obtain
her hand, and I almost fancied I would stab anyone who advised me to
seduce her. I felt that I wanted some diversion: I went to the
gaming-table. Playing is sometimes an excellent lenitive to calm the
mind, and to smother the ardent fire of love. I played with wonderful
luck, and I was going home with plenty of gold, when in a solitary narrow
street I met a man bent down less by age than by the heavy weight of
misery. As I came near him I recognized Count Bonafede, the sight of whom
moved me with pity. He recognized me likewise. We talked for some time,
and at last he told me the state of abject poverty to which he was
reduced, and the great difficulty he had to keep his numerous family. "I
do not blush," he added, "in begging from you one sequin which will keep
us alive for five or six days." I immediately gave him ten, trying to
prevent him from lowering himself in his anxiety to express his
gratitude, but I could not prevent him from shedding tears. As we parted,
he told me that what made him most miserable was to see the position of
his daughter, who had become a great beauty, and would rather die than
make a sacrifice of her virtue. "I can neither support her in those
feelings," he said, with a sigh, "nor reward her for them."
Thinking that I understood the wishes with which misery had inspired him,
I took his address, and promised to pay him a visit. I was curious to see
what had become of a virtue of which I did not entertain a very high
opinion. I called the next day. I found a house almost bare of furniture,
and the daughter alone--a circumstance which did not astonish me. The
young countess had seen me arrive, and received me on the stairs in the
most amiable manner. She was pretty well dressed, and I thought her
handsome, agreeable, and lively, as she had been when I made her
acquaintance in Fort St. Andre. Her father having announced my visit, she
was in high spirits, and she kissed me with as much tenderness as if I
had been a beloved lover. She took me to her own room, and after she had
informed me that her mother was ill in bed and unable to see me, she gave
way again to the transport of joy which, as she said, she felt in seeing
me again. The ardour of our mutual kisses, given at first under the
auspices of friendship, was not long in exciting our senses to such an
extent that in less than a quarter of an hour I had nothing more to
desire. When it was all over, it became us both, of course, to be, or at
least to appear to be, surprised at what had taken place, and I could not
honestly hesitate to assure the poor countess that it was only the first
token of a constant and true love. She believed it, or she feigned to
believe it, and perhaps I myself fancied it was true--for the moment.
When we had become calm again, she told me the fearful state to which
they were reduced, her brothers walking barefooted in the streets, and
her father having positively no bread to give them.
"Then you have not any lover?"
"What? a lover! Where could I find a man courageous enough to be my lover
in such a house as this? Am I a woman to sell myself to the first comer
for the sum of thirty sous? There is not a man in Venice who would think
me worth more than that, seeing me in such a place as this. Besides, I
was not born for prostitution."
Such a conversation was not very cheerful; she was weeping, and the
spectacle of her sadness, joined to the picture of misery which
surrounded me, was not at all the thing to excite love. I left her with a
promise to call again, and I put twelve sequins in her hand. She was
surprised at the amount; she had never known herself so rich before. I
have always regretted I did not give her twice as much.
The next day P---- C---- called on me, and said cheerfully that his mother
had given permission to her daughter to go to the opera with him, that
the young girl was delighted because she had never been there before, and
that, if I liked, I could wait for them at some place where they would
meet me.
"But does your sister know that you intend me to join you?"
"She considers it a great pleasure."
"Does your mother know it?"
"No; but when she knows it she will not be angry, for she has a great
esteem for you."
"In that case I will try to find a private box."
"Very well; wait for us at such a place."
The scoundrel did not speak of his letters of exchange again, and as he
saw that I was no longer paying my attentions to his mistress, and that I
was in love with his sister, he had formed the fine project of selling
her to me. I pitied the mother and the daughter who had confidence in
such a man; but I had not the courage to resist the temptation. I even
went so far as to persuade myself that as I loved her it was my duty to
accept the offer, in order to save her from other snares; for if I had
declined her brother might have found some other man less scrupulous, and
I could not bear the idea. I thought that in my company her innocence ran
no risk.
I took a box at the St. Samuel Opera, and I was waiting for them at the
appointed place long before the time. They came at last, and the sight of
my young friend delighted me. She was elegantly masked, and her brother
wore his uniform. In order not to expose the lovely girl to being
recognized on account of her brother, I made them get into my gondola. He
insisted upon being landed near the house of his mistress, who was ill,
he said, and he added that he would soon join us in our box. I was
astonished that C---- C---- did not shew any surprise or repugnance at
remaining alone with me in the gondola; but I did not think the conduct
of her brother extraordinary, for it was evident that it was all arranged
beforehand in his mind.
I told C---- C---- that we would remain in the gondola until the opening of
the theatre, and that as the heat was intense she would do well to take
off her mask, which she did at once. The law I had laid upon myself to
respect her, the noble confidence which was beaming on her countenance
and in her looks, her innocent joy--everything increased the ardour of my
love.
Not knowing what to say to her, for I could speak to her of nothing but
love--and it was a delicate subject--I kept looking at her charming face,
not daring to let my eyes rest upon two budding globes shaped by the
Graces, for fear of giving the alarm to her modesty. "Speak to me," she
said at last; "you only look at me without uttering a single word. You
have sacrificed yourself for me, because my brother would have taken you
with him to his lady-love, who, to judge from what he says, must be as
beautiful as an angel."
"I have seen that lady."
"I suppose she is very witty."
"She may be so; but I have no opportunity of knowing, for I have never
visited her, and I do not intend ever to call upon her. Do not therefore
imagine, beautiful C---- C----, that I have made the slightest sacrifice
for your sake."
"I was afraid you had, because as you did not speak I thought you were
sad."
"If I do not speak to you it is because I am too deeply moved by your
angelic confidence in me."
"I am very glad it is so; but how could I not trust you? I feel much more
free, much more confident with you than with my brother himself. My
mother says it is impossible to be mistaken, and that you are certainly
an honest man. Besides, you are not married; that is the first thing I
asked my brother. Do you recollect telling me that you envied the fate of
the man who would have me for his wife? Well, at that very moment I was
thinking that your wife would be the happiest woman in Venice."
These words, uttered with the most candid artlessness, and with that tone
of sincerity which comes from the heart, had upon me an effect which it
would be difficult to describe; I suffered because I could not imprint
the most loving kiss upon the sweet lips which had just pronounced them,
but at the same time it caused me the most delicious felicity to see that
such an angel loved me.
"With such conformity of feelings," I said, "we would, lovely C----, be
perfectly happy, if we could be united for ever. But I am old enough to
be your father."
"You my father? You are joking! Do you know that I am fourteen?"
"Do you know that I am twenty-eight?"
"Well, where can you see a man of your age having a daughter of mine? If
my father were like you, he would certainly never frighten me; I could
not keep anything from him."
The hour to go to the theatre had come; we landed, and the performance
engrossed all her attention. Her brother joined us only when it was
nearly over; it had certainly been a part of his calculation. I took them
to an inn for supper, and the pleasure I experienced in seeing the
charming girl eat with a good appetite made me forget that I had had no
dinner. I hardly spoke during the supper, for love made me sick, and I
was in a state of excitement which could not last long. In order to
excuse my silence, I feigned to be suffering from the toothache.
After supper, P---- C---- told his sister that I was in love with her, and
that I should certainly feel better if she would allow me to kiss her.
The only answer of the innocent girl was to offer me her laughing lips,
which seemed to call for kisses. I was burning; but my respect for that
innocent and naive young creature was such that I only kissed her cheek,
and even that in a manner very cold in appearance.
"What a kiss!" exclaimed P---- C----. "Come, come, a good lover's kiss!"
I did not move; the impudent fellow annoyed me; but his sister, turning
her head aside sadly, said,
"Do not press him; I am not so happy as to please him."
That remark gave the alarm to my love; I could no longer master my
feelings.
"What!" I exclaimed warmly, "what! beautiful C----, you do not condescend
to ascribe my reserve to the feeling which you have inspired me with? You
suppose that you do not please me? If a kiss is all that is needed to
prove the contrary to you, oh! receive it now with all the sentiment that
is burning in my heart!"
Then folding her in my arms, and pressing her lovingly against my breast,
I imprinted on her mouth the long and ardent kiss which I had so much
wished to give her; but the nature of that kiss made the timid dove feel
that she had fallen into the vulture's claws. She escaped from my arms,
amazed at having discovered my love in such a manner. Her brother
expressed his approval, while she replaced her mask over her face, in
order to conceal her confusion. I asked her whether she had any longer
any doubts as to my love.
"You have convinced me," she answered, "but, because you have undeceived
me, you must not punish me."
I thought that this was a very delicate answer, dictated by true
sentiment; but her brother was not pleased with it, and said it was
foolish.
We put on our masks, left the inn, and after I had escorted them to their
house I went home deeply in love, happy in my inmost soul, yet very sad.
The reader will learn in the following chapters the progress of my love
and the adventures in which I found myself engaged.
CHAPTER XII
Progress of My Intrigue with the Beautiful C. C.
The next morning P---- C---- called on me with an air of triumph; he told
me that his sister had confessed to her mother that we loved one another,
and that if she was ever to be married she would be unhappy with any
other husband.
"I adore your sister," I said to him; "but do you think that your father
will be willing to give her to me?"
"I think not; but he is old. In the mean time, love one another. My
mother has given her permission to go to the opera this evening with us."
"Very well, my dear friend, we must go."
"I find myself under the necessity of claiming a slight service at your
hands."
"Dispose of me."
"There is some excellent Cyprus wine to be sold very cheap, and I can
obtain a cask of it against my bill at six months. I am certain of
selling it again immediately with a good profit; but the merchant
requires a guarantee, and he is disposed to accept yours, if you will
give it. Will you be kind enough to endorse my note of hand?"
"With pleasure."
I signed my name without hesitation, for where is the man in love who in
such a case would have refused that service to a person who to revenge
himself might have made him miserable? We made an appointment for the
evening, and parted highly pleased with each other.
After I had dressed myself, I went out and bought a dozen pairs of
gloves, as many pairs of silk stockings, and a pair of garters
embroidered in gold and with gold clasps, promising myself much pleasure
in offering that first present to my young friend.
I need not say that I was exact in reaching the appointed place, but they
were there already, waiting for me. Had I not suspected the intentions of
P---- C----, their coming so early would have been very flattering to my
vanity. The moment I had joined them, P---- C---- told me that, having
other engagements to fulfil, he would leave his sister with me, and meet
us at the theatre in the evening. When he had gone, I told C---- C---- that
we would sail in a gondola until the opening of the theatre.
"No," she answered, "let us rather go to the Zuecca Garden."
"With all my heart."
I hired a gondola and we went to St. Blaze, where I knew a very pretty
garden which, for one sequin, was placed at my disposal for the remainder
of the day, with the express condition that no one else would be allowed
admittance. We had not had any dinner, and after I had ordered a good
meal we went up to a room where we took off our disguises and masks,
after which we went to the garden.
My lovely C---- C---- had nothing on but a bodice made of light silk and a
skirt of the same description, but she was charming in that simple
costume! My amorous looks went through those light veils, and in my
imagination I saw her entirely naked! I sighed with burning desires, with
a mixture of discreet reserve and voluptuous love.
The moment we had reached the long avenue, my young companion, as lively
as a fawn, finding herself at liberty on the green sward, and enjoying
that happy freedom for the first time in her life, began to run about and
to give way to the spirit of cheerfulness which was natural to her. When
she was compelled to stop for want of breath, she burst out laughing at
seeing me gazing at her in a sort of ecstatic silence. She then
challenged me to run a race; the game was very agreeable to me. I
accepted, but I proposed to make it interesting by a wager.
"Whoever loses the race," I said, "shall have to do whatever the winner
asks."
"Agreed!"
We marked the winning-post, and made a fair start. I was certain to win,
but I lost on purpose, so as to see what she would ask me to do. At first
she ran with all her might while I reserved my strength, and she was the
first to reach the goal. As she was trying to recover her breath, she
thought of sentencing me to a good penance: she hid herself behind a tree
and told me, a minute afterwards, that I had to find her ring. She had
concealed it about her, and that was putting me in possession of all her
person. I thought it was a delightful forfeit, for I could easily see
that she had chosen it with intentional mischief; but I felt that I ought
not to take too much advantage of her, because her artless confidence
required to be encouraged. We sat on the grass, I visited her pockets,
the folds of her stays, of her petticoat; then I looked in her shoes, and
even at her garters which were fastened below the knees. Not finding
anything, I kept on my search, and as the ring was about her, I was of
course bound to discover it. My reader has most likely guessed that I had
some suspicion of the charming hiding-place in which the young beauty had
concealed the ring, but before coming to it I wanted to enjoy myself. The
ring was at last found between the two most beautiful keepers that nature
had ever rounded, but I felt such emotion as I drew it out that my hand
was trembling.
"What are you trembling for?" she asked.
"Only for joy at having found the ring; you had concealed it so well! But
you owe me a revenge, and this time you shall not beat me."
"We shall see."
We began a new race, and seeing that she was not running very fast, I
thought I could easily distance her whenever I liked. I was mistaken. She
had husbanded her strength, and when we had run about two-thirds of the
race she suddenly sprang forward at full speed, left me behind, and I saw
that I had lost. I then thought of a trick, the effect of which never
fails; I feigned a heavy fall, and I uttered a shriek of pain. The poor
child stopped at once, ran back to me in great fright, and, pitying me,
she assisted me to raise myself from the ground. The moment I was on my
feet again, I laughed heartily and, taking a spring forward, I had
reached the goal long before her.
The charming runner, thoroughly amazed, said to me,
"Then you did not hurt yourself?"
"No, for I fell purposely."
"Purposely? Oh, to deceive me! I would never have believed you capable of
that. It is not fair to win by fraud; therefore I have not lost the
race."
"Oh! yes, you have, for I reached the goal before you."
"Trick for trick; confess that you tried to deceive me at the start."
"But that is fair, and your trick is a very different thing."
"Yet it has given me the victory, and
"Vincasi per fortund o per ingano,
Il vincer sempre fu laudabil cosa"...
"I have often heard those words from my brother, but never from my
father. Well, never mind, I have lost. Give your judgment now, I will
obey."
"Wait a little. Let me see. Ah! my sentence is that you shall exchange
your garters for mine."
"Exchange our garters! But you have seen mine, they are ugly and worth
nothing."
"Never mind. Twice every day I shall think of the person I love, and as
nearly as possible at the same hours you will have to think of me."
"It is a very pretty idea, and I like it. Now I forgive you for having
deceived me. Here are my ugly garters! Ah! my dear deceiver, how
beautiful yours are! What a handsome present! How they will please my
mother! They must be a present which you have just received, for they are
quite new."
"No, they have not been given to me. I bought them for you, and I have
been racking my brain to find how I could make you accept them. Love
suggested to me the idea of making them the prize of the race. You may
now imagine my sorrow when I saw that you would win. Vexation inspired me
with a deceitful stratagem which arose from a feeling you had caused
yourself, and which turned entirely to your honour, for you must admit
that you would have shewn a very hard heart if you had not come to my
assistance."
"And I feel certain that you would not have had recourse to that
stratagem, if you could have guessed how deeply it would pain me."
"Do you then feel much interest in me?"
"I would do anything in the world to convince you of it. I like my pretty
garters exceedingly; I will never have another pair, and I promise you
that my brother shall not steal them from me."
"Can you suppose him capable of such an action?"
"Oh! certainly, especially if the fastenings are in gold."
"Yes, they are in gold; but let him believe that they are in gilt brass."
"Will you teach me how to fasten my beautiful garters?"
"Of course I will."
We went upstairs, and after our dinner which we both enjoyed with a good
appetite, she became more lively and I more excited by love, but at the
same time more to be pitied in consequence of the restraint to which I
had condemned myself. Very anxious to try her garters, she begged me to
help her, and that request was made in good faith, without mischievous
coquetry. An innocent young girl, who, in spite of her fifteen years, has
not loved yet, who has not frequented the society of other girls, does
not know the violence of amorous desires or what is likely to excite
them. She has no idea of the danger of a tete-a-tete. When a natural
instinct makes her love for the first time, she believes the object of
her love worthy of her confidence, and she thinks that to be loved
herself she must shew the most boundless trust.
Seeing that her stockings were too short to fasten the garter above the
knee, she told me that she would in future use longer ones, and I
immediately offered her those that I had purchased. Full of gratitude she
sat on my knees, and in the effusion of her satisfaction she bestowed
upon me all the kisses that she would have given to her father if he had
made her such a present. I returned her kisses, forcibly keeping down the
violence of my feelings. I only told her that one of her kisses was worth
a kingdom. My charming C---- C---- took off her shoes and stockings, and
put on one of the pairs I had given her, which went halfway up her thigh.
The more innocent I found her to be, the less I could make up my mind to
possess myself of that ravishing prey.
We returned to the garden, and after walking about until the evening we
went to the opera, taking care to keep on our masks, because, the theatre
being small, we might easily have been recognized, and my lovely friend
was certain that her father would not allow her to come out again, if he
found out that she had gone to the opera.
We were rather surprised not to see her brother. On our left we had the
Marquis of Montalegre, the Spanish ambassador, with his acknowledged
mistress, Mdlle. Bola, and in the box on our right a man and a woman who
had not taken off their masks. Those two persons kept their eyes
constantly fixed upon us, but my young friend did not remark it as her
back was turned towards them. During the ballet, C---- C---- having left
the libretto of the opera on the ledge of the box, the man with the mask
stretched forth his hand and took it. That proved to me that we were
known to him, and I said so to my companion, who turned round and
recognized her brother. The lady who was with him could be no other than
Madame C----. As P---- C---- knew the number of our box, he had taken the
next one; he could not have done so without some intention, and I foresaw
that he meant to make his sister have supper with that woman. I was much
annoyed, but I could not prevent it without breaking off with him,
altogether, and I was in love.
After the second ballet, he came into our box with his lady, and after
the usual exchange of compliments the acquaintance was made, and we had
to accept supper at his casino. As soon as the two ladies had thrown off
their masks, they embraced one another, and the mistress of
P---- C---- overwhelmed my young friend with compliments and attentions. At
table she affected to treat her with extreme affability, and
C---- C---- not having any experience of the world behaved towards her with
the greatest respect. I could, however, see that C----, in spite of all
her art, could hardly hide the vexation she felt at the sight of the
superior beauty which I had preferred to her own charms. P---- C----, who
was of an extravagant gaiety, launched forth in stupid jokes at which his
mistress alone laughed; in my anger, I shrugged my shoulders, and his
sister, not understanding his jests, took no notice of them. Altogether
our 'partie caree' was not formed of congenial spirits, and was rather a
dull affair.
As the dessert was placed on the table, P---- C----, somewhat excited by
the wine he had drunk, kissed his lady-love, and challenged me to follow
his example with his sister. I told him that I loved Mdlle.
C---- C---- truly, and that I would not take such liberties with her until
I should have acquired a legal right to her favours. P---- C---- began to
scoff at what I had said, but C---- stopped him. Grateful for that mark of
propriety, I took out of my pocket the twelve pairs of gloves which I had
bought in the morning, and after I had begged her acceptance of half a
dozen pairs I gave the other six to my young friend. P---- C---- rose from
the table with a sneer, dragging along with him his mistress, who had
likewise drunk rather freely, and he threw himself on a sofa with her.
The scene taking a lewd turn, I placed myself in such a manner as to hide
them from the view of my young friend, whom I led into the recess of a
window. But I had not been able to prevent C---- C---- from seeing in a
looking-glass the position of the two impudent wretches, and her face was
suffused with blushes; I, however, spoke to her quietly of indifferent
things, and recovering her composure she answered me, speaking of her
gloves, which she was folding on the pier-table. After his brutal
exploit, P---- C---- came impudently to me and embraced me; his dissolute
companion, imitating his example, kissed my young friend, saying she was
certain that she had seen nothing. C---- C---- answered modestly that she
did not know what she could have seen, but the look she cast towards me
made me understand all she felt. If the reader has any knowledge of the
human heart, he must guess what my feelings were. How was it possible to
endure such a scene going on in the presence of an innocent girl whom I
adored, when I had to fight hard myself with my own burning desires so as
not to abuse her innocence! I was on a bed of thorns! Anger and
indignation, restrained by the reserve I was compelled to adopt for fear
of losing the object of my ardent love, made me tremble all over. The
inventors of hell would not have failed to place that suffering among its
torments, if they had known it. The lustful P---- C---- had thought of
giving me a great proof of his friendship by the disgusting action he had
been guilty of, and he had reckoned as nothing the dishonour of his
mistress, and the delicacy of his sister whom he had thus exposed to
prostitution. I do not know how I contrived not to strangle him. The next
day, when he called on me, I overwhelmed him with the most bitter
reproaches, and he tried to excuse himself by saying that he never would
have acted in that manner if he had not felt satisfied that I had already
treated his sister in the tete-a-tete in the same way that he treated his
mistress before us.
My love for C---- C---- became every instant more intense, and I had made
up my mind to undertake everything necessary to save her from the fearful
position in which her unworthy brother might throw her by selling her for
his own profit to some man less scrupulous than I was. It seemed to me
urgent. What a disgusting state of things! What an unheard-of species of
seduction! What a strange way to gain my friendship! And I found myself
under the dire necessity of dissembling with the man whom I despised most
in the world! I had been told that he was deeply in debt, that he had
been a bankrupt in Vienna, where he had a wife and a family of children,
that in Venice he had compromised his father who had been obliged to turn
him out of his house, and who, out of pity, pretended not to know that he
had kept his room in it. He had seduced his wife, or rather his mistress,
who had been driven away by her husband, and after he had squandered
everything she possessed, and he found himself at the end of his wits, he
had tried to turn her prostitution to advantage. His poor mother who
idolized him had given him everything she had, even her own clothes, and
I expected him to plague me again for some loan or security, but I was
firmly resolved on refusing. I could not bear the idea of C---- C---- being
the innocent cause of my ruin, and used as a tool by her brother to keep
up his disgusting life.
Moved by an irresistible feeling, by what is called perfect love, I
called upon P---- C---- on the following day, and, after I had told him
that I adored his sister with the most honourable intentions, I tried to
make him realize how deeply he had grieved me by forgetting all respect,
and that modesty which the most inveterate libertine ought never to
insult if he has any pretension to be worthy of respectable society.
"Even if I had to give up," I added, "the pleasure of seeing your angelic
sister, I have taken the firm resolution of not keeping company with you;
but I candidly warn you that I will do everything in my power to prevent
her from going out with you, and from being the victim of some infamous
bargain in your hands."
He excused himself again by saying that he had drunk too much, and that
he did not believe that my love for his sister was such as to despise the
gratification of my senses. He begged my pardon, he embraced me with
tears in his eyes, and I would, perhaps have given way to my own emotion,
when his mother and sister entered the room. They offered me their
heart-felt thanks for the handsome present I had given to the young lady.
I told the mother that I loved her daughter, and that my fondest hope was
to obtain her for my wife.
"In the hope of securing that happiness, madam," I added, "I shall get a
friend to speak to your husband as soon as I shall have secured a
position giving me sufficient means to keep her comfortably, and to
assure her happiness."
So saying I kissed her hand, and I felt so deeply moved that the tears
ran down my cheeks. Those tears were sympathetic, and the excellent woman
was soon crying like me. She thanked me affectionately, and left me with
her daughter and her son, who looked as if he had been changed into a
statue.
There are a great many mothers of that kind in the world, and very often
they are women who have led a virtuous life; they do not suppose that
deceit can exist, because their own nature understands only what is
upright and true; but they are almost always the victims of their good
faith, and of their trust in those who seem to them to be patterns of
honesty. What I had told the mother surprised the daughter, but her
astonishment was much greater when she heard of what I had said to her
brother. After one moment of consideration, she told him that, with any
other man but me, she would have been ruined; and that, if she had been
in the place of Madame C----, she would never have forgiven him, because
the way he had treated her was as debasing for her as for himself.
P---- C---- was weeping, but the traitor could command tears whenever he
pleased.
It was Whit Sunday, and as the theatres were closed he told me that, if I
would be at the same place of Appointment as before, the next day, he
would leave his sister with me, and go by himself with Madame C----, whom
he could not honourably leave alone.
"I will give you my key," he added, "and you can bring back my sister
here as soon as you have supper together wherever you like."
And he handed me his key, which I had not the courage to refuse. After
that he left us. I went away myself a few minutes afterwards, having
previously agreed with C---- C---- that we would go to the Zuecca Garden on
the following day.
I was punctual, and love exciting me to the highest degree I foresaw what
would happen on that day. I had engaged a box at the opera, and we went
to our garden until the evening. As it was a holiday there were several
small parties of friends sitting at various tables, and being unwilling
to mix with other people we made up our minds to remain in the apartment
which was given to us, and to go to the opera only towards the end of the
performance. I therefore ordered a good supper. We had seven hours to
spend together, and my charming young friend remarked that the time would
certainly not seem long to us. She threw off her disguise and sat on my
knees, telling me that I had completed the conquest of her heart by my
reserve towards her during the supper with her brother; but all our
conversation was accompanied by kisses which, little by little, were
becoming more and more ardent.
"Did you see," she said to me, "what my brother did to Madame C---- when
she placed herself astride on his knees? I only saw it in the
looking-glass, but I could guess what it was."
"Were you not afraid of my treating you in the same manner?"
"No, I can assure you. How could I possibly fear such a thing, knowing
how much you love me? You would have humiliated me so deeply that I
should no longer have loved you. We will wait until we are married, will
we not, dear? You cannot realize the extent of the joy I felt when I
heard you speak to my mother as you did! We will love each other for
ever. But will you explain to me, dearest, the meaning of the words
embroidered upon my garters?"
"Is there any motto upon them? I was not aware of it."
"Oh, yes! it is in French; pray read it."
Seated on my knees, she took off one of her garters while I was
unclasping the other, and here are the two lines which I found
embroidered on them, and which I ought to have read before offering them
to her:
'En voyant chaque jour le bijou de ma belle,
Vous lui direz qu'Amour veut qu'il lui soit fidele.'
Those verses, rather free I must confess, struck me as very comic. I
burst out laughing, and my mirth increased when, to please her, I had to
translate their meaning. As it was an idea entirely new to her, I found
it necessary to enter into particulars which lighted an ardent fire in
our veins.
"Now," she observed, "I shall not dare to shew my garters to anybody, and
I am very sorry for it."
As I was rather thoughtful, she added,
"Tell me what you are thinking of?"
"I am thinking that those lucky garters have a privilege which perhaps I
shall never enjoy. How I wish myself in their place: I may die of that
wish, and die miserable."
"No, dearest, for I am in the same position as you, and I am certain to
live. Besides, we can hasten our marriage. As far as I am concerned, I am
ready to become your wife to-morrow if you wish it. We are both free, and
my father cannot refuse his consent."
"You are right, for he would be bound to consent for the sake of his
honour. But I wish to give him a mark of my respect by asking for your
hand, and after that everything will soon be ready. It might be in a week
or ten days."
"So soon? You will see that my father will say that I am too young."
"Perhaps he is right."
"No; I am young, but not too young, and I am certain that I can be your
wife."
I was on burning coals, and I felt that it was impossible for me to
resist any longer the ardent fire which was consuming me.
"Oh, my best beloved!" I exclaimed, "do you feel certain of my love? Do
you think me capable of deceiving you? Are you sure that you will never
repent being my wife?"
"More than certain, darling; for you could not wish to make me unhappy."
"Well, then, let our marriage take place now. Let God alone receive our
mutual pledges; we cannot have a better witness, for He knows the purity
of our intentions. Let us mutually engage our faith, let us unite our
destinies and be happy. We will afterwards legalize our tender love with
your father's consent and with the ceremonies of the Church; in the mean
time be mine, entirely mine."
"Dispose of me, dearest. I promise to God, I promise to you that, from
this very moment and for ever, I will be your faithful wife; I will say
the same to my father, to the priest who will bless our union--in fact,
to everybody."
"I take the same oath towards you, darling, and I can assure you that we
are now truly married. Come to my arms! Oh, dearest, complete my
felicity!"
"Oh, dear! am I indeed so near happiness!"
After kissing her tenderly, I went down to tell the mistress of the house
not to disturb us, and not to bring up our dinner until we called for it.
During my short absence, my charming C---- C---- had thrown herself dressed
on the bed, but I told her that the god of love disapproved of
unnecessary veils, and in less than a minute I made of her a new Eve,
beautiful in her nakedness as if she had just come out of the hands of
the Supreme Artist. Her skin, as soft as satin, was dazzlingly white, and
seemed still more so beside her splendid black hair which I had spread
over her alabaster shoulders. Her slender figure, her prominent hips, her
beautifully-modelled bosom, her large eyes, from which flashed the
sparkle of amorous desire, everything about her was strikingly beautiful,
and presented to my hungry looks the perfection of the mother of love,
adorned by all the charms which modesty throws over the attractions of a
lovely woman.
Beside myself, I almost feared lest my felicity should not prove real, or
lest it should not be made perfect by complete enjoyment, when
mischievous love contrived, in so serious a moment, to supply me with a
reason for mirth.
"Is there by any chance a law to prevent the husband from undressing
himself?" enquired beautiful C---- C----.
"No, darling angel, no; and even if there were such a barbarous law, I
would not submit to it."
In one instant, I had thrown off all my garments, and my mistress, in her
turn, gave herself up to all the impulse of natural instinct and
curiosity, for every part of my body was an entirely new thing to her. At
last, as if she had had enough of the pleasure her eyes were enjoying,
she pressed me against her bosom, and exclaimed,
"Oh! dearest, what a difference between you and my pillow!"
"Your pillow, darling? You are laughing; what do you mean?"
"Oh! it is nothing but a childish fancy; I am afraid you will be angry."
"Angry! How could I be angry with you, my love, in the happiest moment of
my life?"
"Well, for several days past, I could not go to sleep without holding my
pillow in my arms; I caressed it, I called it my dear husband; I fancied
it was you, and when a delightful enjoyment had left me without movement,
I would go to sleep, and in the morning find my pillow still between my
arms."
My dear C---- C---- became my wife with the courage of a true heroine, for
her intense love caused her to delight even in bodily pain. After three
hours spent in delicious enjoyment, I got up and called for our supper.
The repast was simple, but very good. We looked at one another without
speaking, for how could we find words to express our feelings? We thought
that our felicity was extreme, and we enjoyed it with the certainty that
we could renew it at will.
The hostess came up to enquire whether we wanted anything, and she asked
if we were not going to the opera, which everybody said was so beautiful.
"Have you never been to the opera?"
"Never, because it is too dear for people in our position. My daughter
has such a wish to go, that, God forgive me for saying it! she would give
herself, I truly believe, to the man who would take her there once."
"That would be paying very dear for it," said my little wife, laughing.
"Dearest, we could make her happy at less cost, for that hurts very
much."
"I was thinking of it, my love. Here is the key of the box, you can make
them a present of it."
"Here is the key of a box at the St. Moses Theatre," she said to the
hostess; "it costs two sequins; go instead of us, and tell your daughter
to keep her rose-bud for something better."
"To enable you to amuse yourself, my good woman; take these two sequins,"
I added. "Let your daughter enjoy herself well."
The good hostess, thoroughly amazed at the generosity of her guests, ran
in a great hurry to her daughter, while we were delighted at having laid
ourselves under the pleasant necessity of again going to bed. She came up
with her daughter, a handsome, tempting blonde, who insisted upon kissing
the hands of her benefactors.
"She is going this minute with her lover," said the mother. "He is
waiting for her; but I will not let her go alone with him, for he is not
to be trusted; I am going with them."
"That is right, my good woman; but when you come back this evening, let
the gondola wait for us; it will take us to Venice."
"What! Do you mean to remain here until we return?"
"Yes, for this is our wedding-day."
"To-day? God bless you!"
She then went to the bed, to put it to rights, and seeing the marks of my
wife's virginity she came to my dear C---- C---- and, in her joy, kissed
her, and immediately began a sermon for the special benefit of her
daughter, shewing her those marks which, in her opinion, did infinite
honour to the young bride: respectable marks, she said, which in our days
the god of Hymen sees but seldom on his altar.
The daughter, casting down her beautiful blue eyes, answered that the
same would certainly be seen on her wedding-day.
"I am certain of it," said the mother, "for I never lose sight of thee.
Go and get some water in this basin, and bring it here. This charming
bride must be in need of it."
The girl obeyed. The two women having left us, we went to bed, and four
hours of ecstatic delights passed off with wonderful rapidity. Our last
engagement would have lasted longer, if my charming sweetheart had not
taken a fancy to take my place and to reverse the position. Worn out with
happiness and enjoyment, we were going to sleep, when the hostess came to
tell us that the gondola was waiting for us. I immediately got up to open
the door, in the hope that she would amuse us with her description of the
opera; but she left that task to her daughter, who had come up with her,
and she went down again to prepare some coffee for us. The young girl
assisted my sweetheart to dress, but now and then she would wink at me in
a manner which made me think that she had more experience than her mother
imagined.
Nothing could be more indiscreet than the eyes of my beloved mistress;
they wore the irrefutable marks of her first exploits. It is true that
she had just been fighting a battle which had positively made her a
different being to what she was before the engagement.
We took some hot coffee, and I told our hostess to get us a nice dinner
for the next day; we then left in the gondola. The dawn of day was
breaking when we landed at St. Sophia's Square, in order to set the
curiosity of the gondoliers at fault, and we parted happy, delighted, and
certain that we were thoroughly married. I went to bed, having made up my
mind to compel M. de Bragadin, through the power of the oracle, to obtain
legally for me the hand of my beloved C---- C----. I remained in bed until
noon, and spent the rest of the day in playing with ill luck, as if Dame
Fortune had wished to warn me that she did not approve of my love.
CHAPTER XIII
Continuation of My Intrigues with C. C.--M. de Bragadin Asks
the Hand of That Young Person for Me--Her Father Refuses,
and Sends Her to a Convent--De la Haye--I Lose All my Money
at the Faso-table--My Partnership with Croce Replenishes My
Purse--Various Incidents
The happiness derived from my love had prevented me from attaching any
importance to my losses, and being entirely engrossed with the thought of
my sweetheart my mind did not seem to care for whatever did not relate to
her.
I was thinking of her the next morning when her brother called on me with
a beaming countenance, and said,
"I am certain that you have slept with my sister, and I am very glad of
it. She does not confess as much, but her confession is not necessary. I
will bring her to you to-day."
"You will oblige me, for I adore her, and I will get a friend of mine to
ask her in marriage from your father in such a manner that he will not be
able to refuse."
"I wish it may be so, but I doubt it. In the mean time, I find myself
compelled to beg another service from your kindness. I can obtain,
against a note of hand payable in six months, a ring of the value of two
hundred sequins, and I am certain to sell it again this very day for the
same amount. That sum, is very necessary to me just now, but the
jeweller, who knows you, will not let me have it without your security.
Will you oblige me in this instance? I know that you lost a great deal
last night; if you want some money I will give you one hundred sequins,
which you will return when the note of hand falls due."
How could I refuse him? I knew very well that I would be duped, but I
loved his sister so much:
"I am ready," said I to him, "to sign the note of hand, but you are wrong
in abusing my love for your sister in such a manner."
We went out, and the jeweller having accepted my security the bargain was
completed. The merchant, who knew me only by name, thinking of paying me
a great compliment, told P---- C---- that with my guarantee all his goods
were at his service. I did not feel flattered by the compliment, but I
thought I could see in it the knavery of P---- C----, who was clever
enough to find out, out of a hundred, the fool who without any reason
placed confidence in me when I possessed nothing. It was thus that my
angelic C---- C----, who seemed made to insure my happiness, was the
innocent cause of my ruin.
At noon P---- C---- brought his sister; and wishing most likely to prove
its honesty--for a cheat always tries hard to do that--he gave me back
the letter of exchange which I had endorsed for the Cyprus wine, assuring
me likewise that at our next meeting he would hand me the one hundred
sequins which he had promised me.
I took my mistress as usual to Zuecca; I agreed for the garden to be kept
closed, and we dined under a vine-arbour. My dear C---- C---- seemed to me
more beautiful since she was mine, and, friendship being united to love
we felt a delightful sensation of happiness which shone on our features.
The hostess, who had found me generous, gave us some excellent game and
some very fine fish; her daughter served us. She also came to undress my
little wife as soon as we had gone upstairs to give ourselves up to the
sweet pleasures natural to a young married couple.
When we were alone my loved asked me what was the meaning of the one
hundred sequins which her brother had promised to bring me, and I told
her all that had taken place between him and me.
"I entreat you, darling," she said to me, "to refuse all the demands of
my brother in future; he is, unfortunately, in such difficulties that he
would at the end drag you down to the abyss into which he must fall"
This time our enjoyment seemed to us more substantial; we relished it
with a more refined delight, and, so to speak, we reasoned over it.
"Oh, my best beloved!" she said to me, "do all in your power to render me
pregnant; for in that case my father could no longer refuse his consent
to my marriage, under the pretext of my being too young."
It was with great difficulty that I made her understand that the
fulfilment of that wish, however much I shared it myself, was not
entirely in our power; but that, under the circumstances, it would most
probably be fulfilled sooner or later.
After working with all our might at the completion of that great
undertaking, we gave several hours to a profound and delightful repose.
As soon as we were awake I called for candles and coffee, and we set to
work again in the hope of obtaining the mutual harmony of ecstatic
enjoyment which was necessary to insure our future happiness. It was in
the midst of our loving sport that the too early dawn surprised us, and
we hurried back to Venice to avoid inquisitive eyes.
We renewed our pleasures on the Friday, but, whatever delight I may feel
now in the remembrance of those happy moments, I will spare my readers
the description of my new enjoyment, because they might not feel
interested in such repetitions. I must therefore only say that, before
parting on that day, we fixed for the following Monday, the last day of
the carnival, our last meeting in the Garden of Zuecca. Death alone could
have hindered me from keeping that appointment, for it was to be the last
opportunity of enjoying our amorous sport.
On the Monday morning I saw P---- C----, who confirmed the appointment for
the same hour, and at the place previously agreed upon, and I was there
in good time. In spite of the impatience of a lover, the first hour of
expectation passes rapidly, but the second is mortally long. Yet the
third and the fourth passed without my seeing my beloved mistress. I was
in a state of fearful anxiety; I imagined the most terrible disasters. It
seemed to me that if C---- C---- had been unable to go out her brother ought
to have come to let me know it.
But some unexpected mishap might have detained him, and I could not go
and fetch her myself at her house, even if I had feared nothing else than
to miss them on the road. At last, as the church bells were tolling the
Angelus, C---- C---- came alone, and masked.
"I was certain," she said, "that you were here, and here I am in spite of
all my mother could say. You must be starving. My brother has not put in
an appearance through the whole of this day. Let us go quickly to our
garden, for I am very hungry too, and love will console us for all we
have suffered today."
She had spoken very rapidly, and without giving me time to utter a single
word; I had nothing more to ask her. We went off, and took a gondola to
our garden. The wind was very high, it blew almost a hurricane, and the
gondola having only one rower the danger was great. C---- C----, who had
no idea of it, was playing with me to make up for the restraint under
which she had been all day; but her movements exposed the gondolier to
danger; if he had fallen into the water, nothing could have saved us, and
we would have found death on our way to pleasure. I told her to keep
quiet, but, being anxious not to frighten her, I dared not acquaint her
with the danger we were running. The gondolier, however, had not the same
reasons for sparing her feelings, and he called out to us in a stentorian
voice that, if we did not keep quiet, we were all lost. His threat had
the desired effect, and we reached the landing without mishap. I paid the
man generously, and he laughed for joy when he saw the money for which he
was indebted to the bad weather.
We spent six delightful hours in our casino; this time sleep was not
allowed to visit us. The only thought which threw a cloud over our
felicity was that, the carnival being over, we did not know how to
contrive our future meetings. We agreed, however, that on the following
Wednesday morning I should pay a visit to her brother, and that she would
come to his room as usual.
We took leave of our worthy hostess, who, entertaining no hope of seeing
us again, expressed her sorrow and overwhelmed us with blessings. I
escorted my darling, without any accident, as far as the door of her
house, and went home.
I had just risen at noon, when to my great surprise I had a visit from De
la Haye with his pupil Calvi, a handsome young man, but the very copy of
his master in everything. He walked, spoke, laughed exactly like him; it
was the same language as that of the Jesuits correct but rather harsh
French. I thought that excess of imitation perfectly scandalous, and I
could not help telling De la Haye that he ought to change his pupil's
deportment, because such servile mimicry would only expose him to bitter
raillery. As I was giving him my opinion on that subject, Bavois made his
appearance, and when he had spent an hour in the company of the young man
he was entirely of the same mind. Calvi died two or three years later. De
la Haye, who was bent upon forming pupils, became, two or three months
after Calvi's death, the tutor of the young Chevalier de Morosini, the
nephew of the nobleman to whom Bavois was indebted for his rapid fortune,
who was then the Commissioner of the Republic to settle its boundaries
with the Austrian Government represented by Count Christiani.
I was in love beyond all measure, and I would not postpone an application
on which my happiness depended any longer. After dinner, and as soon as
everybody had retired, I begged M. de Bragadin and his two friends to
grant me an audience of two hours in the room in which we were always
inaccessible. There, without any preamble, I told them that I was in love
with C---- C----, and determined on carrying her off if they could not
contrive to obtain her from her father for my wife. "The question at
issue," I said to M. de Bragadin, "is how to give me a respectable
position, and to guarantee a dowry of ten thousand ducats which the young
lady would bring me." They answered that, if Paralis gave them the
necessary instructions, they were ready to fulfil them. That was all I
wanted. I spent two hours in forming all the pyramids they wished, and
the result was that M. de Bragadin himself would demand in my name the
hand of the young lady; the oracle explaining the reason of that choice
by stating that it must be the same person who would guarantee the dowry
with his own fortune. The father of my mistress being then at his
country-house, I told my friends that they would have due notice of his
return, and that they were to be all three together when M. de Bragadin
demanded the young lady's hand.
Well pleased with what I had done, I called on P---- C---- the next
morning. An old woman, who opened the door for me, told me that he was
not at home, but that his mother would see me. She came immediately with
her daughter, and they both looked very sad, which at once struck me as a
bad sign. C---- C---- told me that her brother was in prison for debt, and
that it would be difficult to get him out of it because his debts
amounted to a very large sum. The mother, crying bitterly, told me how
deeply grieved she was at not being able to support him in the prison,
and she shewed me the letter he had written to her, in which he requested
her to deliver an enclosure to his sister. I asked C---- C---- whether I
could read it; she handed it to me, and I saw that he begged her to speak
to me in his behalf. As I returned it to her, I told her to write to him
that I was not in a position to do anything for him, but I entreated the
mother to accept twenty-five sequins, which would enable her to assist
him by sending him one or two at a time. She made up her mind to take
them only when her daughter joined her entreaties to mine.
After this painful scene I gave them an account of what I had done in
order to obtain the hand of my young sweetheart. Madame C---thanked me,
expressed her appreciation of my honourable conduct, but she told me not
to entertain any hope, because her husband, who was very stubborn in his
ideas, had decided that his daughter should marry a merchant, and not
before the age of eighteen. He was expected home that very day. As I was
taking leave of them, my mistress contrived to slip in my hand a letter
in which she told me that I could safely make use of the key which I had
in my possession, to enter the house at midnight, and that I would find
her in her brother's room. This news made me very happy, for,
notwithstanding all the doubts of her mother, I hoped for success in
obtaining her hand.
When I returned home, I told M. de Bragadin of the expected arrival of
the father of my charming C---- C----, and the kind old man wrote to him
immediately in my presence. He requested him to name at what time he
might call on him on important business. I asked M. de Bragadin not to
send his letter until the following day.
The reader can very well guess that C---- C---- had not to wait for me long
after midnight. I gained admittance without any difficulty, and I found
my darling, who received me with open arms.
"You have nothing to fear," she said to me; "my father has arrived in
excellent health, and everyone in the house is fast asleep."
"Except Love," I answered, "which is now inviting us to enjoy ourselves.
Love will protect us, dearest, and to-morrow your father will receive a
letter from my worthy protector."
At those words C---- C---- shuddered. It was a presentiment of the future.
She said to me,
"My father thinks of me now as if I were nothing but a child; but his
eyes are going to be opened respecting me; he will examine my conduct,
and God knows what will happen! Now, we are happy, even more than we were
during our visits to Zuecca, for we can see each other every night
without restraint. But what will my father do when he hears that I have a
lover?"
"What can he do? If he refuses me your hand, I will carry you off, and
the patriarch would certainly marry us. We shall be one another's for
life"
"It is my most ardent wish, and to realize it I am ready to do anything;
but, dearest, I know my father."
We remained two hours together, thinking less of our pleasures than of
our sorrow; I went away promising to see her again the next night. The
whole of the morning passed off very heavily for me, and at noon M. de
Bragadin informed me that he had sent his letter to the father, who had
answered that he would call himself on the following day to ascertain M.
de Bragadin's wishes. At midnight I saw my beloved mistress again, and I
gave her an account of all that had transpired. C---- C---- told me that
the message of the senator had greatly puzzled her father, because, as he
had never had any intercourse with that nobleman, he could not imagine
what he wanted with him. Uncertainty, a sort of anxious dread, and a
confused hope, rendered our enjoyment much less lively during the two
hours which we spent together. I had no doubt that M. Ch. C---- the father
of my young friend, would 'go home immediately after his interview with
M. de Bragadin, that he would ask his daughter a great many questions,
and I feared lest C---- C----, in her trouble and confusion, should betray
herself. She felt herself that it might be so, and I could see how
painfully anxious she was. I was extremely uneasy myself, and I suffered
much because, not knowing how her father would look at the matter, I
could not give her any advice. As a matter of course, it was necessary
for her to conceal certain circumstances which would have prejudiced his
mind against us; yet it was urgent to tell him the truth and to shew
herself entirely submissive to his will. I found myself placed in a
strange position, and above all, I regretted having made the
all-important application, precisely because it was certain to have too
decisive a result. I longed to get out of the state of indecision in
which I was, and I was surprised to see my young mistress less anxious
than I was. We parted with heavy hearts, but with the hope that the next
night would again bring us together, for the contrary did not seem to us
possible.
The next day, after dinner, M. Ch. C---- called upon M. de Bragadin, but I
did not shew myself. He remained a couple of hours with my three friends,
and as soon as he had gone I heard that his answer had been what the
mother had told me, but with the addition of a circumstance most painful
to me--namely, that his daughter would pass the four years which were to
elapse, before she could think of marriage, in a convent. As a palliative
to his refusal he had added, that, if by that time I had a
well-established position in the world, he might consent to our wedding.
That answer struck me as most cruel, and in the despair in which it threw
me I was not astonished when the same night I found the door by which I
used to gain admittance to C---- C---- closed and locked inside.
I returned home more dead than alive, and lost twenty-four hours in that
fearful perplexity in which a man is often thrown when he feels himself
bound to take a decision without knowing what to decide. I thought of
carrying her off, but a thousand difficulties combined to prevent the
execution of that scheme, and her brother was in prison. I saw how
difficult it would be to contrive a correspondence with my wife, for I
considered C---- C---- as such, much more than if our marriage had received
the sanction of the priest's blessing or of the notary's legal contract.
Tortured by a thousand distressing ideas, I made up my mind at last to
pay a visit to Madame C----. A servant opened the door, and informed me
that madame had gone to the country; she could not tell me when she was
expected to return to Venice. This news was a terrible thunder-bolt to
me; I remained as motionless as a statue; for now that I had lost that
last resource I had no means of procuring the slightest information.
I tried to look calm in the presence of my three friends, but in reality
I was in a state truly worthy of pity, and the reader will perhaps
realize it if I tell him that in my despair I made up my mind to call on
P---- C---- in his prison, in the hope that he might give me some
information.
My visit proved useless; he knew nothing, and I did not enlighten his
ignorance. He told me a great many lies which I pretended to accept as
gospel, and giving him two sequins I went away, wishing him a prompt
release.
I was racking my brain to contrive some way to know the position of my
mistress--for I felt certain it was a fearful one--and believing her to
be unhappy I reproached myself most bitterly as the cause of her misery.
I had reached such a state of anxiety that I could neither eat nor sleep.
Two days after the refusal of the father, M. de Bragadin and his two
friends went to Padua for a month. I had not had the heart to go with
them, and I was alone in the house. I needed consolation and I went to
the gaming-table, but I played without attention and lost a great deal. I
had already sold whatever I possessed of any value, and I owed money
everywhere. I could expect no assistance except from my three kind
friends, but shame prevented me from confessing my position to them. I
was in that disposition which leads easily to self-destruction, and I was
thinking of it as I was shaving myself before a toilet-glass, when the
servant brought to my room a woman who had a letter for me. The woman
came up to me, and, handing me the letter, she said,
"Are you the person to whom it is addressed?"
I recognized at once a seal which I had given to C---- C----; I thought I
would drop down dead. In order to recover my composure, I told the woman
to wait, and tried to shave myself, but my hand refused to perform its
office. I put the razor down, turned my back on the messenger, and
opening the letter I read the following lines,
"Before I can write all I have to say, I must be sure of my messenger. I
am boarding in a convent, and am very well treated, and I enjoy excellent
health in spite of the anxiety of my mind. The superior has been
instructed to forbid me all visitors and correspondence. I am, however,
already certain of being able to write to you, notwithstanding these very
strict orders. I entertain no doubt of your good faith, my beloved
husband, and I feel sure that you will never doubt a heart which is
wholly yours. Trust to me for the execution of whatever you may wish me
to do, for I am yours and only yours. Answer only a few words until we
are quite certain of our messenger.
"Muran, June 12th."
In less than three weeks my young friend had become a clever moralist; it
is true that Love had been her teacher, and Love alone can work miracles.
As I concluded the reading of her letter, I was in the state of a
criminal pardoned at the foot of the scaffold. I required several minutes
before I recovered the exercise of my will and my presence of mind.
I turned towards the messenger, and asked her if she could read.
"Ah, sir! if I could not read, it would be a great misfortune for me.
There are seven women appointed for the service of the nuns of Muran. One
of us comes in turn to Venice once a week; I come every Wednesday, and
this day week I shall be able to bring you an answer to the letter which,
if you like, you can write now."
"Then you can take charge of the letters entrusted to you by the nuns?"
"That is not supposed to be one of our duties but the faithful delivery
of letters being the most important of the commissions committed to our
care, we should not be trusted if we could not read the address of the
letters placed in our hands. The nuns wanted to be sure that we shall not
give to Peter the letter addressed to Paul. The good mothers are always
afraid of our being guilty of such blunders. Therefore I shall be here
again, without fail, this day week at the same hour, but please to order
your servant to wake you in case you should be asleep, for our time is
measured as if it were gold. Above all, rely entirely upon my discretion
as long as you employ me; for if I did not know how to keep a silent
tongue in my head I should lose my bread, and then what would become of
me--a widow with four children, a boy eight years old, and three pretty
girls, the eldest of whom is only sixteen? You can see them when you come
to Muran. I live near the church, on the garden side, and I am always at
home when I am not engaged in the service of the nuns, who are always
sending me on one commission or another. The young lady--I do not know
her name yet, for she has only been one week with us--gave me this
letter, but so cleverly! Oh! she must be as witty as she is pretty, for
three nuns who were there were completely bamboozled. She gave it to me
with this other letter for myself, which I likewise leave in your hands.
Poor child! she tells me to be discreet! She need not be afraid. Write to
her, I entreat you, sir, that she can trust me, and answer boldly. I
would not tell you to act in the same manner with all the other
messengers of the convent, although I believe them to be honest--and God
forbid I should speak ill of my fellow-creature--but they are all
ignorant, you see; and it is certain that they babble, at least, with
their confessors, if with nobody else. As for me, thank God! I know very
well that I need not confess anything but my sins, and surely to carry a
letter from a Christian woman to her brother in Christ is not a sin.
Besides, my confessor is a good old monk, quite deaf, I believe, for the
worthy man never answers me; but that is his business, not mine!"
I had not intended to ask her any questions, but if such had been my
intention she would not have given me time to carry it into execution;
and without my asking her anything, she was telling me everything I cared
to know, and she did so in her anxiety for me to avail myself of her
services exclusively.
I immediately sat down to write to my dear recluse, intending at first to
write only a few lines, as she had requested me; but my time was too
short to write so little. My letter was a screed of four pages, and very
likely it said less than her note of one short page. I told her her
letter had saved my life, and asked her whether I could hope to see her.
I informed her that I had given a sequin to the messenger, that she would
find another for herself under the seal of my letter, and that I would
send her all the money she might want. I entreated her not to fail
writing every Wednesday, to be certain that her letters would never be
long enough to give me full particulars, not only of all she did, of all
she was allowed to do, but also of all her thoughts respecting her
release from imprisonment, and the overcoming of all the obstacles which
were in the way of our mutual happiness; for I was as much hers as she
was mine. I hinted to her the necessity of gaining the love of all the
nuns and boarders, but without taking them into her confidence, and of
shewing no dislike of her convent life. After praising her for the clever
manner in which she had contrived to write to me, in spite of superior
orders, I made her understand how careful she was to be to avoid being
surprised while she was writing, because in such a case her room would
certainly be searched and all her papers seized.
"Burn all my letters, darling," I added, "and recollect that you must go
to confession often, but without implicating our love. Share with me all
your sorrows, which interest me even more than your joys."
I sealed my letter in such a manner that no one could possibly guess that
there was a sequin hidden under the sealing wax, and I rewarded the
woman, promising her that I would give her the same reward every time
that she brought me a letter from my friend. When she saw the sequin
which I had put in her hand the good woman cried for joy, and she told me
that, as the gates of the convent were never closed for her, she would
deliver my letter the moment she found the young lady alone.
Here is the note which C---- C---- had given to the woman, with the letter
addressed to me:
"God Himself, my good woman, prompts me to have confidence in you rather
than in anybody else. Take this letter to Venice, and should the person
to whom it is addressed not be in the city, bring it back to me. You must
deliver it to that person himself, and if you find him you will most
likely have an answer, which you must give me, but only when you are
certain that nobody can see you."
If Love is imprudent, it is only in the hope of enjoyment; but when it is
necessary to bring back happiness destroyed by some untoward accident,
Love foresees all that the keenest perspicacity could possibly find out.
The letter of my charming wife overwhelmed me with joy, and in one moment
I passed from a state of despair to that of extreme felicity. I felt
certain that I should succeed in carrying her off even if the walls of
the convent could boast of artillery, and after the departure of the
messenger my first thought was to endeavour to spend the seven days,
before I could receive the second letter, pleasantly. Gambling alone
could do it, but everybody had gone to Padua. I got my trunk ready, and
immediately sent it to the burchiello then ready to start, and I left for
Frusina. From that place I posted, and in less than three hours I arrived
at the door of the Bragadin Palace, where I found my dear protector on
the point of sitting down to dinner. He embraced me affectionately, and
seeing me covered with perspiration he said to me,
"I am certain that you are in no hurry."
"No," I answered, "but I am starving."
I brought joy to the brotherly trio, and I enhanced their happiness when
I told my friends that I would remain six days with them. De la Haye
dined with us on that day; as soon as dinner was over he closeted himself
with M. Dandoio, and for two hours they remained together. I had gone to
bed during that time, but M. Dandolo came up to me and told me that I had
arrived just in time to consult the oracle respecting an important affair
entirely private to himself. He gave me the questions, and requested me
to find the answers. He wanted to know whether he would act rightly if he
accepted a project proposed to him by De la Haye.
The oracle answered negatively.
M. Dandolo, rather surprised, asked a second question: he wished Paralis
to give his reasons for the denial.
I formed the cabalistic pile, and brought out this answer:
"I asked Casanova's opinion, and as I find it opposed to the proposal
made by De la Haye, I do not wish to hear any more about it."
Oh! wonderful power of self-delusion! This worthy man, pleased at being
able to throw the odium of a refusal on me, left me perfectly satisfied.
I had no idea of the nature of the affair to which he had been alluding,
and I felt no curiosity about it; but it annoyed me that a Jesuit should
interfere and try to make my friends do anything otherwise than through
my instrumentality, and I wanted that intriguer to know that my influence
was greater than his own.
After that, I dressed, masked myself, and went to the opera, where I sat
down to a faro-table and lost all my money. Fortune was determined to
shew me that it does not always agree with love. My heart was heavy, I
felt miserable; I went to bed. When I woke in the morning, I saw De la
Haye come into my room with a beaming countenance, and, assuming an air
of devoted friendship, he made a great show of his feelings towards me. I
knew what to think of it all, and I waited for the 'denouement'.
"My dear friend," he said to me at last, "why did you dissuade M. Dandolo
from doing what I had insinuated to him?"
"What had you insinuated to him?"
"You know well enough."
"If I knew it, I would not ask you"
"M. Dandolo himself told me that you had advised him against it."
"Advised against, that may be, but certainly not dissuaded, for if he had
been persuaded in his own mind he would not have asked my advice."
"As you please; but may I enquire your reasons?"
"Tell me first what your proposal was."
"Has he not told you?"
"Perhaps he has; but if you wish to know my reasons, I must hear the
whole affair from your own lips, because M. Dandolo spoke to me under a
promise of secrecy."
"Of what good is all this reserve?"
"Everyone has his own principles and his own way of thinking: I have a
sufficiently good opinion of you to believe that you would act exactly as
I do, for I have heard you say that in all secret matters one ought to
guard against surprise."
"I am incapable of taking such an advantage of a friend; but as a general
rule your maxim is a right one; I like prudence. I will tell you the
whole affair. You are aware that Madame Tripolo has been left a widow,
and that M. Dandolo is courting her assiduously, after having done the
same for fourteen years during the life of the husband. The lady, who is
still young, beautiful and lovely, and also is very respectable, wishes
to become his wife. It is to me that she has confided her wishes, and as
I saw nothing that was not praiseworthy, either in a temporal or in a
spiritual point of view, in that union, for after all we are all men, I
took the affair in hand with real pleasure. I fancied even that M.
Dandolo felt some inclination for that marriage when he told me that he
would give me his decision this morning. I am not astonished at his
having asked your advice in such an important affair, for a prudent man
is right in asking the opinion of a wise friend before taking a decisive
step; but I must tell you candidly that I am astonished at your
disapproval of such a marriage. Pray excuse me if, in order to improve by
the information, I ask why your opinion is exactly the reverse of mine."
Delighted at having discovered the whole affair, at having arrived in
time to prevent my friend who was goodness itself contracting an absurd
marriage, I answered the hypocrite that I loved M. Dandolo, that I knew
his temperament, and that I was certain that a marriage with a woman like
Madame Tripolo would shorten his life.
"That being my opinion," I added, "you must admit that as a true friend I
was right in advising him against your proposal. Do you recollect having
told me that you never married for the very same reason? Do you recollect
your strong arguments in favour of celibacy while we were at Parma?
Consider also, I beg, that every man has a certain small stock of
selfishness, and that I may be allowed to have mine when I think that if
M. Dandolo took a wife the influence of that wife would of course have
some weight, and that the more she gained in influence over him the more
I should lose. So you see it would not be natural for me to advise him to
take a step which would ultimately prove very detrimental to my
interests. If you can prove that my reasons are either trifling or
sophistical, speak openly: I will tell M. Dandolo that my mind has
changed; Madame Tripolo will become his wife when we return to Venice.
But let me warn you that thorough conviction can alone move me."
"I do not believe myself clever enough to convince you. I shall write to
Madame Tripolo that she must apply to you."
"Do not write anything of the sort to that lady, or she will think that
you are laughing at her. Do you suppose her foolish enough to expect that
I will give way to her wishes? She knows that I do not like her."
"How can she possibly know that?"
"She must have remarked that I have never cared to accompany M. Dandolo
to her house. Learn from me once for all, that as long as I live with my
three friends they shall have no wife but me. You may get married as soon
as you please; I promise not to throw any obstacle in your way; but if
you wish to remain on friendly terms with me give up all idea of leading
my three friends astray."
"You are very caustic this morning."
"I lost all my money last night.
"Then I have chosen a bad time. Farewell."
From that day, De la Haye became my secret enemy, and to him I was in a
great measure indebted, two years later, for my imprisonment under The
Leads of Venice; not owing to his slanders, for I do not believe he was
capable of that, Jesuit though he was--and even amongst such people there
is sometimes some honourable feeling--but through the mystical
insinuations which he made in the presence of bigoted persons. I must
give fair notice to my readers that, if they are fond of such people,
they must not read these Memoirs, for they belong to a tribe which I have
good reason to attack unmercifully.
The fine marriage was never again alluded to. M. Dandolo continued to
visit his beautiful widow every day, and I took care to elicit from
Paralis a strong interdiction ever to put my foot in her house.
Don Antonio Croce, a young Milanese whom I had known in Reggio, a
confirmed gambler, and a downright clever hand in securing the favours of
Dame Fortune, called on me a few minutes after De la Haye had retired. He
told me that, having seen me lose all my money the night before, he had
come to offer me the means of retrieving my losses, if I would take an
equal interest with him in a faro bank that he meant to hold at his
house, and in which he would have as punters seven or eight rich
foreigners who were courting his wife.
"If you will put three hundred sequins in my bank," he added, "you shall
be my partner. I have three hundred sequins myself, but that is not
enough because the punters play high. Come and dine at my house, and you
will make their acquaintance. We can play next Friday as there will be no
opera, and you may rely upon our winning plenty of gold, for a certain
Gilenspetz, a Swede, may lose twenty thousand sequins."
I was without any resources, or at all events I could expect no
assistance except from M. de Bragadin upon whom I felt ashamed of
encroaching. I was well aware that the proposal made by Croce was not
strictly moral, and that I might have chosen a more honourable society;
but if I had refused, the purse of Madame Croce's admirers would not have
been more mercifully treated; another would have profited by that stroke
of good fortune. I was therefore not rigid enough to refuse my assistance
as adjutant and my share of the pie; I accepted Croce's invitation.
CHAPTER XIV
I Get Rich Again--My Adventure At Dolo--Analysis of a Long
Letter From C. C.--Mischievous Trick Played Upon Me By P.
C.--At Vincenza--A Tragi-comedy At the Inn
Necessity, that imperious law and my only excuse, having made me almost
the partner of a cheat, there was still the difficulty of finding the
three hundred sequins required; but I postponed the task of finding them
until after I should have made the acquaintance of the dupes of the
goddess to whom they addressed their worship. Croce took me to the Prato
delta Valle, where we found madame surrounded with foreigners. She was
pretty; and as a secretary of the imperial ambassador, Count Rosemberg,
had attached himself to her, not one of the Venetian nobles dared court
her. Those who interested me among the satellites gravitating around that
star were the Swede Gilenspetz, a Hamburger, the Englishman Mendez, who
has already been mentioned, and three or four others to whore Croce
called my attention.
We dined all together, and after dinner there was a general call for a
faro bank; but Croce did not accept. His refusal surprised me, because
with three hundred sequins, being a very skilful player, he had enough to
try his fortune. He did not, however, allow my suspicions to last long,
for he took me to his own room and shewed me fifty pieces of eight, which
were equal to three hundred sequins. When I saw that the professional
gambler had not chosen me as his partner with the intention of making a
dupe of me, I told him that I would certainly procure the amount, and
upon that promise he invited everybody to supper for the following day.
We agreed that we would divide the spoils before parting in the evening,
and that no one should be allowed to play on trust.
I had to procure the amount, but to whom could I apply? I could ask no
one but M. de Bragadin. The excellent man had not that sum in his
possession, for his purse was generally empty; but he found a usurer--a
species of animal too numerous unfortunately for young men--who, upon a
note of hand endorsed by him, gave me a thousand ducats, at five per
cent. for one month, the said interest being deducted by anticipation
from the capital. It was exactly the amount I required. I went to the
supper; Croce held the bank until daylight, and we divided sixteen
hundred sequins between us. The game continued the next evening, and
Gilenspetz alone lost two thousand sequins; the Jew Mendez lost about one
thousand. Sunday was sanctified by rest, but on Monday the bank won four
thousand sequins. On the Tuesday we all dined together, and the play was
resumed; but we had scarcely begun when an officer of the podesta made
his appearance and informed Croce that he wanted a little private
conversation with him. They left the room together, and after a short
absence Croce came back rather crestfallen; he announced that by superior
orders he was forbidden to hold a bank at his house. Madame fainted away,
the punters hurried out, and I followed their example, as soon as I had
secured one-half of the gold which was on the table. I was glad enough it
was not worse. As I left, Croce told me that we would meet again in
Venice, for he had been ordered to quit Padua within twenty-four hours. I
expected it would be so, because he was to well known; but his greatest
crime, in the opinion of the podesta, was that he attracted the players
to his own house, whilst the authorities wanted all the lovers of play to
lose their money at the opera, where the bankers were mostly noblemen
from Venice.
I left the city on horseback in the evening and in very bad weather, but
nothing could have kept me back, because early the next morning I
expected a letter from my dear prisoner. I had only travelled six miles
from Padua when my horse fell, and I found my left leg caught under it.
My boots were soft ones, and I feared I had hurt myself. The postillion
was ahead of me, but hearing the noise made by the fall he came up and
disengaged me; I was not hurt, but my horse was lame. I immediately took
the horse of the postillion, to which I was entitled, but the insolent
fellow getting hold of the bit refused to let me proceed. I tried to make
him understand that he was wrong; but, far from giving way to my
arguments, he persisted in stopping me, and being in a great hurry to
continue my journey I fired one of my pistols in his face, but without
touching him. Frightened out of his wits, the man let go, and I galloped
off. When I reached the Dolo, I went straight to the stables, and I
myself saddled a horse which a postillion, to whom I gave a crown,
pointed out to me as being excellent. No one thought of being astonished
at my other postillion having remained behind, and we started at full
speed. It was then one o'clock in the morning; the storm had broken up
the road, and the night was so dark that I could not see anything within
a yard ahead of me; the day was breaking when we arrived in Fusina.
The boatmen threatened me with a fresh storm; but setting everything at
defiance I took a four-oared boat, and reached my dwelling quite safe but
shivering with cold and wet to the skin. I had scarcely been in my room
for a quarter of an hour when the messenger from Muran presented herself
and gave me a letter, telling me that she would call for the answer in
two hours. That letter was a journal of seven pages, the faithful
translation of which might weary my readers, but here is the substance of
it:
After the interview with M. de Bragadin, the father of C---- C---- had gone
home, had his wife and daughter to his room, and enquired kindly from the
last where she had made my acquaintance. She answered that she had seen
me five or six times in her brother's room, that I had asked her whether
she would consent to be my wife, and that she had told me that she was
dependent upon her father and mother. The father had then said that she
was too young to think of marriage, and besides, I had not yet conquered
a position in society. After that decision he repaired to his son's room,
and locked the small door inside as well as the one communicating with
the apartment of the mother, who was instructed by him to let me believe
that she had gone to the country, in case I should call on her.
Two days afterwards he came to C---- C----, who was beside her sick
mother, and told her that her aunt would take her to a convent, where she
was to remain until a husband had been provided for her by her parents.
She answered that, being perfectly disposed to submit to his will, she
would gladly obey him. Pleased with her ready obedience he promised to go
and see her, and to let his mother visit her likewise, as soon as her
health was better. Immediately after that conversation the aunt had
called for her, and a gondola had taken them to the convent, where she
had been ever since. Her bed and her clothes had been brought to her; she
was well pleased with her room and with the nun to whom she had been
entrusted, and under whose supervision she was. It was by her that she
had been forbidden to receive either letters or visits, or to write to
anybody, under penalty of excommunication from the Holy Father, of
everlasting damnation, and of other similar trifles; yet the same nun had
supplied her with paper, ink and books, and it was at night that my young
friend transgressed the laws of the convent in order to write all these
particulars to me. She expressed her conviction respecting the discretion
and the faithfulness of the messenger, and she thought that she would
remain devoted, because, being poor, our sequins were a little fortune
for her.
She related to me in the most assuring manner that the handsomest of all
the nuns in the convent loved her to distraction, gave her a French
lesson twice a-day, and had amicably forbidden her to become acquainted
with the other boarders. That nun was only twenty-two years of age; she
was beautiful, rich and generous; all the other nuns shewed her great
respect. "When we are alone," wrote my friend, "she kisses me so tenderly
that you would be jealous if she were not a woman." As to our project of
running away, she did not think it would be very difficult to carry it
into execution, but that it would be better to wait until she knew the
locality better. She told me to remain faithful and constant, and asked
me to send her my portrait hidden in a ring by a secret spring known only
to us. She added that I might send it to her by her mother, who had
recovered her usual health, and was in the habit of attending early mass
at her parish church every day by herself. She assured me that the
excellent woman would be delighted to see me, and to do anything I might
ask her. "At all events," she concluded, "I hope to find myself in a few
months in a position which will scandalize the convent if they are
obstinately bent upon keeping me here."
I was just finishing my answer when Laura, the messenger, returned for
it. After I had paid the sequin I had promised her, I gave her a parcel
containing sealing-wax, paper, pens, and a tinder-box, which she promised
to deliver to C---- C----. My darling had told her that I was her cousin,
and Laura feigned to believe it.
Not knowing what to do in Venice, and believing that I ought for the sake
of my honour to shew myself in Padua, or else people might suppose that I
had received the same order as Croce, I hurried my breakfast, and
procured a 'bolletta' from the booking-office for Rome; because I foresaw
that the firing of my pistol and the lame horse might not have improved
the temper of the post-masters; but by shewing them what is called in
Italy a 'bolletta', I knew that they could not refuse to supply me with
horses whenever they had any in their stables. As far as the pistol-shot
was concerned I had no fear, for I had purposely missed the insolent
postillion; and even if I had killed him on the spot it would not have
been of much importance.
In Fusina I took a two-wheeled chaise, for I was so tired that I could
not have performed the journey on horseback, and I reached the Dolo,
where I was recognized and horses were refused me.
I made a good deal of noise, and the post-master, coming out, threatened
to have me arrested if I did not pay him for his dead horse. I answered
that if the horse were dead I would account for it to the postmaster in
Padua, but what I wanted was fresh horses without delay.
And I shewed him the dread 'bolletta', the sight of which made him lower
his tone; but he told me that, even if he supplied me with horses, I had
treated the postillion so badly that not one of his men would drive me.
"If that is the case," I answered, "you shall accompany me yourself." The
fellow laughed in my face, turned his back upon me, and went away. I took
two witnesses, and I called with them at the office of a public notary,
who drew up a properly-worded document, by which I gave notice to the
post-master that I should expect an indemnity of ten sequins for each
hour of delay until I had horses supplied to me.
As soon as he had been made acquainted with the contents of this, he gave
orders to bring out two restive horses. I saw at once that his intention
was to have me upset along the road, and perhaps thrown into the river;
but I calmly told the postillion that at the very moment my chaise was
upset I would blow his brains out with a pistol-shot; this threat
frightened the man; he took his horses back to the stables, and declared
to his master that he would not drive me. At that very moment a courier
arrived, who called for six carriage horses and two saddle ones. I warned
the post-master that no one should leave the place before me, and that if
he opposed my will there would be a sanguinary contest; in order to prove
that I was in earnest I took out my pistols. The fellow began to swear,
but, everyone saying that he was in the wrong, he disappeared.
Five minutes afterwards whom should I see, arriving in a beautiful berlin
drawn by six horses, but Croce with his wife, a lady's maid, and two
lackeys in grand livery. He alighted, we embraced one another, and I told
him, assuming an air of sadness, that he could not leave before me. I
explained how the case stood; he said I was right, scolded loudly, as if
he had been a great lord, and made everybody tremble. The postmaster had
disappeared; his wife came and ordered the postillions to attend to my
wants. During that time Croce said to me that I was quite right in going
back to Padua, where the public rumour had spread the report of my having
left the city in consequence of an order from the police. He informed me
that the podesta had likewise expelled M. de Gondoin, a colonel in the
service of the Duke of Modena, because he held a faro bank at his house.
I promised him to pay him a visit in Venice in the ensuing week. Croce,
who had dropped from the sky to assist me in a moment of great distress,
had won ten thousand sequins in four evenings: I had received five
thousand for my share; and lost no time in paying my debts and in
redeeming all the articles which I had been compelled to pledge. That
scamp brought me back the smiles of Fortune, and from that moment I got
rid of the ill luck which had seemed to fasten on me.
I reached Padua in safety, and the postillion, who very likely out of
fear had driven me in good style, was well pleased with my liberality; it
was the best way of making peace with the tribe. My arrival caused great
joy to my three friends, whom my sudden departure had alarmed, with the
exception of M. de Bragadin, in whose hands I had placed my cash-box the
day before. His two friends had given credence to the general report,
stating that the podesta had ordered me to leave Padua. They forgot that
I was a citizen of Venice, and that the podesta could not pass such a
sentence upon me without exposing himself to legal proceedings. I was
tired, but instead of going to bed I dressed myself in my best attire in
order to go to the opera without a mask. I told my friends that it was
necessary for me to shew myself, so as to give the lie to all that had
been reported about me by slandering tongues. De la Haye said to me,
"I shall be delighted if all those reports are false; but you have no one
to blame but yourself, for your hurried departure gave sufficient cause
for all sorts of surmises."
"And for slander."
"That may be; but people want to know everything, and they invent when
they cannot guess the truth."
"And evil-minded fools lose no time in repeating those inventions
everywhere."
"But there can be no doubt that you wanted to kill the postillion. Is
that a calumny likewise?"
"The greatest of all. Do you think that a good shot can miss a man when
he is firing in his very face, unless he does it purposely?"
"It seems difficult; but at all events it is certain that the horse is
dead, and you must pay for it."
"No, sir, not even if the horse belonged to you, for the postillion
preceded me. You know a great many things; do you happen to know the
posting regulations? Besides, I was in a great hurry because I had
promised a pretty woman to breakfast with her, and such engagements, as
you are well aware, cannot be broken."
Master de la Haye looked angry at the rather caustic irony with which I
had sprinkled the dialogue; but he was still more vexed when, taking some
gold out of my pocket, I returned to him the sum he had lent me in
Vienna. A man never argues well except when his purse is well filled;
then his spirits are pitched in a high key, unless he should happen to be
stupefied by some passion raging in his soul.
M. de Bragadin thought I was quite right to shew myself at the opera
without a mask.
The moment I made my appearance in the pit everybody seemed quite
astonished, and I was overwhelmed with compliments, sincere or not. After
the first ballet I went to the card-room, and in four deals I won five
hundred sequins. Starving, and almost dead for want of sleep, I returned
to my friends to boast of my victory. My friend Bavois was there, and he
seized the opportunity to borrow from me fifty sequins, which he never
returned; true, I never asked him for them.
My thoughts being constantly absorbed in my dear C---- C----, I spent the
whole of the next day in having my likeness painted in miniature by a
skilful Piedmontese, who had come for the Fair of Padua, and who in after
times made a great deal of money in Venice. When he had completed my
portrait he painted for me a beautiful St. Catherine of the same size,
and a clever Venetian jeweller made the ring, the bezel of which shewed
only the sainted virgin; but a blue spot, hardly visible on the white
enamel which surrounded it, corresponded with the secret spring which
brought out my portrait, and the change was obtained by pressing on the
blue spot with the point of a pin.
On the following Friday, as we were rising from the dinner-table, a
letter was handed to me. It was with great surprise that I recognized the
writing of P---- C----. He asked me to pay him a visit at the "Star
Hotel," where he would give me some interesting information. Thinking
that he might have something to say concerning his sister, I went to him
at once.
I found him with Madame C----, and after congratulating him upon his
release from prison I asked him for the news he had to communicate.
"I am certain," he said, "that my sister is in a convent, and I shall be
able to tell you the name of it when I return to Venice."
"You will oblige me," I answered, pretending not to know anything.
But his news had only been a pretext to make me come to him, and his
eagerness to communicate it had a very different object in view than the
gratification of my curiosity.
"I have sold," he said to me, "my privileged contract for three years for
a sum of fifteen thousand florins, and the man with whom I have made the
bargain took me out of prison by giving security for me, and advanced me
six thousand florins in four letters of exchange."
He shewed me the letters of exchange, endorsed by a name which I did not
know, but which he said was a very good one, and he continued,
"I intend to buy six thousand florins worth of silk goods from the looms
of Vicenza, and to give in payment to the merchants these letters of
exchange. I am certain of selling those goods rapidly with a profit of
ten per cent. Come with us to Vicenza; I will give you some of my goods
to the amount of two hundred sequins, and thus you will find yourself
covered for the guarantee which you have been kind enough to give to the
jeweller for the ring. We shall complete the transaction within
twenty-four hours."
I did not feel much inclination for the trip, but I allowed myself to be
blinded by the wish to cover the amount which I had guaranteed, and which
I had no doubt I would be called upon to pay some day or other.
"If I do not go with him," I said to myself "he will sell the goods at a
loss of twenty-five per cent., and I shall get nothing."
I promised to accompany him. He shewed me several letters of
recommendation for the best houses in Vicenza, and our departure was
fixed for early the next morning. I was at the "Star Hotel" by daybreak.
A carriage and four was ready; the hotel-keeper came up with his bill,
and P---- C---- begged me to pay it. The bill amounted to five sequins;
four of which had been advanced in cash by the landlord to pay the driver
who had brought them from Fusina. I saw that it was a put-up thing, yet I
paid with pretty good grace, for I guessed that the scoundrel had left
Venice without a penny. We reached Vicenza in three hours, and we put up
at the "Cappello," where P---- C---- ordered a good dinner before leaving
me with the lady to call upon the manufacturers.
When the beauty found herself alone with me, she began by addressing
friendly reproaches to me.
"I have loved you," she said, "for eighteen years; the first time that I
saw you we were in Padua, and we were then only nine years old."
I certainly had no recollection of it. She was the daughter of the
antiquarian friend of M. Grimani, who had placed me as a boarder with the
accursed Sclavonian woman. I could not help smiling, for I recollected
that her mother had loved me.
Shop-boys soon began to make their appearance, bringing pieces of goods,
and the face of Madame C---- brightened up. In less than two hours the
room was filled with them, and P---- C---- came back with two merchants,
whom he had invited to dinner. Madame allured them by her pretty manners;
we dined, and exquisite wines were drunk in profusion. In the afternoon
fresh goods were brought in; P---- C---- made a list of them with the
prices; but he wanted more, and the merchants promised to send them the
next day, although it was Sunday. Towards the evening several counts
arrived, for in Vicenza every nobleman is a count. P---- C---- had left his
letters of recommendation at their houses. We had a Count Velo, a Count
Sesso, a Count Trento--all very amiable companions. They invited us to
accompany them to the casino, where Madame C---- shone by her charms and
her coquettish manners. After we had spent two hours in that place,
P---- C---- invited all his new friends to supper, and it was a scene of
gaiety and profusion. The whole affair annoyed me greatly, and therefore
I was not amiable; the consequence was that no one spoke to me. I rose
from my seat and went to bed, leaving the joyous company still round the
festive board. In the morning I came downstairs, had my breakfast, and
looked about me. The room was so full of goods that I did not see how
P---- C---- could possibly pay for all with his six thousand florins. He
told me, however, that his business would be completed on the morrow, and
that we were invited to a ball where all the nobility would be present.
The merchants with whom he had dealt came to dine with us, and the dinner
was remarkable for its extreme profusion.
We went to the ball; but I soon got very weary of it, for every body was
speaking to Madame C---- and to P---- C----, who never uttered a word with
any meaning, but whenever I opened my lips people would pretend not to
hear me. I invited a lady to dance a minuet; she accepted, but she looked
constantly to the right or to the left, and seemed to consider me as a
mere dancing machine. A quadrille was formed, but the thing was contrived
in such a manner as to leave me out of it, and the very lady who had
refused me as a partner danced with another gentleman. Had I been in good
spirits I should certainly have resented such conduct, but I preferred to
leave the ball-room. I went to bed, unable to understand why the nobility
of Vicenza treated me in such a way. Perhaps they neglected me because I
was not named in the letters of introduction given to P---- C----, but I
thought that they might have known the laws of common politeness. I bore
the evil patiently, however, as we were to leave the city the next day.
On Monday, the worthy pair being tired, they slept until noon, and after
dinner P---- C---- went out to pay for the goods.
We were to go away early on the Tuesday, and I instinctively longed for
that moment. The counts whom P---- C---- had invited were delighted with
his mistress, and they came to supper; but I avoided meeting them.
On the Tuesday morning I was duly informed that breakfast was ready, but
as I did not answer the summons quickly enough the servant came up again,
and told me that my wife requested me to make haste. Scarcely had the
word "wife" escaped his lips than I visited the cheek of the poor fellow
with a tremendous smack, and in my rage kicked him downstairs, the bottom
of which he reached in four springs, to the imminent risk of his neck.
Maddened with rage I entered the breakfast-room, and addressing myself to
P---- C----, I asked him who was the scoundrel who had announced me in the
hotel as the husband of Madame C----. He answered that he did not know;
but at the same moment the landlord came into the room with a big knife
in his hand, and asked me why I had kicked his servant down the stairs. I
quickly drew a pistol, and threatening him with it I demanded
imperatively from him the name of the person who had represented me as
the husband of that woman.
"Captain P---- C----," answered the landlord, "gave the names, profession,
etc., of your party."
At this I seized the impudent villain by the throat, and pinning him
against the wall with a strong hand I would have broken his head with the
butt of my pistol, if the landlord had not prevented me. Madame had
pretended to swoon, for those women can always command tears or fainting
fits, and the cowardly P---- C---- kept on saying,
"It is not true, it is not true!"
The landlord ran out to get the hotel register, and he angrily thrust it
under the nose of the coward, daring him to deny his having dictated:
Captain P---- C----, with M. and Madame Casanova. The scoundrel answered
that his words had certainly not been heard rightly, and the incensed
landlord slapped the book in his face with such force that he sent him
rolling, almost stunned, against the wall.
When I saw that the wretched poltroon was receiving such degrading
treatment without remembering that he had a sword hanging by his side, I
left the room, and asked the landlord to order me a carriage to take me
to Padua.
Beside myself with rage, blushing for very shame, seeing but too late the
fault I had committed by accepting the society of a scoundrel, I went up
to my room, and hurriedly packed up my carpet-bag. I was just going out
when Madame C---- presented herself before me.
"Begone, madam," I said to her, "or, in my rage, I might forget the
respect due to your sex."
She threw herself, crying bitterly, on a chair, entreated me to forgive
her, assuring me that she was innocent, and that she was not present when
the knave had given the names. The landlady, coming in at that moment,
vouched for the truth of her assertion. My anger began to abate, and as I
passed near the window I saw the carriage I had ordered waiting for me
with a pair of good horses. I called for the landlord in order to pay
whatever my share of the expense might come to, but he told me that as I
had ordered nothing myself I had nothing to pay. Just at that juncture
Count Velo came in.
"I daresay, count," I said, "that you believe this woman to be my wife."
"That is a fact known to everybody in the city."
"Damnation! And you have believed such a thing, knowing that I occupy
this room alone, and seeing me leave the ball-room and the supper-table
yesterday alone, leaving her with you all!"
"Some husbands are blessed with such easy dispositions!"
"I do not think I look like one of that species, and you are not a judge
of men of honour, let us go out, and I undertake to prove it to you."
The count rushed down the stairs and out of the hotel. The miserable
C---- was choking, and I could not help pitying her; for a woman has in
her tears a weapon which through my life I have never known to resist. I
considered that if I left the hotel without paying anything, people might
laugh at my anger and suppose that I had a share in the swindle; I
requested the landlord to bring me the account, intending to pay half of
it. He went for it, but another scene awaited me. Madame C----, bathed in
tears, fell on her knees, and told me that if I abandoned her she was
lost, for she had no money and nothing to leave as security for her hotel
bill.
"What, madam! Have you not letters of exchange to the amount of six
thousand florins, or the goods bought with them?"
"The goods are no longer here; they have all been taken away, because the
letters of exchange, which you saw, and which we considered as good as
cash, only made the merchants laugh; they have sent for everything. Oh!
who could have supposed it?"
"The scoundrel! He knew it well enough, and that is why he was so anxious
to bring me here. Well, it is right that I should pay the penalty of my
own folly."
The bill brought by the landlord amounted to forty sequins, a very high
figure for three days; but a large portion of that sum was cash advanced
by the landlord, I immediately felt that my honour demanded that I should
pay the bill in full; and I paid without any hesitation, taking care to
get a receipt given in the presence of two witnesses. I then made a
present of two sequins to the nephew of the landlord to console him for
the thrashing he had received, and I refused the same sum to the wretched
C----, who had sent the landlady to beg it for her.
Thus ended that unpleasant adventure, which taught me a lesson, and a
lesson which I ought not to have required. Two or three weeks later, I
heard that Count Trento had given those two miserable beings some money
to enable them to leave the city; as far as I was concerned, I would not
have anything to do with them. A month afterwards P---- C---- was again
arrested for debt, the man who had been security for him having become a
bankrupt. He had the audacity to write a long letter to me, entreating me
to go and see him, but I did not answer him. I was quite as inflexible
towards Madame C----, whom I always refused to see. She was reduced to
great poverty.
I returned to Padua, where I stopped only long enough to take my ring and
to dine with M. de Bragadin, who went back to Venice a few days
afterwards.
The messenger from the convent brought me a letter very early in the
morning; I devoured its contents; it was very loving, but gave no news.
In my answer I gave my dear C---- C---- the particulars of the infamous
trick played upon me by her villainous brother, and mentioned the ring,
with the secret of which I acquainted her.
According to the information I had received from C---- C----, I placed
myself, one morning, so as to see her mother enter the church, into which
I followed her. Kneeling close to her, I told her that I wished to speak
with her, and she followed me to the cloister. I began by speaking a few
consoling words; then I told her that I would remain faithful to her
daughter, and I asked her whether she visited her.
"I intend," she said, "to go and kiss my dear child next Sunday, and I
shall of course speak of you with her, for I know well enough that she
will be delighted to have news of you; but to my great regret I am not at
liberty to tell you where she is."
"I do not wish you to tell me, my good mother, but allow me to send her
this ring by you. It is the picture of her patroness, and I wish you to
entreat her to wear it always on her finger; tell her to look at the
image during her daily prayers, for without that protection she can never
become my wife. Tell her that, on my side, I address every day a credo to
St. James."
Delighted with the piety of my feelings and with the prospect of
recommending this new devotion to her daughter, the good woman promised
to fulfil my commission. I left her, but not before I had placed in her
hand ten sequins which I begged her to force upon her daughter's
acceptance to supply herself with the trifles she might require. She
accepted, but at the same time she assured me that her father had taken
care to provide her with all necessaries. The letter which I received
from C---- C----, on the following Wednesday, was the expression of the
most tender affection and the most lively gratitude. She said that the
moment she was alone nothing could be more rapid than the point of the
pin which made St. Catherine cut a somersault, and presented to her eager
eyes the beloved features of the being who was the whole world to her. "I
am constantly kissing you," she added, "even when some of the nuns are
looking at me, for whenever they come near me I have only to let the top
part of the ring fall back and my dear patroness takes care to conceal
everything. All the nuns are highly pleased with my devotion and with the
confidence I have in the protection of my blessed patroness, whom they
think very much like me in the face." It was nothing but a beautiful face
created by the fancy of the painter, but my dear little wife was so
lovely that beauty was sure to be like her.
She said, likewise, that the nun who taught her French had offered her
fifty sequins for the ring on account of the likeness between her and the
portrait of the saint, but not out of veneration for her patroness, whom
she turned into ridicule as she read her life. She thanked me for the ten
sequins I had sent her, because, her mother having given them to her in
the presence of several of the sisters, she was thus enabled to spend a
little money without raising the suspicions of those curious and
inquisitive nuns. She liked to offer trifling presents to the other
boarders, and the money allowed her to gratify that innocent taste.
"My mother," added she, "praised your piety very highly; she is delighted
with your feelings of devotion. Never mention again, I beg, the name of
my unworthy brother."
For five or six weeks her letters were full of the blessed St. Catherine,
who caused her to tremble with fear every time she found herself
compelled to trust the ring to the mystic curiosity of the elderly nuns,
who, in order to see the likeness better through their spectacles,
brought it close to their eyes, and rubbed the enamel. "I am in constant
fear," C---- C---- wrote, "of their pressing the invisible blue spot by
chance. What would become of me, if my patroness, jumping up, discovered
to their eyes a face--very divine, it is true, but which is not at all
like that of a saint? Tell me, what could I do in such a case?"
One month after the second arrest of P---- C----, the jeweller, who had
taken my security for the ring, called on me for payment of the bill. I
made an arrangement with him; and on condition of my giving him twenty
sequins, and leaving him every right over the debtor, he exonerated me.
From his prison the impudent P---- C---- harassed me with his cowardly
entreaties for alms and assistance.
Croce was in Venice, and engrossed a great share of the general
attention. He kept a fine house, an excellent table, and a faro bank with
which he emptied the pockets of his dupes. Foreseeing what would happen
sooner or later, I had abstained from visiting him at his house, but we
were friendly whenever we met. His wife having been delivered of a boy,
Croce asked me to stand as god-father, a favour which I thought I could
grant; but after the ceremony and the supper which was the consequence of
it, I never entered the house of my former partner, and I acted rightly.
I wish I had always been as prudent in my conduct.
CHAPTER XV
Croce Is Expelled From Venice--Sgombro--His Infamy and
Death--Misfortune Which Befalls My Dear C. C.--I Receive An
Anonymous Letter From a Nun, and Answer It--An Amorous
Intrigue
My former partner was, as I have said before, a skilful and experienced
hand at securing the favours of Fortune; he was driving a good trade in
Venice, and as he was amiable, and what is called in society a gentleman,
he might have held that excellent footing for a long time, if he had been
satisfied with gambling; for the State Inquisitors would have too much to
attend to if they wished to compel fools to spare their fortunes, dupes
to be prudent, and cheats not to dupe the fools; but, whether through the
folly of youth or through a vicious disposition, the cause of his exile
was of an extraordinary and disgusting nature.
A Venetian nobleman, noble by birth, but very ignoble in his
propensities, called Sgombro, and belonging to the Gritti family, fell
deeply in love with him, and Croce, either for fun or from taste, shewed
himself very compliant. Unfortunately the reserve commanded by common
decency was not a guest at their amorous feats, and the scandal became so
notorious that the Government was compelled to notify to Croce the order
to quit the city, and to seek his fortune in some other place.
Some time afterwards the infamous Sgombro seduced his own two sons, who
were both very young, and, unfortunately for him, he put the youngest in
such a state as to render necessary an application to a surgeon. The
infamous deed became publicly known, and the poor child confessed that he
had not had the courage to refuse obedience to his father. Such obedience
was, as a matter of course, not considered as forming a part of the
duties which a son owes to his father, and the State Inquisitors sent the
disgusting wretch to the citadel of Cataro, where he died after one year
of confinement.
It is well known that the air of Cataro is deadly, and that the Tribunal
sentences to inhale it only such criminals as are not judged publicly for
fear of exciting too deeply the general horror by the publication of the
trial.
It was to Cataro that the Council of Ten sent, fifteen years ago, the
celebrated advocate Cantarini, a Venetian nobleman, who by his eloquence
had made himself master of the great Council, and was on the point of
changing the constitution of the State. He died there at the end of the
year. As for his accomplices, the Tribunal thought that it was enough to
punish the four or five leaders, and to pretend not to know the others,
who through fear of punishment returned silently to their allegiance.
That Sgombro, of whom I spoke before, had a charming wife who is still
alive, I believe. Her name was Cornelia Gitti; she was as celebrated by
her wit as by her beauty, which she kept in spite of her years. Having
recovered her liberty through the death of her husband, she knew better
than to make herself a second time the prisoner of the Hymenean god; she
loved her independence too much; but as she loved pleasure too, she
accepted the homage of the lovers who pleased her taste.
One Monday, towards the end of July, my servant woke me at day-break to
tell me that Laura wished to speak to me. I foresaw some misfortune, and
ordered the servant to shew her in immediately. These are the contents of
the letter which she handed to me:
"My dearest, a misfortune has befallen me last evening, and it makes me
very miserable because I must keep it a secret from everyone in the
convent. I am suffering from a very severe loss of blood, and I do not
know what to do, having but very little linen. Laura tells me I shall
require a great deal of it if the flow of blood continues. I can take no
one into my confidence but you, and I entreat you to send me as much
linen as you can. You see that I have been compelled to make a confidante
of Laura, who is the only person allowed to enter my room at all times.
If I should die, my dear husband, everybody in the convent would, of
course, know the cause of my death; but I think of you, and I shudder.
What will you do in your grief? Ah, darling love! what a pity!"
I dressed myself hurriedly, plying Laura with questions all the time. She
told me plainly that it was a miscarriage, and that it was necessary to
act with great discretion in order to save the reputation of my young
friend; that after all she required nothing but plenty of linen, and that
it would be nothing. Commonplace words of consolation, which did not
allay the fearful anxiety under which I was labouring. I went out with
Laura, called on a Jew from whom I bought a quantity of sheets and two
hundred napkins, and, putting it all in a large bag, I repaired with her
to Muran. On our way there I wrote in pencil to my sweetheart, telling
her to have entire confidence in Laura, and assuring her that I would not
leave Muran until all danger had passed. Before we landed, Laura told me
that, in order not to be remarked, I had better conceal myself in her
house. At any other time it would have been shutting up the wolf in the
sheep-fold. She left me in a miserable-looking small room on the ground
floor, and concealing about herself as much linen as she could she
hurried to her patient, whom she had not seen since the previous evening.
I was in hopes that she would find her out of danger, and I longed to see
her come back with that good news.
She was absent about one hour, and when she returned her looks were sad.
She told me that my poor friend, having lost a great deal of blood during
the night, was in bed in a very weak state, and that all we could do was
to pray to God for her, because, if the flooding of the blood did not
stop soon, she could not possibly live twenty-four hours.
When I saw the linen which she had concealed under her clothes to bring
it out, I could not disguise my horror, and I thought the sight would
kill me. I fancied myself in a slaughter-house! Laura, thinking of
consoling me, told me that I could rely upon the secret being well kept.
"Ah! what do I care!" I exclaimed. "Provided she lives, let the whole
world know that she is my wife!"
At any other time, the foolishness of poor Laura would have made me
laugh; but in such a sad moment I had neither the inclination nor the
courage to be merry.
"Our dear patient," added Laura, "smiled as she was reading your letter,
and she said that, with you so near her, she was certain not to die."
Those words did me good, but a man needs so little to console him or to
soothe his grief.
"When the nuns are at their dinner," said Laura, "I will go back to the
convent with as much linen as I can conceal about me, and in the mean
time I am going to wash all this."
"Has she had any visitors?"
"Oh, yes! all the convent; but no one has any suspicion of the truth."
"But in such hot weather as this she can have only a very light blanket
over her, and her visitors must remark the great bulk of the napkins."
"There is no fear of that, because she is sitting up in her bed."
"What does she eat?"
"Nothing, for she must not eat."
Soon afterwards Laura went out, and I followed her. I called upon a
physician, where I wasted my time and my money, in order to get from him
a long prescription which was useless, for it would have put all the
convent in possession of the secret, or, to speak more truly, her secret
would have been known to the whole world, for a secret known to a nun
soon escapes out of the convent's walls. Besides, the physician of the
convent himself would most likely have betrayed it through a spirit of
revenge.
I returned sadly to my miserable hole in Laura's house. Half an hour
afterwards she came to me, crying bitterly, and she placed in my hands
this letter, which was scarcely legible:
"I have not strength enough to write to you, my darling; I am getting
weaker and weaker; I am losing all my blood, and I am afraid there is no
remedy. I abandon myself to the will of God, and I thank Him for having
saved me from dishonour. Do not make yourself unhappy. My only
consolation is to know that you are near me. Alas! if I could see you but
for one moment I would die happy."
The sight of a dozen napkins brought by Laura made me shudder, and the
good woman imagined that she afforded me some consolation by telling me
that as much linen could be soaked with a bottle of blood. My mind was
not disposed to taste such consolation; I was in despair, and I addressed
to myself the fiercest reproaches, upbraiding myself as the cause of the
death of that adorable creature. I threw myself on the bed, and remained
there, almost stunned, for more than six hours, until Laura's return from
the convent with twenty napkins entirely soaked. Night had come on, and
she could not go back to her patient until morning. I passed a fearful
night without food, without sleep, looking upon myself with horror, and
refusing all the kind attentions that Laura's daughters tried to shew me.
It was barely daylight when Laura same to announce to me, in the saddest
tone, that my poor friend did not bleed any more. I thought she was dead,
and I screamed loudly,
"Oh! she is no more!"
"She is still breathing, sir; but I fear she will not outlive this day,
for she is worn out. She can hardly open her eyes, and her pulse is
scarcely to be felt."
A weight was taken off me; I was instinctively certain that my darling
was saved.
"Laura," I said, "this is not bad news; provided the flooding has ceased
entirely, all that is necessary is to give her some light food."
"A physician has been sent for. He will prescribe whatever is right, but
to tell you the truth I have not much hope."
"Only give me the assurance that she is still alive."
"Yes, she is, I assure you; but you understand very well that she will
not tell the truth to the doctor, and God knows what he will order. I
whispered to her not to take anything, and she understood me."
"You are the best of women. Yes, if she does not die from weakness before
to-morrow, she is saved; nature and love will have been her doctors."
"May God hear you! I shall be back by twelve."
"Why not before?"
"Because her room will be full of people."
Feeling the need of hope, and almost dead for want of food, I ordered
some dinner, and prepared a long letter for my beloved mistress, to be
delivered to her when she was well enough to read it. The instants given
to repentance are very sad, and I was truly a fit subject for pity. I
longed to see Laura again, so as to hear what the doctor had said. I had
very good cause for laughing at all sorts of oracles, yet through some
unaccountable weakness I longed for that of the doctor; I wanted, before
all, to find it a propitious one.
Laura's young daughters waited upon me at dinner; I could not manage to
swallow a mouthful, but it amused me to see the three sisters devour my
dinner at the first invitation I gave them. The eldest sister, a very
fine girl, never raised her large eyes once towards me. The two younger
ones seemed to me disposed to be amiable, but if I looked at them it was
only to feed my despair and the cruel pangs of repentance.
At last Laura, whom I expected anxiously, came back; she told me that the
dear patient remained in the same state of debility; the doctor had been
greatly puzzled by her extreme weakness because he did not know to what
cause to attribute it. Laura added,
"He has ordered some restoratives and a small quantity of light broth; if
she can sleep, he answers for her life. He has likewise desired her to
have someone to watch her at night, and she immediately pointed her
finger at me, as if she wished me to undertake that office. Now, I
promise you never to leave her either night or day, except to bring you
news."
I thanked her, assuring her that I would reward her generously. I heard
with great pleasure that her mother had paid her a visit, and that she
had no suspicion of the real state of things, for she had lavished on her
the most tender caresses.
Feeling more at ease I gave six sequins to Laura, one to each of her
daughters, and ate something for my supper: I then laid myself down on
one of the wretched beds in the room. As soon as the two younger sisters
saw me in bed, they undressed themselves without ceremony, and took
possession of the second bed which was close by mine. Their innocent
confidence pleased me. The eldest sister, who most likely had more
practical experience, retired to the adjoining room; she had a lover to
whom she was soon to be married. This time, however, I was not possessed
with the evil spirit of concupiscence, and I allowed innocence to sleep
peacefully without attempting anything against it.
Early the next morning Laura was the bearer of good news. She came in
with a cheerful air to announce that the beloved patient had slept well,
and that she was going back soon to give her some soup. I felt an almost
maddening joy in listening to her, and I thought the oracle of
AEsculapius a thousand times more reliable than that of Apollo. But it
was not yet time to exult in our victory, for my poor little friend had
to recover her strength and to make up for all the blood she had lost;
that could be done only by time and careful nursing. I remained another
week at Laura's house, which I left only after my dear C---- C---- had
requested me to do so in a letter of four pages. Laura, when I left, wept
for joy in seeing herself rewarded by the gift of all the fine linen I
had bought for my C---- C----, and her daughters were weeping likewise,
most probably because, during the ten days I had spent near them, they
had not obtained a single kiss from me.
After my return to Venice, I resumed my usual habits; but with a nature
like mine how could I possibly remain satisfied without positive love? My
only pleasure was to receive a letter from my dear recluse every
Wednesday, who advised me to wait patiently rather than to attempt
carrying her off. Laura assured me that she had become more lovely than
ever, and I longed to see her. An opportunity of gratifying my wishes
soon offered itself, and I did not allow it to escape. There was to be a
taking of the veil--a ceremony which always attracts a large number of
persons. On those occasions the nuns always received a great many
visitors, and I thought that the boarders were likely to be in the
parlour on such an occasion. I ran no risk of being remarked any more
than any other person, for I would mingle with the crowd. I therefore
went without saying anything about it to Laura, and without acquainting
my dear little wife of my intentions. I thought I would fall, so great
was my emotion, when I saw her within four yards from me, and looking at
me as if she had been in an ecstatic state. I thought her taller and more
womanly, and she certainly seemed to me more beautiful than before. I saw
no one but her; she never took her eyes off me, and I was the last to
leave that place which on that day struck me as being the temple of
happiness.
Three days afterwards I received a letter from her. She painted with such
vivid colours the happiness she had felt in seeing me, that I made up my
mind to give her that pleasure as often as I could. I answered at once
that I would attend mass every Sunday at the church of her convent. It
cost me nothing: I could not see her, but I knew that she saw me herself,
and her happiness made me perfectly happy. I had nothing to fear, for it
was almost impossible that anyone could recognize me in the church which
was attended only by the people of Muran.
After hearing two or three masses, I used to take a gondola, the
gondolier of which could not feel any curiosity about me. Yet I kept on
my guard, for I knew that the father of C---- C---- wanted her to forget
me, and I had no doubt he would have taken her away, God knew where if he
had had the slightest suspicion of my being acquainted with the place
where he had confined her.
Thus I was reasoning in my fear to lose all opportunity of corresponding
with my dear C---- C----, but I did not yet know the disposition and the
shrewdness of the sainted daughters of the Lord. I did not suppose that
there was anything remarkable in my person, at least for the inmates of a
convent; but I was yet a novice respecting the curiosity of women, and
particularly of unoccupied hearts; I had soon occasion to be convinced.
I had executed my Sunday manoeuvering only for a month or five weeks,
when my dear C---- C---- wrote me jestingly that I had become a living
enigma for all the convent, boarders and nuns, not even excepting the old
ones. They all expected me anxiously; they warned each other of my
arrival, and watched me taking the holy water. They remarked that I never
cast a glance toward the grating, behind which were all the inmates of
the convent; that I never looked at any of the women coming in or going
out of the church. The old nuns said that I was certainly labouring under
some deep sorrow, of which I had no hope to be cured except through the
protection of the Holy Virgin, and the young ones asserted that I was
either melancholy or misanthropic.
My dear wife, who knew better than the others, and had no occasion to
lose herself in suppositions, was much amused, and she entertained me by
sending me a faithful report of it all. I wrote to her that, if she had
any fear of my being recognized I would cease my Sunday visits to the
church. She answered that I could not impose upon her a more cruel
privation, and she entreated me to continue my visits. I thought it would
be prudent, however, to abstain from calling at Laura's house, for fear
of the chattering nuns contriving to know it, and discovering in that
manner a great deal more than I wished them to find out. But that
existence was literally consuming me by slow degrees, and could not last
long. Besides, I was made to have a mistress, and to live happily with
her. Not knowing what to do with myself, I would gamble, and I almost
invariably won; but, in spite of that, weariness had got hold of me and I
was getting thinner every day.
With the five thousand sequins which my partner Croce had won for me in
Padua I had followed M. Bragadin's advice. I had hired a casino where I
held a faro bank in partnership with a matador, who secured me against
the frauds of certain noblemen--tyrants, with whom a private citizen is
always sure to be in the wrong in my dear country.
On All Saints' Day, in the year 1753, just as, after hearing mass, I was
going to step into a gondola to return to Venice, I saw a woman, somewhat
in Laura's style who, passing near me, looked at me and dropped a letter.
I picked it up, and the woman, seeing me in possession of the epistle,
quietly went on. The letter had no address, and the seal represented a
running knot. I stepped hurriedly into the gondola, and as soon as we
were in the offing I broke the seal. I read the following words.
"A nun, who for the last two months and a half has seen you every Sunday
in the church of her convent, wishes to become acquainted with you. A
pamphlet which you have lost, and which chance has thrown into her hands,
makes her believe that you speak French; but, if you like it better, you
can answer in Italian, because what she wants above all is a clear and
precise answer. She does not invite you to call for her at the parlour of
the convent, because, before you place yourself under the necessity of
speaking to her, she wishes you to see her, and for that purpose she will
name a lady whom you can accompany to the parlour. That lady shall not
know you and need not therefore introduce you, in case you should not
wish to be known.
"Should you not approve of that way to become acquainted, the nun will
appoint a certain casino in Muran, in which you will find her alone, in
the evening, any night you may choose. You will then be at liberty either
to sup with her, or to retire after an interview of a quarter of an hour,
if you have any other engagements.
"Would you rather offer her a supper in Venice? Name the night, the hour,
the place of appointment, and you will see her come out of a gondola.
Only be careful to be there alone, masked and with a lantern.
"I feel certain that you will answer me, and that you will guess how
impatiently I am waiting for your letter. I entreat you, therefore, to
give it to-morrow to the same woman through whom you will receive mine!
you will find her one hour before noon in the church of St. Cancian, near
the first altar on the right.
"Recollect that, if I did not suppose you endowed with a noble soul and a
high mind, I could never have resolved on taking a step which might give
you an unfavorable opinion of my character"
The tone of that letter, which I have copied word by word, surprised me
even more than the offer it contained. I had business to attend to, but I
gave up all engagements to lock myself in my room in order to answer it.
Such an application betokened an extravagant mind, but there was in it a
certain dignity, a singularity, which attracted me. I had an idea that
the writer might be the same nun who taught French to C---- C----. She had
represented her friend in her letters as handsome, rich, gallant, and
generous. My dear wife had, perhaps, been guilty of some indiscretion. A
thousand fancies whirled through my brain, but I would entertain only
those which were favourable to a scheme highly pleasing to me. Besides,
my young friend had informed me that the nun who had given her French
lessons was not the only one in the convent who spoke that language. I
had no reason to suppose that, if C---- C---- had made a confidante of her
friend, she would have made a mystery of it to me. But, for all that, the
nun who had written to me might be the beautiful friend of my dear little
wife, and she might also turn out to be a different person; I felt
somewhat puzzled. Here is, however, the letter which I thought I could
write without implicating myself:
"I answer in French, madam, in the hope that my letter will have the
clearness and the precision of which you give me the example in yours.
"The subject is highly interesting and of the highest importance,
considering all the circumstances. As I must answer without knowing the
person to whom I am writing, you must feel, madam, that, unless I should
possess a large dose of vanity, I must fear some mystification, and my
honour requires that I should keep on my guard.
"If it is true that the person who has penned that letter is a
respectable woman, who renders me justice in supposing me endowed with
feeling as noble as her own, she will find, I trust, that I could not
answer in any other way than I am doing now.
"If you have judged me worthy, madam, of the honour which you do me by
offering me your acquaintance, although your good opinion can have been
formed only from my personal appearance, I feel it my duty to obey you,
even if the result be to undeceive you by proving that I had unwittingly
led you into a mistaken appreciation of my person.
"Of the three proposals which you so kindly made in your letter, I dare
not accept any but the first, with the restriction suggested by your
penetrating mind. I will accompany to the parlour of your convent a lady
who shall not know who I am, and, consequently, shall have no occasion to
introduce me.
"Do not judge too severely, madam, the specious reasons which compel me
not to give you my name, and receive my word of honour that I shall learn
yours only to render you homage. If you choose to speak to me, I will
answer with the most profound respect. Permit me to hope that you will
come to the parlour alone. I may mention that I am a Venetian, and
perfectly free.
"The only reason which prevents me from choosing one of the two other
arrangements proposed by you, either of which would have suited me better
because they greatly honour me, is, allow me to repeat it, a fear of
being the victim of a mystification; but these modes of meeting will not
be lost when you know me and when I have seen you. I entreat you to have
faith in my honour, and to measure my patience by your own. Tomorrow, at
the same place and at the same hour, I shall be anxiously expecting your
answer."
I went to the place appointed, and having met the female Mercury I gave
her my letter with a sequin, and I told her that I would come the next
day for the answer. We were both punctual. As soon as she saw me, she
handed me back the sequin which I had given her the day before, and a
letter, requesting me to read it and to let her know whether she was to
wait for an answer. Here is the exact copy of the letter:
"I believe, sir, that I have not been mistaken in anything. Like you, I
detest untruth when it can lead to important consequences, but I think it
a mere trifle when it can do no injury to anyone. Of my three proposals
you have chosen the one which does the greatest honour to your
intelligence, and, respecting the reasons which induce you to keep your
incognito, I have written the enclosed to the Countess of S----, which I
request you to read. Be kind enough to seal it before delivery of it to
her. You may call upon her whenever convenient to yourself. She will name
her own hour, and you will accompany her here in her gondola. The
countess will not ask you any questions, and you need not give her any
explanation. There will be no presentation; but as you will be made
acquainted with my name, you can afterwards call on me here, masked,
whenever you please, and by using the name of the countess. In that way
we shall become acquainted without the necessity of disturbing you, or of
your losing at night some hours which may be precious to you. I have
instructed my servant to wait for your answer in case you should be known
to the countess and object to her. If you approve of the choice I have
made of her, tell the messenger that there is no answer."
As I was an entire stranger to the countess, I told the woman that I had
no answer to give, and she left me.
Here are the contents of the note addressed by the nun to the countess,
and which I had to deliver to her:
"I beg of you, my dear friend, to pay me a visit when you are at leisure,
and to let the masked gentleman-bearer of this note know the hour, so
that he can accompany you. He will be punctual. Farewell. You will much
oblige your friend."
That letter seemed to me informed by a sublime spirit of intrigue; there
was in it an appearance of dignity which captivated me, although I felt
conscious that I was playing the character of a man on whom a favour
seemed to be bestowed.
In her last letter, my nun, pretending not to be anxious to know who I
was, approved of my choice, and feigned indifference for nocturnal
meetings; but she seemed certain that after seeing her I would visit her.
I knew very well what to think of it all, for the intrigue was sure to
have an amorous issue. Nevertheless, her assurance, or rather confidence,
increased my curiosity, and I felt that she had every reason to hope, if
she were young and handsome. I might very well have delayed the affair
for a few days, and have learned from C---- C---- who that nun could be;
but, besides the baseness of such a proceeding, I was afraid of spoiling
the game and repenting it afterwards. I was told to call on the countess
at my convenience, but it was because the dignity of my nun would not
allow her to shew herself too impatient; and she certainly thought that I
would myself hasten the adventure. She seemed to me too deeply learned in
gallantry to admit the possibility of her being an inexperienced novice,
and I was afraid of wasting my time; but I made up my mind to laugh at my
own expense if I happened to meet a superannuated female. It is very
certain that if I had not been actuated by curiosity I should not have
gone one step further, but I wanted to see the countenance of a nun who
had offered to come to Venice to sup with me. Besides, I was much
surprised at the liberty enjoyed by those sainted virgins, and at the
facility with which they could escape out of their walls.
At three o'clock I presented myself before the countess and delivered the
note, and she expressed a wish to see me the next day at the same hour.
We dropped a beautiful reverence to one another, and parted. She was a
superior woman, already going down the hill, but still very handsome.
The next morning, being Sunday, I need not say that I took care to attend
mass at the convent, elegantly dressed, and already unfaithful--at least
in idea--to my dear C---- C----, for I was thinking of being seen by the
nun, young or old, rather than of shewing myself to my charming wife.
In the afternoon I masked myself again, and at the appointed time I
repaired to the house of the countess who was waiting for me. We went in
a two-oared gondola, and reached the convent without having spoken of
anything but the weather. When we arrived at the gate, the countess asked
for M---- M----. I was surprised by that name, for the woman to whom it
belonged was celebrated. We were shewn into a small parlour, and a few
minutes afterwards a nun came in, went straight to the grating, touched a
spring, and made four squares of the grating revolve, which left an
opening sufficiently large to enable the two friends to embrace the
ingenious window was afterwards carefully closed. The opening was at
least eighteen inches wide, and a man of my size could easily have got
through it. The countess sat opposite the nun, and I took my seat a
little on one side so as to be able to observe quietly and at my ease one
of the most beautiful women that it was possible to see. I had no doubt
whatever of her being the person mentioned by my dear C---- C---- as
teaching her French. Admiration kept me in a sort of ecstacy, and I never
heard one word of their conversation; the beautiful nun, far from
speaking to me, did not even condescend to honour me with one look. She
was about twenty-two or twenty-three years of age, and the shape of her
face was most beautiful. Her figure was much above the ordinary height,
her complexion rather pale, her appearance noble, full of energy, but at
the same time reserved and modest; her eyes, large and full, were of a
lovely blue; her countenance was soft and cheerful; her fine lips seemed
to breathe the most heavenly voluptuousness, and her teeth were two rows
of the most brilliant enamel. Her head-dress did not allow me to see her
hair, but if she had any I knew by the colour of her eyebrows that it was
of a beautiful light brown. Her hand and her arm, which I could see as
far as the elbow, were magnificent; the chisel of Praxiteles never carved
anything more grace fully rounded and plump, I was not sorry to have
refused the two rendezvous which had been offered to me by the beauty,
for I was sure of possessing her in a few days, and it was a pleasure for
me to lay my desires at her feet. I longed to find myself alone with her
near that grating, and I would have considered it an insult to her if,
the very next day, I had not come to tell her how fully I rendered to her
charms the justice they deserved. She was faithful to her determination
not to look at me once, but after all I was pleased with her reserve. All
at once the two friends lowered their voices, and out of delicacy I
withdrew further. Their private conversation lasted about a quarter of an
hour, during which I pretended to be intently looking at a painting; then
they kissed one another again by the same process as at the beginning of
the interview; the nun closed the opening, turned her back on us, and
disappeared without casting one glance in my direction.
As we were on our way back to Venice, the countess, tired perhaps of our
silence, said to me, with a smile,
"M---- M---- is beautiful and very witty."
"I have seen her beauty, and I believe in her wit."
"She did not address one word to you."
"I had refused to be introduced to her, and she punished me by pretending
not to know that I was present."
The countess made no answer, and we reached her house without exchanging
another word. At her door a very ceremonious curtesy, with these words,
"Adieu, sir!" warned me that I was not to go any further. I had no wish
to do so, and went away dreaming and wondering at the singularity of the
adventure, the end of which I longed to see.
EPISODE 8 -- CONVENT AFFAIRS
CHAPTER XVI
Countess Coronini--A Lover's Pique--Reconciliation--The
First Meeting--A Philosophical Parenthesis
My beautiful nun had not spoken to me, and I was glad of it, for I was so
astonished, so completely under the spell of her beauty, that I might
have given her a very poor opinion of my intelligence by the rambling
answers which I should very likely have given to her questions. I knew
her to be certain that she had not to fear the humiliation of a refusal
from me, but I admired her courage in running the risk of it in her
position. I could hardly understand her boldness, and I could not
conceive how she contrived to enjoy so much liberty. A casino at Muran!
the possibility of going to Venice to sup with a young man! It was all
very surprising, and I decided in my own mind that she had an
acknowledged lover whose pleasure it was to make her happy by satisfying
her caprices. It is true that such a thought was rather unpleasant to my
pride, but there was too much piquancy in the adventure, the heroine of
it was too attractive, for me to be stopped by any considerations. I saw
very well that I was taking the high road to become unfaithful to my dear
C---- C----, or rather that I was already so in thought and will, but I
must confess that, in spite of all my love for that charming child, I
felt no qualms of conscience. It seemed to me that an infidelity of that
sort, if she ever heard of it, would not displease her, for that short
excursion on strange ground would only keep me alive and in good
condition for her, because it would save me from the weariness which was
surely killing me.
I had been presented to the celebrated Countess Coronini by a nun, a
relative of M. Dandolo. That countess, who had been very handsome and was
very witty, having made up her mind to renounce the political intrigues
which had been the study of her whole life, had sought a retreat in the
Convent of St. Justine, in the hope of finding in that refuge the calm
which she wanted, and which her disgust of society had rendered necessary
to her. As she had enjoyed a very great reputation, she was still visited
at the convent by all the foreign ambassadors and by the first noblemen
of Venice; inside of the walls of her convent the countess was acquainted
with everything that happened in the city. She always received me very
kindly, and, treating me as a young man, she took pleasure in giving me,
every time I called on her, very agreeable lessons in morals. Being quite
certain to find out from her, with a little manoeuvering, something
concerning M---- M----, I decided on paying her a visit the day after I
had seen the beautiful nun.
The countess gave me her usual welcome, and, after the thousand nothings
which it is the custom to utter in society before anything worth saying
is spoken, I led the conversation up to the convents of Venice. We spoke
of the wit and influence of a nun called Celsi, who, although ugly, had
an immense credit everywhere and in everything. We mentioned afterwards
the young and lovely Sister Michali, who had taken the veil to prove to
her mother that she was superior to her in intelligence and wit. After
speaking of several other nuns who had the reputation of being addicted
to gallantry, I named M---- M----, remarking that most likely she deserved
that reputation likewise, but that she was an enigma. The countess
answered with a smile that she was not an enigma for everybody, although
she was necessarily so for most people.
"What is incomprehensible," she said, "is the caprice that she took
suddenly to become a nun, being handsome, rich, free, well-educated, full
of wit, and, to my knowledge, a Free-thinker. She took the veil without
any reason, physical or moral; it was a mere caprice."
"Do you believe her to be happy, madam?"
"Yes, unless she has repented her decision, or if she does not repent it
some day. But if ever she does, I think she will be wise enough never to
say so to anyone."
Satisfied by the mysterious air of the countess that M---- M---- had a
lover, I made up my mind not to trouble myself about it, and having put
on my mask I went to Muran in the afternoon. When I reached the gate of
the convent I rang the bell, and with an anxious heart I asked for
M---- M---- in the name of Madame de S----. The small parlour being closed,
the attendant pointed out to me the one in which I had to go. I went in,
took off my mask, and sat down waiting for my divinity.
My heart was beating furiously; I was waiting with great impatience; yet
that expectation was not without charm, for I dreaded the beginning of
the interview. An hour passed pretty rapidly, but I began then to find
the time rather long, and thinking that, perhaps, the attendant had not
rightly understood me, I rang the bell, and enquired whether notice of my
visit had being given to Sister M---- M----. A voice answered
affirmatively. I took my seat again, and a few minutes afterwards an old,
toothless nun came in and informed me that Sister M---- M---- was engaged
for the whole day. Without giving me time to utter a single word, the
woman left the parlour. This was one of those terrible moments to which
the man who worships at the shrine of the god of love is exposed! They
are indeed cruel moments; they bring fearful sorrow, they may cause
death.
Feeling myself disgraced, my first sensation was utter contempt for
myself, an inward despair which was akin to rage; the second was
disdainful indignation against the nun, upon whom I passed the severe
judgment which I thought she deserved, and which was the only way I had
to soothe my grief. Such behaviour proclaimed her to be the most impudent
of women, and entirely wanting in good sense; for the two letters she had
written to me were quite enough to ruin her character if I had wished to
revenge myself, and she evidently could not expect anything else from me.
She must have been mad to set at defiance my revengeful feelings, and I
should certainly have thought that she was insane if I had not heard her
converse with the countess.
Time, they say, brings good counsel; it certainly brings calm, and cool
reflection gives lucidity to the mind. At last I persuaded myself that
what had occurred was after all in no way extraordinary, and that I would
certainly have considered it at first a very common occurrence if I had
not been dazzled by the wonderful beauty of the nun, and blinded by my
own vanity. As a very natural result I felt that I was at liberty to
laugh at my mishap, and that nobody could possibly guess whether my mirth
was genuine or only counterfeit. Sophism is so officious!
But, in spite of all my fine arguments, I still cherished the thought of
revenge; no debasing element, however, was to form part of it, and being
determined not to leave the person who had been guilty of such a bad
practical joke the slightest cause of triumph, I had the courage not to
shew any vexation. She had sent word to me that she was engaged; nothing
more natural; the part I had to play was to appear indifferent. "Most
likely she will not be engaged another time," I said to myself, "but I
defy her to catch me in the snare again. I mean to shew her that I only
laugh at her uncivil behaviour." Of course I intended to send back her
letters, but not without the accompaniment of a billet-doux, the
gallantry of which was not likely to please her.
The worse part of the affair for me was to be compelled to go to her
church; because, supposing her not to be aware of my going there for
C---- C----, she might imagine that the only object of my visits was to
give her the opportunity of apologizing for her conduct and of appointing
a new meeting. I wanted her to entertain no doubt of my utter contempt
for her person, and I felt certain that she had proposed the other
meetings in Venice and at the casino of Muran only to deceive me more
easily.
I went to bed with a great thirst for revenge, I fell asleep thinking of
it, and I awoke with the resolution of quenching it. I began to write,
but, as I wished particularly that my letter should not show the pique of
the disappointed lover, I left it on my table with the intention of
reading it again the next day. It proved a useful precaution, for when I
read it over, twenty-four hours afterwards, I found it unworthy of me,
and tore it to pieces. It contained some sentences which savoured too
much of my weakness, my love, and my spite, and which, far from
humiliating her, would only have given her occasion to laugh at me.
On the Wednesday after I had written to C---- C---- that very serious
reasons compelled me to give up my visits to the church of her convent, I
wrote another letter to the nun, but on Thursday it had the same fate as
the first, because upon a second perusal I found the same deficiencies.
It seemed to me that I had lost the faculty of writing. Ten days
afterwards I found out that I was too deeply in love to have the power of
expressing myself in any other way than through the feelings of my heart.
'Sincerium est nisi vas, quodcunque infundis acescit.'
The face of M---- M---- had made too deep an impression on me; nothing
could possibly obliterate it except the all-powerful influence of time.
In my ridiculous position I was sorely tempted to complain to Countess
S----; but I am happy to say I was prudent enough not to cross the
threshold of her door. At last I bethought myself that the giddy nun was
certainly labouring under constant dread, knowing that I had in my
possession her two letters, with which I could ruin her reputation and
cause the greatest injury to the convent, and I sent them back to her
with the following note, after I had kept them ten days:
"I can assure you, madam, that it was owing only to forgetfulness that I
did not return your two letters which you will find enclosed. I have
never thought of belying my own nature by taking a cowardly revenge upon
you, and I forgive you most willingly the two giddy acts of which you
have been guilty, whether they were committed thoughtlessly or because
you wanted to enjoy a joke at my expense. Nevertheless, you will allow me
to advise you not to treat any other man in the same way, for you might
meet with one endowed with less delicacy. I know your name, I know who
you are, but you need not be anxious; it is exactly as if I did not know
it. You may, perhaps, care but little for my discretion, but if it should
be so I should greatly pity you.
"You may be aware that I shall not shew myself again at your church; but
let me assure you that it is not a sacrifice on my part, and that I can
attend mass anywhere else. Yet I must tell you why I shall abstain from
frequenting the church of your convent. It is very natural for me to
suppose that to the two thoughtless acts of which you have been guilty,
you have added another not less serious, namely, that of having boasted
of your exploits with the other nuns, and I do not want to be the butt of
your jokes in cell or parlour. Do not think me too ridiculous if, in
spite of being five or six years older than you, I have not thrown off
all feelings of self-respect, or trodden under, my feet all reserve and
propriety; in one word, if I have kept some prejudices, there are a few
which in my opinion ought never to be forgotten. Do not disdain, madam,
the lesson which I take the liberty to teach you, as I receive in the
kindest spirit the one which you have given me, most likely only for the
sake of fun, but by which I promise you to profit as long as I live."
I thought that, considering all circumstances, my letter was a very
genial one; I made up my parcel, put on my mask, and looked out for a
porter who could have no knowledge of me; I gave him half a sequin, and I
promised him as much more when he could assure me that he had faithfully
delivered my letter at the convent of Muran. I gave him all the necessary
instructions, and cautioned him to go away the very moment he had
delivered the letter at the gate of the convent, even if he were told to
wait. I must say here that my messenger was a man from Forli, and that
the Forlanese were then the most trustworthy men in Venice; for one of
them to be guilty of a breach of trust was an unheard-of thing. Such men
were formerly the Savoyards, in Paris; but everything is getting worse in
this world.
I was beginning to forget the adventure, probably because I thought,
rightly or wrongly, that I had put an insurmountable barrier between the
nun and myself, when, ten days after I had sent my letter, as I was
coming out of the opera, I met my messenger, lantern in hand. I called
him, and without taking off my mask I asked him whether he knew me. He
looked at me, eyed me from head to foot, and finally answered that he did
not.
"Did you faithfully carry the message to Muran?"
"Ah, sir! God be praised! I am very happy to see you again, for I have an
important communication to make to you. I took your letter, delivered it
according to your instructions, and I went away as soon as it was in the
hands of the attendant, although she requested me to wait. When I
returned from Muran I did not see you, but that did not matter. On the
following day, one of my companions, who happened to be at the gate of
the convent when I delivered your letter, came early in the morning to
tell me to go to Muran, because the attendant wanted particularly to
speak to me. I went there, and after waiting for a few minutes I was
shewn into the parlour, where I was kept for more than an hour by a nun
as beautiful as the light of day, who asked me a thousand questions for
the purpose of ascertaining, if not who you are, at least where I should
be likely to find you. You know that I could not give her any
satisfactory information. She then left the parlour, ordering me to wait,
and at the end of two hours she came back with a letter which she
entrusted to my hands, telling me that, if I succeeded in finding you out
and in bringing her an answer, she would give me two sequins. In the mean
time I was to call at the convent every day, shew her the letter, and
receive forty sons every time. Until now I have earned twenty crowns, but
I am afraid the lady will get tired of it, and you can make me earn two
sequins by answering a line."
"Where is the letter?"
"In my room under lock and key, for I am always afraid of losing it."
"Then how can I answer?"
"If you will wait for me here, you shall have the letter in less than a
quarter of an hour."
"I will not wait, because I do not care about the letter. But tell me how
you could flatter the nun with the hope of finding me out? You are a
rogue, for it is not likely that she would have trusted you with the
letter if you had not promised her to find me."
"I am not a rogue, for I have done faithfully what you told me; but it is
true that I gave her a description of your coat, your buckles, and your
figure, and I can assure you that for the last ten days I have examined
all the masks who are about your size, but in vain. Now I recognize your
buckles, but I do not think you have the same coat. Alas, sir! it will
not cost you much to write only one line. Be kind enough to wait for me
in the coffee-house close by."
I could not resist my curiosity any longer, and I made up my mind not to
wait for him but to accompany him as far as his house. I had only to
write, "I have received the letter," and my curiosity was gratified and
the Forlanese earned his two sequins. I could afterwards change my
buckles and my mask, and thus set all enquiries at defiance.
I therefore followed him to his door; he went in and brought me the
letter. I took him to an inn, where I asked for a room with a good fire,
and I told my man to wait. I broke the seal of the parcel--a rather large
one, and the first papers that I saw were the two letters which I had
sent back to her in order to allay her anxiety as to the possible
consequences of her giddiness.
The sight of these letters caused me such a palpitation of the heart that
I was compelled to sit down: it was a most evident sign of my defeat.
Besides these two letters I found a third one signed "S." and addressed
to M---- M----. I read the following lines:
"The mask who accompanied me back to my house would not, I believe, have
uttered a single word, if I had not told him that the charms of your
witty mind were even more bewitching than those of your person; and his
answer was, 'I have seen the one, and I believe in the other.' I added
that I did not understand why you had not spoken to him, and he said,
with a smile, 'I refused to be presented to her, and she punished me for
it by not appearing to know that I was present.' These few words were all
our dialogue. I intended to send you this note this morning, but found it
impossible. Adieu."
After reading this note, which stated the exact truth, and which could be
considered as proof, my heart began to beat less quickly. Delighted at
seeing myself on the point of being convicted of injustice, I took
courage, and I read the following letter:
"Owing to an excusable weakness, feeling curious to know what you would
say about me to the countess after you had seen me, I took an opportunity
of asking her to let me know all you said to her on the following day at
latest, for I foresaw that you would pay me a visit in the afternoon. Her
letter, which I enclose, and which I beg you to read, did not reach me
till half an hour after you had left the convent.
"This was the first fatality.
"Not having received that letter when you called, I had not the courage
to see you. This absurd weakness on my part was the second fatality, but
the weakness you will; I hope; forgive. I gave orders to the lay-sister
to tell you that I was ill for the whole day; a very legitimate excuse;
whether true or false, for it was an officious untruth, the correction of
which, was to be found in the words: for the whole day. You had already
left the convent, and I could not possibly send anyone to run after you,
when the old fool informed me of her having told you that I was engaged.
"This was the third fatality.
"You cannot imagine what I had a mind to do and to say to that foolish
sister; but here one must say or do nothing; one must be patient and
dissemble, thanking God when mistakes are the result of ignorance and not
of wickedness--a very common thing in convents. I foresaw at once, at
least partly; what would happen; and what has actually, happened; for no
reasonable being could, I believe, have foreseen it all. I guessed that,
thinking yourself the victim of a joke, you would be incensed, and I felt
miserable, for I did not see any way of letting you know the truth before
the following Sunday. My heart longed ardently for that day. Could I
possibly imagine that you, would take a resolution not to come again to
our church! I tried to be patient until that Sunday; but when I found
myself disappointed in my hope, my misery became unbearable, and it will
cause my death if you refuse to listen to my justification. Your letter
has made me completely unhappy, and I shall not resist my despair if you
persist in the cruel resolve expressed by your unfeeling letter. You have
considered yourself trifled with; that is all you can say; but will this
letter convince you of your error? And even believing yourself deceived
in the most scandalous manner, you must admit that to write such an awful
letter you must have supposed me an abominable wretch--a monster, such as
a woman of noble birth and of refined education cannot possibly be. I
enclose the two letters you sent back to me, with the idea of allaying my
fears which you cruelly supposed very different to what they are in
reality. I am a better physiognomist than you, and you must be quite
certain that I have not acted thoughtlessly, for I never thought you
capable, I will not say of crime, but even of an indelicate action. You
must have read on my features the signs only of giddy impudence, and that
is not my nature. You may be the cause of my death, you will certainly
make me miserable for the remainder of my life, if you do not justify
yourself; on my side I think the justification is complete.
"I hope that, even if you feel no interest in my life, you will think
that you are bound in honour to come and speak to me. Come yourself to
recall all you have written; it is your duty, and I deserve it. If you do
not realize the fatal effect produced upon me by your letter, I must
indeed pity you, in spite of my misery, for it proves that you have not
the slightest knowledge of the human heart. But I feel certain that you
will come back, provided the man to whom I trust this letter contrives to
find you. Adieu! I expect life or death from you."
I did not require to read that letter twice; I was ashamed and in
despair. M---- M---- was right. I called the Forlanese, enquired from him
whether he had spoken to her in the morning, and whether she looked ill.
He answered that he had found her looking more unhappy every day, and
that her eyes were red from weeping.
"Go down again and wait," I said to him.
I began to write, and I had not concluded my long screed before the dawn
of day; here are, word by word, the contents of the letter which I wrote
to the noblest of women, whom in my unreasonable spite I had judged so
wrongly.
"I plead guilty, madam; I cannot possibly justify myself, and I am
perfectly convinced of your innocence. I should be disconsolate if I did
not hope to obtain pardon, and you will not refuse to forgive me if you
are kind enough to recollect the cause of my guilt. I saw you; I was
dazzled, and I could not realize a happiness which seemed to me a dream;
I thought myself the prey of one of those delightful illusions which
vanish when we wake up. The doubt under which I was labouring could not
be cleared up for twenty-four hours, and how could I express my feverish
impatience as I was longing for that happy moment! It came at last! and
my heart, throbbing with desire and hope, was flying towards you while I
was in the parlour counting the minutes! Yet an hour passed almost
rapidly, and not unnaturally, considering my impatience and the deep
impression I felt at the idea of seeing you. But then, precisely at the
very moment when I believed myself certain that I was going to gaze upon
the beloved features which had been in one interview indelibly engraved
upon my heart, I saw the most disagreeable face appear, and a creature
announced that you were engaged for the whole day, and without giving me
time to utter one word she disappeared! You may imagine my astonishment
and... the rest. The lightning would not have produced upon me a more
rapid, a more terrible effect! If you had sent me a line by that
sister--a line from your hand--I would have gone away, if not pleased, at
least submissive and resigned.
"But that was a fourth fatality which you have forgotten to add to your
delightful and witty justification. Thinking myself scoffed at, my
self-love rebelled, and indignation for the moment silenced love. Shame
overwhelmed me! I thought that everybody could read on my face all the
horror in my heart, and I saw in you, under the outward appearance of an
angel, nothing but a fearful daughter of the Prince of Darkness. My mind
was thoroughly upset, and at the end of eleven days I lost the small
portion of good sense that was left in me--at least I must suppose so, as
it is then that I wrote to you the letter of which you have so good a
right to complain, and which at that time seemed to me a masterpiece of
moderation.
"But I hope it is all over now, and this very day at eleven o'clock you
will see me at your feet--tender, submissive and repentant. You will
forgive me, divine woman, or I will myself avenge you for the insult I
have hurled at you. The only thing which I dare to ask from you as a
great favour is to burn my first letter, and never to mention it again. I
sent it only after I had written four, which I destroyed one after the
other: you may therefore imagine the state of my heart.
"I have given orders to my messenger to go to your convent at once, so
that my letter can be delivered to you as soon as you wake in the
morning. He would never have discovered me, if my good angel had not made
me go up to him at the door of the opera-house. But I shall not require
his services any more; do not answer me, and receive all the devotion of
a heart which adores you."
When my letter was finished, I called my Forlanese, gave him one sequin,
and I made him promise me to go to Muran immediately, and to deliver my
letter only to the nun herself. As soon as he had gone I threw myself on
my bed, but anxiety and burning impatience would not allow me to sleep.
I need not tell the reader who knows the state of excitement under which
I was labouring, that I was punctual in presenting myself at the convent.
I was shewn into the small parlour where I had seen her for the first
time, and she almost immediately made her entrance. As soon as I saw her
near the grating I fell on my knees, but she entreated me to rise at once
as I might be seen. Her face was flushed with excitement, and her looks
seemed to me heavenly. She sat down, and I took a seat opposite to her.
We remained several minutes motionless, gazing at each other without
speaking, but I broke the silence by asking her, in a voice full of love
and anxiety, whether I could hope to obtain my pardon. She gave me her
beautiful hand through the grating, and I covered it with tears and
kisses.
"Our acquaintance," she said, "has begun with a violent storm; let us
hope that we shall now enjoy it long in perfect and lasting calm. This is
the first time that we speak to one another, but what has occurred must
be enough to give us a thorough knowledge of each other. I trust that our
intimacy will be as tender as sincere, and that we shall know how to have
a mutual indulgence for our faults."
"Can such an angel as you have any?"
"Ah, my friend! who is without them?"
"When shall I have the happiness of convincing you of my devotion with
complete freedom and in all the joy of my heart?"
"We will take supper together at my casino whenever you please, provided
you give me notice two days beforehand; or I will go and sup with you in
Venice, if it will not disturb your arrangements."
"It would only increase my happiness. I think it right to tell you that I
am in very easy circumstances, and that, far from fearing expense, I
delight in it: all I possess belongs to the woman I love."
"That confidence, my dear friend, is very agreeable to me, the more so
that I have likewise to tell you that I am very rich, and that I could
not refuse anything to my lover."
"But you must have a lover?"
"Yes; it is through him that I am rich, and he is entirely my master. I
never conceal anything from him. The day after to-morrow, when I am alone
with you, I will tell you more."
"But I hope that your lover...."
"Will not be there? Certainly not. Have you a mistress?"
"I had one, but, alas! she has been taken from me by violent means, and
for the last six months I have led a life of complete celibacy."
"Do you love her still?"
"I cannot think of her without loving her. She has almost as great
charms, as great beauty, as you have; but I foresee that you will make me
forget her."
"If your happiness with her was complete, I pity you. She has been
violently taken from you, and you shun society in order to feed your
sorrow. I have guessed right, have I not? But if I happen to take
possession of her place in your heart, no one, my sweet friend, shall
turn me out of it."
"But what will your lover say?"
"He will be delighted to see me happy with such a lover as you. It is in
his nature."
"What an admirable nature! Such heroism is quite beyond me!"
"What sort of a life do you lead in Venice?"
"I live at the theatres, in society, in the casinos, where I fight
against fortune sometimes with good sometimes with bad success."
"Do you visit the foreign ambassadors?"
"No, because I am too much acquainted with the nobility; but I know them
all."
"How can you know them if you do not see them?"
"I have known them abroad. In Parma the Duke de Montalegre, the Spanish
ambassador; in Vienna I knew Count Rosemberg; in Paris, about two years
ago, the French ambassador."
"It is near twelve o'clock, my dear friend; it is time for us to part.
Come at the same hour the day after tomorrow, and I will give you all the
instructions which you will require to enable you to come and sup with
me."
"Alone?"
"Of course."
"May I venture to ask you for a pledge? The happiness which you promise
me is so immense!"
"What pledge do you want?"
"To see you standing before that small window in the grating with
permission for me to occupy the same place as Madame de S----."
She rose at once, and, with the most gracious smile, touched the spring;
after a most expressive kiss, I took leave of her. She followed me with
her eyes as far as the door, and her loving gaze would have rooted me to
the spot if she had not left the room.
I spent the two days of expectation in a whirl of impatient joy, which
prevented me from eating and sleeping; for it seemed to me that no other
love had ever given me such happiness, or rather that I was going to be
happy for the first time.
Irrespective of birth, beauty, and wit, which was the principal merit of
my new conquest, prejudice was there to enhance a hundredfold my
felicity, for she was a vestal: it was forbidden fruit, and who does not
know that, from Eve down to our days, it was that fruit which has always
appeared the most delicious! I was on the point of encroaching upon the
rights of an all-powerful husband; in my eyes M---- M---- was above all the
queens of the earth.
If my reason had not been the slave of passion, I should have known that
my nun could not be a different creature from all the pretty women whom I
had loved for the thirteen years that I had been labouring in the fields
of love. But where is the man in love who can harbour such a thought? If
it presents itself too often to his mind, he expels it disdainfully!
M---- M---- could not by any means be otherwise than superior to all other
women in the wide world.
Animal nature, which chemists call the animal kingdom, obtains through
instinct the three various means necessary for the perpetuation of its
species.
There are three real wants which nature has implanted in all human
creatures. They must feed themselves, and to prevent that task from being
insipid and tedious they have the agreeable sensation of appetite, which
they feel pleasure in satisfying. They must propagate their respective
species; an absolute necessity which proves the wisdom of the Creator,
since without reproduction all would, be annihilated--by the constant law
of degradation, decay and death. And, whatever St. Augustine may say,
human creatures would not perform the work of generation if they did not
find pleasure in it, and if there was not in that great work an
irresistible attraction for them. In the third place, all creatures have
a determined and invincible propensity to destroy their enemies; and it
is certainly a very wise ordination, for that feeling of
self-preservation makes it a duty for them to do their best for the
destruction of whatever can injure them.
Each species obeys these laws in its own way. The three sensations:
hunger, desire, and hatred--are in animals the satisfaction of habitual
instinct, and cannot be called pleasures, for they can be so only in
proportion to the intelligence of the individual. Man alone is gifted
with the perfect organs which render real pleasure peculiar to him;
because, being, endowed with the sublime faculty of reason, he foresees
enjoyment, looks for it, composes, improves, and increases it by thought
and recollection. I entreat you, dear reader, not to get weary of
following me in my ramblings; for now that I am but the shadow of the
once brilliant Casanova, I love to chatter; and if you were to give me
the slip, you would be neither polite nor obliging.
Man comes down to the level of beasts whenever he gives himself up to the
three natural propensities without calling reason and judgment to his
assistance; but when the mind gives perfect equilibrium to those
propensities, the sensations derived from them become true enjoyment, an
unaccountable feeling which gives us what is called happiness, and which
we experience without being able to describe it.
The voluptuous man who reasons, disdains greediness, rejects with
contempt lust and lewdness, and spurns the brutal revenge which is caused
by a first movement of anger: but he is dainty, and satisfies his
appetite only in a manner in harmony with his nature and his tastes; he
is amorous, but he enjoys himself with the object of his love only when
he is certain that she will share his enjoyment, which can never be the
case unless their love is mutual; if he is offended, he does not care for
revenge until he has calmly considered the best means to enjoy it fully.
If he is sometimes more cruel than necessary, he consoles himself with
the idea that he has acted under the empire of reason; and his revenge is
sometimes so noble that he finds it in forgiveness. Those three
operations are the work of the soul which, to procure enjoyment for
itself, becomes the agent of our passions. We sometimes suffer from
hunger in order to enjoy better the food which will allay it; we delay
the amorous enjoyment for the sake of making it more intense, and we put
off the moment of our revenge in order to mike it more certain. It is
true, however, that one may die from indigestion, that we allow ourselves
to be often deceived in love, and that the creature we want to annihilate
often escapes our revenge; but perfection cannot be attained in anything,
and those are risks which we run most willingly.
CHAPTER XVII
Continuation of the Last Chapter--My First Assignation With
M. M.--Letter From C. C.--My Second Meeting With the Nun At
My Splendid Casino In Venice I Am Happy
There is nothing, there can be nothing, dearer to a thinking being than
life; yet the voluptuous men, those who try to enjoy it in the best
manner, are the men who practise with the greatest perfection the
difficult art of shortening life, of driving it fast. They do not mean to
make it shorter, for they would like to perpetuate it in the midst of
pleasure, but they wish enjoyment to render its course insensible; and
they are right, provided they do not fail in fulfilling their duties. Man
must not, however, imagine that he has no other duties but those which
gratify his senses; he would be greatly mistaken, and he might fall the
victim of his own error. I think that my friend Horace made a mistake
when he said to Florus:
'Nec metuam quid de me judicet heres, Quod non plura datis inveniet.'
The happiest man is the one who knows how to obtain the greatest sum of
happiness without ever failing in the discharge of his duties, and the
most unhappy is the man who has adopted a profession in which he finds
himself constantly under the sad necessity of foreseeing the future.
Perfectly certain that M---- M---- would keep her word, I went to the
convent at ten o'clock in the morning, and she joined me in the parlour
as soon as I was announced.
"Good heavens!" she exclaimed, "are you ill?"
"No, but I may well look so, for the expectation of happiness wears me
out. I have lost sleep and appetite, and if my felicity were to be
deferred my life would be the forfeit."
"There shall be no delay, dearest; but how impatient you are! Let us sit
down. Here is the key of my casino. You will find some persons in it,
because we must be served; but nobody will speak to you, and you need not
speak to anyone. You must be masked, and you must not go there till two
hours after sunset; mind, not before. Then go up the stairs opposite the
street-door, and at the top of those stairs you will see, by the light of
a lamp, a green door which you will open to enter the apartment which you
will find lighted. You will find me in the second room, and in case I
should not be there you will wait for me a few minutes; you may rely upon
my being punctual. You can take off your mask in that room, and make
yourself comfortable; you will find some books and a good fire."
The description could not be clearer; I kissed the hand which was giving
me the key of that mysterious temple, and I enquired from the charming
woman whether I should see her in her conventual garb.
"I always leave the convent with it," she said, "but I have at the casino
a complete wardrobe to transform myself into an elegant woman of the
world, and even to disguise myself."
"I hope you will do me the favour to remain in the dress of a nun."
"Why so, I beg?"
"I love to see you in that dress."
"Ah! ah! I understand. You fancy that my head is shaved, and you are
afraid. But comfort yourself, dear friend, my wig is so beautifully made
that it defies detection; it is nature itself."
"Oh, dear! what are you saying? The very name of wig is awful. But no,
you may be certain that I will find you lovely under all circumstances. I
only entreat you not to put on that cruel wig in my presence. Do I offend
you? Forgive me; I am very sorry to have mentioned that subject. Are you
sure that no one can see you leave the convent?"
"You will be sure of it yourself when you have gone round the island and
seen the small door on the shore. I have the key of a room opening on the
shore, and I have every confidence in the sister who serves me."
"And the gondola?"
"My lover himself answers for the fidelity of the gondoliers."
"What a man that lover is! I fancy he must be an old man."
"You are mistaken; if he were old, I should be ashamed. He is not forty,
and he has everything necessary to be loved--beauty, wit, sweet temper,
and noble behaviour."
"And he forgives your amorous caprices?"
"What do you mean by caprices? A year ago he obtained possession of me,
and before him I had never belonged to a man; you are the first who
inspired me with a fancy. When I confessed it to him he was rather
surprised, then he laughed, and read me a short lecture upon the risk I
was running in trusting a man who might prove indiscreet. He wanted me to
know at least who you were before going any further, but it was too late.
I answered for your discretion, and of course I made him laugh by my
being so positively the guarantee of a man whom I did not know."
"When did you confide in him?"
"The day before yesterday, and without concealing anything from him. I
have shewn him my letters and yours; he thinks you are a Frenchman,
although you represent yourself as a Venetian. He is very curious to know
who you are, but you need not be afraid; I promise you faithfully never
to take any steps to find it out myself."
"And I promise you likewise not to try to find out who is this wonderful
man as wonderful as you are yourself. I am very miserable when I think of
the sorrow I have caused you."
"Do not mention that subject any more; when I consider the matter, I see
that only a conceited man would have acted differently."
Before leaving her, she granted me another token of her affection through
the little window, and her gaze followed me as far as the door.
In the evening, at the time named by her, I repaired to the casino, and
obeying all her instructions I reached a sitting-room in which I found my
new conquest dressed in a most elegant costume. The room was lighted up
by girandoles, which were reflected by the looking-glasses, and by four
splendid candlesticks placed on a table covered with books.
M---- M---- struck me as entirely different in her beauty to what she had
seemed in the garb of a nun. She wore no cap, and her hair was fastened
behind in a thick twist; but I passed rapidly over that part of her
person, because I could not bear the idea of a wig, and I could not
compliment her about it. I threw myself at her feet to shew her my deep
gratitude, and I kissed with rapture her beautiful hands, waiting
impatiently for the amorous contest which I was longing for; but
M---- M---- thought fit to oppose some resistance. Oh, how sweet they are!
those denials of a loving mistress, who delays the happy moment only for
the sake of enjoying its delights better! As a lover respectful, tender,
but bold, enterprising, certain of victory, I blended delicately the
gentleness of my proceedings with the ardent fire which was consuming me;
and stealing the most voluptuous kisses from the most beautiful mouth I
felt as if my soul would burst from my body. We spent two hours in the
preliminary contest, at the end of which we congratulated one another, on
her part for having contrived to resist, on mine for having controlled my
impatience.
Wanting a little rest, and understanding each other as if by a natural
instinct, she said to me,
"My friend, I have an appetite which promises to do honour to the supper;
are you able to keep me good company?"
"Yes," I said, knowing well what I could do in that line, "yes, I can;
and afterwards you shall judge whether I am able to sacrifice to Love as
well as to Comus."
She rang the bell, and a woman, middle-aged but well-dressed and
respectable-looking, laid out a table for two persons; she then placed on
another table close by all that was necessary to enable us to do without
attendance, and she brought, one after the other, eight different dishes
in Sevres porcelain placed on silver heaters. It was a delicate and
plentiful supper.
When I tasted the first dish I at once recognized the French style of
cooking, and she did not deny it. We drank nothing but Burgundy and
Champagne. She dressed the salad cleverly and quickly, and in everything
she did I had to admire the graceful ease of her manners. It was evident
that she owed her education to a lover who was a first-rate connoisseur.
I was curious to know him, and as we were drinking some punch I told her
that if she would gratify my curiosity in that respect I was ready to
tell her my name.
"Let time, dearest," she answered, "satisfy our mutual curiosity."
M---- M---- had, amongst the charms and trinkets fastened to the chain of
her watch, a small crystal bottle exactly similar to one that I wore
myself. I called her attention to that fact, and as mine was filled with
cotton soaked in otto of roses I made her smell it.
"I have the same," she observed.
And she made me inhale its fragrance.
"It is a very scarce perfume," I said, "and very expensive."
"Yes; in fact it cannot be bought."
"Very true; the inventor of that essence wears a crown; it is the King of
France; his majesty made a pound of it, which cost him thirty thousand
crowns."
"Mine was a gift presented to my lover, and he gave it to me:"
"Madame de Pompadour sent a small phial of it to M. de Mocenigo, the
Venetian ambassador in Paris, through M. de B----, now French ambassador
here."
"Do you know him?"
"I have had the honour to dine with him on the very day he came to take
leave of the ambassador by whom I had been invited. M. de B---- is a man
whom fortune has smiled upon, but he has captivated it by his merit; he
is not less distinguished by his 'talents than by his birth; he is, I
believe, Count de Lyon. I recollect that he was nicknamed 'Belle Babet,'
on account of his handsome face. There is a small collection of poetry
written by him which does him great honour."
It was near midnight; we had made an excellent supper, and we were near a
good fire. Besides, I was in love with a beautiful woman, and thinking
that time was precious--I became very pressing; but she resisted.
"Cruel darling, have you promised me happiness only to make me suffer the
tortures of Tantalus? If you will not give way to love, at least obey the
laws of nature after such a delicious supper, go to bed."
"Are you sleepy?"
"Of course I am not; but it is late enough to go to bed. Allow me to
undress you; I will remain by your bedside, or even go away if you wish
it."
"If you were to leave me, you would grieve me."
"My grief would be as great as yours, believe me, but if I remain what
shall we do?"
"We can lie down in our clothes on this sofa."
"With our clothes! Well, let it be so; I will let you sleep, if you wish
it; but you must forgive me if I do not sleep myself; for to sleep near
you and without undressing would be impossible."
"Wait a little."
She rose from her seat, turned the sofa crosswise, opened it, took out
pillows, sheets, blankets, and in one minute we had a splendid bed, wide
and convenient. She took a large handkerchief, which she wrapped round my
head, and she gave me another, asking me to render her the same service.
I began my task, dissembling my disgust for the wig, but a precious
discovery caused me the most agreeable surprise; for, instead of the wig,
my, hands found the most magnificent hair I had ever seen. I uttered a
scream of delight and admiration which made her laugh, and she told me
that a nun was under no other obligation than to conceal her hair, from
the uninitiated. Thereupon she pushed me adroitly, and made me fall' an
the sofa. I got up again, and, having thrown off my clothes as quick as
lightning I threw myself on her rather than near her. She was very
strong; and folding me in her arms she thought that I ought to forgive
her for all the torture she was condemning me to. I had not obtained any
essential favour; I was burning, but I was trying to master my
impatience, for I did not think that I had yet the right to be exacting.
I contrived to undo five or six bows of ribbons, and satisfied, with her
not opposing any resistance in that quarter my heart throbbed with
pleasure, and I possessed myself of the most beautiful bosom, which I
smothered under my kisses. But her favours went no further; and my
excitement increasing in proportion to the new perfections I discovered
in her, I doubled my efforts; all in vain. At last, compelled to give way
to fatigue, I fell asleep in her arms, holding her tightly, against me. A
noisy chime of bells woke us.
"What is the matter?" I exclaimed.
"Let us get up, dearest; it is time for me to return to the convent."
"Dress yourself, and let me have the pleasure of seeing you in the garb
of a saint, since you are going away a virgin."
"Be satisfied for this time, dearest, and learn from me how to practice
abstinence; we shall be happier another time. When I have gone, if you
have nothing to hurry you, you can rest here."
She rang the bell, and the same woman who had appeared in the evening,
and was most likely the secret minister and the confidante of her amorous
mysteries, came in. After her hair had been dressed, she took off her
gown, locked up her jewellery in her bureau, put on the stays of a nun,
in which she hid the two magnificent globes which had been during that
fatiguing night the principal agents of my happiness, and assumed her
monastic robes. The woman having gone out to call the gondoliers,
M---- M---- kissed me warmly and tenderly, and said to me,
"I expect to see you the day after to-morrow, so as to hear from you
which night I am to meet you in Venice; and then, my beloved lover, you
shall be happy and I too. Farewell."
Pleased without being satisfied, I went to bed and slept soundly until
noon.
I left the casino without seeing anyone, and being well masked I repaired
to the house of Laura, who gave me a letter from my dear C---- C----. Here
is a copy of it:
"I am going to give you, my best beloved, a specimen of my way of
thinking; and I trust that, far from lowering me in your estimation, you
will judge me, in spite of my youth, capable of keeping a secret and
worthy of being your wife. Certain that your heart is mine, I do not
blame you for having made a mystery of certain things, and not being
jealous of what can divert your mind and help you to bear patiently our
cruel separation, I can only delight in whatever procures you some
pleasure. Listen now. Yesterday, as I was going along one of the halls, I
dropped a tooth-pick which I held in my hand, and to get it again, I was
compelled to displace a stool which happened to be in front of a crack in
the partition. I have already become as curious as a nun--a fault very
natural to idle people--I placed my eye against the small opening, and
whom did I see? You in person, my darling, conversing in the most lively
manner with my charming friend, Sister M---- M----. It would be difficult
for you to imagine my surprise and joy. But those two feelings gave way
soon to the fear of being seen and of exciting the curiosity of some
inquisitive nun. I quickly replaced the stool, and I went away. Tell me
all, dearest friend, you will make me happy. How could I cherish you with
all my soul, and not be anxious to know the history of your adventure?
Tell me if she knows you, and how you have made her acquaintance. She is
my best friend, the one of whom I have spoken so often to you in my
letters, without thinking it necessary to tell you her name. She is the
friend who teaches me French, and has lent me books which gave me a great
deal of information on a matter generally little known to women. If it
had not been for her, the cause of the accident which has been so near
costing me my life, would have been discovered. She gave me sheets and
linen immediately; to her I owe my honour; but she has necessarily
learned in that way that I have a lover, as I know that she has one; but
neither of us has shewn any anxiety to know the secrets of the other.
Sister M---- M---- is a rare woman. I feel certain, dearest, that you love
one another; it cannot be otherwise since you are acquainted; but as I am
not jealous of that affection, I deserve that you should tell me all. I
pity you both, however; for all you may do will, I fear, only irritate
your passion. Everyone in the convent thinks that you are ill, and I am
longing to see you. Come, at least, once. Adieu!"
The letter of C---- C---- inspired me with the deepest esteem for her, but
it caused me great anxiety, because, although I felt every confidence in
my dear little wife, the small crack in the wall might expose
M---- M---- and myself to the inquisitive looks of other persons. Besides,
I found myself compelled to deceive that amiable, trusting friend, and to
tell a falsehood, for delicacy and honour forbade me to tell her the
truth. I wrote to her immediately that her friendship for M---- M---- made
it her duty to warn her friend at once that she had seen her in the
parlour with a masked gentleman. I added that, having heard a great deal
of M---- M----'s merit, and wishing to make her acquaintance, I had called
on her under an assumed name; that I entreated her not to tell her friend
who I was, but she might say that she had recognized in me the gentleman
who attended their church. I assured her with barefaced impudence that
there was no love between M---- M---- and me, but without concealing that I
thought her a superior woman.
On St. Catherine's Day, the patroness of my dear C---- C----, I bethought
myself of affording that lovely prisoner the pleasure of seeing me. As I
was leaving the church after mass, and just as I was going to take a
gondola, I observed that a man was following me. It looked suspicious,
and I determined to ascertain whether I was right. The man took a gondola
and followed mine. It might have been purely accidental; but, keeping on
my guard for fear of surprise, I alighted in Venice at the Morosini
Palace; the fellow alighted at the same place; his intentions were
evident. I left the palace, and turning towards the Flanders Gate I
stopped in a narrow street, took my knife in my hand, waited for the spy,
seized him by the collar, and pushing him against the wall with the knife
at his throat I commanded him to tell me what business he had with me.
Trembling all over he would have confessed everything, but unluckily
someone entered the street. The spy escaped and I was no wiser, but I had
no doubt that for the future that fellow at least would keep at a
respectful distance. It shewed me how easy it would be for an obstinate
spy to discover my identity, and I made up my mind never to go to Muran
but with a mask, or at night.
The next day I had to see my beautiful nun in order to ascertain which
day she would sup with me in Venice, and I went early to the convent. She
did not keep me waiting, and her face was radiant with joy. She
complimented me upon my having resumed my attendance at their church; all
the nuns had been delighted to see me again after an absence of three
weeks.
"The abbess," she said, "told me how glad she was to see you, and that
she was certain to find out who you are."
I then related to her the adventure of the spy, and we both thought that
it was most likely the means taken by the sainted woman to gratify her
curiosity about me.
"I have resolved not to attend your church any more."
"That will be a great deprivation to me, but in our common interest I can
but approve your resolution."
She related the affair of the treacherous crack in the partition, and
added,
"It is already repaired, and there is no longer any fear in that quarter.
I heard of it from a young boarder whom I love dearly, and who is much
attached to me. I am not curious to know her name, and she has never
mentioned it to me."
"Now, darling angel, tell me whether my happiness will be postponed."
"Yes, but only for twenty-four hours; the new professed sister has
invited me to supper in her room, and you must understand I cannot invent
any plausible excuse for refusing her invitation."
"You would not, then, tell her in confidence the very legitimate obstacle
which makes me wish that the new sisters never take supper?"
"Certainly not: we never trust anyone so far in a convent. Besides,
dearest, such an invitation cannot be declined unless I wish to gain a
most bitter enemy."
"Could you not say that you are ill?"
"Yes; but then the visits!"
"I understand; if you should refuse, the escape might be suspected."
"The escape! impossible; here no one admits the possibility of breaking
out of the convent."
"Then you are the only one able to perform that miracle?"
"You may be sure of that; but, as is always the case, it is gold which
performs that miracle."
"And many others, perhaps."
"Oh! the time has gone by for them! But tell me, my love, where will you
wait for me to-morrow, two hours after the setting of the sun?"
"Could I not wait for you at your casino?"
"No, because my lover will take me himself to Venice."
"Your lover?"
"Yes, himself."
"It is not possible."
"Yet it is true."
"I can wait for you in St. John and St. Paul's Square behind the pedestal
of the statue of Bartholomew of Bergamo."
"I have never seen either the square or the statue except in engravings;
it is enough, however, and I will not fail. Nothing but very stormy
weather could prevent me from coming to a rendezvous for which my heart
is panting."
"And if the weather were bad?"
"Then, dearest, there would be nothing lost; and you would come here
again in order to appoint another day."
I had no time to lose, for I had no casino. I took a second rower so as
to reach St. Mark's Square more rapidly, and I immediately set to work
looking for what I wanted. When a mortal is so lucky as to be in the good
graces of the god Plutus, and is not crackbrained, he is pretty sure to
succeed in everything: I had not to search very long before I found a
casino suiting my purpose exactly. It was the finest in the neighbourhood
of Venice, but, as a natural consequence, it was likewise the most
expensive. It had belonged to the English ambassador, who had sold it
cheap to his cook before leaving Venice. The owner let it to me until
Easter for one hundred sequins, which I paid in advance on condition that
he would himself cook the dinners and the suppers I might order.
I had five rooms furnished in the most elegant style, and everything
seemed to be calculated for love, pleasure, and good cheer. The service
of the dining-room was made through a sham window in the wall, provided
with a dumb-waiter revolving upon itself, and fitting the window so
exactly that master and servants could not see each other. The
drawing-room was decorated with magnificent looking-glasses, crystal
chandeliers, girandoles in gilt, bronze, and with a splendid pier-glass
placed on a chimney of white marble; the walls were covered with small
squares of real china, representing little Cupids and naked amorous
couples in all sorts of positions, well calculated to excite the
imagination; elegant and very comfortable sofas were placed on every
side. Next to it was an octagonal room, the walls, the ceiling, and the
floor of which were entirely covered with splendid Venetian glass,
arranged in such a manner as to reflect on all sides every position of
the amorous couple enjoying the pleasures of love. Close by was a
beautiful alcove with two secret outlets; on the right, an elegant
dressing-room, on the left, a boudoir which seemed to have been arranged
by the mother of Love, with a bath in Carrara marble. Everywhere the
wainscots were embossed in ormolu or painted with flowers and arabesques.
After I had given my orders for all the chandeliers to be filled with wax
candles, and the finest linen to be provided wherever necessary, I
ordered a most delicate and sumptuous supper for two, without regard to
expense, and especially the most exquisite wines. I then took possession
of the key of the principal entrance, and warned the master that I did
not want to be seen by anyone when I came in or went out.
I observed with pleasure that the clock in the alcove had an alarum, for
I was beginning, in spite of love, to be easily influenced by the power
of sleep.
Everything being arranged according to my wishes, I went, as a careful
and delicate lover, to purchase the finest slippers I could find, and a
cap in Alencon point.
I trust my reader does not think me too particular; let him recollect
that I was to receive the most accomplished of the sultanas of the master
of the universe, and I told that fourth Grace that I had a casino. Was I
to begin by giving her a bad idea of my truthfulness? At the appointed
time, that is two hours after sunset, I repaired to my palace; and it
would be difficult to imagine the surprise of his honour the French cook,
when he saw me arrive alone. Not finding all the chandeliers lighted-up
as I had ordered, I scolded him well, giving him notice that I did not
like to repeat an order.
"I shall not fail; sir, another time, to execute your commands."
"Let the supper be served."
"Your honour ordered it for two."
"Yes, for two; and, this time, be present during my supper, so that I can
tell you which dishes I find good or bad."
The supper came through the revolving: dumb-waiter in very good order,
two dishes at a tune. I passed some remarks upon everything; but, to tell
the truth, everything was excellent: game, fish, oysters, truffles, wine,
dessert, and the whole served in very fine Dresden china and silver-gilt
plate.
I told him that he had forgotten hard eggs, anchovies, and prepared
vinegar to dress a salad. He lifted his eyes towards heaven, as if to
plead guilty, to a very heinous crime.
After a supper which lasted two hours, and during which I must certainly
have won the admiration of my host, I asked him to bring me the bill. He
presented it to me shortly afterwards, and I found it reasonable. I then
dismissed him, and lay down in the splendid bed in the alcove; my
excellent supper brought on very soon the most delicious sleep which,
without the Burgundy and the Champagne, might very likely not have
visited me, if I had thought that the following night would see me in the
same place, and in possession of a lovely divinity. It was broad
day-light when I awoke, and after ordering the finest fruit and some ices
for the evening I left the casino. In order to shorten a day which my
impatient desires would have caused me to find very long, I went to the
faro-table, and I saw with pleasure that I was as great a favourite with
fortune as with love. Everything proceeded according to my wishes, and I
delighted in ascribing my happy success to the influence of my nun.
I was at the place of meeting one hour before the time appointed, and
although the night was cold I did not feel it. Precisely as the hour
struck I saw a two-oared gondola reach the shore and a mask come out of
it, speak a few words to the gondolier, and take the direction of the
statue. My heart was beating quickly, but seeing that it was a man I
avoided him, and regretted not having brought my pistols. The mask,
however, turning round the statue, came up to me with outstretched hands;
I then recognized my angel, who was amused at my surprise and took my
arm. Without speaking we went towards St. Mark's Square, and reached my
casino, which was only one hundred yards from the St. Moses Theatre.
I found everything in good order; we went upstairs and I threw off my
mask and my disguise; but M---- M---- took delight in walking about the
rooms and in examining every nook of the charming place in which she was
received. Highly gratified to see me admire the grace of her person, she
wanted me likewise to admire in her attire the taste and generosity of
her lover. She was surprised at the almost magic spell which, although
she remained motionless, shewed her lovely person in a thousand different
manners. Her multiplied portraits, reproduced by the looking-glasses, and
the numerous wax candles disposed to that effect, offered to her sight a
spectacle entirely new to her, and from which she could not withdraw her
eyes. Sitting down on a stool I contemplated her elegant person with
rapture. A coat of rosy velvet, embroidered with gold spangles, a vest to
match, embroidered likewise in the richest fashion, breeches of black
satin, diamond buckles, a solitaire of great value on her little finger,
and on the other hand a ring: such was her toilet. Her black lace mask
was remarkable for its fineness and the beauty of the design. To enable
me to see her better she stood before me. I looked in her pockets, in
which I found a gold snuff-box, a sweetmeat-box adorned with pearls, a
gold case, a splendid opera-glass, handkerchiefs of the finest cambric,
soaked rather than perfumed with the most precious essences. I examined
attentively the richness and the workmanship of her two watches, of her
chains, of her trinkets, brilliant with diamonds. The last article I
found was a pistol; it was an English weapon of fine steel, and of the
most beautiful finish.
"All I see, my divine angel, is not worthy of you; yet I cannot refrain
from expressing my admiration for the wonderful, I might almost say
adorable, being who wants to convince you that you are truly his
mistress."
"That is what he said when I asked him to bring me to Venice, and to
leave me. 'Amuse yourself,' he said, 'and I hope that the man whom you
are going to make happy will convince you that he is worthy of it.'"
"He is indeed an extraordinary man, and I do not think there is another
like him. Such a lover is a unique being; and I feel that I could not be
like him, as deeply as I fear to be unworthy of a happiness which dazzles
me."
"Allow me to leave you, and to take off these clothes alone."
"Do anything you please."
A quarter of an hour afterwards my mistress came back to me. Her hair was
dressed like a man's; the front locks came down her cheeks, and the black
hair, fastened with a knot of blue ribbon, reached the bend of her legs;
her form was that of Antinous; her clothes alone, being cut in the French
style, prevented the illusion from being complete. I was in a state of
ecstatic delight, and I could not realize my happiness.
"No, adorable woman," I exclaimed, "you are not made for a mortal, and I
do not believe that you will ever be mine. At the very moment of
possessing you some miracle will wrest you from my arms. Your divine
spouse, perhaps, jealous of a simple mortal, will annihilate all my hope.
It is possible that in a few minutes I shall no longer exist."
"Are you mad, dearest? I am yours this very instant, if you wish it."
"Ah! if I wish it! Although fasting, come! Love and happiness will be my
food!"
She felt cold, we sat near the fire; and unable to master my impatience I
unfastened a diamond brooch which pinned her ruffle. Dear reader, there
are some sensations so powerful and so sweet that years cannot weaken the
remembrance of them. My mouth had already covered with kisses that
ravishing bosom; but then the troublesome corset had not allowed me to
admire all its perfection. Now I felt it free from all restraint and from
all unnecessary support; I have never seen, never touched, anything more
beautiful, and the two magnificent globes of the Venus de Medicis, even
if they had been animated by the spark of life given by Prometheus, would
have yielded the palm to hose of my divine nun.
I was burning with ardent desires, and I would have satisfied them on the
spot, if my adorable mistress had not calmed my impatience by these
simple words:
"Wait until after supper."
I rang the bell; she shuddered.
"Do not be anxious, dearest."
And I shewed her the secret of the sham window.
"You will be able to tell your lover that no one saw you."
"He will appreciate your delicate attention, and that will prove to him
that you are not a novice in the art of love. But it is evident that I am
not the only one who enjoys with you the delights of this charming
residence."
"You are wrong, believe me: you are the first woman I have seen here. You
are not, adorable creature, my first love, but you shall be the last."
"I shall be happy if you are faithful. My lover is constant, kind, gentle
and amiable; yet my heart has ever been fancy-free with him."
"Then his own heart must be the same; for if his love was of the same
nature as mine you would never have made me happy."
"He loves me as I love you; do you believe in my love for you?"
"Yes, I want to believe in it; but you would not allow me to...."
"Do not say any more; for I feel that I could forgive you in anything,
provided you told me all. The joy I experience at this moment is caused
more by the hope I have of gratifying your desires than by the idea that
I am going to pass a delightful night with you. It will be the first in
my life."
"What! Have you never passed such a night with your lover?"
"Several; but friendship, compliance, and gratitude, perhaps, were then
the only contributors to our pleasures; the most essential--love--was
never present. In spite of that, my lover is like you; his wit is lively,
very much the same as yours, and, as far as his features are concerned,
he is very handsome; yet it is not you. I believe him more wealthy than
you, although this casino almost convinces me that I am mistaken, but
what does love care for riches? Do not imagine that I consider you
endowed with less merit than he, because you confess yourself incapable
of his heroism in allowing me to enjoy another love. Quite the contrary;
I know that you would not love me as you do, if you told me that you
could be as indulgent as he is for one of my caprices."
"Will he be curious to hear the particulars of this night?"
"Most likely he will think that he will please me by asking what has
taken place, and I will tell him everything, except such particulars as
might humiliate him."
After the supper, which she found excellent, she made some punch, and she
was a very good hand at it. But I felt my impatience growing stronger
every moment, and I said,
"Recollect that we have only seven hours before us, and that we should be
very foolish to waste them in this room."
"You reason better than Socrates," she answered, "and your eloquence has
convinced me. Come!"
She led me to the elegant dressing-room, and I offered her the fine
night-cap which I had bought for her, asking her at the same time to
dress her hair like a woman. She took it with great pleasure, and begged
me to go and undress myself in the drawing-room, promising to call me as
soon as she was in bed.
I had not long to wait: when pleasure is waiting for us, we all go
quickly to work. I fell into her arms, intoxicated with love and
happiness, and during seven hours I gave her the most positive proofs of
my ardour and of the feelings I entertained for her. It is true that she
taught me nothing new, materially speaking, but a great deal in sighs, in
ecstasies, in enjoyments which can have their full development only in a
sensitive soul in the sweetest of all moments. I varied our pleasures in
a thousand different ways, and I astonished her by making her feel that
she was susceptible of greater enjoyment than she had any idea of. At
last the fatal alarum was heard: we had to stop our amorous transports;
but before she left my arms she raised her eyes towards heaven as if to
thank her Divine Master for having given her the courage to declare her
passion to me.
We dressed ourselves, and observing that I put the lace night-cap in her
pocket she assured me that she would keep it all her life as a witness of
the happiness which overwhelmed her. After drinking a cup of coffee we
went out, and I left her at St. John and St. Paul's Square, promising to
call on her the day after the morrow; I watched her until I saw her safe
in her gondola, and I then went to bed. Ten hours of profound sleep
restored me to my usual state of vigour.
CHAPTER XVIII
Visit to the Convent and Conversation With M. M.--A Letter
from Her, and My Answer--Another Interview At the Casino of
Muran In the Presence of Her Lover
According to my promise, I went to see M---- M---- two days afterwards, but
as soon as she came to the parlour she told me that her lover had said he
was coming, and that she expected him every minute, and that she would be
glad to see me the next day. I took leave of her, but near the bridge I
saw a man, rather badly masked, coming out of a gondola. I looked at the
gondolier, and I recognized him as being in the service of the French
ambassador. "It is he," I said to myself, and without appearing to
observe him I watched him enter the convent. I had no longer any doubt as
to his identity, and I returned to Venice delighted at having made the
discovery, but I made up my mind not to say anything to my mistress.
I saw her on the following day, and we, had a long conversation together,
which I am now going to relate.
"My friend," she said to me, "came yesterday in order to bid farewell to
me until the Christmas holidays. He is going to Padua, but everything has
been arranged so that we can sup at his casino whenever we wish."
"Why not in Venice?"
"He has begged me not to go there during his absence. He is wise and
prudent; I could not refuse his request."
"You are quite right. When shall we sup together?"
"Next Sunday, if you like."
"If I like is not the right expression, for I always like. On Sunday,
then, I will go to the casino towards nightfall, and wait for you with a
book. Have you told your friend that you were not very uncomfortable in
my small palace?"
"He knows all about it, but, dearest, he is afraid of one thing--he fears
a certain fatal plumpness...."
"On my life, I never thought of that! But, my darling, do you not run the
same risk with him?"
"No, it is impossible."
"I understand you. Then we must be very prudent for the future. I believe
that, nine days before Christmas, the mask is no longer allowed, and then
I shall have to go to your casino by water, otherwise, I might easily be
recognized by the same spy who has already followed me once."
"Yes, that idea proves your prudence, and I can easily, shew you the
place. I hope you will be able to come also during Lent, although we are
told that at that time God wishes us to mortify our senses. Is it not
strange that there is a time during which God wants us to amuse ourselves
almost to frenzy, and another during which, in order to please Him, we
must live in complete abstinence? What is there in common between a
yearly observance and the Deity, and how can the action of the creature
have any influence over the Creator, whom my reason cannot conceive
otherwise than independent? It seems to me that if God had created man
with the power of offending Him, man would be right in doing everything
that is forbidden to him, because the deficiencies of his organization
would be the work of the Creator Himself. How can we imagine God grieved
during Lent?"
"My beloved one, you reason beautifully, but will you tell me where you
have managed, in a convent, to pass the Rubicon?"
"Yes. My friend has given me some good books which I have read with deep
attention, and the light of truth has dispelled the darkness which
blinded my eyes. I can assure you that, when I look in my own heart, I
find myself more fortunate in having met with a person who has brought
light to my mind than miserable at having taken the veil; for the
greatest happiness must certainly consist in living and in dying
peacefully--a happiness which can hardly be obtained by listening to all
the idle talk with which the priests puzzle our brains."
"I am of your opinion, but I admire you, for it ought to be the work of
more than a few months to bring light to a mind prejudiced as yours was."
"There is no doubt that I should have seen light much sooner if I had not
laboured under so many prejudices. There was in my mind a curtain
dividing truth from error, and reason alone could draw it aside, but that
poor reason--I had been taught to fear it, to repulse it, as if its
bright flame would have devoured, instead of enlightening me. The moment
it was proved to me that a reasonable being ought to be guided only by
his own inductions I acknowledged the sway of reason, and the mist which
hid truth from me was dispelled. The evidence of truth shone before my
eyes, nonsensical trifles disappeared, and I have no fear of their
resuming their influence over my mind, for every day it is getting
stronger; and I may say that I only began to love God when my mind was
disabused of priestly superstitions concerning Him."
"I congratulate you; you have been more fortunate than I, for you have
made more progress in one year than I have made in ten."
"Then you did not begin by reading the writings of Lord Bolingbroke? Five
or six months ago, I was reading La Sagesse, by Charron, and somehow or
other my confessor heard of it; when I went to him for confession, he
took upon himself to tell me to give up reading that book. I answered
that my conscience did not reproach me, and that I could not obey him.
'In that case,' replied he, 'I will not give you absolution.' 'That will
not prevent me from taking the communion,' I said. This made him angry,
and, in order to know what he ought to do, he applied to Bishop Diedo.
His eminence came to see me, and told me that I ought to be guided by my
confessor. I answered that we had mutual duties to perform, and that the
mission of a priest in the confessional was to listen to me, to impose a
reasonable penance, and to give me absolution; that he had not even the
right of offering me any advice if I did not ask for it. I added that the
confessor being bound to avoid scandal, if he dared to refuse me the
absolution, which, of course, he could do, I would all the same go to the
altar with the other nuns. The bishop, seeing that he was at his wit's
end, told the priest to abandon me to my conscience. But that was not
satisfactory to me, and my lover obtained a brief from the Pope
authorizing me to go to confession to any priest I like. All the sisters
are jealous of the privilege, but I have availed myself of it only once,
for the sake of establishing a precedent and of strengthening the right
by the fact, for it is not worth the trouble. I always confess to the
same priest, and he has no difficulty in giving me absolution, for I only
tell him what I like."
"And for the rest you absolve yourself?"
"I confess to God, who alone can know my thoughts and judge the degree of
merit or of demerit to be attached to my actions."
Our conversation shewed me that my lovely friend was what is called a
Free-thinker; but I was not astonished at it, because she felt a greater
need of peace for her conscience than of gratification for her senses.
On the Sunday, after dinner, I took a two-oared gondola, and went round
the island of Muran to reconnoitre the shore, and to discover the small
door through which my mistress escaped from the convent. I lost my
trouble and my time, for I did not become acquainted with the shore till
the octave of Christmas, and with the small door six months afterwards. I
shall mention the circumstance in its proper place.
As soon as it was time, I repaired to the temple, and while I was waiting
for the idol I amused myself in examining the books of a small library in
the boudoir. They were not numerous, but they were well chosen and worthy
of the place. I found there everything that has been written against
religion, and all the works of the most voluptuous writers on pleasure;
attractive books, the incendiary style of which compels the reader to
seek the reality of the image they represent. Several folios, richly
bound, contained nothing but erotic engravings. Their principal merit
consisted much more in the beauty of the designs, in the finish of the
work, than in the lubricity of the positions. I found amongst them the
prints of the Portier des Chartreux, published in England; the engravings
of Meursius, of Aloysia Sigea Toletana, and others, all very beautifully
done. A great many small pictures covered the walls of the boudoir, and
they were all masterpieces in the same style as the engravings.
I had spent an hour in examining all these works of art, the sight of
which had excited me in the most irresistible manner, when I saw my
beautiful mistress enter the room, dressed as a nun. Her appearance was
not likely to act as a sedative, and therefore, without losing any time
in compliments, I said to her,
"You arrive most opportunely. All these erotic pictures have fired my
imagination, and it is in your garb of a saint that you must administer
the remedy that my love requires."
"Let me put on another dress, darling, it will not take more than five
minutes."
"Five minutes will complete my happiness, and then you can attend to your
metamorphosis."
"But let me take off these woollen robes, which I dislike."
"No; I want you to receive the homage of my love in the same dress which
you had on when you gave birth to it."
She uttered in the humblest manner a 'fiat voluntas tua', accompanied by
the most voluptuous smile, and sank on the sofa. For one instant we
forgot all the world besides. After that delightful ecstacy I assisted
her to undress, and a simple gown of Indian muslin soon metamorphosed my
lovely nun into a beautiful nymph.
After an excellent supper, we agreed not to meet again till the first day
of the octave. She gave me the key of the gate on the shore, and told me
that a blue ribbon attached to the window over the door would point it
out by day, so as to prevent my making a mistake at night. I made her
very happy by telling her that I would come and reside in her casino
until the return of her friend. During the ten days that I remained
there, I saw her four times, and I convinced her that I lived only for
her.
During my stay in the casino I amused myself in reading, in writing to
C---- C----, but my love for her had become a calm affection. The lines
which interested me most in her letters were those in which she mentioned
her friend. She often blamed me for not having cultivated the
acquaintance of M---- M----, and my answer was that I had not done so for
fear of being known. I always insisted upon the necessity of discretion.
I do not believe in the possibility of equal love being bestowed upon two
persons at the same time, nor do I believe it possible to keep love to a
high degree of intensity if you give it either too much food or none at
all. That which maintained my passion for M---- M ---- in a state of great
vigour was that I could never possess her without running the risk of
losing her.
"It is impossible," I said to her once, "that some time or other one of
the nuns should not want to speak to you when you are absent?"
"No," she answered, "that cannot happen, because there is nothing more
religiously respected in a convent than the right of a nun to deny
herself, even to the abbess. A fire is the only circumstance I have to
fear, because in that case there would be general uproar and confusion,
and it would not appear natural that a nun should remain quietly locked
up in her cell in the midst of such danger; my escape would then be
discovered. I have contrived to gain over the lay-sister and the
gardener, as well as another nun, and that miracle was performed by my
cunning assisted by my lover's gold.
"He answers for the fidelity of the cook and his wife who take care of
the casino. He has likewise every confidence in the two gondoliers,
although one of them is sure to be a spy of the State Inquisitors."
On Christmas Eve she announced the return of her lover, and she told him
that on St. Stephen's Day she would go with him to the opera, and that
they would afterwards spend the night together.
"I shall expect you, my beloved one," she added, "on the last day of the
year, and here is a letter which I beg you not to read till you get
home."
As I had to move in order to make room for her lover, I packed my things
early in the morning, and, bidding farewell to a place in which during
ten days I had enjoyed so many delights, I returned to the Bragadin
Palace, where I read the following letter:
"You have somewhat offended me, my own darling, by telling me, respecting
the mystery which I am bound to keep on the subject of my lover, that,
satisfied to possess my heart, you left me mistress of my mind. That
division of the heart and of the mind appears to me a pure sophism, and
if it does not strike you as such you must admit that you do not love me
wholly, for I cannot exist without mind, and you cannot cherish my heart
if it does not agree with my mind. If your love cannot accept a different
state of things it does not excel in delicacy. However, as some
circumstance might occur in which you might accuse me of not having acted
towards you with all the sincerity that true love inspires, and that it
has a right to demand, I have made up my mind to confide to you a secret
which concerns my friend, although I am aware that he relies entirely
upon my discretion. I shall certainly be guilty of a breach of
confidence, but you will not love me less for it, because, compelled to
choose between you two, and to deceive either one or the other, love has
conquered friendship; do not punish me for it, for it has not been done
blindly, and you will, I trust, consider the reasons which have caused
the scale to weigh down in your favour.
"When I found myself incapable of resisting my wish to know you and to
become intimate with you, I could not gratify that wish without taking my
friend into my confidence, and I had no doubt of his compliance. He
conceived a very favourable opinion of your character from your first
letter, not only because you had chosen the parlour of the convent for
our first interview, but also because you appointed his casino at Muran
instead of your own. But he likewise begged of me to allow him to be
present at our first meeting-place, in a small closet--a true
hiding-place, from which one can see and hear everything without being
suspected by those in the drawing-room. You have not yet seen that
mysterious closet, but I will shew it to you on the last day of the year.
Tell me, dearest, whether I could refuse that singular request to the man
who was shewing me such compliant kindness? I consented, and it was
natural for me not to let you know it. You are therefore aware now that
my friend was a witness of all we did and said during the first night
that we spent together, but do not let that annoy you, for you pleased
him in everything, in your behaviour towards me as well as in the witty
sayings which you uttered to make me laugh. I was in great fear, when the
conversation turned upon him, lest you would say something which might
hurt his self-love, but, very fortunately, he heard only the most
flattering compliments. Such is, dearest love, the sincere confession of
my treason, but as a wise lover you will forgive me because it has not
done you the slightest harm. My friend is extremely curious to ascertain
who you are. But listen to me, that night you were natural and thoroughly
amiable, would you have been the same, if you had known that there was a
witness? It is not likely, and if I had acquainted you with the truth,
you might have refused your consent, and perhaps you would have been
right.
"Now that we know each other, and that you entertain no doubt, I trust,
of my devoted love, I wish to ease my conscience and to venture all.
Learn then, dearest, that on the last day of the year, my friend will be
at the casino, which he will leave only the next morning. You will not
see him, but he will see us. As you are supposed not to know anything
about it, you must feel that you will have to be natural in everything,
otherwise, he might guess that I have betrayed the secret. It is
especially in your conversation that you must be careful. My friend
possesses every virtue except the theological one called faith, and on
that subject you can say anything you like. You will be at liberty to
talk literature, travels, politics, anything you please, and you need not
refrain from anecdotes. In fact you are certain of his approbation.
"Now, dearest, I have only this to say. Do you feel disposed to allow
yourself to be seen by another man while you are abandoning yourself to
the sweet voluptuousness of your senses? That doubt causes all my
anxiety, and I entreat from you an answer, yes or no. Do you understand
how painful the doubt is for me? I expect not to close my eyes throughout
the night, and I shall not rest until I have your decision. In case you
should object to shew your tenderness in the presence of a third person,
I will take whatever determination love may suggest to me. But I hope you
will consent, and even if you were not to perform the character of an
ardent lover in a masterly manner, it would not be of any consequence. I
will let my friend believe that your love has not reached its apogee"
That letter certainly took me by surprise, but all things considered,
thinking that my part was better than the one accepted by the lover, I
laughed heartily at the proposal. I confess, however, that I should not
have laughed if I had not known the nature of the individual who was to
be the witness of my amorous exploits. Understanding all the anxiety of
my friend, and wishing to allay it, I immediately wrote to her the
following lines:
"You wish me, heavenly creature, to answer you yes or no, and I, full of
love for you, want my answer to reach you before noon, so that you may
dine in perfect peace.
"I will spend the last night of the year with you, and I can assure you
that the friend, to whom we will give a spectacle worthy of Paphos and
Amathos, shall see or hear nothing likely to make him suppose that I am
acquainted with his secret. You may be certain that I will play my part
not as a novice but as a master. If it is man's duty to be always the
slave of his reason; if, as long as he has control over himself, he ought
not to act without taking it for his guide, I cannot understand why a man
should be ashamed to shew himself to a friend at the very moment that he
is most favoured by love and nature.
"Yet I confess that you would have been wrong if you had confided the
secret to me the first time, and that most likely I should then have
refused to grant you that mark of my compliance, not because I loved you
less then than I do now, but there are such strange tastes in nature that
I might have imagined that your lover's ruling taste was to enjoy the
sight of an ardent and frantic couple in the midst of amorous connection,
and in that case, conceiving an unfavourable opinion of you, vexation
might have frozen the love you had just sent through my being. Now,
however, the case is very different. I know all I possess in you, and,
from all you have told me of your lover, I am well disposed towards him,
and I believe him to be my friend. If a feeling of modesty does not deter
you from shewing yourself tender, loving, and full of amorous ardour with
me in his presence, how could I be ashamed, when, on the contrary, I
ought to feel proud of myself? I have no reason to blush at having made a
conquest of you, or at shewing myself in those moments during which I
prove the liberality with which nature has bestowed upon me the shape and
the strength which assure such immense enjoyment to me, besides the
certainty that I can make the woman I love share it with me. I am aware
that, owing to a feeling which is called natural, but which is perhaps
only the result of civilization and the effect of the prejudices inherent
in youth, most men object to any witness in those moments, but those who
cannot give any good reasons for their repugnance must have in their
nature something of the cat. At the same time, they might have some
excellent reasons, without their thinking themselves bound to give them,
except to the woman, who is easily deceived. I excuse with all my heart
those who know that they would only excite the pity of the witnesses, but
we both have no fear of that sort. All you have told me of your friend
proves that he will enjoy our pleasures. But do you know what will be the
result of it? The intensity of our ardour will excite his own, and he
will throw himself at my feet, begging and entreating me to give up to
him the only object likely to calm his amorous excitement. What could I
do in that case? Give you up? I could hardly refuse to do so with good
grace, but I would go away, for I could not remain a quiet spectator.
"Farewell, my darling love; all will be well, I have no doubt. Prepare
yourself for the athletic contest, and rely upon the fortunate being who
adores you."
I spent the six following days with my three worthy friends, and at the
'ridotto', which at that time was opened on St. Stephen's Day. As I could
not hold the cards there, the patricians alone having the privilege of
holding the bank, I played morning and evening, and I constantly lost;
for whoever punts must lose. But the loss of the four or five thousand
sequins I possessed, far from cooling my love, seemed only to increase
its ardour.
At the end of the year 1774 the Great Council promulgated a law
forbidding all games of chance, the first effect of which was to close
the 'ridotto'. This law was a real phenomenon, and when the votes were
taken out of the urn the senators looked at each other with stupefaction.
They had made the law unwittingly, for three-fourths of the voters
objected to it, and yet three-fourths of the votes were in favour of it.
People said that it was a miracle of St. Mark's, who had answered the
prayers of Monsignor Flangini, then censor-in-chief, now cardinal, and
one of the three State Inquisitors.
On the day appointed I was punctual at the place of rendezvous, and I had
not to wait for my mistress. She was in the dressing-room, where she had
had time to attend to her toilet, and as soon as she heard me she came to
me dressed with the greatest elegance.
"My friend is not yet at his post," she said to me, "but the moment he is
there I will give you a wink."
"Where is the mysterious closet?"
"There it is. Look at the back of this sofa against the wall. All those
flowers in relief have a hole in the centre which communicates with the
closet behind that wall. There is a bed, a table, and everything
necessary to a person who wants to spend the night in amusing himself by
looking at what is going on in this room. I will skew it to you whenever
you like."
"Was it arranged by your lover's orders?"
"No, for he could not foresee that he would use it."
"I understand that he may find great pleasure in such a sight, but being
unable to possess you at the very moment nature will make you most
necessary to him, what will he do?"
"That is his business. Besides, he is at liberty to go away when he has
had enough of it, or to sleep if he has a mind to, but if you play your
part naturally he will not feel any weariness."
"I will be most natural, but I must be more polite."
"No, no politeness, I beg, for if you are polite, goodbye to nature.
Where have you ever seen, I should like to know, two lovers, excited by
all the fury of love, think of politeness?"
"You are right, darling, but I must be more delicate."
"Very well, delicacy can do no harm, but no more than usual. Your letter
greatly pleased me, you have treated the subject like a man of
experience."
I have already stated that my mistress was dressed most elegantly, but I
ought to have added that it was the elegance of the Graces, and that it
did not in any way prevent ease and simplicity. I only wondered at her
having used some paint for the face, but it rather pleased me because she
had applied it according to the fashion of the ladies of Versailles. The
charm of that style consists in the negligence with which the paint is
applied. The rouge must not appear natural; it is used to please the eyes
which see in it the marks of an intoxication heralding the most amorous
fury. She told me that she had put some on her face to please her
inquisitive friend, who was very fond of it.
"That taste," I said, "proves him to be a Frenchman."
As I was uttering these words, she made a sign to me; the friend was at
his post, and now the play began.
"The more I look at you, beloved angel, the more I think you worthy of my
adoration."
"But are you not certain that you do not worship a cruel divinity?"
"Yes, and therefore I do not offer my sacrifices to appease you, but to
excite you. You shall feel all through the night the ardour of my
devotion."
"You will not find me insensible to your offerings."
"I would begin them at once, but I think that, in order to insure their
efficiency, we ought to have supper first. I have taken nothing to-day
but a cup of chocolate and a salad of whites of eggs dressed with oil
from Lucca and Marseilles vinegar."
"But, dearest, it is folly! you must be ill?"
"Yes, I am just now, but I shall be all right when I have distilled the
whites of eggs, one by one, into your amorous soul."
"I did not think you required any such stimulants."
"Who could want any with you? But I have a rational fear, for if I
happened to prime without being able to fire, I would blow my brains
out."
"My dear browny, it would certainly be a misfortune, but there would be
no occasion to be in despair on that account."
"You think that I would only have to prime again."
"Of course."
While we were bantering in this edifying fashion, the table had been
laid, and we sat down to supper. She ate for two and I for four, our
excellent appetite being excited by the delicate cheer. A sumptuous
dessert was served in splendid silver-gilt plate, similar to the two
candlesticks which held four wax candles each. Seeing that I admired
them, she said:
"They are a present from my friend."
"It is a magnificent present, has he given you the snuffers likewise?"
"No"
"It is a proof that your friend is a great nobleman."
"How so?"
"Because great lords have no idea of snuffing the candle."
"Our candles have wicks which never require that operation."
"Good! Tell me who has taught you French."
"Old La Forest. I have been his pupil for six years. He has also taught
me to write poetry, but you know a great many words which I never heard
from him, such as 'a gogo, frustratoire, rater, dorloter'. Who taught you
these words?"
"The good company in Paris, and women particularly."
We made some punch, and amused ourselves in eating oysters after the
voluptuous fashion of lovers. We sucked them in, one by one, after
placing them on the other's tongue. Voluptuous reader, try it, and tell
me whether it is not the nectar of the gods!
At last, joking was over, and I reminded her that we had to think of more
substantial pleasures. "Wait here," she said, "I am going to change my
dress. I shall be back in one minute." Left alone, and not knowing what
to do, I looked in the drawers of her writing-table. I did not touch the
letters, but finding a box full of certain preservative sheaths against
the fatal and dreaded plumpness, I emptied it, and I placed in it the
following lines instead of the stolen goods:
'Enfants de L'Amitie, ministres de la Peur, Je suis l'Amour, tremblez,
respectez le voleur! Et toi, femme de Dieu, ne crains pas d'etre mere;
Car si to le deviens, Dieu seal sera le pere. S'iL est dit cependant que
tu veux le barren, Parle; je suis tout pret, je me ferai chatrer.'
My mistress soon returned, dressed like a nymph. A gown of Indian muslin,
embroidered with gold lilies, spewed to admiration the outline of her
voluptuous form, and her fine lace-cap was worthy of a queen. I threw
myself at her feet, entreating her not to delay my happiness any longer.
"Control your ardour a few moments," she said, "here is the altar, and in
a few minutes the victim will be in your arms."
"You will see," she added, going to her writing-table, "how far the
delicacy and the kind attention of my friend can extend."
She took the box and opened it, but instead of the pretty sheaths that
she expected to see, she found my poetry. After reading it aloud, she
called me a thief, and smothering me with kisses she entreated me to give
her back what I had stolen, but I pretended not to understand. She then
read the lines again, considered for one moment, and under pretence of
getting a better pen, she left the room, saying,
"I am going to pay you in your own coin."
She came back after a few minutes and wrote the following six lines:
'Sans rien oter au plaisir amoureux, L'objet de ton larcin sert a combier
nos voeux. A l'abri du danger, mon ame satisfaite Savoure en surete
parfaite; Et si tu veux jauer avec securite, Rends-moi mon doux ami, ces
dons de l'amitie.
After this I could not resist any longer, and I gave her back those
objects so precious to a nun who wants to sacrifice on the altar of
Venus.
The clock striking twelve, I shewed her the principal actor who was
longing to perform, and she arranged the sofa, saying that the alcove
being too cold we had better sleep on it. But the true reason was that,
to satisfy the curious lover, it was necessary for us to be seen.
Dear reader, a picture must have shades, and there is nothing, no matter
how beautiful in one point of view, that does not require to be sometimes
veiled if you look at it from a different one. In order to paint the
diversified scene which took place between me and my lovely mistress
until the dawn of day, I should have to use all the colours of Aretino's
palette. I was ardent and full of vigour, but I had to deal with a strong
partner, and in the morning, after the last exploit, we were positively
worn out; so much so that my charming nun felt some anxiety on my
account. It is true that she had seen my blood spurt out and cover her
bosom during my last offering; and as she did not suspect the true cause
of that phenomenon, she turned pale with fright. I allayed her anxiety by
a thousand follies which made her laugh heartily. I washed her splendid
bosom with rosewater, so as to purify it from the blood by which it had
been dyed for the first time. She expressed a fear that she had swallowed
a few drops, but I told her that it was of no consequence, even if were
the case. She resumed the costume of a nun, and entreating me to lie down
and to write to her before returning to Venice, so as to let her know how
I was, she left the casino.
I had no difficulty in obeying her, for I was truly in great need of
rest. I slept until evening. As soon as I awoke, I wrote to her that my
health was excellent, and that I felt quite inclined to begin our
delightful contest all over again. I asked her to let me know how she was
herself, and after I had dispatched my letter I returned to Venice.
CHAPTER XIX
I Give My Portrait to M. M.--A Present From Her--I Go to the
Opera With Her--She Plays At the Faro Table and Replenishes
My Empty Purse--Philosophical Conversation With M. M.--
A Letter From C. C.--She Knows All--A Ball At the Convent; My
Exploits In the Character of Pierrot--C. C. Comes to the
Casino Instead of M. M.--I Spend the Night With Her In A
Very Silly Way.
My dear M---- M---- had expressed a wish to have my portrait, something
like the one I had given to C---- C----, only larger, to wear it as a
locket. The outside was to represent some saint, and an invisible spring
was to remove the sainted picture and expose my likeness. I called upon
the artist who had painted the other miniature for me, and in three
sittings I had what I wanted. He afterwards made me an Annunciation, in
which the angel Gabriel was transformed into a dark-haired saint, and the
Holy Virgin into a beautiful, light-complexioned woman holding her arms
towards the angel. The celebrated painter Mengs imitated that idea in the
picture of the Annunciation which he painted in Madrid twelve years
afterwards, but I do not know whether he had the same reasons for it as
my painter. That allegory was exactly of the same size as my portrait,
and the jeweller who made the locket arranged it in such a manner that no
one could suppose the sacred image to be there only for the sake of
hiding a profane likeness.
The end of January, 1754, before going to the casino, I called upon Laura
to give her a letter for C---- C----, and she handed me one from her which
amused me. My beautiful nun had initiated that young girl, not only into
the mysteries of Sappho, but also in high metaphysics, and C---- C---- had
consequently become a Freethinker. She wrote to me that, objecting to
give an account of her affairs to her confessor, and yet not wishing to
tell him falsehoods, she had made up her mind to tell him nothing.
"He has remarked," she added, "that perhaps I do not confess anything to
him because I did not examine my conscience sufficiently, and I answered
him that I had nothing to say, but that if he liked I would commit a few
sins for the purpose of having something to tell him in confession."
I thought this reply worthy of a thorough sophist, and laughed heartily.
On the same day I received the following letter from my adorable nun "I
write to you from my bed, dearest browny, because I cannot remain
standing on my feet. I am almost dead. But I am not anxious about it; a
little rest will make me all right, for I eat well and sleep soundly. You
have made me very happy by writing to me that your bleeding has not had
any evil consequences, and I give you fair notice that I shall have the
proof of it on Twelfth Night, at least if you like; that is understood,
and you will let me know. In case you should feel disposed to grant me
that favour, my darling, I wish to go to the opera. At all events,
recollect that I positively forbid the whites of eggs for the future, for
I would rather have a little less enjoyment and more security respecting
your health. In future, when you go to the casino of Muran, please to
enquire whether there is anybody there, and if you receive an affirmative
answer, go away. My friend will do the same. In that manner you will not
run the risk of meeting one another, but you need not observe these
precautions for long, if you wish, for my friend is extremely fond of
you, and has a great desire to make your acquaintance. He has told me
that, if he had not seen it with his own eyes, he never would have
believed that a man could run the race that you ran so splendidly the
other night, but he says that, by making love in that manner, you bid
defiance to death, for he is certain that the blood you lost comes from
the brain. But what will he say when he hears that you only laugh at the
occurrence? I am going to make you very merry: he wants to eat the salad
of whites of eggs, and he wants me to ask you for some of your vinegar,
because there is none in Venice. He said that he spent a delightful
night, in spite of his fear of the evil consequences of our amorous
sport, and he has found my own efforts superior to the usual weakness of
my sex. That may be the case, dearest browny, but I am delighted to have
done such wonders, and to have made such trial of my strength. Without
you, darling of my heart, I should have lived without knowing myself, and
I wonder whether it is possible for nature to create a woman who could
remain insensible in your arms, or rather one who would not receive new
life by your side. It is more than love that I feel for you, it is
idolatry; and my mouth, longing to meet yours, sends forth thousands of
kisses which are wasted in the air. I am panting for your divine
portrait, so as to quench by a sweet illusion the fire which devours my
amorous lips. I trust my likeness will prove equally dear to you, for it
seems to me that nature has created us for one another, and I curse the
fatal instant in which I raised an invincible barrier between us. You
will find enclosed the key of my bureau. Open it, and take a parcel on
which you will see written, 'For my darling.' It is a small present which
my friend wishes me to offer you in exchange for the beautiful night-cap
that you gave me. Adieu."
The small key enclosed in the letter belonged to a bureau in the boudoir.
Anxious to know the nature of the present that she could offer me at the
instance of her friend, I opened the bureau, and found a parcel
containing a letter and a morocco-leather case.
The letter was as follows:
"That which will, I hope, render this present dear to you is the portrait
of a woman who adores you. Our friend had two of them, but the great
friendship he entertains towards you has given him the happy idea of
disposing of one in your favour. This box contains two portraits of me,
which are to be seen in two different ways: if you take off the bottom
part, of the case in its length, you will see me as a nun; and if you
press on the corner, the top will open and expose me to your sight in a
state of nature. It is not possible, dearest, that a woman can ever have
loved you as I do. Our friend excites my passion by the flattering
opinion that he entertains of you. I cannot decide whether I am more
fortunate in my friend or in my lover, for I could not imagine any being
superior to either one or the other."
The case contained a gold snuff-box, and a small quantity of Spanish
snuff which had been left in it proved that it had been used. I followed
the instructions given in the letter, and I first saw my mistress in the
costume of a nun, standing and in half profile. The second secret spring
brought her before my eyes, entirely naked, lying on a mattress of black
satin, in the position of the Madeleine of Coreggio. She was looking at
Love, who had the quiver at his feet, and was gracefully sitting on the
nun's robes. It was such a beautiful present that I did not think myself
worthy of it. I wrote to M---- M---- a letter in which the deepest
gratitude was blended with the most exalted love. The drawers of the
bureau contained all her diamonds and four purses full of sequins. I
admired her noble confidence in me. I locked the bureau, leaving
everything undisturbed, and returned to Venice. If I had been able to
escape out of the capricious clutches of fortune by giving up gambling,
my happiness would have been complete.
My own portrait was set with rare perfection, and as it was arranged to
be worn round the neck I attached it to six yards of Venetian chain,
which made it a very handsome present. The secret was in the ring to
which it was suspended, and it was very difficult to discover it. To make
the spring work and expose my likeness it was necessary to pull the ring
with some force and in a peculiar manner. Otherwise, nothing could be
seen but the Annunciation; and it was then a beautiful ornament for a
nun.
On Twelfth Night, having the locket and chain in my pocket, I went early
in the evening to watch near the fine statue erected to the hero Colleoni
after he had been poisoned, if history does not deceive us. 'Sit divus,
modo non vivus', is a sentence from the enlightened monarch, which will
last as long as there are monarchs on earth.
At six o'clock precisely my mistress alighted from the gondola, well
dressed and well masked, but this time in the garb of a woman. We went to
the Saint Samuel opera, and after the second ballet we repaired to the
'ridotto', where she amused herself by looking at all the ladies of the
nobility who alone had the right to walk about without masks. After
rambling about for half an hour, we entered the hall where the bank was
held. She stopped before the table of M. Mocenigo, who at that time was
the best amongst all the noble gamblers. As nobody was playing, he was
carelessly whispering to a masked lady, whom I recognized as Madame
Marina Pitani, whose adorer he was.
M---- M---- enquired whether I wanted to play, and as I answered in the
negative she said to me,
"I take you for my partner."
And without waiting for my answer she took a purse, and placed a pile of
gold on a card. The banker without disturbing himself shuffled the cards,
turned them up, and my friend won the paroli. The banker paid, took
another pack of cards, and continued his conversation with his lady,
shewing complete indifference for four hundred sequins which my friend
had already placed on the same card. The banker continuing his
conversations, M---- M---- said to me, in excellent French,
"Our stakes are not high enough to interest this gentleman; let us go."
I took up the gold, which I put in my pocket, without answering M. de
Mocenigo, who said to me:
"Your mask is too exacting."
I rejoined my lovely gambler, who was surrounded. We stopped soon
afterwards before the bank of M. Pierre Marcello, a charming young man,
who had near him Madame Venier, sister of the patrician Momolo. My
mistress began to play, and lost five rouleaux of gold one after the
other. Having no more money, she took handfuls of gold from my pocket,
and in four or five deals she broke the bank. She went away, and the
noble banker, bowing, complimented her upon her good fortune. After I had
taken care of all the gold she had won, I gave her my arm, and we left
the 'ridotto', but remarking that a few inquisitive persons were
following us, I took a gondola which landed us according to my
instructions. One can always escape prying eyes in this way in Venice.
After supper I counted our winnings, and I found myself in possession of
one thousand sequins as my share. I rolled the remainder in paper, and my
friend asked me to put it in her bureau. I then took my locket and threw
it over her neck; it gave her the greatest delight, and she tried for a
long time to discover the secret. At last I showed it her, and she
pronounced my portrait an excellent likeness.
Recollecting that we had but three hours to devote to the pleasures of
love, I entreated her to allow me to turn them to good account.
"Yes," she said, "but be prudent, for our friend pretends that you might
die on the spot."
"And why does he not fear the same danger for you, when your ecstasies
are in reality much more frequent than mine?"
"He says that the liquor distilled by us women does not come from the
brain, as is the case with men, and that the generating parts of woman
have no contact with her intellect. The consequence of it, he says, is
that the child is not the offspring of the mother as far as the brain,
the seat of reason, is concerned, but of the father, and it seems to me
very true. In that important act the woman has scarcely the amount of
reason that she is in need of, and she cannot have any left to enable her
to give a dose to the being she is generating." "Your friend is a very
learned man. But do you know that such a way of arguing opens my eyes
singularly? It is evident that, if that system be true, women ought to be
forgiven for all the follies which they commit on account of love, whilst
man is inexcusable, and I should be in despair if I happened to place you
in a position to become a mother."
"I shall know before long, and if it should be the case so much the
better. My mind is made up, and my decision taken."
"And what is that decision?"
"To abandon my destiny entirely to you both. I am quite certain that
neither one nor the other would let me remain at the convent."
"It would be a fatal event which would decide our future destinies. I
would carry you off, and take you to England to marry you."
"My friend thinks that a physician might be bought, who, under the
pretext of some disease of his own invention, would prescribe to me to go
somewhere to drink the waters--a permission which the bishop might grant.
At the watering-place I would get cured, and come back here, but I would
much rather unite our destinies for ever. Tell me, dearest, could you
manage to live anywhere as comfortably as you do here?"
"Alas! my love, no, but with you how could I be unhappy? But we will
resume that subject whenever it may be necessary. Let us go to bed."
"Yes. If I have a son my friend wishes to act towards him as a father."
"Would he believe himself to be the father?"
"You might both of you believe it, but some likeness would soon enlighten
me as to which of you two was the true father."
"Yes. If, for instance, the child composed poetry, then you would suppose
that he was the son of your friend."
"How do you know that my friend can write poetry?"
"Admit that he is the author of the six lines which you wrote in answer
to mine."
"I cannot possibly admit such a falsehood, because, good or bad, they
were of my own making, and so as to leave you no doubt let me convince
you of it at once."
"Oh, never mind! I believe you, and let us go to bed, or Love will call
out the god of Parnassus."
"Let him do it, but take this pencil and write; I am Apollo, you may be
Love:"
'Je ne me battrai pas; je te cede la place. Si Venus est ma soeur,
L'Amour est de ma race. Je sais faire des vers. Un instant de perdu
N'offense pas L'Amour, si je l'ai convaincu.
"It is on my knees that I entreat your pardon, my heavenly friend, but
how could I expect so much talent in a young daughter of Venice, only
twenty-two years of age, and, above all, brought up in a convent?"
"I have a most insatiate desire to prove myself more and more worthy of
you. Did you think I was prudent at the gaming-table?"
"Prudent enough to make the most intrepid banker tremble."
"I do not always play so well, but I had taken you as a partner, and I
felt I could set fortune at defiance. Why would you not play?"
"Because I had lost four thousand sequins last week and I was without
money, but I shall play to-morrow, and fortune will smile upon me. In the
mean time, here is a small book which I have brought from your boudoir:
the postures of Pietro Aretino; I want to try some of them."
"The thought is worthy of you, but some of these positions could not be
executed, and others are insipid."
"True, but I have chosen four very interesting ones."
These delightful labours occupied the remainder of the night until the
alarum warned us that it was time to part. I accompanied my lovely nun as
far as her gondola, and then went to bed; but I could not sleep. I got up
in order to go and pay a few small debts, for one of the greatest
pleasures that a spendthrift can enjoy is, in my opinion, to discharge
certain liabilities. The gold won by my mistress proved lucky for me, for
I did not pass a single day of the carnival without winning.
Three days after Twelfth Night, having paid a visit to the casino of
Muran for the purpose of placing some gold in M---- M---- 's bureau, the
door-keeper handed me a letter from my nun. Laura had, a few minutes
before, delivered me one from C---- C----.
My new mistress, after giving me an account of her health, requested me
to enquire from my jeweller whether he had not by chance made a ring
having on its bezel a St. Catherine which, without a doubt, concealed
another portrait; she wished to know the secret of that ring. "A young
boarder," she added, "a lovely girl, and my friend, is the owner of that
ring. There must be a secret, but she does not know it." I answered that
I would do what she wished. But here is the letter of C---- C----. It was
rather amusing, because it placed me in a regular dilemma; it bore a late
date, but the letter of M---- M---- had been written two days before it.
"Ali! how truly happy I am, my beloved husband! You love Sister
M---- M----, my dear friend. She has a locket as big as a ring, and she
cannot have received it from anyone but you. I am certain that your dear
likeness is to be found under the Annunciation. I recognized the style of
the artist, and it is certainly the same who painted the locket and my
ring. I am satisfied that Sister M---M---has received that present from
you. I am so pleased to know all that I would not run the risk of
grieving her by telling her that I knew her secret, but my dear friend,
either more open or more curious, has not imitated my reserve. She told
me that she had no doubt of my St. Catherine concealing the portrait of
my lover. Unable to say anything better, I told her that the ring was in
reality a gift from my lover, but that I had no idea of his portrait
being concealed inside of it. 'If it is as you say,' observed M---- M----,
'and if you have no objection, I will try to find out the secret, and
afterwards I will let you know mine.' Being quite certain that she would
not discover it, I gave her my ring, saying that, if she could find out
the secret, I should be very much pleased.
"Just as that moment my aunt paid me a visit, and I left my ring in the
hands of M---- M----, who returned it to me after dinner, assuring me
that, although she had not been able to find out the secret, she was
certain there was one. I promise you that she shall never hear anything
about it from me, because if she saw your portrait, she would guess
everything, and then I should have to tell her who you are. I am sorry to
be compelled to conceal anything from her, but I am very glad you love
one another. I pity you both, however, with all my heart, because I know
that you are obliged to make love through a grating in that horrid
parlour. How I wish, dearest, I could give you my place! I would make two
persons happy at the same time! Adieu!"
I answered that she had guessed rightly, that the locket of her friend
was a present from me and contained my likeness, but that she was to keep
the secret, and to be certain that my friendship for M---- M---- interfered
in no way with the feeling which bound me to her for ever. I certainly
was well aware that I was not behaving in a straightforward manner, but I
endeavoured to deceive myself, so true it is that a woman, weak as she
is, has more influence by the feeling she inspires than man can possibly
have with all his strength. At all events, I was foolishly trying to keep
up an intrigue which I knew to be near its denouement through the
intimacy that had sprung up between these two friendly rivals.
Laura having informed me that there was to be on a certain day a ball in
the large parlour of the convent, I made up my mind to attend it in such
a disguise that my two friends could not recognize me. I decided upon the
costume of a Pierrot, because it conceals the form and the gait better
than any other. I was certain that my two friends would be behind the
grating, and that it would afford me the pleasant opportunity of seeing
them together and of comparing them. In Venice, during the carnival, that
innocent pleasure is allowed in convents. The guests dance in the
parlour, and the sisters remain behind the grating, enjoying the sight of
the ball, which is over by sunset. Then all the guests retire, and the
poor nuns are for a long time happy in the recollection of the pleasure
enjoyed by their eyes. The ball was to take place in the afternoon of the
day appointed for my meeting with M---- M----, in the evening at the
casino of Muran, but that could not prevent me from going to the ball;
besides, I wanted to see my dear C---- C----.
I have said before that the dress of a Pierrot is the costume which
disguises the figure and the gait most completely. It has also the
advantage, through a large cap, of concealing the hair, and the white
gauze which covers the face does not allow the colour of the eyes or of
the eyebrows to be seen, but in order to prevent the costume from
hindering the movements of the mask, he must not wear anything
underneath, and in winter a dress made of light calico is not
particularly agreeable. I did not, however, pay any attention to that,
and taking only a plate of soup I went to Muran in a gondola. I had no
cloak, and--in my pockets I had nothing but my handkerchief, my purse,
and the key of the casino.
I went at once to the convent. The parlour was full, but thanks to my
costume of Pierrot, which was seen in Venice but very seldom, everybody
made room for me. I walked on, assuming the gait of a booby, the true
characteristic of my costume, and I stopped near the dancers. After I had
examined the Pantaloons, Punches, Harlequins, and Merry Andrews, I went
near the grating, where I saw all the nuns and boarders, some seated,
some standing, and, without appearing to, notice any of them in
particular, I remarked my two friends together, and very intent upon the
dancers. I then walked round the room, eyeing everybody from head to
foot, and calling the general attention upon myself.
I chose for my partner in the minuet a pretty girl dressed as a
Columbine, and I took her hand in so awkward a manner and with such an
air of stupidity that everybody laughed and made room for us. My partner
danced very well according to her costume, and I kept my character with
such perfection that the laughter was general. After the minuet I danced
twelve forlanas with the greatest vigour. Out of breath, I threw myself
on a sofa, pretending to go to sleep, and the moment I began to snore
everybody respected the slumbers of Pierrot. The quadrille lasted one
hour, and I took no part in it, but immediately after it, a Harlequin
approached me with the impertinence which belongs to his costume, and
flogged me with his wand. It is Harlequin's weapon. In my quality of
Pierrot I had no weapons. I seized him round the waist and carried him
round the parlour, running all the time, while he kept on flogging me. I
then put him down. Adroitly snatching his wand out of his hand, I lifted
his Columbine on my shoulders, and pursued him, striking him with the
wand, to the great delight and mirth of the company. The Columbine was
screaming because she was afraid of my tumbling down and of shewing her
centre of gravity to everybody in the fall. She had good reason to fear,
for suddenly a foolish Merry Andrew came behind me, tripped me up, and
down I tumbled. Everybody hooted Master Punch. I quickly picked myself
up, and rather vexed I began a regular fight with the insolent fellow. He
was of my size, but awkward, and he had nothing but strength. I threw
him, and shaking him vigorously on all sides I contrived to deprive him
of his hump and false stomach. The nuns, who had never seen such a merry
sight, clapped their hands, everybody laughed loudly, and improving my
opportunity I ran through the crowd and disappeared.
I was in a perspiration, and the weather was cold; I threw myself into a
gondola, and in order not to get chilled I landed at the 'ridotto'. I had
two hours to spare before going to the casino of Muran, and I longed to
enjoy the astonishment of my beautiful nun when she saw M. Pierrot
standing before her. I spent those two hours in playing at all the banks,
winning, losing, and performing all sorts of antics with complete
freedom, being satisfied that no one could recognize me; enjoying the
present, bidding defiance to the future, and laughing at all those
reasonable beings who exercise their reason to avoid the misfortunes
which they fear, destroying at the same time the pleasure that they might
enjoy.
But two o'clock struck and gave me warning that Love and Comus were
calling me to bestow new delights upon me. With my pockets full of gold
and silver, I left the ridotto, hurried to Muran, entered the sanctuary,
and saw my divinity leaning against the mantelpiece. She wore her convent
dress. I come near her by stealth, in order to enjoy her surprise. I look
at her, and I remain petrified, astounded.
The person I see is not M---- M----
It is C---- C----, dressed as a nun, who, more astonished even than
myself, does not utter one word or make a movement. I throw myself in an
arm-chair in order to breathe and to recover from my surprise. The sight
of C---- C---- had annihilated me, and my mind was as much stupefied as my
body. I found myself in an inextricable maze.
It is M---- M----, I said to myself, who has played that trick upon me,
but how has she contrived to know that I am the lover of C---- C----? Has
C---- C---- betrayed my secret? But if she has betrayed it, how could
M---- M---- deprive herself of the pleasure of seeing me, and consent to
her place being taken by her friend and rival? That cannot be a mark of
kind compliance, for a woman never carries it to such an extreme. I see
in it only a mark of contempt--a gratuitous insult.
My self-love tried hard to imagine some reason likely to disprove the
possibility of that contempt, but in vain. Absorbed in that dark
discontent, I believed myself wantonly trifled with, deceived, despised,
and I spent half an hour silent and gloomy, staring at C---- C----, who
scarcely dared to breathe, perplexed, confused, and not knowing in whose
presence she was, for she could only know me as the Pierrot whom she had
seen at the ball.
Deeply in love with M---- M----, and having come to the casino only for
her, I did not feel disposed to accept the exchange, although I was very
far from despising C---- C----, whose charms were as great, at least, as
those of M---- M----. I loved her tenderly, I adored her, but at that
moment it was not her whom I wanted, because at first her presence had
struck me as a mystification. It seemed to me that if I celebrated the
return of C---- C---- in an amorous manner, I would fail in what I owed to
myself, and I thought that I was bound in honour not to lend myself to
the imposition. Besides, without exactly realizing that feeling, I was
not sorry to have it in my power to reproach M---- M---- with an
indifference very strange in a woman in love, and I wanted to act in such
a manner that she should not be able to say that she had procured me a
pleasure. I must add that I suspected M---- M---- to be hiding in the
secret closet, perhaps with her friend.
I had to take a decision, for I could not pass the whole night in my
costume of Pierrot, and without speaking. At first I thought of going
away, the more so that both C---- C---- and her friend could not be certain
that I and Pierrot were the same individual, but I soon abandoned the
idea with horror, thinking of the deep sorrow which would fill the loving
soul of C---- C---- if she ever heard I was the Pierrot. I almost fancied
that she knew it already, and I shared the grief which she evidently
would feel in that case. I had seduced her. I had given her the right to
call me her husband. These thoughts broke my heart.
If M---- M---- is in the closet, said I to myself, she will shew herself in
good time. With that idea, I took off the gauze which covered my
features. My lovely C---- C---- gave a deep sigh, and said:
"I breathe again! it could not be anyone but you, my heart felt it. You
seemed surprised when you saw me, dearest; did you not know that I was
waiting for you?"
"I had not the faintest idea of it."
"If you are angry, I regret it deeply, but I am innocent."
"My adored friend, come to my arms, and never suppose that I can be angry
with you. I am delighted to see you; you are always my dear wife: but I
entreat you to clear up a cruel doubt, for you could never have betrayed
my secret."
"I! I would never have been guilty of such a thing, even if death had
stared me in the face."
"Then, how did you come here? How did your friend contrive to discover
everything? No one but you could tell her that I am your husband. Laura
perhaps....'
"No, Laura is faithful, dearest, and I cannot guess how it was."
"But how could you be persuaded to assume that disguise, and to come
here? You can leave the convent, and you have never apprised me of that
important circumstance."
"Can you suppose that I would not have told you all about it, if I had
ever left the convent, even once? I came out of it two hours ago, for the
first time, and I was induced to take that step in the simplest, the most
natural manner."
"Tell me all about it, my love. I feel extremely curious."
"I am glad of it, and I would conceal nothing from you. You know how
dearly M---- M---- and I love each other. No intimacy could be more tender
than ours; you can judge of it by what I told you in my letters. Well,
two days ago, my dear friend begged the abbess and my aunt to allow me to
sleep in her room in the place of the lay-sister, who, having a very bad
cold, had carried her cough to the infirmary. The permission was granted,
and you cannot imagine our pleasure in seeing ourselves at liberty, for
the first time, to sleep in the same bed. To-day, shortly after you had
left the parlour, where you so much amused us, without our discovering
that the delightful Pierrot was our friend, my dear M---- M---- retired to
her room and I followed her. The moment we were alone she told me that
she wanted me to render her a service from which depended our happiness.
I need not tell you how readily I answered that she had only to name it.
Then she opened a drawer, and much to my surprise she dressed me in this
costume. She was laughing; and I did the same without suspecting the end
of the joke. When she saw me entirely metamorphosed into a nun, she told
me that she was going to trust me with a great secret, but that she
entertained no fear of my discretion. 'Let me tell you, clearest friend,'
she said to me, 'that I was on the point of going out of the convent, to
return only tomorrow morning. I have, however, just decided that you
shall go instead. You have nothing to fear and you do not require any
instructions, because I know that you will meet with no difficulty. In an
hour, a lay-sister will come here, I will speak a few words apart to her,
and she will tell you to follow her. You will go out with her through the
small gate and across the garden as far as the room leading out to the
low shore. There you will get into the gondola, and say to the gondolier
these words: 'To the casino.' You will reach it in five minutes; you will
step out and enter a small apartment, where you will find a good fire;
you will be alone, and you will wait.' 'For whom? I enquired. 'For
nobody. You need not know any more: you may only be certain that nothing
unpleasant will happen to you; trust me for that. You will sup at the
casino, and sleep, if you like, without being disturbed. Do not ask any
questions, for I cannot answer them. Such is, my dear husband, the whole
truth. Tell me now what I could do after that speech of my friend, and
after she had received my promise to do whatever she wished. Do not
distrust what I tell you, for my lips cannot utter a falsehood. I
laughed, and not expecting anything else but an agreeable adventure, I
followed the lay-sister and soon found myself here. After a tedious hour
of expectation, Pierrot made his appearance. Be quite certain that the
very moment I saw you my heart knew who it was, but a minute after I felt
as if the lightning had struck me when I saw you step back, for I saw
clearly enough that you did not expect to find me. Your gloomy silence
frightened me, and I would never have dared to be the first in breaking
it; the more so that, in spite of the feelings of my heart, I might have
been mistaken. The dress of Pierrot might conceal some other man, but
certainly no one that I could have seen in this place without horror.
Recollect that for the last eight months I have been deprived of the
happiness of kissing you, and now that you must be certain of my
innocence, allow me to congratulate you upon knowing this casino. You are
happy, and I congratulate you with all my heart. M---- M---- is, after me,
the only woman worthy of your love, the only one with whom I could
consent to share it. I used to pity you, but I do so no longer, and your
happiness makes me happy. Kiss me now."
I should have been very ungrateful, I should, even have been cruel, if I
had not then folded in my arms with the warmth of true love the angel of
goodness and beauty who was before me, thanks to the most wonderful
effort of friendship.
After assuring her that I no longer entertained any doubt of her
innocence, I told her that I thought the behaviour of her friend very
ambiguous. I said that, notwithstanding the pleasure I felt in seeing
her, the trick played upon me by her friend was a very bad one, that it
could not do otherwise than displease me greatly, because it was an
insult to me.
"I am not of your opinion," replied C---- C----.
"My dear M---- M---- has evidently contrived, somehow or other, to discover
that, before you were acquainted with her, you were my lover. She thought
very likely that you still loved me, and she imagined, for I know her
well, that she could not give us a greater proof of her love than by
procuring us, without forewarning us, that which two lovers fond of each
other must wish for so ardently. She wished to make us happy, and I
cannot be angry with her for it."
"You are right to think so, dearest, but my position is very different
from yours. You have not another lover; you could not have another; but I
being free and unable to see you, have not found it possible to resist
the charms of M---- M----. I love her madly; she knows it, and,
intelligent as she is, she must have meant to shew her contempt for me by
doing what she has done. I candidly confess that I feel hurt in the
highest degree. If she loved me as I love her, she never could have sent
you here instead of coming herself."
"I do not think so, my beloved friend. Her soul is as noble as her heart
is generous; and just in the same manner that I am not sorry to know that
you love one another and that you make each other happy, as this
beautiful casino proves to me, she does not regret our love, and she is,
on the contrary, delighted to shew us that she approves of it. Most
likely she meant to prove that she loved you for your own sake, that your
happiness makes her happy, and that she is not jealous of her best friend
being her rival. To convince you that you ought not to be angry with her
for having discovered our secret, she proves, by sending me here in her
place, that she is pleased to see your heart divided between her and me.
You know very well that she loves me, and that I am often either her wife
or her husband, and as you do not object to my being your rival and
making her often as happy as I can, she does not want you either to
suppose that her love is like hatred, for the love of a jealous heart is
very much like it."
"You plead the cause of your friend with the eloquence of an angel, but,
dear little wife, you do not see the affair in its proper light. You have
intelligence and a pure soul, but you have not my experience.
M---- M----'s love for me has been nothing but a passing fancy, and she
knows that I am not such an idiot as to be deceived by all this affair. I
am miserable, and it is her doing."
"Then I should be right if I complained of her also, because she makes me
feel that she is the mistress of my lover, and she shews me that, after
seducing him from me, she gives him back to me without difficulty. Then
she wishes me to understand that she despises also my tender affection
for her, since she places me in a position to shew that affection for
another person."
"Now, dearest, you speak without reason, for the relations between you
two are of an entirely different nature. Your mutual love is nothing but
trifling nonsense, mere illusion of the senses. The pleasures which you
enjoy together are not exclusive. To become jealous of one another it
would be necessary that one of you two should feel a similar affection
for another woman but M---- M---- could no more be angry at your having a
lover than you could be so yourself if she had one; provided, however,
that the lover should not belong to the other"
"But that is precisely our case, and you are mistaken. We are not angry
at your loving us both equally. Have I not written to you that I would
most willingly give you my place near M---- M----? Then you must believe
that I despise you likewise?"
"My darling, that wish of yours to give me up your place, when you did
not know that I was happy with M---- M----, arose from your friendship
rather than from your love, and for the present I must be glad to see
that your friendship is stronger than your love, but I have every reason
to be sorry when M---- M---- feels the same. I love her without any
possibility of marrying her. Do you understand me, dearest? As for you,
knowing that you must be my wife, I am certain of our love, which
practice will animate with new life. It is not the same with M---- M----;
that love cannot spring up again into existence. Is it not humiliating
for me to have inspired her with nothing but a passing fancy? I
understand your adoration for her very well. She has initiated you into
all her mysteries, and you owe her eternal friendship and everlasting
gratitude."
It was midnight, and we went on wasting our time in this desultory
conversation, when the prudent and careful servant brought us an
excellent supper. I could not touch anything, my heart was too full, but
my dear little wife supped with a good appetite. I could not help
laughing when I saw a salad of whites of eggs, and C---- C---- thought it
extraordinary because all the yolks had been removed. In her innocence,
she could not understand the intention of the person who had ordered the
supper. As I looked at her, I was compelled to acknowledge that she had
improved in beauty; in fact C---- C---- was remarkably beautiful, yet I
remained cold by her side. I have always thought that there is no merit
in being faithful to the person we truly love.
Two hours before day-light we resumed our seats near the fire, and
C---- C----, seeing how dull I was, was delicately attentive to me. She
attempted no allurement, all her movements wore the stamp of the most
decent reserve, and her conversation, tender in its expressions and
perfectly easy, never conveyed the shadow of a reproach for my coolness.
Towards the end of our long conversation, she asked me what she should
say to her friend on her return to the convent.
"My dear M---- M---- expects to see me full of joy and gratitude for the
generous present she thought she was making me by giving me this night,
but what shall I tell her?"
"The whole truth. Do not keep from her a single word of our conversation,
as far as your memory will serve you, and tell her especially that she
has made me miserable for a long time."
"No, for I should cause her too great a sorrow; she loves you dearly, and
cherishes the locket which contains your likeness. I mean, on the
contrary, to do all I can to bring peace between you two, and I must
succeed before long, because my friend is not guilty of any wrong, and
you only feel some spite, although with no cause. I will send you my
letter by Laura, unless you promise me to go and fetch it yourself at her
house."
"Your letters will always be dear to me, but, mark my words,
M---- M---- will not enter into any explanation. She will believe you in
everything, except in one."
"I suppose you mean our passing a whole night together as innocently as
if we were brother and sister. If she knows you as well as I do, she will
indeed think it most wonderful."
"In that case, you may tell her the contrary, if you like."
"Nothing of the sort. I hate falsehoods, and I will certainly never utter
one in such a case as this; it would be very wrong. I do not love you
less on that account, my darling, although, during this long night, you
have not condescended to give me the slightest proof of your love."
"Believe me, dearest, I am sick from unhappiness. I love you with my
whole soul, but I am in such a situation that...."
"What! you are weeping, my love! Oh! I entreat you, spare my heart! I am
so sorry to have told you such a thing, but I can assure you I never
meant to make you unhappy. I am sure that in a quarter of an hour
M---- M---- will be crying likewise."
The alarum struck, and, having no longer any hope of seeing
M---- M---- come to justify herself, I kissed C---- C----. I gave her the
key of the casino, requesting her to return it for me to M---- M----, and
my young friend having gone back to the convent, I put on my mask and
left the casino.
CHAPTER XX
I Am in Danger of Perishing in the Lagunes--Illness--Letters
from C. C. and M. M.--The Quarrel is Made Up--Meeting at the
Casino of Muran I Learn the Name of M. M.'s Friend, and
Consent to Give Him A Supper at My Casino in the Company of
Our Common Mistress
The weather was fearful. The wind was blowing fiercely, and it was
bitterly cold. When I reached the shore, I looked for a gondola, I called
the gondoliers, but, in contravention to the police regulations, there
was neither gondola nor gondolier. What was I to do? Dressed in light
linen, I was hardly in a fit state to walk along the wharf for an hour in
such weather. I should most likely have gone back to the casino if I had
had the key, but I was paying the penalty of the foolish spite which had
made me give it up. The wind almost carried me off my feet, and there was
no house that I could enter to get a shelter.
I had in my pockets three hundred philippes that I had won in the
evening, and a purse full of gold. I had therefore every reason to fear
the thieves of Muran--a very dangerous class of cutthroats, determined
murderers who enjoyed and abused a certain impunity, because they had
some privileges granted to them by the Government on account of the
services they rendered in the manufactories of looking-glasses and in the
glassworks which are numerous on the island. In order to prevent their
emigration, the Government had granted them the freedom of Venice. I
dreaded meeting a pair of them, who would have stripped me of everything,
at least. I had not, by chance, with me the knife which all honest men
must carry to defend their lives in my dear country. I was truly in an
unpleasant predicament.
I was thus painfully situated when I thought I could see a light through
the crevices of a small house. I knocked modestly against the shutter. A
voice called out:
"Who is knocking?"
And at the same moment the shutter was pushed open.
"What do you want?" asked a man, rather astonished at my costume.
I explained my predicament in a few words, and giving him one sequin I
begged his permission to shelter myself under his roof. Convinced by my
sequin rather than my words, he opened the door, I went in, and promising
him another sequin for his trouble I requested him to get me a gondola to
take me to Venice. He dressed himself hurriedly, thanking God for that
piece of good fortune, and went out assuring me that he would soon get me
a gondola. I remained alone in a miserable room in which all his family,
sleeping together in a large, ill-looking bed, were staring at me in
consequence of my extraordinary costume. In half an hour the good man
returned to announce that the gondoliers were at the wharf, but that they
wanted to be paid in advance. I raised no objection, gave a sequin to the
man for his trouble, and went to the wharf.
The sight of two strong gondoliers made me get into the gondola without
anxiety, and we left the shore without being much disturbed by the wind,
but when we had gone beyond the island, the storm attacked us with such
fury that I thought myself lost, for, although a good swimmer, I was not
sure I had strength enough to resist the violence of the waves and swim
to the shore. I ordered the men to go back to the island, but they
answered that I had not to deal with a couple of cowards, and that I had
no occasion to be afraid. I knew the disposition of our gondoliers, and I
made up my mind to say no more.
But the wind increased in violence, the foaming waves rushed into the
gondola, and my two rowers, in spite of their vigour and of their
courage, could no longer guide it. We were only within one hundred yards
of the mouth of the Jesuits' Canal, when a terrible gust of wind threw
one of the 'barcarols' into the sea; most fortunately he contrived to
hold by the gondola and to get in again, but he had lost his oar, and
while he was securing another the gondola had tacked, and had already
gone a considerable distance abreast. The position called for immediate
decision, and I had no wish to take my supper with Neptune. I threw a
handful of philippes into the gondola, and ordered the gondoliers to
throw overboard the 'felce' which covered the boat. The ringing of money,
as much as the imminent danger, ensured instant obedience, and then, the
wind having less hold upon us, my brave boatmen shewed AEolus that their
efforts could conquer him, for in less than five minutes we shot into the
Beggars' Canal, and I reached the Bragadin Palace. I went to bed at once,
covering myself heavily in order to regain my natural heat, but sleep,
which alone could have restored me to health, would not visit me.
Five or six hours afterwards, M. de Bragadin and his two inseparable
friends paid me a visit, and found me raving with fever. That did not
prevent my respectable protector from laughing at the sight of the
costume of Pierrot lying on the sofa. After congratulating me upon having
escaped with my life out of such a bad predicament, they left me alone.
In the evening I perspired so profusely that my bed had to be changed.
The next day my fever and delirium increased, and two days after, the
fever having abated, I found myself almost crippled and suffering
fearfully with lumbago. I felt that nothing could relieve me but a strict
regimen, and I bore the evil patiently.
Early on the Wednesday morning, Laura, the faithful messenger, called on
me; I was still in my bed: I told her that I could neither read nor
write, and I asked her to come again the next day. She placed on the
table, near my bed, the parcel she had for me, and she left me, knowing
what had occurred to me sufficiently to enable her to inform C---- C---- of
the state in which I was.
Feeling a little better towards the evening, I ordered my servant to lock
me in my room, and I opened C---- C----'s letter. The first thing I found
in the parcel, and which caused me great pleasure, was the key of the
casino which she returned to me. I had already repented having given it
up, and I was beginning to feel that I had been in the wrong. It acted
like a refreshing balm upon me. The second thing, not less dear after the
return of the precious key, was a letter from M---- M----, the seal of
which I was not long in breaking, and I read the following lines:
"The particulars which you have read, or which you are going to read, in
the letter of my friend, will cause you, I hope, to forget the fault
which I have committed so innocently, for I trusted, on the contrary,
that you would be very happy. I saw all and heard all, and you would not
have gone away without the key if I had not, most unfortunately, fallen
asleep an hour before your departure. Take back the key and come to the
casino to-morrow night, since Heaven has saved you from the storm. Your
love may, perhaps, give you the right to complain, but not to ill-treat a
woman who certainly has not given you any mark of contempt."
I afterwards read the letter of my dear C---- C----, and I will give a
copy of it here, because I think it will prove interesting:
"I entreat you, dear husband, not to send back this key, unless you have
become the most cruel of men, unless you find pleasure in tormenting two
women who, love you ardently, and who love you for yourself only. Knowing
your excellent heart, I trust you will go to the casino to-morrow evening
and make it up with M---- M----, who cannot go there to-night. You will
see that you are in the wrong, dearest, and that, far from despising you,
my dear friend loves you only. In the mean time, let me tell you what you
are not acquainted with, and what you must be anxious to know.
"Immediately after you had gone away in that fearful storm which caused
me such anguish, and just as I was preparing to return to the convent, I
was much surprised to see standing before me my dear M---- M----, who from
some hiding-place had heard all you had said. She had several times been
on the point of shewing herself, but she had always been prevented by the
fear of coming out of season, and thus stopping a reconciliation which
she thought was inevitable between two fond lovers. Unfortunately, sleep
had conquered her before your departure, and she only woke when the
alarum struck, too late to detain you, for you had rushed with the haste
of a man who is flying from some terrible danger. As soon as I saw her, I
gave her the key, although I did not know what it meant, and my friend,
heaving a deep sigh, told me that she would explain everything as soon as
we were safe in her room. We left the casino in a dreadful storm,
trembling for your safety, and not thinking of our own danger. As soon as
we were in the convent I resumed my usual costume, and M---- M---- went to
bed. I took a seat near her, and this is what she told me. 'When you left
your ring in my hands to go to your aunt, who had sent for you, I
examined it with so much attention that at last I suspected the small
blue spot to be connected with the secret spring; I took a pin, succeeded
in removing the top part, and I cannot express the joy I felt when I saw
that we both loved the same man, but no more can I give you an idea of my
sorrow when I thought that I was encroaching upon your rights. Delighted,
however, with my discovery, I immediately conceived a plan which would
procure you the pleasure of supping with him. I closed the ring again and
returned it to you, telling you at the same time that I had not been able
to discover anything. I was then truly the happiest of women. Knowing
your heart, knowing that you were aware of the love of your lover for me,
since I had innocently shewed you his portrait, and happy in the idea
that you were not jealous of me, I would have despised myself if I had
entertained any feelings different from your own, the more so that your
rights over him were by far stronger than mine. As for the mysterious
manner in which you always kept from me the name of your husband, I
easily guessed that you were only obeying his orders, and I admired your
noble sentiments and the goodness of your heart. In my opinion your lover
was afraid of losing us both, if we found out that neither the one nor
the other of us possessed his whole heart. I could not express my deep
sorrow when I thought that, after you had seen me in possession of his
portrait, you continued to act in the same manner towards me, although
you could not any longer hope to be the sole object of his love. Then I
had but one idea; to prove to both of you that M---- M---- is worthy of
your affection, of your friendship, of your esteem. I was indeed
thoroughly happy when I thought that the felicity of our trio would be
increased a hundredfold, for is it not an unbearable misery to keep a
secret from the being we adore? I made you take my place, and I thought
that proceeding a masterpiece. You allowed me to dress you as a nun, and
with a compliance which proves your confidence in me you went to my
casino without knowing where you were going. As soon as you had landed,
the gondola came back, and I went to a place well known to our friend
from which, without being seen, I could follow all your movements and
hear everything you said. I was the author of the play; it was natural
that I should witness it, the more so that I felt certain of seeing and
hearing nothing that would not be very agreeable to me. I reached the
casino a quarter of an hour after you, and I cannot tell you my
delightful surprise when I saw that dear Pierrot who had amused us so
much, and whom we had not recognized. But I was fated to feel no other
pleasure than that of his appearance. Fear, surprise, and anxiety
overwhelmed me at once when I saw the effect produced upon him by the
disappointment of his expectation, and I felt unhappy. Our lover took the
thing wrongly, and he went away in despair; he loves me still, but if he
thinks of me it is only to try to forget me. Alas! he will succeed but
too soon! By sending back that key he proves that he will never again go
to the casino. Fatal night! When my only wish was to minister to the
happiness of three persons, how is it that the very reverse of my wish
has occurred? It will kill me, dear friend, unless you contrive to make
him understand reason, for I feel that without him I cannot live. You
must have the means of writing to him, you know him, you know his name.
In the name of all goodness, send back this key to him with a letter to
persuade him to come to the casino to-morrow or on the following day, if
it is only to speak to me; and I hope to convince him of my love and my
innocence. Rest to-day, dearest, but to-morrow write to him, tell him the
whole truth; take pity on your poor friend, and forgive her for loving
your lover. I shall write a few lines myself; you will enclose them in
your letter. It is my fault if he no longer loves you; you ought to hate
me, and yet you are generous enough to love me. I adore you; I have seen
his tears, I have seen how well his soul can love; I know him now. I
could not have believed that men were able to love so much. I have passed
a terrible night. Do not think I am angry, dear friend, because you
confided to him that we love one another like two lovers; it does not
displease me, and with him it was no indiscretion, because his mind is as
free of prejudices as his heart is good.'
"Tears were choking her. I tried to console her, and I most willingly
promised her to write to you. She never closed her eyes throughout that
day, but I slept soundly for four hours.
"When we got up we found the convent full of bad news, which interested
us a great deal more than people imagined. It was reported that, an hour
before daybreak, a fishing-boat had been lost in the lagune, that two
gondolas had been capsized, and that the people in them had perished. You
may imagine our anguish! We dared not ask any questions, but it was just
the hour at which you had left me, and we entertained the darkest
forebodings. We returned to our room, where M---- M---- fainted away. More
courageous than she is, I told her that you were a good swimmer, but I
could not allay her anxiety, and she went to bed with a feverish chill.
Just at that moment, my aunt, who is of a very cheerful disposition, came
in, laughing, to tell us that during the storm the Pierrot who had made
us laugh so much had had a narrow escape of being drowned. 'Ah! the poor
Pierrot!' I exclaimed, 'tell us all about him, dear aunt. I am very glad
he was saved. Who is he? Do you know?' 'Oh! yes,' she answered,
'everything is known, for he was taken home by our gondoliers. One of
them has just told me that Pierrot, having spent the night at the Briati
ball, did not find any gondola to return to Venice, and that our
gondoliers took him for a sequin. One of the men fell into the sea, but
then the brave Pierrot, throwing handfuls of silver upon the 'Zenia'
pitched the 'felce' over board, and the wind having less hold they
reached Venice safely through the Beggars' Canal. This morning the lucky
gondoliers divided thirty philippes which they found in the gondola, and
they have been fortunate enough to pick up their 'felce'. Pierrot will
remember Muran and the ball at Briati. The man says that he is the son of
M. de Bragadin, the procurator's brother. He was taken to the palace of
that nobleman nearly dead from cold, for he was dressed in light calico,
and had no cloak.'
"When my aunt had left us, we looked at one another for several minutes
without uttering a word, but we felt that the good news had brought back
life to us. M---- M---- asked me whether you were really the son of M, de
Bragadin. 'It might be so,' I said to her, 'but his name does not shew my
lover to be the bastard of that nobleman, and still less his legitimate
child, for M. de Bragadin was never married.' 'I should be very sorry,'
said M---- M----, 'if he were his son.' I thought it right, then, to tell
her your true name, and of the application made to my father by M. de
Bragadin for my hand, the consequence of which was that I had been shut
up in the convent. Therefore, my own darling, your little wife has no
longer any secret to keep from M---- M----, and I hope you will not accuse
me of indiscretion, for it is better that our dear friend should know all
the truth than only half of it. We have been greatly amused, as you may
well suppose, by the certainty with which people say that you spent all
the night at the Briati ball. When people do not know everything, they
invent, and what might be is often accepted in the place of what is in
reality; sometimes it proves very fortunate. At all events the news did a
great deal of good to my friend, who is now much better. She has had an
excellent night, and the hope of seeing you at the casino has restored
all her beauty. She has read this letter three or four times, and has
smothered me with kisses. I long to give her the letter which you are
going to write to her. The messenger will wait for it. Perhaps I shall
see you again at the casino, and in a better temper, I hope. Adieu."
It did not require much argument to conquer me. When I had finished the
letter, I was at once the admirer of C---- C---- and the ardent lover of
M---- M----. But, alas! although the fever had left me, I was crippled.
Certain that Laura would come again early the next morning, I could not
refrain from writing to both of them a short letter, it is true, but long
enough to assure them that reason had again taken possession of my poor
brain. I wrote to C---- C---- that she had done right in telling her friend
my name, the more so that, as I did not attend their church any longer, I
had no reason to make a mystery of it. In everything else I freely
acknowledged myself in the wrong, and I promised her that I would atone
by giving M---M---- the strongest possible proofs of my repentance as soon
as I could go again to her casino.
This is the letter that I wrote to my adorable nun:
"I gave C---- C---- the key of your casino, to be returned to you, my own
charming friend, because I believed myself trifled with and despised, of
malice aforethought, by the woman I worship. In my error I thought myself
unworthy of presenting myself before your eyes, and, in spite of love,
horror made me shudder. Such was the effect produced upon me by an act
which would have appeared to me admirable, if my self-love had not
blinded me and upset my reason. But, dearest, to admire it it would have
been necessary for my mind to be as noble as yours, and I have proved how
far it is from being so. I am inferior to you in all things, except in
passionate love, and I will prove it to you at our next meeting, when I
will beg on my knees a generous pardon. Believe me, beloved creature, if
I wish ardently to recover my health, it is only to have it in my power
to prove by my love a thousand times increased, how ashamed I am of my
errors. My painful lumbago has alone prevented me from answering your
short note yesterday, to express to you my regrets, and the love which
has been enhanced in me by your generosity, alas! so badly rewarded. I
can assure you that in the lagunes, with death staring me in the face, I
regretted no one but you, nothing but having outraged you. But in the
fearful danger then threatening me I only saw a punishment from Heaven.
If I had not cruelly sent back to you the key of the casino, I should
most likely have returned there, and should have avoided the sorrow as
well as the physical pains which I am now suffering as an expiation. I
thank you a thousand times for having recalled me to myself, and you may
be certain that for the future I will keep better control over myself;
nothing shall make me doubt your love. But, darling, what do you say of
C---- C----? Is she not an incarnate angel who can be compared to no one
but you? You love us both equally. I am the only one weak and faulty, and
you make me ashamed of myself. Yet I feel that I would give my life for
her as well as for you. I feel curious about one thing, but I cannot
trust it to paper. You will satisfy that curiosity the first time I shall
be able to go to the casino before two days at the earliest. I will let
you know two days beforehand. In the mean time, I entreat you to think a
little of me, and to be certain of my devoted love. Adieu."
The next morning Laura found me sitting up in bed, and in a fair way to
recover my health. I requested her to tell C---- C---- that I felt much
better, and I gave her the letter I had written. She had brought me one
from my dear little wife, in which I found enclosed a note from
M---- M----. Those two letter were full of tender expressions of love,
anxiety for my health, and ardent prayers for my recovery.
Six days afterwards, feeling much stronger, I went to Muran, where the
keeper of the casino handed me a letter from M---- M----. She wrote to me
how impatient she was for my complete recovery, and how desirous she was
to see me in possession of her casino, with all the privileges which she
hoped I would retain for ever.
"Let me know, I entreat you," she added, "when we are likely to meet
again, either at Muran or in Venice, as you please. Be quite certain that
whenever we meet we shall be alone and without a witness."
I answered at once, telling her that we would meet the day after the
morrow at her casino, because I wanted to receive her loving absolution
in the very spot where I had outraged the most generous of women.
I was longing to see her again, for I was ashamed of my cruel injustice
towards her, and panting to atone for my wrongs. Knowing her disposition,
and reflecting calmly upon what had taken place, it was now evident to me
that what she had done, very far from being a mark of contempt, was the
refined effort of a love wholly devoted to me. Since she had found out
that I was the lover of her young friend, could she imagine that my heart
belonged only to herself? In the same way that her love for me did not
prevent her from being compliant with the ambassador, she admitted the
possibility of my being the same with C---- C----. She overlooked the
difference of constitution between the two sexes, and the privileges
enjoyed by women.
Now that age has whitened my hair and deadened the ardour of my senses,
my imagination does not take such a high flight, and I think differently.
I am conscious that my beautiful nun sinned against womanly reserve and
modesty, the two most beautiful appanages of the fair sex, but if that
unique, or at least rare, woman was guilty of an eccentricity which I
then thought a virtue, she was at all events exempt from that fearful
venom called jealousy--an unhappy passion which devours the miserable
being who is labouring under it, and destroys the love that gave it
birth.
Two days afterwards, on the 4th of February, 1754, I had the supreme
felicity of finding myself again alone with my beloved mistress. She wore
the dress of a nun. As we both felt guilty, the moment we saw each other,
by a spontaneous movement, we fell both on our knees, folded in each
other's arms. We had both ill-treated Love; she had treated him like a
child, I had adored him after the fashion of a Jansenist. But where could
we have found the proper language for the excuses we had to address to
each other for the mutual forgiveness we had to entreat and to grant?
Kisses--that mute, yet expressive language, that delicate, voluptuous
contact which sends sentiment coursing rapidly through the veins, which
expresses at the same time the feeling of the heart and the impressions
of the mind--that language was the only one we had recourse to, and
without having uttered one syllable, dear reader, oh, how well we agreed!
Both overwhelmed with emotion, longing to give one another some proofs of
the sincerity of our reconciliation and of the ardent fire which was
consuming us, we rose without unclasping our arms, and falling (a most
amorous group!) on the nearest sofa, we remained there until the heaving
of a deep sigh which we would not have stopped, even if we had known that
it was to be the last!
Thus was completed our happy reconciliation, and the calm infused into
the soul by contentment, burst into a hearty laugh when we noticed that I
had kept on my cloak and my mask. After we had enjoyed our mirth, I
unmasked myself, and I asked her whether it was quite true that no one
had witnessed our reconciliation.
She took up one of the candlesticks, and seizing my hand:
"Come," she said.
She led me to the other end of the room, before a large cupboard which I
had already suspected of containing the secret. She opened it, and when
she had moved a sliding plank I saw a door through which we entered a
pretty closet furnished with everything necessary to a person wishing to
pass a few hours there. Near the sofa was a sliding panel.
M---- M---- removed it, and through twenty holes placed at a distance from
each other I saw every part of the room in which nature and love had
performed for our curious friend a play in six acts, during which I did
not think he had occasion to be dissatisfied with the actors.
"Now," said M---- M----, "I am going to satisfy the curiosity which you
were prudent enough not to trust to paper."
"But you cannot guess...."
"Silence, dearest! Love would not be of divine origin did he not possess
the faculty of divination. He knows all, and here is the proof. Do you
not wish to know whether my friend was with me during the fatal night
which has cost me so many tears?"
"You have guessed rightly."
"Well, then, he was with me, and you must not be angry, for you then
completed your conquest of him. He admired your character, your love,
your sentiments, your honesty. He could not help expressing his
astonishment at the rectitude of my instinct, or his approval of the
passion I felt for you. It was he who consoled me in the morning assuring
me that you would certainly come back to me as soon as you knew my real
feelings, the loyalty of my intentions and my good faith."
"But you must often have fallen asleep, for unless excited by some
powerful interest, it is impossible to pass eight hours in darkness and
in silence."
"We were moved by the deepest interest: besides, we were in darkness only
when we kept these holes open. The plank was on during our supper, and we
were listening in religious silence to your slightest whisper. The
interest which kept my friend awake was perhaps greater than mine. He
told me that he never had had before a better opportunity of studying the
human heart, and that you must have passed the most painful night. He
truly pitied you. We were delighted with C---- C----, for it is indeed
wonderful that a young girl of fifteen should reason as she did to
justify my conduct, without any other weapons but those given her by
nature and truth; she must have the soul of an angel. If you ever marry
her, you will have the most heavenly wife. I shall of course feel
miserable if I lose her, but your happiness will make amends for all. Do
you know, dearest, that I cannot understand how you could fall in love
with me after having known her, any more than I can conceive how she does
not hate me ever since she has discovered that I have robbed her of your
heart. My dear C---- C---- has truly something divine in her disposition.
Do you know why she confided to you her barren loves with me? Because, as
she told me herself, she wished to ease her conscience, thinking that she
was in some measure unfaithful to you."
"Does she think herself bound to be entirely faithful to me, with the
knowledge she has now of my own unfaithfulness?"
"She is particularly delicate and conscientious, and though she believes
herself truly your wife, she does not think that she has any right to
control your actions, but she believes herself bound to give you an
account of all she does."
"Noble girl!"
The prudent wife of the door-keeper having brought the supper, we sat
down to the well-supplied table. M---- M---- remarked that I had become
much thinner.
"The pains of the body do not fatten a man," I said, "and the sufferings
of the mind emaciate him. But we have suffered sufficiently, and we must
be wise enough never to recall anything which can be painful to us."
"You are quite right, my love; the instants that man is compelled to give
up to misfortune or to suffering are as many moments stolen from his
life, but he doubles his existence when he has the talent of multiplying
his pleasures, no matter of what nature they may be."
We amused ourselves in talking over past dangers, Pierrot's disguise, and
the ball at Briati, where she had been told that another Pierrot had made
his appearance.
M---- M---- wondered at the extraordinary effect of a disguise, for, said
she to me:
"The Pierrot in the parlour of the convent seemed to me taller and
thinner than you. If chance had not made you take the convent gondola, if
you had not had the strange idea of assuming the disguise of Pierrot, I
should not have known who you were, for my friends in the convent would
not have been interested in you. I was delighted when I heard that you
were not a patrician, as I feared, because, had you been one, I might in
time have run some great danger."
I knew very well what she had to fear, but pretending complete ignorance:
"I cannot conceive," I said, "what danger you might run on account of my
being a patrician."
"My darling, I cannot speak to you openly, unless you give me your word
to do what I am going to ask you."
"How could I hesitate, my love, in doing anything to please you, provided
my honour is not implicated? Have we not now everything in common? Speak,
idol of my heart, tell me your reasons, and rely upon my love; it is the
guarantee of my ready compliance in everything that can give you
pleasure:"
"Very well. I want you to give a supper in your casino to me and my
friend, who is dying to make your acquaintance."
"And I foresee that after supper you will leave me to go with him."
"You must feel that propriety compels me to do so."
"Your friend already knows, I suppose, who I am?"
"I thought it was right to tell him, because if I had not told him he
could not have entertained the hope of supping with you, and especially
at your house."
"I understand. I guess your friend is one of the foreign ambassadors."
"Precisely."
"But may I hope that he will so far honour me as to throw up his
incognito?"
"That is understood. I shall introduce him to you according to accepted
forms, telling his name and his political position."
"Then it is all for the best, darling. How could you suppose that I would
have any difficulty in procuring you that pleasure, when on the contrary,
nothing could please me more myself? Name the day, and be quite certain
that I shall anxiously look for it."
"I should have been sure of your compliance, if you had not given me
cause to doubt it."
"It is a home-thrust, but I deserve it."
"And I hope it will not make you angry. Now I am happy. Our friend is M.
de Bernis, the French ambassador. He will come masked, and as soon as he
shews his features I shall present him to you. Recollect that you must
treat him as my lover, but you must not appear to know that he is aware
of our intimacy."
"I understand that very well, and you shall have every reason to be
pleased with my urbanity. The idea of that supper is delightful to me,
and I hope that the reality will be as agreeable. You were quite right,
my love, to dread my being a patrician, for in that case the
State-Inquisitors, who very often think of nothing but of making a show
of their zeal, would not have failed to meddle with us, and the mere idea
of the possible consequences makes me shudder. I under The Leads--you
dishonoured--the abbess--the convent! Good God! Yes, if you had told me
what you thought, I would have given you my name, and I could have done
so all the more easily that my reserve was only caused by the fear of
being known, and of C---- C---- being taken to another convent by her
father. But can you appoint a day for the supper? I long to have it all
arranged."
"To-day is the fourth; well, then, in four days."
"That will be the eighth?"
"Exactly so. We will go to your casino after the second ballet. Give me
all necessary particulars to enable us to find the house without
enquiring from anyone."
I sat down and I wrote down the most exact particulars to find the casino
either by land or by water. Delighted with the prospect of such a party
of pleasure, I asked my mistress to go to bed, but I remarked to her
that, being convalescent and having made a hearty supper, I should be
very likely to pay my first homages to Morpheus. Yielding to the
circumstances, she set the alarum for ten o'clock, and we went to bed in
the alcove. As soon as we woke up, Love claimed our attention and he had
no cause of complaint, but towards midnight we fell asleep, our lips
fastened together, and we found ourselves in that position in the morning
when we opened our eyes. Although there was no time to lose, we could not
make up our minds to part without making one more offering to Venus.
I remained in the casino after the departure of my divinity, and slept
until noon. As soon as I had dressed myself, I returned to Venice, and my
first care was to give notice to my cook, so that the supper of the 8th
of February should be worthy of the guests and worthy of me.
EPISODE 9 -- THE FALSE NUN
CHAPTER XXI
Supper at My Casino With M. M. and M. de Bernis, the French
Ambassador--A Proposal from M. M.; I Accept It--
Consequences--C. C. is Unfaithful to Me, and I Cannot
Complain
I felt highly pleased with the supper-party I had arranged with
M---- M----, and I ought to have been happy. Yet I was not so; but whence
came the anxiety which was a torment to me? Whence? From my fatal habit
of gambling. That passion was rooted in me; to live and to play were to
me two identical things, and as I could not hold the bank I would go and
punt at the ridotto, where I lost my money morning and night. That state
of things made me miserable. Perhaps someone will say to me:
"Why did you play, when there was no need of it, when you were in want of
nothing, when you had all the money you could wish to satisfy your
fancies?"
That would be a troublesome question if I had not made it a law to tell
the truth. Well, then, dear inquisitive reader, if I played with almost
the certainty of losing, although no one, perhaps, was more sensible than
I was to the losses made in gambling, it is because I had in me the evil
spirit of avarice; it is because I loved prodigality, and because my
heart bled when I found myself compelled to spend any money that I had
not won at the gaming-table. It is an ugly vice, dear reader, I do not
deny it. However, all I can say is that, during the four days previous to
the supper, I lost all the gold won for me by M---- M----
On the anxiously-expected day I went to my casino, where at the appointed
hour M---- M---- came with her friend, whom she introduced to me as soon as
he had taken off his mask.
"I had an ardent wish, sir," said M. de Bernis to me, "to renew
acquaintance with you, since I heard from madame that we had known each
other in Paris."
With these words he looked at me attentively, as people will do when they
are trying to recollect a person whom they have lost sight of. I then
told him that we had never spoken to one another, and that he had not
seen enough of me to recollect my features now.
"I had the honour," I added, "to dine with your excellency at M. de
Mocenigo's house, but you talked all the time with Marshal Keith, the
Prussian ambassador, and I was not fortunate enough to attract your
attention. As you were on the point of leaving Paris to return to Venice,
you went away almost immediately after dinner, and I have never had the
honour of seeing you since that time."
"Now I recollect you," he answered, "and I remember asking whether you
were not the secretary of the embassy. But from this day we shall not
forget each other again, for the mysteries which unite us are of a nature
likely to establish a lasting intimacy between us."
The amiable couple were not long before they felt thoroughly at ease, and
we sat down to supper, of which, of course, I did the honours. The
ambassador, a fine connoisseur in wines, found mine excellent, and was
delighted to hear that I had them from Count Algarotti, who was reputed
as having the best cellar in Venice.
My supper was delicate and abundant, and my manners towards my handsome
guests were those of a private individual receiving his sovereign and his
mistress. I saw that M---- M---- was charmed with the respect with which I
treated her, and with my conversation, which evidently interested the
ambassador highly. The serious character of a first meeting did not
prevent the utterance of witty jests, for in that respect M. de Bernis
was a true Frenchman. I have travelled much, I have deeply studied men,
individually and in a body, but I have never met with true sociability
except in Frenchmen; they alone know how to jest, and it is rare,
delicate, refined jesting, which animates conversation and makes society
charming.
During our delightful supper wit was never wanting, and the amiable
M---- M---- led the conversation to the romantic combination which had
given her occasion to know me. Naturally, she proceeded to speak of my
passion for C---- C----, and she gave such an interesting description of
that young girl that the ambassador listened with as much attention as if
he had never seen the object of it. But that was his part, for he was not
aware that I had been informed of his having witnessed from his
hiding-place my silly interview with C---- C----. He told M---- M---- that
he would have been delighted if she had brought her young friend to sup
with us.
"That would be running too great a risk," answered the cunning nun, "but
if you approve of it," she added, looking at me, "I can make you sup with
her at my casino, for we sleep in the same room."
That offer surprised me much, but it was not the moment to shew it, so I
replied:
"It is impossible, madam, to add anything to the pleasure of your
society, yet I confess I should be pleased if you could contrive to do us
that great favour:"
"Well, I will think of it."
"But," observed the ambassador, "if I am to be one of the party, I think
it would be right to apprize the young lady of it."
"It is not necessary, for I will write to her to agree to whatever madam
may propose to her. I will do so to-morrow."
I begged the ambassador to prepare himself with a good stock of
indulgence for a girl of fifteen who had no experience of the world. In
the course of the evening I related the history of O-Morphi, which
greatly amused him. He entreated me to let him see her portrait. He
informed me that she was still an inmate of the 'Parc-aux-cerfs', where
she continued to be the delight of Louis XV., to whom she had given a
child. My guests left me after midnight, highly pleased, and I remained
alone.
The next morning, faithful to the promise I had made to my beautiful nun,
I wrote to C---- C---- without informing her that there would be a fourth
person at the projected supper, and having given my note to Laura I
repaired to Muran, where I found the following letter from M---- M---- :
"I could not sleep soundly, my love, if I did not ease my conscience of
an unpleasant weight. Perhaps you did not approve of the 'partie carree'
with our young friend, and you may not have objected out of mere
politeness. Tell me the truth, dearest, for, should you not look forward
to that meeting with pleasure, I can contrive to undo it without
implicating you in any way; trust me for that. If, however, you have no
objection to the party, it will take place as agreed. Believe me, I love
your soul more than your heart--I mean than your person. Adieu."
Her fear was very natural, but out of shamefacedness I did not like to
retract. M---- M---- knew me well, and as a skilful tactician she attacked
my weak side.
Here is my answer:
"I expected your letter, my best beloved, and you cannot doubt it,
because, as you know me thoroughly, you must be aware that I know you as
well. Yes, I know your mind, and I know what idea you must entertain of
mine, because I have exposed to you all my weakness and irritability by
my sophisms. I do penance for it, dearest, when I think that having
raised your suspicions your tenderness for me must have been weakened.
Forget my visions, I beg, and be quite certain that for the future my
soul will be in unison with yours. The supper must take place, it will be
a pleasure for me, but let me confess that in accepting it I have shewn
myself more grateful than polite. C---- C---- is a novice, and I am not
sorry to give her an opportunity of seeing the world. In what school
could she learn better than yours? Therefore I recommend her to you, and
you will please me much by continuing to shew your care and friendship
towards her, and by increasing, if possible, the sum of your goodness. I
fear that you may entice her to take the veil, and if she did I would
never console myself. Your friend has quite captivated me; he is a
superior man, and truly charming."
Thus did I wittingly deprive myself of the power of drawing back, but I
was able to realize the full force of the situation. I had no difficulty
in guessing that the ambassador was in love with C---- C----, and that he
had confessed as much to M---- M----, who, not being in a position to
object to it, was compelled to shew herself compliant, and to assist him
in everything that could render his passion successful. She could
certainly not do anything without my consent, and she had evidently
considered the affair too delicate to venture upon proposing the party
point-blank to me. They had, no doubt, put their heads together, so that
by bringing the conversation on that subject I should find myself
compelled, for the sake of politeness and perhaps of my inward feelings,
to fall into the snare. The ambassador, whose profession it was to carry
on intrigues skilfully, had succeeded well, and I had taken the bait as
he wished. There was nothing left for me but to put a good face on the
matter, not only so as not to shew myself a very silly being, but also in
order not to prove myself shamefully ungrateful towards a man who had
granted me unheard-of privileges. Nevertheless, the consequence of it all
was likely to be some coolness in my feelings towards both my mistresses.
M---- M---- had become conscious of this after she had returned to the
convent, and wishing to screen herself from all responsibility she had
lost no time in writing to me that she would cause the projected supper
to be abandoned, in case I should disapprove of it, but she knew very
well that I would not accept her offer. Self-love is a stronger passion
even than jealousy; it does not allow a man who has some pretension to
wit to shew himself jealous, particularly towards a person who is not
tainted by that base passion, and has proved it.
The next day, having gone early to the casino, I found the ambassador
already there, and he welcomed me in the most friendly manner. He told me
that, if he had known me in Paris he would have introduced me at the
court, where I should certainly have made my fortune. Now, when I think
of that, I say to myself, "That might have been the case, but of what
good would it have been to me?" Perhaps I should have fallen a victim of
the Revolution, like so many others. M. de Bernis himself would have been
one of those victims if Fate had not allowed him to die in Rome in 1794.
He died there unhappy, although wealthy, unless his feelings had
undergone a complete change before his death, and I do not believe it.
I asked him whether he liked Venice, and he answered that he could not do
otherwise than like that city, in which he enjoyed excellent health, and
in which, with plenty of money, life could be enjoyed better than
anywhere else.
"But I do not expect," he added, "to be allowed to keep this embassy very
long. Be kind enough to let that remain between us. I do not wish to make
M---- M---- unhappy."
We were conversing in all confidence when M---- M---- arrived with her
young friend, who showed her surprise at seeing another man with me, but
I encouraged her by the most tender welcome; and she recovered all her
composure when she saw the delight of the stranger at being answered by
her in good French. It gave us both an opportunity of paying the warmest
compliments to the mistress who had taught her so well.
C---- C---- was truly charming; her looks, bright and modest at the same
time, seemed to say to me, "You must belong to me:" I wished to see her
shine before our friends; and I contrived to conquer a cowardly feeling
of jealousy which, in spite of myself, was beginning to get hold of me. I
took care to make her talk on such subjects as I knew to be familiar to
her. I developed her natural intelligence, and had the satisfaction of
seeing her admired.
Applauded, flattered, animated by the satisfaction she could read in my
eyes, C---- C---- appeared a prodigy to M. de Bernis, and, oh! what a
contradiction of the human heart! I was pleased, yet I trembled lest he
should fall in love with her! What an enigma! I was intent myself upon a
work which would have caused me to murder any man who dared to undertake
it.
During the supper, which was worthy of a king, the ambassador treated
C---- C---- with the most delicate attentions. Wit, cheerfulness, decent
manners, attended our delightful party, and did not expel the gaiety and
the merry jests with which a Frenchman knows how to season every
conversation.
An observing critic who, without being acquainted with us, wished to
guess whether love was present at our happy party, might have suspected,
perhaps, but he certainly could not have affirmed, that it was there.
M---- M---- treated the ambassador as a friend. She shewed no other feeling
towards me than that of deep esteem, and she behaved to C---- C---- with
the tender affection of a sister. M. de Bernis was kind, polite, and
amiable with M---- M----, but he never ceased to take the greatest
interest in every word uttered by C---- C----, who played her part to
perfection, because she had only to follow her own nature, and, that
nature being beautiful, C---- C---- could not fail to be most charming.
We had passed five delightful hours, and the ambassador seemed more
pleased even than any of us. M---- M---- had the air of a person satisfied
with her own work, and I was playing the part of an approving spectator.
C---- C---- looked highly pleased at having secured the general
approbation, and there was, perhaps, a slight feeling of vanity in her
arising from the special attention which the ambassador had bestowed on
her. She looked at me, smiling, and I could easily understand the
language of her soul, by which she wished to tell me that she felt
perfectly well the difference between the society in which she was then,
and that in which her brother had given us such a disgusting specimen of
his depravity.
After midnight it was time to think of our departure, and M. de Bernis
undertook all the complimentary part. Thanking M---- M---- for the most
agreeable supper he had ever made in his life, he contrived to make her
offer a repetition of it for two days afterwards, and he asked me, for
the sake of appearance, whether I should not find as much delight in that
second meeting as himself. Could he have any doubt of my answering
affirmatively? I believe not, for I had placed myself under the necessity
of being compliant. All being agreed, we parted company.
The next day, when I thought of that exemplary supper, I had no
difficulty in guessing what the ultimate result would be. The ambassador
owed his great fortune entirely to the fair sex, because he possessed to
the highest degree the art of coddling love; and as his nature was
eminently voluptuous he found his advantage in it, because he knew how to
call desires into existence, and this procured him enjoyments worthy of
his delicate taste. I saw that he was deeply in love with C---- C----, and
I was far from supposing him the man to be satisfied with looking at her
lovely eyes. He certainly had some plan arranged, and M---- M----, in
spite of all her honesty, was the prime manager of it. I knew that she
would carry it on with such delicate skill that I should not see any
evidence of it. Although I did not feel disposed to shew more compliance
than was strictly just, I foresaw that in the end I should be the dupe,
and my poor C---- C---- the victim, of a cunningly-contrived trick. I could
not make up my mind either to consent with a good grace, or to throw
obstacles in the way, and, believing my dear little wife incapable of
abandoning herself to anything likely to displease me, I allowed myself
to be taken off my guard, and to rely upon the difficulty of seducing
her. Stupid calculation! Self-love and shamefacedness prevented me from
using my common sense. At all events, that intrigue kept me in a state of
fever because I was afraid of its consequences, and yet curiosity
mastered me to such an extent that I was longing for the result. I knew
very well that a second edition of the supper did not imply that the same
play would be performed a second time, and I foresaw that the changes
would be strongly marked. But I thought myself bound in honour not to
retract. I could not lead the intrigue, but I believed myself
sufficiently skilful to baffle all their manoeuvrings.
After all those considerations, however, considerations which enabled me
to assume the countenance of false bravery, the inexperience of
C---- C----, who, in spite of all the knowledge she had lately acquired,
was only a novice, caused me great anxiety. It was easy to abuse her
natural wish to be polite, but that fear gave way very soon before the
confidence I had in M---- M---- s delicacy. I thought that, having seen how
I had spent six hours with that young girl, knowing for a certainty that
I intended to marry her, M---- M---- would never be guilty of such base
treason. All these thoughts, worthy only of a weak and bashful jealousy,
brought no conclusive decision. I had to follow the current and watch
events.
At the appointed time I repaired to the casino, where I found my two
lovely friends sitting by the fire.
"Good evening, my two divinities, where is our charming Frenchman?"
"He has not arrived yet," answered M---- M----, "but he will doubtless
soon be here."
I took off my mask, and sitting between them, I gave them a thousand
kisses, taking good care not to shew any preference, and although I knew
that they were aware of the unquestionable right I had upon both of them,
I kept within the limits of the utmost decency. I congratulated them upon
the mutual inclination they felt for each other, and I saw that they were
pleased not to have to blush on that account.
More than one hour was spent in gallant and friendly conversation,
without my giving any satisfaction to my burning desires.
M---M---- attracted me more than C---- C----, but I would not for the world
have offended the charming girl. M---- M---- was beginning to shew some
anxiety about the absence of M. de Bernis, when the door-keeper brought
her a note from him.
"A courier," he wrote, "who arrived two hours ago, prevents my being
happy to-night, for I am compelled to pass it in answering the dispatches
I have received. I trust that you will forgive and pity me. May I hope
that you will kindly grant me on Friday the pleasure of which I am so
unfortunately deprived to-day? Let me know your answer by to-morrow. I
wish ardently, in that case, to find you with the same guests, to whom I
beg you will present my affectionate compliments."
"Well," said M---- M----, "it is not his fault. We will sup without him.
Will you come on Friday?"
"Yes, with the greatest pleasure. But what is the matter with you, dear
C---- C----? You look sad."
"Sad, no, unless it should be for the sake of my friend, for I have never
seen a more polite and more obliging gentleman."
"Very well, dear, I am glad he has rendered you so sensible."
"What do you mean? Could anyone be insensible to his merit?"
"Better still, but I agree with you. Only tell me if you love him?"
"Well, even if I loved him, do you think I would go and tell him?
Besides, I am certain that he loves my friend."
So saying, she sat down on M---- M----'s knee, calling her her own little
wife, and my two beauties began to bestow on one another caresses which
made me laugh heartily. Far from troubling their sport, I excited them,
in order to enjoy a spectacle with which I had long been acquainted.
M---- M---- took up a book full of the most lascivious engravings, and
said, with a significant glance in my direction:
"Do you wish me to have a fire lighted in the alcove?"
I understood her, and replied:
"You would oblige me, for the bed being large we can all three sleep
comfortably in it."
I guessed that she feared my suspecting the ambassador of enjoying from
the mysterious closet the sight of our amorous trio, and she wished to
destroy that suspicion by her proposal.
The table having been laid in front of the alcove, supper was served, and
we all did honour to it. We were all blessed with a devouring appetite.
While M---- M---- was teaching her friend how to mix punch, I was admiring
with delight the progress made in beauty by C---- C----.
"Your bosom," I said to her, "must have become perfect during the last
nine months."
"It is like mine," answered M---- M----, "would you like to see for
yourself?"
Of course I did not refuse. M---- M---- unlaced her friend, who made no
resistance, and performing afterwards the same office upon herself, in
less than two minutes I was admiring four rivals contending for the
golden apple like the three goddesses, and which would have set at
defiance the handsome Paris himself to adjudge the prize without
injustice. Need I say what an ardent fire that ravishing sight sent
coursing through my veins? I placed immediately an the table the Academie
des Dames, and pointed out a certain position to M---- M----, who,
understanding my wishes, said to C---- C---- :
"Will you, darling, represent that group with me?"
A look of compliance was C---- C----'s only answer; she was not yet inured
to amorous pleasures as much as her lovely teacher. While I was laughing
with delight, the two friends were getting ready, and in a few minutes we
were all three in bed, and in a state of nature. At first, satisfied with
enjoying the sight of the barren contest of my two bacchanalians, I was
amused by their efforts and by the contrast of colours, for one was dark
and the other fair, but soon, excited myself, and consumed by all the
fire of voluptuousness, I threw myself upon them, and I made them, one
after the other, almost faint away from the excess of love and enjoyment.
Worn out and satiated with pleasure, I invited them to take some rest. We
slept until we were awakened by the alarum, which I had taken care to set
at four o'clock. We were certain of turning to good account the two hours
we had then to spare before parting company, which we did at the dawn of
day, humiliated at having to confess our exhaustion, but highly pleased
with each other, and longing for a renewal of our delightful pleasures.
The next day, however, when I came to think of that rather too lively
night, during which, as is generally the case, Love had routed Reason, I
felt some remorse. M---- M---- wanted to convince me of her love, and for
that purpose she had combined all the virtues which I attached to my own
affection--namely, honour, delicacy, and truth, but her temperament, of
which her mind was the slave, carried her towards excess, and she
prepared everything in order to give way to it, while she awaited the
opportunity of making me her accomplice. She was coaxing love to make it
compliant, and to succeed in mastering it, because her heart, enslaved by
her senses, never reproached her. She likewise tried to deceive herself
by endeavouring to forget that I might complain of having been surprised.
She knew that to utter such a complaint I would have to acknowledge
myself weaker or less courageous than she was, and she relied upon my
being ashamed to make such a confession. I had no doubt whatever that the
absence of the ambassador had been arranged and concerted beforehand. I
could see still further, for it seemed evident to me that the two
conspirators had foreseen that I would guess the artifice, and that,
feeling stung to the quick, in spite of all my regrets, I would not shew
myself less generous than they had been themselves. The ambassador having
first procured me a delightful night, how could I refuse to let him enjoy
as pleasant a one? My friends had argued very well, for, in spite of all
the objections of my mind, I saw that I could not on my side put any
obstacle in their way. C---- C---- was no impediment to them. They were
certain of conquering her the moment she was not hindered by my presence.
It rested entirely with M---- M----, who had perfect control over her.
Poor girl! I saw her on the high road to debauchery, and it was my own
doing! I sighed when I thought how little I had spared them in our last
orgie, and what would become of me if both of them should happen to be,
by my doing, in such a position as to be compelled to run away from the
convent? I could imagine both of them thrown upon my hands, and the
prospect was not particularly agreeable. It would be an 'embarras de
richesse'. In this miserable contest between reason and prejudice,
between nature and sentiment, I could not make up my mind either to go to
the supper or to remain absent from it. "If I go," said I to myself,
"that night will pass with perfect decency, but I shall prove myself very
ridiculous, jealous, ungrateful, and even wanting in common politeness:
if I remain absent, C---- C---- is lost, at least, in my estimation, for I
feel that my love will no longer exist, and then good-bye to all idea of
a marriage with her." In the perplexity of mind in which I found myself,
I felt a want of something more certain than mere probabilities to base
my decision upon. I put on my mask, and repaired to the mansion of the
French ambassador. I addressed myself to the gate-keeper, saying that I
had a letter for Versailles, and that I would thank him to deliver it to
the courier when he went back to France with his excellency's dispatches.
"But, sir," answered the man, "we have not had a special courier for the
last two months:"
"What? Did not a special cabinet messenger arrive here last night?"
"Then he must have come in through the garret window or down the chimney,
for, on the word of an honest man, none entered through the gate."
"But the ambassador worked all night?"
"That may be, sir, but not here, for his excellency dined with the
Spanish ambassador, and did not return till very late:"
I had guessed rightly. I could no longer entertain any doubt. It was all
over; I could not draw back without shame. C---- C---- must resist, if the
game was distasteful to her; no violence would of course be offered to
her. The die was cast!
Towards evening I went to the casino of Muran, and wrote a short note to
M---- M----, requesting her to excuse me if some important business of M.
de Bragadin's prevented me from spending the night with her and with our
two friends, to whom I sent my compliments as well as my apologies. After
that I returned to Venice, but in rather an unpleasant mood; to divert
myself I went to the gaming table, and lost all night.
Two days afterwards, being certain that a letter from M---- M---- awaited
me at Muran, I went over, and the door-keeper handed me a parcel in which
I found a note from my nun and a letter from C---- C----, for everything
was now in common between them.
Here is C---- C----'s letter"
"We were very sorry, dearest friend, when we heard that we should not
have the happiness of seeing you. My dear M---- M----'s friend came
shortly afterwards, and when he read your note he likewise expressed his
deep regret. We expected to have a very dull supper, but the witty
sayings of that gentleman enlivened us and you cannot imagine of what
follies we were guilty after partaking of some champagne punch. Our
friend had become as gay as ourselves, and we spent the night in trios,
not very fatiguing, but very pleasant. I can assure you that that man
deserves to be loved, but he must acknowledge himself inferior to you in
everything. Believe me, dearest, I shall ever love you, and you must for
ever remain the master of my heart."
In spite of all my vexation, that letter made me laugh, but the note of
M---- M---- was much more singular. Here are the contents of it:
"I am certain, my own beloved, that you told a story out of pure
politeness, but you had guessed that I expected you to do so. You have
made our friend a splendid present in exchange for the one he made you
when he did not object to his M---- M---- bestowing her heart upon you. You
possess that heart entirely, dearest, and you would possess it under all
circumstances, but how sweet it is to flavour the pleasures of love with
the charms of friendship! I was sorry not to see you, but I knew that if
you had come we would not have had much enjoyment; for our friend,
notwithstanding all his wit, is not exempt from some natural prejudices.
As for C---- C----, her mind is now quite as free of them as our own, and
I am glad she owes it to me. You must feel thankful to me for having
completed her education, and for rendering her in every way worthy of
you. I wish you had been hiding in the closet, where I am certain you
would have spent some delightful hours. On Wednesday next I shall be
yours, and all alone with you in your casino in Venice; let me know
whether you will be at the usual hour near the statue of the hero
Colleoni. In case you should be prevented, name any other day."
I had to answer those two letters in the same spirit in which they had
been written, and in spite of all the bitter feelings which were then
raging in my heart, my answers were to be as sweet as honey. I was in
need of great courage, but I said to myself: "George Dandin, tu las
voulu!" I could not refuse to pay the penalty of my own deeds, and I have
never been able to ascertain whether the shame I felt was what is called
shamefacedness. It is a problem which I leave to others.
In my letter to C---- C---- I had the courage, or the effrontery, to
congratulate her, and to encourage her to imitate M---- M----, the best
model, I said, I could propose to her.
I wrote to my nun that I would be punctual at the appointment near the
statue, and amidst many false compliments, which ought to have betrayed
the true state of my heart, I told her that I admired the perfect
education she had given to C---- C----, but that I congratulated myself
upon having escaped the torture I should have suffered in the mysterious
observatory, for I felt that I could not have borne it.
On the Wednesday I was punctual at the rendezvous, and I had not to wait
long for M---- M----, who came disguised in male attire. "No theatre
to-night," she said to me; "let us go to the 'ridotto', to lose or double
our money." She had six hundred sequins. I had about one hundred. Fortune
turned her back upon us, and we lost all. I expected that we would then
leave that cutthroat place, but M---- M----, having left me for a minute,
came back with three hundred sequins which had been given to her by her
friend, whom she knew where to find. That money given by love or by
friendship brought her luck for a short time, and she soon won back all
we had lost, but in our greediness or imprudence we continued to play,
and finally we lost our last sequin.
When we could play no longer, M---- M---- said to me,
"Now that we need not fear thieves, let us go to our supper."
That woman, religious and a Free-thinker, a libertine and gambler, was
wonderful in all she did. She had just lost five hundred pounds, and she
was as completely at her ease as if she had won a very large sum. It is
true that the money she had just lost had not cost her much.
As soon as we were alone, she found me sad and low-spirited, although I
tried hard not to appear so, but, as for her, always the same, she was
handsome, brilliant, cheerful, and amorous.
She thought she would bring back my spirits by giving me the fullest
particulars of the night she had passed with C---- C---- and her friend,
but she ought to have guessed that she was going the wrong way. That is a
very common error, it comes from the mind, because people imagine that
what they feel themselves others must feel likewise.
I was on thorns, and I tried everything to avoid that subject, and to
lead the conversation into a different channel, for the amorous
particulars, on which she was dwelling with apparent delight, vexed me
greatly, and spite causing coldness, I was afraid of not playing my part
very warmly in the amorous contest which was at hand. When a lover doubts
his own strength, he may almost always be sure that he will fail in his
efforts.
After supper we went to bed in the alcove, where the beauty, the mental
and physical charms, the grace and the ardour of my lovely nun, cast all
my bad temper to the winds, and soon restored me to my usual
good-spirits. The nights being shorter we spent two hours in the most
delightful pleasures, and then parted, satisfied and full of love.
Before leaving, M---- M---- asked me to go to her casino, to take some
money and to play, taking her for my partner. I did so. I took all the
gold I found, and playing the martingale, and doubling my stakes
continuously, I won every day during the remainder of the carnival. I was
fortunate enough never to lose the sixth card, and, if I had lost it, I
should have been without money to play, for I had two thousand sequins on
that card. I congratulated myself upon having increased the treasure of
my dear mistress, who wrote to me that, for the sake of civility, we
ought to have a supper 'en partie carree' on Shrove Monday. I consented.
That supper was the last I ever had in my life with C---- C----. She was
in excellent spirits, but I had made up my mind, and as I paid all my
attentions to M---- M----, C---- C---- imitated my example without
difficulty, and she devoted herself wholly to her new lover.
Foreseeing that we would, a little later, be all of us in each other's
way, I begged M---- M---- to arrange everything so that we could be apart,
and she contrived it marvellously well.
After supper, the ambassador proposed a game of faro, which our beauties
did not know; he called for cards, and placed one hundred Louis on the
table before him; he dealt, and took care to make C---- C---- win the whole
of that sum. It was the best way to make her accept it as pin-money. The
young girl, dazzled by so much gold, and not knowing what to do with it,
asked her friend to take care of it for her until such time as she should
leave the convent to get married.
When the game was over, M---- M---- complained of a headache, and said that
she would go to bed in the alcove: she asked me to come and lull her to
sleep. We thus left the new lovers free to be as gay as they chose. Six
hours afterwards, when the alarum warned us that it was time to part, we
found them asleep in each other's embrace. I had myself passed an amorous
and quiet night, pleased with M---- M----, and with out giving one thought
to C---- C----.
CHAPTER XXII
M. De Bernis Goes Away Leaving Me the Use of His Casino--His
Good Advice: How I Follow It--Peril of M. M. and Myself--Mr.
Murray, the English Ambassador--Sale of the Casino and End
of Our Meetings--Serious Illness of M. M.--Zorzi and
Condulmer--Tonnie
[Illustration: Chapter 22]
Though the infidelities of C---- C---- made me look at her with other eyes
than before, and I had now no intention of making her the companion of my
life, I could not help feeling that it had rested with me to stop her on
the brink of the stream, and I therefore considered it my duty always to
be her friend.
If I had been more logical, the resolution I took with respect to her
would doubtless have been of another kind. I should have said to myself:
After seducing her, I myself have set the example of infidelity; I have
bidden her to follow blindly the advice of her friend, although I knew
that the advice and the example of M---M---- would end in her ruin; I had
insulted, in the most grievous manner, the delicacy of my mistress, and
that before her very eyes, and after all this how could I ask a weak
woman to do what a man, priding himself on his strength, would shrink
from at tempting? I should have stood self-condemned, and have felt that
it was my duty to remain the same to her, but flattering myself that I
was overcoming mere prejudices, I was in fact that most degraded of
slaves, he who uses his strength to crush the weak.
The day after Shrove Tuesday, going to the casino of Muran, I found there
a letter from M---- M----, who gave me two pieces of bad news: that
C---- C---- had lost her mother, and that the poor girl was in despair; and
that the lay-sister, whose rheum was cured, had returned to take her
place. Thus C---- C---- was deprived of her friend at a time when she would
have given her consolation, of which she stood in great need. C---- C----,
it seemed, had gone to share the rooms of her aunt, who, being very fond
of her, had obtained permission from the superior. This circumstance
would prevent the ambassador taking any more suppers with her, and I
should have been delighted if chance had put this obstacle in his path a
few days sooner.
All these misfortunes seemed of small account com pared with what I was
afraid of, for C---- C---- might have to pay the price for her pleasures,
and I so far regarded myself as the origin of her unhappiness as to feel
bound never to abandon her, and this might have involved me in terrible
complications.
M---- M---- asked me to sup with her and her lover on the following Monday.
I went and found them both sad--he for the loss of his new mistress, and
she because she had no longer a friend to make the seclusion of the
convent pleasant.
About midnight M. de Bemis left us, saying in a melancholy manner that he
feared he should be obliged to pass several months in Vienna on important
diplomatic business. Before parting we agreed to sup together every
Friday.
When we were alone M---- M---- told me that the ambassador would be obliged
to me if in the future I would come to the casino two hours later. I
understood that the good-natured and witty profligate had a very natural
prejudice against indulging his amorous feelings except when he was
certain of being alone.
M. de Bemis came to all our suppers till he left for Vienna, and always
went away at midnight. He no longer made use of his hiding-place, partly
because we now only lay in the recess, and partly because, having had
time to make love before my arrival, his desires were appeased.
M---- M---- always found me amorous. My love, indeed, was even hotter than
it had been, since, only seeing her once a week and remaining faithful to
her, I had always an abundant harvest to gather in. C---- C----'s letters
which she brought to me softened me to tears, for she said that after the
loss of her mother she could not count upon the friendship of any of her
relations. She called me her sole friend, her only protector, and in
speaking of her grief in not being able to see me any more whilst she
remained in the convent, she begged me to remain faithful to her dear
friend.
On Good Friday, when I got to the casino, I found the lovers over-whelmed
with grief. Supper was served, but the ambassador, downcast and absent,
neither ate nor spoke; and M---- M---- was like a statue that moves at
intervals by some mechanism. Good sense and ordinary politeness prevented
me from asking any questions, but on M---- M---- leaving us together, M. de
Bemis told me that she was distressed, and with reason, since he was
obliged to set out for Vienna fifteen days after Easter. "I may tell you
confidentially," he added, "that I believe I shall scarcely be able to
return, but she must not be told, as she would be in despair."
M---- M---- came back in a few minutes, but it was easy to see that she had
been weeping.
After some commonplace conversation, M. de Bernis, seeing M---- M---- still
low-spirited, said,
"Do not grieve thus, sweetheart, go I must, but my return is a matter of
equal certainty when I have finished the important business which summons
me to Vienna. You will still have the casino, but, dearest, both
friendship and prudence make me advise you not to come here in my
absence, for after I have left Venice I cannot depend upon the faith of
the gondoliers in my service, and I suspect our friend here cannot
flatter himself on his ability to get reliable ones. I may also tell you
that I have strong reasons for suspecting that our intercourse is known
to the State Inquisitors, who conceal their knowledge for political
reasons, but I fancy the secret would soon come to light when I am no
longer here, and when the nun who connives at your departure from the
convent knows that it is no longer for me that you leave it. The only
people whom I would trust are the housekeeper and his wife. I shall order
them, before I go, to look upon our friend here as myself, and you can
make your arrangements with them. I trust all will go well till my
return, if you will only behave discreetly. I will write to you under
cover of the housekeeper, his wife will give you my letters as before,
and in the same way you may reply. I must needs go, dearest one, but my
heart is with you, and I leave you, till my return, in the hands of a
friend, whom I rejoice to have known. He loves you, he has a heart and
knowledge of the world, and he will not let you make any mistakes."
M---- M---- was so affected by what the ambassador had said that she
entreated us to let her go, as she wished to be alone and to lie down. As
she went we agreed to sup together on the following Thursday.
As soon as we were alone the ambassador impressed me with the absolute
necessity of concealing from her that he was going to return no more. "I
am going," said he, "to work in concert with the Austrian cabinet on a
treaty which will be the talk of Europe. I entreat you to write to me
unreservedly, and as a friend, and if you love our common mistress, have
a care for her honour, and above all have the strength of mind to resist
all projects which are certain to involve you in misfortune, and which
will be equally fatal to both. You know what happened to Madame de Riva,
a nun in the convent of St.----. She had to disappear after it became
known that she was with child, and M. de Frulai, my predecessor, went
mad, and died shortly after. J. J. Rousseau told me that he died of
poison, but he is a visionary who sees the black side of everything. For
my part, I believe that he died of grief at not being able to do anything
for the unfortunate woman, who afterwards procured a dispensation from
her vows from the Pope, and having got married is now living at Padua
without any position in society.
"Let the prudent and loyal friend master the lover: go and see
M---- M---- sometimes in the parlour of the convent, but not here, or the
boatmen will betray you. The knowledge which we both have that the girls
are in a satisfactory condition is a great alleviation to my distress,
but you must confess that you have been very imprudent. You have risked a
terrible misfortune; consider the position you would have been in, for I
am sure you would not have abandoned her. She had an idea that the danger
might be overcome by means of drugs but I convinced her that she was
mistaken. In God's name, be discreet in the future, and write to me
fully, for I shall always be interested in her fate, both from duty and
sentiment."
We returned together to Venice, where we separated, and I passed the rest
of the night in great distress. In the morning I wrote to the fair
afflicted, and whilst endeavouring to console her to the best of my
ability, I tried to impress on her the necessity for prudence and the
avoidance of such escapades as might eventually ruin us.
Next day I received her reply, every word of which spelt despair. Nature
had given her a disposition which had become so intensified by indulgence
that the cloister was unbearable to her, and I foresaw the hard fights I
should have to undergo.
We saw each other the Thursday after Easter, and I told her that I should
not come to the casino before midnight. She had had four hours to pass
with her lover in tears and regrets, amongst which she had often cursed
her cruel fate and the foolish resolution which made her take the veil.
We supped together, and although the meal was a rich and delicate one we
did it little honour. When we had finished, the ambassador left,
entreating me to remain, which I did, without thinking at all of the
pleasures of a party of two, for Love lighteth not his torch at the
hearts of two lovers who are full of grief and sorrow. M---- M---- had
grown thin, and her condition excited my pity and shut out all other
feelings. I held her a long time in my arms, covering her with tender and
affectionate kisses, but I shewed no intention of consoling her by
amusements in which her spirit could not have taken part. She said,
before we parted, that I had shewn myself a true lover, and she asked me
to consider myself from henceforth as her only friend and protector.
Next week, when we were together as usual, M. de Bemis called the
housekeeper just before supper, and in his presence executed a deed in my
behalf, which he made him sign. In this document he transferred to me all
rights over the contents of the casino, and charged him to consider me in
all things as his master.
We arranged to sup together two days after, to make our farewells, but on
my arrival I found by herself, standing up, and pale as death, or rather
as white as a statue of Carrara marble.
"He is gone," she said, "and he leaves me to your care. Fatal being, whom
perchance I shall see no more, whom I thought I loved but as a friend,
now you are lost to me I see my mistake. Before I knew him I was not
happy, but neither was I unhappy as I now am."
I passed the whole night beside her, striving by the most delicate
attentions to soften her grief, but with out success. Her character, as
abandoned to sorrow as to pleasure, was displayed to me during that long
and weary night. She told me at what hour I should come to the convent
parlour, the next day, and on my arrival I was delighted to find her not
quite so sad. She shewed me a letter which her lover had written to her
from Trevisa, and she then told me that I must come and see her twice a
week, warning me that she would be accompanied sometimes by one nun and
sometimes by another, for she foresaw that my visits would become the
talk of the convent, when it became known that I was the individual who
used to go to mass at their church. She therefore told me to give in
another name, to prevent C---- C----'s aunt from becoming suspicious.
"Nevertheless," she added, "this will not prevent my coming alone when I
have any matter of importance to communicate to you. Promise me,
sweetheart, to sup and sleep at the casino at least once a week, and
write me a note each time by the housekeeper's wife."
I made no difficulty in promising her that much.
We thus passed a fortnight quietly enough, as she was happy again, and
her amorous inclinations had returned in full force. About this time she
gave me a piece of news which delighted me--namely, that C---- C---- had no
longer anything to fear.
Full of amorous wishes and having to be content with the teasing pleasure
of seeing one another through a wretched grating, we racked our brains to
find out some way to be alone together to do what we liked, without any
risk.
"I am assured," she said, "of the good faith of the gardener's sister. I
can go out and come in without fear of being seen, for the little door
leading to the convent is not overlooked by any window--indeed it is
thought to be walled up. Nobody can see me crossing the garden to the
little stream, which is considered unnavigable. All we want is a
one-oared gondola, and I cannot believe that with the help of money you
will be unable to find a boatman on whom we may rely."
I understood from these expressions that she suspected me of becoming
cold towards her, and this suspicion pierced me to the heart.
"Listen," said I, "I will be the boatman myself. I will come to the quay,
pass by the little door, and you shall lead me to your room where I will
pass the whole night with you, and the day, too, if you think you can
hide me."
"That plan," said she, "makes me shudder. I tremble at the danger to
which you might be exposed. No, I should be too unfortunate if I were to
be the cause of your misfortune, but, as you can row, come in the boat,
let me know the time as closely as possible; the trusty woman will be on
the watch, and I will not keep you four minutes waiting. I will get into
the boat, we will go to our beloved casino, and then we shall be happy
without fearing anything."
"I will think it over"
The way I took to satisfy her was as follows: I bought a small boat, and
without telling her I went one night all by myself round the island to
inspect the walls of the convent on the side of the lagune. With some
difficulty I made out a little door, which I judged to be the only one by
which she could pass, but to go from there to the casino was no small
matter, since one was obliged to fetch a wide course, and with one oar I
could not do the passage in less than a quarter of an hour, and that with
much toil. Nevertheless, feeling sure of success, I told my pretty nun of
the plan, and never was news received with so much pleasure. We set our
watches together, and fixed our meeting for the Friday following.
On the day appointed, an hour before sunset, I betook myself to St.
Francis de la Vigne, where I kept my boat, and having set it in order and
dressed myself as a boatman, I got upon the poop and held a straight
course for the little door, which opened the moment I arrived.
M---- M---- came out wrapped in a cloak, and someone shutting the door
after her she got on board my frail bark, and in a quarter of an hour we
were at the casino. M---- M---- made haste to go in, but I stayed to belay
my boat with a lock and chain against thieves, who pass the night
pleasantly by stealing whatever they can lay hands on.
Though I had rowed easily enough, I was in a bath of perspiration, which,
however, by no means hindered my charming mistress from falling on my
neck; the pleasure of meeting seemed to challenge her love, and, proud of
what I had done, I enjoyed her transports.
Not dreaming that I should have any occasion for a change of linen, I had
brought none with me, but she soon found a cure for this defect; for
after having undressed me she dried me lovingly, gave me one of her
smocks, and I found myself dressed to admiration.
We had been too long deprived of our amorous pleasures to think of taking
supper before we had offered a plenteous sacrifice to love. We spent two
hours in the sweetest of intoxications, our bliss seeming more acute than
at our first meeting. In spite of the fire which consumed me, in spite of
the ardour of my mistress, I was sufficiently master of myself to
disappoint her at the critical moment, for the picture which our friend
had drawn was always before my eyes. M---- M----, joyous and wanton,
having me for the first time in the character of boatman, augmented our
delights by her amorous caprices, but it was useless for her to try to
add fuel to my flame, since I loved her better than myself.
The night was short, for she was obliged to return at three in the
morning, and it struck one as we sat down to table. As the climax of ill
luck a storm came on whilst we were at supper. Our hair stood on end; our
only hope was founded in the nature of these squalls, which seldom last
more than an hour. We were in hopes, also, that it would not leave behind
it too strong a wind, as is sometimes the case, for though I was strong
and sturdy I was far from having the skill or experience of a
professional boatman.
In less than half an hour the storm became violent, one flash of
lightning followed another, the thunder roared, and the wind grew to a
gale. Yet after a heavy rain, in less than an hour, the sky cleared, but
there was no moon, it being the day after the Ascension. Two o'clock
stuck. I put my head out at the window, but perceive that a contrary gale
is blowing.
'Ma tiranno del mar Libecchio resta.'
This Libecchio which Ariosto calls--and with good reason--the tyrant of
the sea, is the southwesterly wind, which is commonly called 'Garbin' at
Venice. I said nothing, but I was frightened. I told my sweetheart that
we must needs sacrifice an hour of pleasure, since prudence would have it
so.
"Let us set out forthwith, for if the gale gets stronger I shall not be
able to double the island."
She saw my advice was not to be questioned, and taking the key of her
strong box, whence she desired to get some money, she was delighted to
find her store increased fourfold. She thanked me for having told her
nothing about it, assuring me she would have of me nothing but my heart,
and following me she got into my boat and lay down at full length so as
not to hinder its motion, I got upon the poop, as full of fear as
courage, and in five minutes I had the good luck to double the point. But
there it was that the tyrant was waiting for me, and it was not long
before I felt that my strength would not outlast that of the winds. I
rowed with all my strength, but all I could do was to prevent my boat
from going back. For half an hour I was in this pitiful state, and I felt
my strength failing without daring to say a word. I was out of breath,
but could not rest a moment, since the least relaxation would have let
the boat slip a far way back, and this would have been a distance hard to
recover. M---- M---- lay still and silent, for she perceived I had no
breath wherewith to answer her. I began to give ourselves up as lost.
At that instant I saw in the distance a barque coming swiftly towards us.
What a piece of luck! I waited till she caught us up, for if I had not
done so I should not have been able to make myself heard, but as soon as
I saw her at my left hand, twelve feet off, I shouted, "Help! I will give
two sequins!"
They lowered sail and came towards me, and on their hailing me I asked
for a man to take us to the opposite point of the island. They asked a
sequin in advance, I gave it them, and promised the other to the man who
would get on my poop and help me to make the point. In less than ten
minutes we were opposite to the little stream leading to the convent, but
the secret of it was too dear to be hazarded, so as soon as we reached
the point I paid my preserver and sent him back. Henceforth the wind was
in our favour, and we soon got to the little door, where
M---- M---- landed, saying to me, "Go and sleep in the casino." I thought
her advice wise, and I followed it, and having the wind behind me I got
to the casino without trouble, and slept till broad day. As soon as I had
risen I wrote to my dear mistress that I was well, and that we should see
each other at the grating. Having taken my boat back to St. Francis, I
put on my mask and went to Liston.
In the morning M---- M---- came to the grating by herself, and we made all
such observations as our adventures of the night would be likely to
suggest, but in place of deciding to follow the advice which prudence
should have given us-namely, not to expose ourselves to danger for the
future, we thought ourselves extremely prudent in resolving that if we
were again threatened by a storm we would set out as soon as we saw it
rising. All the same we had to confess that if chance had not thrown the
barque in our way we should have been obliged to return to the casino,
for M---- M---- could not have got to the convent, and how could she ever
have entered its walls again? I should have been forced to leave Venice
with her, and that for ever. My life would have been finally and
irretrievably linked with hers, and, without doubt, the various
adventures which at the age of seventy-two years impel me to write these
Memoirs, would never have taken place.
For the next three months we continued to meet each other once a week,
always amorous, and never disturbed by the slightest accidents.
M---- M---- could not resist giving the ambassador a full account of our
adventures, and I had promised to write to him, and always to write the
whole truth. He replied by congratulating us on our good fortune, but he
prophesied inevitable disaster if we had not the prudence to stop our
intercourse.
Mr. Murray, the English ambassador, a witty and handsome man, and a great
amateur of the fair sex, wine, and good cheer, then kept the fair
Ancilla, who introduced me to him. This fine fellow became my friend in
much the same way as M. de Bernis, the only difference being that the
Frenchman liked to look on while the Englishman preferred to give the
show. I was never unwelcome at their amorous battles, and the voluptuous
Ancilla was delighted to have me for a witness. I never gave them the
pleasure of mingling in the strife. I loved M---- M----, but I should avow
that my fidelity to her was not entirely dependent on my love. Though
Ancilla was handsome she inspired me with repugnance, for she was always
hoarse, and complained of a sharp pain in the throat, and though her
lover kept well, I was afraid of her, and not without cause, for the
disease which ended the days of Francis I. of France brought her to the
grave in the following autumn. A quarter of an hour before she died, her
brave Briton, yielding to the lascivious requests of this new Messalina,
offered in my presence the last sacrifice, in spite of a large sore on
her face which made her look hideous.
This truly heroic action was known all over the town, and it was Murray
himself who made it known, citing me as his witness.
This famous courtezan, whose beauty was justly celebrated, feeling
herself eaten away by an internal disease, promised to give a hundred
louis to a doctor named Lucchesi, who by dint of mercury undertook to
cure her, but Ancilla specified on the agreement that she was not to pay
the aforesaid sum till Lucchesi had offered with her an amorous
sacrifice.
The doctor having done his business as well as he could wished to be paid
without submitting to the conditions of the treaty, but Ancilla held her
ground, and the matter was brought before a magistrate.
In England, where all agreements are binding, Ancilla would have won her
case, but at Venice she lost it.
The judge, in giving sentence, said a condition, criminal per se, not
fulfilled, did not invalidate an agreement--a sentence abounding in
wisdom, especially in this instance.
Two months before this woman had become disgusting, my friend M. Memmo,
afterwards procurator, asked me to take him to her house. In the height
of the conversation, what should come but a gondola, and we saw Count
Rosemberg, the ambassador from Vienna, getting out of it. M. Memmo was
thunderstruck (for a Venetian noble conversing with a foreign ambassador
becomes guilty of treason to the state), and ran in hot haste from
Ancilla's room, I after him, but on the stair he met the ambassador, who,
seeing his distress, burst into a laugh, and passed on. I got directly
into M. Memmo's gondola, and we went forthwith to M. Cavalli, secretary
to the State Inquisitors. M. Memmo could have taken no better course to
avoid the troublesome consequences which this fatal meeting might have
had, and he was very glad that I was with him to testify to his innocence
and to the harmlessness of the occurrence.
M. Cavalli received M. Memmo with a smile, and told him he did well to
come to confession without wasting any time. M. Memmo, much astonished at
this reception, told him the brief history of the meeting, and the
secretary replied with a grave air that he had no doubt as to the truth
of his story, as the circumstances were in perfect correspondence with
what he knew of the matter.
We came away extremely puzzled at the secretary's reply, and discussed
the subject for some time, but then we came to the conclusion that M.
Cavalli could have had no positive knowledge of the matter before we
came, and that he only spoke as he did from the instinct of an
Inquisitor, who likes it to be understood that nothing is hid from him
for a moment.
After the death of Ancilla, Mr. Murray remained without a titular
mistress, but, fluttering about like a butterfly, he had, one after
another, the prettiest girls in Venice. This good-natured Epicurean set
out for Constantinople two years later, and was for twenty years the
ambassador of the Court of St. James at the Sublime Porte. He returned to
Venice in 1778 with the intention of ending his days there, far from
affairs of state, but he died in the lazaretto eight days before the
completion of his quarantine.
At play fortune continued to favour me; my commerce with M---- M---- could
not be discovered now that I was my own waterman; and the nuns who were
in the secret were too deeply involved not to keep it. I led them a merry
life, but I foresaw that as soon as M. de Bernis decided to let
M---- M---- know that he would not return to Venice, he would recall his
people, and we should then have the casino no longer. I knew, besides,
that when the rough season came on it would be impossible for me by
myself to continue our voyages.
The first Monday in October, when the theatres are opened and masks may
be worn, I went to St. Francis to get my boat, and thence to Muran for my
mistress, afterwards making for the casino. The nights were now long
enough for us to have ample time for enjoyment, so we began by making an
excellent supper, and then devoted ourselves to the worship of Love and
Sleep. Suddenly, in the midst of a moment of ecstasy, I heard a noise in
the direction of the canal, which aroused my suspicions, and I rushed to
the window. What was my astonishment and anger to see a large boat taking
mine in tow! Nevertheless, without giving way to my passion, I shouted to
the robbers that I would give them ten sequins if they would be kind
enough to return me my boat.
A shout of laughter was all the reply they made, and not believing what I
said they continued their course. What was I to do? I dared not cry,
"Stop thief!" and not being endued with the power of walking on the water
dry-footed, I could not give chase to the robbers. I was in the utmost
distress, and for the moment M---- M---- shewed signs of terror, for she
did not see how I could remedy this disaster.
I dressed myself hastily, giving no more thoughts to love, my only
comfort being that I had still two hours to get the indispensable boat,
should it cost me a hundred sequins. I should have been in no perplexity
if I had been able to take one, but the gondoliers would infallibly make
proclamation over the whole of Muran that they had taken a nun to such a
convent, and all would have been lost.
The only way, then, that was open to me was either to buy a boat or to
steal one. I put my pistols and dagger in my pocket, took some money, and
with an oar on my shoulder set out.
The robbers had filed the chain of my boat with a silent file; this I
could not do, and I could only reckon on having the good luck to find a
boat moored with cords.
Coming to the large bridge I saw boats and to spare, but there were
people on the quay, and I would not risk taking one. Seeing a tavern open
at the end of the quay I ran like a madman, and asked if there were any
boatmen there; the drawer told me there were two, but that they were
drunk. I came up to them, and said, "Who will take me to Venice for
eighty sous?"
"I," and "I"; and they began to quarrel as to who should go. I quieted
them by giving forty sous to the more drunken of the two, and I went out
with the other.
As soon as we were on our way, I said,
"You are too drunk to take me, lend me your boat, and I will give it you
back to-morrow."
"I don't know you."
"I will deposit ten sequins, but your boat is not worth that. Who will be
your surety?"
He took me back to the tavern, and the drawer went bail for him. Well
pleased, I took my man to the boat, and having furnished it with a second
oar and two poles he went away, chuckling at having made a good bargain,
while I was as glad to have had the worst of it. I had been an hour away,
and on entering the casino found my dear M---- M---- in an agony, but as
soon as she saw my beaming face all the laughter came back on hers. I
took her to the convent, and then went to St. Francis, where the keeper
of the boathouse looked as if he thought me a fool, when I told him that
I had trucked away my boat for the one I had with me. I put on my mask,
and went forthwith to my lodging and to bed, for these annoyances had
been too much for me.
About this time my destiny made me acquainted with a nobleman called Mark
Antony Zorzi, a man of parts and famous for his skill in writing verses
in the Venetian dialect. Zorzi, who was very fond of the play, and
desired to offer a sacrifice to Thalia, wrote a comedy which the audience
took the liberty of hissing; but having persuaded himself that his piece
only failed through the conspiracies of the Abbe Chiari, who wrote for
the Theatre of St. Angelo, he declared open war against all the abbe's
plays.
I felt no reluctance whatever to visit M. Zorzi, for he possessed an
excellent cook and a charming wife. He knew that I did not care for
Chiari as an author, and M. Zorzi had in his pay people who, without
pity, rhyme, or reason, hissed all the compositions of the ecclesiastical
playwright. My part was to criticise them in hammer verses--a kind of
doggerel then much in fashion, and Zorzi took care to distribute my
lucubrations far and wide. These manoeuvres made me a powerful enemy in
the person of M. Condulmer, who liked me none the better for having all
the appearance of being in high favour with Madame Zorzi, to whom before
my appearance he had paid diligent court. This M. Condulmer was to be
excused for not caring for me, for, having a large share in the St.
Angelo Theatre, the failure of the abbe's pieces was a loss to him, as
the boxes had to be let at a very low rent, and all men are governed by
interested motives.
This M. Condulmer was sixty years old, but with all the greenness of
youth he was still fond of women, gaming, and money, and he was, in fact,
a money-lender, but he knew how to pass for a saint, as he took care to
go to mass every morning at St. Mark's, and never omitted to shed tears
before the crucifix. The following year he was made a councillor, and in
that capacity he was for eight months a State Inquisitor. Having thus
attained this diabolically-eminent, or eminently-diabolical, position, he
had not much difficulty in shewing his colleagues the necessity of
putting me under The Leads as a disturber of the peace of the Republic.
In the beginning of the winter the astounding news of the treaty between
France and Austria was divulged--a treaty by which the political balance
was entirely readjusted, and which was received with incredulity by the
Powers. The whole of Italy had reason to rejoice, for the treaty guarded
that fair land from becoming the theatre of war on the slightest
difference which might arise between the two Powers. What astonished the
most acute was that this wonderful treaty was conceived and carried out
by a young ambassador who had hitherto been famed only as a wit. The
first foundations had been laid in 1750 by Madame de Pompadour, Count
Canes (who was created a prince), and M. l'Abbe de Bernis, who was not
known till the following year, when the king made him ambassador to
Venice. The House of Bourbon and the House of Hapsburg had been foes for
two hundred and forty years when this famous treaty was concluded, but it
only lasted for forty years, and it is not likely that any treaty will
last longer between two courts so essentially opposed to one another.
The Abbe de Bernis was created minister for foreign affairs some time
after the ratification of the treaty; three years after he re-established
the parliament, became a cardinal, was disgraced, and finally sent to
Rome, where he died. 'Mors ultimo linea rerum est'.
Affairs fell out as I had foreseen, for nine months after he left Venice
he conveyed to M---- M---- the news of his recall, though he did it in the
most delicate manner. Nevertheless, M---- M---- felt the blow so severely
that she would very possibly have succumbed, had I not been preparing her
for it in every way I could think of M. de Bernis sent me all
instructions.
He directed that all the contents of the casino should be sold and the
proceeds given to M---- M----, with the exception of the books and prints
which the housekeeper was ordered to bring to Paris. It was a nice
breviary for a cardinal, but would to God they had nothing worse!
Whilst M---- M---- abandoned herself to grief I carried out the orders of
M. de Bernis, and by the middle of January we had no longer a casino. She
kept by her two thousand sequins and her pearls, intending to sell them
later on to buy herself an annuity.
We were now only able to see each other at the grating; and soon, worn
with grief, she fell dangerously ill, and on the 2nd of February I
recognized in her features the symptoms of approaching death. She sent me
her jewel-case, with all her diamonds and nearly all her money, all the
scandalous books she possessed, and all her letters, telling me that if
she did not die I was to return her the whole, but that all belonged to
me if, as she thought, she should succumb to the disease. She also told
me that C---- C---- was aware of her state, and asked me to take pity on
her and write to her, as my letters were her only comfort, and that she
hoped to have strength to read them till her latest breath.
I burst into tears, for I loved her passionately, and I promised her to
come and live in Muran until she recovered her health.
Having placed the property in a gondola, I went to the Bragadin Palace to
deposit it, and then returned to Muran to get Laura to find me a
furnished room where I could live as I liked. "I know of a good room,
with meals provided," she said; "you will be quite comfortable and will
get it cheaply, and if you like to pay in advance, you need not even say
who you are. The old man to whom the house belongs lives on the ground
floor; he will give you all the keys and if you like you need see no
one."
She gave me the address, and I went there on the spot, and having found
everything to my liking I paid a month in advance and the thing was done.
It was a little house at the end of a blind alley abutting on the canal.
I returned to Laura's house to tell her that I wanted a servant to get my
food and to make my bed, and she promised to get me one by the next day.
Having set all in order for my new lodging, I returned to Venice and
packed my mails as if I were about to make a long journey. After supper I
took leave of M. de Bragadin and of his two friends, telling them that I
was going to be away for several weeks on important business.
Next day, going to my new room, I was surprised to find there Tonine,
Laura's daughter, a pretty girl not more than fifteen years old, who told
me with a blush, but with more spirit than I gave her credit for, that
she would serve me as well as her mother would have done.
I was in too much distress to thank Laura for this pretty present, and I
even determined that her daughter should not stay in my service. We know
how much such resolutions are commonly worth. In the meanwhile I was kind
to the girl: "I am sure," I said, "of your goodwill, but I must talk to
your mother. I must be alone," I added, "as I have to write all day, and
I shall not take anything till the evening." She then gave me a letter,
begging pardon for not having given it me sooner. "You must never forget
to deliver messages," I said, "for if you had waited any longer before
bringing me this letter, it might have had the most serious
consequences." She blushed, begged pardon, and went out of the room. The
letter was from C---- C----, who told me that her friend was in bed, and
that the doctor had pronounced her illness to be fever. I passed the rest
of the day in putting my room in order, and in writing to C---- C---- and
her suffering friend.
Towards evening Tonine brought in the candles, and told me that my supper
was ready. "Follow me," I said. Seeing that she had only laid supper for
one--a pleasing proof of her modesty, I told her to get another knife and
fork, as I wished her always to take her meals with me. I can give no
account of my motives. I only wished to be kind to her, and I did
everything in good faith. By and by, reader, we shall see whether this is
not one of the devices by which the devil compasses his ends.
Not having any appetite, I ate little, but I thought everything good with
the exception of the wine; but Tonine promised to get some better by the
next day, and when supper was over she went to sleep in the ante-room.
After sealing my letters, wishing to know whether the outer door was
locked, I went out and saw Tonine in bed, sleeping peacefully, or
pretending to do so. I might have suspected her thoughts, but I had never
been in a similar situation, and I measured the extremity of my grief by
the indifference with which I looked at this girl; she was pretty, but
for all that I felt that neither she nor I ran any risk.
Next day, waking very early, I called her, and she came in neatly
dressed. I gave her my letter to C---- C----, which enclosed the letter to
M---- M----, telling her to take it to her mother and then to return to
make my coffee.
"I shall dine at noon, Tonine," I said, "take care to get what is
necessary in good time."
"Sir, I prepared yesterday's supper myself, and if you like I can cook
all your meals."
"I am satisfied with your abilities, go on, and here is a sequin for
expenses."
"I still have a hundred and twenty sous remaining from the one you gave
me yesterday, and that will be enough."
"No, they are for yourself, and I shall give you as much every day."
Her delight was so great that I could not prevent her covering my hand
with kisses. I took care to draw it back and not to kiss her in return,
for I felt as if I should be obliged to laugh, and this would have
dishonoured my grief.
The second day passed like the first. Tonine was glad that I said no more
about speaking to her mother, and drew the conclusion that her services
were agreeable to me. Feeling tired and weak, and fearing that I should
not wake early enough to send the letter to the convent, but not wishing
to rouse Tonine if she were asleep, I called her softly. She rose
immediately and came into my room with nothing on but a slight petticoat.
Pretending to see nothing, I gave her my letter, and told her to take it
to her mother in the morning before she came into my room. She went out,
saying that my instructions should be carried out, but as soon as she was
gone I could not resist saying to myself that she was very pretty; and I
felt both sad and ashamed at the reflection that this girl could very
easily console me. I hugged my grief, and I determined to separate myself
from a being who made me forget it.
"In the morning," I said, "I will tell Laura to get me something less
seducing;" but the night brought counsel, and in the morning I put on the
armour of sophism, telling myself that my weakness was no fault of the
girl's, and that it would therefore be unjust to punish her for it. We
shall see, dear reader, how all this ended.
CHAPTER XXIII
Continues the Preceding Chapter--M. M. Recovers--I Return to
Venice--Tonine Consoles Me--Decrease of My Love For M. M.--
Doctor Righelini--Curious Conversation With Him--How This
Conversation Affected M. M.--Mr. Murray Undeceived and
Avenged
[Illustration: Chapter 23]
Tontine had what is called tact and common sense, and thinking these
qualities were required in our economy she behaved with great delicacy,
not going to bed before receiving my letters, and never coming into my
room except in a proper dress, and all this pleased me. For a fortnight
M---- M---- was so ill that I expected every moment to hear the news of her
death. On Shrove Tuesday C---- C---- wrote that her friend was not strong
enough to read my letter, and that she was going to receive 'extreme
unction'. This news so shocked me that I could not rise, and passed the
whole day in weeping and writing, Tonine not leaving me till midnight. I
could not sleep. On Ash Wednesday I got a letter, in which C---- C---- told
me that the doctor had no hopes for her friend, and that he only gave her
a fortnight to live. A low fever was wasting her away, her weakness was
extreme, and she could scarcely swallow a little broth. She had also the
misfortune to be harassed by her confessor, who made her foretaste all
the terrors of death. I could only solace my grief by writing, and Tonine
now and again made bold to observe that I was cherishing my grief, and
that it would be the death of me. I knew myself that I was making my
anguish more poignant, and that keeping to my bed, continued writing, and
no food, would finally drive me mad. I had told my grief to poor Tonine,
whose chief duty was to wipe away my tears. She had compassion on me.
A few days later, after assuring C---- C---- that if our friend died I
should not survive her, I asked her to tell M---- M---- that if she wanted
me to take care of my life she must promise to let me carry her off on
her recovery.
"I have," I said, "four thousand sequins and her diamonds, which are
worth six thousand; we should, therefore, have a sufficient sum to enable
us to live honourably in any part of Europe."
C---- C---- wrote to me on the following day, and said that my mistress,
after hearing my letter read, had fallen into a kind of convulsion, and,
becoming delirious, she talked incessantly in French for three whole
hours in a fashion which would have made all the nuns take to their
heels, if they had understood her. I was in despair, and was nearly
raving as wildly as my poor nun. Her delirium lasted three days, and as
soon as she got back her reason she charged her young friend to tell me
that she was sure to get well if I promised to keep to my word, and to
carry her off as soon as her health would allow. I hastened to reply that
if I lived she might be sure my promise would be fulfilled.
Thus continuing to deceive each other in all good faith, we got better,
for every letter from C---- C----, telling me how the convalescence of her
friend was progressing, was to me as balm. And as my mind grew more
composed my appetite also grew better, and my health improving day by
day, I soon, though quite unconsciously, began to take pleasure in the
simple ways of Tonine, who now never left me at night before she saw that
I was asleep.
Towards the end of March M---- M---- wrote to me herself, saying that she
believed herself out of danger, and that by taking care she hoped to be
able to leave her room after Easter. I replied that I should not leave
Muran till I had the pleasure of seeing her at the grating, where,
without hurrying ourselves, we could plan the execution of our scheme.
It was now seven weeks since M. de Bragadin had seen me, and thinking
that he would be getting anxious I resolved to go and see him that very
day. Telling Tonine that I should not be back till the evening, I started
for Venice without a cloak, for having gone to Muran masked I had
forgotten to take one. I had spent forty-eight days without going out of
my room, chiefly in tears and distress, and without taking any food. I
had just gone through an experience which flattered my self-esteem. I had
been served by a girl who would have passed for a beauty anywhere in
Europe. She was gentle, thoughtful, and delicate, and without being taxed
with foppishness I think I may say that, if she was not in love with me,
she was at all events inclined to please me to the utmost of her ability;
for all that I had been able to withstand her youthful charms, and I now
scarcely dreaded them. Seeing her every day, I had dispersed my amorous
fancies, and friendship and gratitude seemed to have vanquished all other
feelings, for I was obliged to confess that this charming girl had
lavished on me the most tender and assiduous care.
She had passed whole nights on a chair by my bedside, tending me like a
mother, and never giving me the slightest cause for complaint.
Never had I given her a kiss, never had I allowed myself to undress in
her presence, and never (with one exception) had she come into my room
without being properly dressed. For all that, I knew that I had fought a
battle, and I felt inclined to boast at having won the victory. There was
only one circumstance that vexed me--namely, that I was nearly certain
that neither M. M. nor C. C. would consider such continence to be within
the bounds of possibility, if they heard of it, and that Laura herself,
to whom her daughter would tell the whole story, would be sceptical,
though she might out of kindness pretend to believe it all.
I got to M. de Bragadin's just as the soup was being served. He welcomed
me heartily, and was delighted at having foreseen that I should thus
surprise them. Besides my two other old friends, there were De la Haye,
Bavois, and Dr. Righelini at table.
"What! you without a cloak!" said M. Dandolo.
"Yes," said I; "for having gone out with my mask on I forgot to bring
one:"
At this they laughed, and, without putting myself out, I sat down. No one
asked where I had been so long, for it was understood that that question
should be left to me to answer or not. Nevertheless, De la Haye, who was
bursting with curiosity, could not refrain from breaking some jests on
me.
"You have got so thin," said he, "that uncharitable people will be rather
hard on you."
"I trust they will not say that I have been passing my time with the
Jesuits."
"You are sarcastic. They may say, perhaps, that you have passed your time
in a hot-house under the influence of Mercury."
"Don't be afraid, sir, for to escape this hasty judgment I shall go back
this evening."
"No, no, I am quite sure you will not."
"Believe me, sir," said I, with a bantering tone, "that I deem your
opinion of too much consequence not to be governed by it."
Seeing that I was in earnest, my friends were angry with him; and the
Aristarchus was in some confusion.
Righelini, who was one of Murray's intimate friends, said to me in a
friendly way that he had been longing to tell Murray of my re-appearance,
and of the falsity of all the reports about me.
"We will go to sup with him," said I, "and I will return after supper."
Seeing that M. de Bragadin and his two friends were uneasy about me, I
promised to dine with them on April 25th, St. Mark's Day.
As soon as Mr. Murray saw me, he fell on my neck and embraced me. He
introduced me to his wife, who asked me to supper with great politeness.
After Murray had told me the innumerable stories which had been made
about my disappearance, he asked me if I knew a little story by the Abbe
Chiari, which had come out at the end of the carnival. As I said that I
knew nothing about it, he gave me a copy, telling me that I should like
it. He was right. It was a satire in which the Zorzi clique was pulled to
pieces, and in which I played a very poor part. I did not read it till
some time after, and in the mean time put it in my pocket. After a very
good supper I took a gondola to return to Muran.
It was midnight and very dark, so that I did not perceive the gondola to
be ill covered and in wretched order. A fine rain was falling when I got
in, and the drops getting larger I was soon wet to the skin. No great
harm was done, as I was close to my quarters. I groped my way upstairs
and knocked at the door of the ante-room, where Tonine, who had not
waited for me, was sleeping. Awake in a moment she came to open the door
in her smock, and without a light. As I wanted one, I told her to get the
flint and steel, which she did, warning me in a modest voice that she was
not dressed. "That's of no consequence," said I, "provided you are
covered." She said no more, and soon lighted a candle, but she could not
help laughing when she saw me dripping wet.
"I only want you, my dear," said I, "to dry my hair." She quickly set to
work with powder and powder-puff in hand, but her smock was short and
loose at the top, and I repented, rather too late, that I had not given
her time to dress. I felt that all was lost, all the more as having to
use both her hands she could not hold her smock and conceal two swelling
spheres more seductive than the apples of the Hesperides. How could I
help seeing them? I shut my eyes and, said "For shame!" but I gave in at
last, and fixed such a hungry gaze upon poor Tonine that she blushed.
"Come," said I, "take your smock between your teeth and then I shall see
no more." But it was worse than before, and I had only added fuel to the
fire; for, as the veil was short, I could see the bases and almost the
frieze of two marble columns; and at this sight I gave a voluptuous cry.
Not knowing how to conceal everything from my gaze, Tonine let herself
fall on the sofa, and I, my passions at fever-heat, stood beside her, not
knowing what to do.
"Well," she said, "shall I go and dress myself and then do your hair?"
"No, come and sit on my knee, and cover my eyes with your hands." She
came obediently, but the die was cast, and my resistance overcome. I
clasped her between my arms, and without any more thoughts of playing at
blind man's buff I threw her on the bed and covered her with kisses. And
as I swore that I would always love her, she opened her arms to receive
me in a way that shewed how long she had been waiting for this moment.
I plucked the rose, and then, as ever, I thought it the rarest I had ever
gathered since I had laboured in the harvest of the fruitful fields of
love.
When I awoke in the morning I found myself more deeply in love with
Tonine than I had been with any other woman. She had got up without
waking me, but as soon as she heard me stirring she came, and I tenderly
chid her for not waiting for me to give her good morrow. Without
answering she gave me M---- M----'s letter. I thanked her, but putting the
letter on one side I took her in my arms, and set her by my side. "What a
wonder!" cried Tonine. "You are not in a hurry to read that letter!
Faithless man, why did you not let me cure you six weeks ago. How lucky I
am; thanks to the rain! I do not blame you, dear, but love me as you love
her who writes to you every day, and I shall be satisfied."
"Do you know who she is?"
"She lives in a boarding-house, and is as beautiful as an angel; but she
is there, and I am here. You are my master, and I will be your servant as
long as you like."
I was glad to leave her in error, and swore an ever-lasting love; but
during our conversation she had let herself drop down in the bottom of
the bed, and I entreated her to lie down again; but she said that on the
contrary it was time for me to get up for dinner, for she wanted to give
me a dainty meal cooked in the Venetian manner.
"Who is the cook?" said I.
"I am, and I have been using all my skill on it since five, when I got
up."
"What time is it now, then?"
"Past one."
The girl astonished me. She was no longer the shy Tonine of last night;
she had that exultant air which happiness bestows, and the look of
pleasure which the delights of love give to a young beauty. I could not
understand how I had escaped from doing homage to her beauty when I first
saw her at her mother's house. But I was then too deeply in love with
C---- C----; I was in too great distress; and, moreover, Tonine was then
unformed. I got up, and making her bring me a cup of coffee I asked her
to keep the dinner back for a couple of hours.
I found M---- M----'s letter affectionate, but not so interesting as it
would have been the day before. I set myself to answer it, and was almost
thunderstruck to find the task, for the first time, a painful one.
However, my short journey to Venice supplied me with talk which covered
four pages.
I had an exquisite dinner with my charming Tonine. Looking at her as at
the same time my wife, my mistress, and my housekeeper, I was delighted
to find myself made happy at such a cheap rate. We spent the whole day at
the table talking of our love, and giving each other a thousand little
marks of it; for there is no such rich and pleasant matter for
conversation as when they who talk are parties to an amorous suit. She
told with charming simplicity that she knew perfectly well that she could
not make me amorous of her, because I loved another, and that her only
hope was therefore in a surprise, and that she had foreseen the happy
moment when I told her that she need not dress herself to light a candle.
Tonine was naturally quick-witted, but she did not know either how to
read or to write. She was enchanted to see herself become rich (for she
thought herself so) without a soul at Muran being able to breathe a word
against her honour. I passed three weeks in the company of this
delightful girl--weeks which I still reckon among the happiest of my
life; and what embitters my old age is that, having a heart as warm as
ever, I have no longer the strength necessary to secure a single day as
blissful as those which I owed to this charming girl.
Towards the end of April I saw M. M. at the grating, looking thin and
much changed, but out of danger. I therefore returned to Venice. In my
interview, calling my attachment and tender feelings to my aid, I
succeeded in behaving myself in such wise that she could not possibly
detect the change which a new love had worked in my heart. I shall be, I
trust, easily believed when I say that I was not imprudent enough to let
her suspect that I had given up the idea of escaping with her, upon which
she counted more than ever. I was afraid lest she should fall ill again,
if I took this hope away from her. I kept my casino, which cost me
little, and as I went to see M. M. twice a week I slept there on those
occasions, and made love with my dashing Tonine.
Having kept my word with my friends by dining with them on St. Mark's
Day, I went with Dr. Righelini to the parlour of the Vierges to see the
taking of the veil.
The Convent of the Vierges is within the jurisdiction of the Doge, whom
the nuns style "Most Serene Father." They all belong to the first
families in Venice.
While I was praising the beauty of Mother M---- E---- to Dr. Righelini, he
whispered to me that he could get her me for a money payment, if I were
curious in the matter. A hundred sequins for her and ten sequins for the
go-between was the price fixed on. He assured me that Murray had had her,
and could have her again. Seeing my surprise, he added that there was not
a nun whom one could not have by paying for her: that Murray had the
courage to disburse five hundred sequins for a nun of Muran--a rare
beauty, who was afterwards the mistress of the French ambassador.
Though my passion for M---- M---- was on the wane, I felt my heart gripped
as by a hand of ice, and it was with the greatest difficulty that I made
no sign. Notwithstanding, I took the story for an atrocious calumny, but
yet the matter was too near my heart for me to delay in bringing it to
light at the earliest opportunity. I therefore replied to Righelini in
the calmest manner possible, that one or two nuns might be had for money,
but that it could happen very rarely on account of the difficulties in
most convents.
"As for the nun of Muran, justly famous for her beauty, if she be
M---- M----, nun of the convent..., I not only disbelieve that Murray ever
had her, but I am sure she was never the French ambassador's mistress. If
he knew her it could only have been at the grating, where I really cannot
say what happens."
Righelini, who was an honourable and spirited man, answered me coldly
that the English ambassador was a man of his word, and that he had the
story from his own lips.
"If Mr. Murray," he continued, "had not told it me under the seal of
secrecy I would make him tell it you himself. I shall be obliged if you
will take care that he never knows I told you of it."
"You may rely on my discretion."
The same evening, supping at Murray's casino with Righelini, having the
matter at heart, and seeing before me the two men who could clear up
everything to my satisfaction, I began to speak with enthusiasm of the
beauty of M---- E----, whom I had seen at the Vierges.
Here the ambassador struck in, taking the ball on the hop:
"Between friends," said he, "you can get yourself the enjoyment of those
charms, if you are willing to sacrifice a sum of money--not too much,
either, but you must have the key."
"Do you think you have it?"
"No, I am sure; and had less trouble than you might suppose."
"If you are sure; I congratulate you, and doubt no more. I envy your
fortune, for I don't believe a more perfect beauty could be found in all
the convents of Venice."
"There you are wrong. Mother M---- M----, at---- in Muran, is certainly
handsomer."
"I have heard her talked of and I have seen her once, but I do not think
it possible that she can be procured for money."
"I think so," said he, laughing, "and when I think I mostly have good
reasons."
"You surprise me; but all the same I don't mind betting you are
deceived."
"You would lose. As you have only seen her once, I suppose you would not
recognize her portrait?"
"I should, indeed, as her face left a strong impression on my mind."
"Wait a minute."
He got up from the table, went out, and returned a minute after with a
box containing eight or ten miniatures, all in the same style, namely,
with hair in disorder and bare necks.
"These," said I, "are rare charms, with which you have doubtless a near
acquaintance?"
"Yes, and if you recognize any of them be discreet."
"You need not be afraid. Here are three I recognize, and this looks like
M---- M----; but confess that you may have been deceived--at least, that
you did not have her in the convent or here, for there are women like
her."
"Why do you think I have been deceived? I have had her here in her
religious habit, and I have spent a whole night with her; and it was to
her individually that I sent a purse containing five hundred sequins. I
gave fifty to the good procurer."
"You have, I suppose, visited her in the parlour, after having her here?"
"No, never, as she was afraid her titular lover might hear of it. You
know that was the French ambassador."
"But she only saw him in the parlour."
"She used to go to his house in secular dress whenever he wanted her. I
was told that by the man who brought her here."
"Have you had her several times?"
"Only once and that was enough, but I can have her whenever I like for a
hundred sequins."
"All that may be the truth, but I would wager five hundred sequins that
you have been deceived."
"You shall have your answer in three days."
I was perfectly certain, I repeat, that the whole affair was a piece of
knavery; but it was necessary to have it proved, and I shuddered when the
thought came into my head that after all it might be a true story. In
this case I should have been freed from a good many obligations, but I
was strongly persuaded of her innocence. At all events, if I were to find
her guilty (which was amongst possible occurrences), I resigned myself to
lose five hundred sequins as the price of this horrible discovery and
addition to my experience of life. I was full of restless anguish--the
worst, perhaps, of the torments of the mind. If the honest Englishman had
been the victim of a mystification, or rather knavery, my regard for
M---- M----'s honour compelled me to find a way to undeceive him without
compromising her; and such was my plan, and thus fortune favoured me.
Three or four days after, Mr. Murray told the doctor that he wished to
see me. We went to him, and he greeted me thus:
"I have won; for a hundred sequins I can have the fair nun!
"Alas!" said I, "there go my five hundred sequins."
"No, not five hundred, my dear fellow, for I should be ashamed to win so
much of you, but the hundred she would cost me. If I win, you shall pay
for my pleasure, and if I lose I shall give her nothing."
"How is the problem to be solved?" "My Mercury tells me that we must wait
for a day when masks are worn. He is endeavouring at present to find out
a way to convince both of us; for otherwise neither you nor I would feel
compelled to pay the wager, and if I really have M. M. my honour would
not allow me to let her suspect that I had betrayed the secret."
"No, that would be an unpardonable crime. Hear my plan, which will
satisfy us both; for after it has been carried out each of us will be
sure that he has fairly won or fairly lost.
"As soon as you have possessed yourself of the real or pretended nun,
leave her on some pretext, and meet me in a place to be agreed upon. We
will then go together to the convent, and I will ask for M. M.
"Will seeing her and speaking to her convince you that the woman you have
left at home is a mere impostor?"
"Perfectly, and I shall pay my wager with the greatest willingness."
"I may say the same. If, when I summon M. M. to the parlour, the
lay-sister tells us she is ill or busy, we will go, and the wager will be
yours; you will sup with the fair, and I will go elsewhere."
"So be it; but since all this will be at nighttime, it is possible that
when you ask for her, the sister will tell you that no one can be seen at
such an hour."
"Then I shall lose."
"You are quite sure, then, that if she be in the convent she will come
down?"
"That's my business. I repeat, if you don't speak to her, I shall hold
myself to have lost a hundred sequins, or a thousand if you like."
"One can't speak plainer than that, my dear fellow, and I thank you
beforehand."
"The only thing I ask you is to come sharp to time; and not to come too
late for a convent."
"Will an hour after sunset suit you?"
"Admirably."
"I shall also make it my business to compel my masked mistress to stop
where she is, even though it be M. M. herself."
"Some won't have long to wait, if you will take her to a casino which I
myself possess at Muran, and where I secretly keep a girl of whom I am
amorous. I will take care that she shall not be there on the appointed
day, and I will give you the key of the casino. I shall also see that you
find a delicate cold supper ready."
"That is admirable, but I must be able to point out the place to my
Mercury."
"True! I will give you a supper to-morrow, the greatest secrecy to be
observed between us. We will go to my casino in a gondola, and after
supper we will go out by the street door; thus you will know the way by
land and water. You will only have to tell the procurer the name of the
canal and of the house, and on the day fixed you shall have the key. You
will only find there an old man who lives on the ground floor, and he
will see neither those who go out nor those who come in. My sweetheart
will see nothing and will not be seen; and all, trust me, will turn out
well."
"I begin to think that I have lost my bet," said the Englishman, who was
delighted with the plan; "but it matters not, I can gaily encounter
either loss or gain." We made our appointment for the next day, and
separated.
On the following morning I went to Muran to warn Tonine that I was going
to sup with her, and to bring two of my friends; and as my English friend
paid as great court to Bacchus as to Cupid, I took care to send my little
housekeeper several bottles of excellent wine.
Charmed with the prospect of doing the honours of the table, Tonine only
asked me if my friends would go away after supper. I said yes, and this
reply made her happy; she only cared for the dessert.
After leaving her I went to the convent and passed an hour with M. M. in
the parlour. I was glad to see that she was getting back her health and
her beauty every day, and having complimented her upon it I returned to
Venice. In the evening my two friends kept their appointments to the
minute, and we went to my little casino at two hours after sunset.
Our supper was delicious, and my Tonine charmed me with the gracefulness
of her carriage. I was delighted to see Righelini enchanted, and the
ambassador dumb with admiration. When I was in love I did not encourage
my friends to cajole my sweetheart, but I became full of complaisance
when time had cooled the heat of my passion.
We parted about midnight, and having taken Mr. Murray to the spot where I
was to wait for him on the day of trial, I returned to compliment my
charming Tonine as she deserved. She praised my two friends, and could
not express her surprise at seeing our English friend going away, fresh
and nimble on his feet, notwithstanding his having emptied by himself six
bottles of my best wine. Murray looked like a fine Bacchus after Rubens.
On Whit Sunday Righelini came to tell me that the English ambassador had
made all arrangements with the pretended procurer of M. M. for Whit
Tuesday. I gave him the keys of my abode at Muran, and told him to assure
Murray that I would keep the appointment at the exact time arranged upon.
My impatience brought on palpitation of the heart, which was extremely
painful, and I passed the two nights without closing an eye; for although
I was convinced of M---- M----'s innocence, my agitation was extreme. But
whence all this anxiety? Merely from a desire to see the ambassador
undeceived. M. M. must in his eyes have seemed a common prostitute, and
the moment in which he would be obliged to confess himself the victim of
roguery would re-establish the honour of the nun.
Mr. Murray was as impatient as myself, with this difference, that whereas
he, looking upon the adventure as a comic one, only laughed, I who found
it too tragic shuddered with indignation.
On Tuesday morning I went to Muran to tell Tonine to get a cold supper
after my instruction, to lay the table for two, to get wax lights ready,
and having sent in several bottles of wine I bade her keep to the room
occupied by the old landlord, and not to come out till the people who
were coming in the evening were gone. She promised to do so, and asked no
questions. After leaving her I went to the convent parlour, and asked to
see M---- M----. Not expecting to see me, she asked me why I had not gone
to the pageant of the Bucentaur, which, the weather being favourable,
would set out on this day. I do not know what I answered, but I know that
she found my words little to the purpose. I came at last to the important
point, and told her I was going to ask a favour of her, on which my peace
of mind depended, but which she must grant blindly without asking any
questions.
"Tell me what I am to do, sweetheart," said she, "and be sure I will
refuse nothing which may be in my power."
"I shall be here this evening an hour after sunset, and ask for you at
this grating; come. I shall be with another man, to whom I beg of you to
say a few words of politeness; you can then leave us. Let us find some
pretext to justify the unseasonable hour."
"I will do what you ask, but you cannot imagine how troublesome it is in
a convent, for at six o'clock the parlours are shut up and the keys are
taken to the abbess' room. However, as you only want me for five minutes,
I will tell the abbess that I am expecting a letter from my brother, and
that it can be sent to me on this evening only. You must give me a letter
that the nun who will be with me may be able to say that I have not been
guilty of deception."
"You will not come alone, then?"
"I should not dare even to ask for such a privilege."
"Very good, but try to come with some old nun who is short-sighted."
"I will keep the light in the background."
"Pray do not do so, my beloved; on the contrary, place it so that you may
be distinctly seen."
"All this is very strange, but I have promised passive obedience, and I
will come down with two lights. May I hope that you will explain this
riddle to me at your next interview?"
"By to-morrow, at latest, you shall know the whole story."
"My curiosity will prevent me from sleeping."
"Not so, dear heart; sleep peacefully, and be sure of my gratitude."
The reader will think that after this conversation my heart was perfectly
at rest; but how far was I from resting! I returned to Venice, tortured
lest I should be told in the evening at the door of the cathedral, where
we were to meet, that the nun had been obliged to put off her
appointment. If that had happened, I should not have exactly suspected
M---- M----, but the ambassador would have thought that I had caused the
scheme to miscarry. It is certain that in that case I should not have
taken my man to the parlour, but should have gone there sadly by myself.
I passed the whole day in these torments, thinking it would never come to
an end, and in the evening I put a letter in my pocket, and went to my
post at the hour agreed upon.
Fortunately, Murray kept the appointment exactly.
"Is the nun there?" said I, as soon as he was near me.
"Yes, my dear fellow. We will go, if you like, to the parlour; but you
will find that we shall be told she is ill or engaged. If you like, the
bet shall be off."
"God forbid, my dear fellow! I cling to that hundred ducats. Let us be
gone."
We presented ourselves at the wicket, and I asked for M---- M----, and the
doorkeeper made me breathe again by saying that I was expected. I entered
the parlour with my English friend, and saw that it was lighted by four
candles. I cannot recall these moments without being in love with life. I
take note not only of my noble mistress's innocence, but also of the
quickness of her wit. Murray remained serious, without a smile on his
face. Full of grace and beauty, M---- M---- came into the room with a
lay-sister, each of them holding a candlestick. She paid me a compliment
in good French; I gave her the letter, and looking at the address and the
seal she put it in her pocket. After thanking me and saying she would
reply in due course, she turned towards my companion:
"I shall, perhaps, make you lose the first act of the opera," said she.
"The pleasure of seeing you, madam, is worth all the operas in the
world."
"You are English, I think?"
"Yes, madam."
"The English are now the greatest people in the world, because they are
free and powerful. Gentlemen, I wish you a very good evening."
I had never seen M---- M---- looking so beautiful as then, and I went out
of the parlour ablaze with love, and glad as I had never been before. I
walked with long strides towards my casino, without taking notice of the
ambassador, who did not hurry himself in following me; I waited for him
at my door.
"Well," said I, "are you convinced now that you have been cheated?"
"Be quiet, we have time enough to talk about that. Let us go upstairs."
"Shall I come?"
"Do. What do you think I could do by myself for four hours with that
creature who is waiting for me? We will amuse ourselves with her."
"Had we not better turn her out?"
"No; her master is coming for her at two o'clock in the morning. She
would go and warn him, and he would escape my vengeance. We will throw
them both out of the window."
"Be moderate, for M---- M---- s honour depends on the secrecy we observe.
Let us go upstairs. We shall have some fun. I should like to see the
hussy."
Murray was the first to enter the room. As soon as the girl saw me, she
threw her handkerchief over her face, and told the ambassador that such
behaviour was unworthy of him. He made no answer. She was not so tall as
M---- M----, and she spoke bad French.
Her cloak and mask were on the bed, but she was dressed as a nun. As I
wanted to see her face, I politely asked her to do me the favour of
shewing it.
"I don't know you," said she; "who are you?"
"You are in my house, and don't know who I am?"
"I am in your house because I have been betrayed. I did not think that I
should have to do with a scoundrel."
At this word Murray commanded her to be silent, calling her by the name
of her honourable business; and the slut got up to take her cloak, saying
she would go. Murray pushed her back, and told her that she would have to
wait for her worthy friend, warning her to make no noise if she wanted to
keep out of prison.
"Put me in prison!"
With this she directed her hand towards her dress, but I rushed forward
and seized one hand while Murray mastered the other. We pushed her back
on a chair while we possessed ourselves of the pistols she carried in her
pockets.
Murray tore away the front of her holy habit, and I extracted a stiletto
eight inches long, the false nun weeping bitterly all the time.
"Will you hold your tongue, and keep quiet till Capsucefalo comes," said
the ambassador, "or go to prison?"
"If I keep quiet what will become of me?"
"I promise to let you go."
"With him?"
"Perhaps."
"Very well, then, I will keep quiet."
"Have you got any more weapons?"
Hereupon the slut took off her habit and her petticoat, and if we had
allowed her she would have soon been in a state of nature, no doubt in
the expectation of our passions granting what our reason refused. I was
much astonished to find in her only a false resemblance to M.M. I
remarked as much to the ambassador, who agreed with me, but made me
confess that most men, prepossessed with the idea that they were going to
see M. M., would have fallen into the same trap. In fact, the longing to
possess one's self of a nun who has renounced all the pleasures of the
world, and especially that of cohabitation with the other sex, is the
very apple of Eve, and is more delightful from the very difficulty of
penetrating the convent grating.
Few of my readers will fail to testify that the sweetest pleasures are
those which are hardest to be won, and that the prize, to obtain which
one would risk one's life, would often pass unnoticed if it were freely
offered without difficulty or hazard.
In the following chapter, dear reader, you will see the end of this
farcical adventure. In the mean time, let us take a little breath.
CHAPTER XXIV
Pleasant Ending of the Adventure of the False Nun--M. M.
Finds Out That I Have d Mistress--She is Avenged on the
Wretch Capsucefalo--I Ruin Myself at Play, and at the
Suggestion of M. M. I Sell all Her Diamonds, One After
Another--I Hand Over Tonine to Murray, Who Makes Provision
for Her--Her Sister Barberine Takes Her Place.
"How did you make this nice acquaintance?" I asked the ambassador.
"Six months ago," he replied, "while standing at the convent gate with
Mr. Smith, our consul, in whose company I had been to see some ceremony
or other, I remarked to him, as we were talking over some nuns we had
noticed, 'I would gladly give five hundred sequins for a few hours of
Sister M---- M---- s company.' Count Capsucefalo heard what I said, but
made no remark. Mr. Smith answered that one could only see her at the
grating as did the ambassador of France, who often came to visit her.
Capsucefalo called on me the next morning, and said that if I had spoken
in good faith he was sure he could get me a night with the nun in
whatever place I liked, if she could count on my secrecy. 'I have just
been speaking to her,' said he, 'and on my mentioning your name she said
she had noticed you with Mr. Smith, and vowed she would sup with you more
for love than money. 'I,' said the rascal, 'am the only man she trusts,
and I take her to the French ambassador's casino in Venice whenever she
wants to go there. You need not be afraid of being cheated, as you will
give the money to her personally when you have possessed yourself of
her.' With this he took her portrait from his pocket and shewed it me;
and here it is. I bought it of him two days after I believed myself to
have spent a night with the charming nun, and a fortnight after our
conversation. This beauty here came masked in a nun's habit, and I was
fool enough to think I had got a treasure. I am vexed with myself for not
having suspected the cheat--at all events, when I saw her hair, as I know
that nuns' hair should be cut short. But when I said something about it
to the hussy, she told me they were allowed to keep their hair under
their caps, and I was weak enough to believe her."
I knew that on this particular Murray had not been deceived, but I did
not feel compelled to tell him so then and there.
I held the portrait Murray had given me in my hand, and compared it with
the face before me. In the portrait the breast was bare, and as I was
remarking that painters did those parts as best they could, the impudent
wench seized the opportunity to shew me that the miniature was faithful
to nature. I turned my back upon her with an expression of contempt which
would have mortified her, if these creatures were ever capable of shame.
As we talked things over, I could not help laughing at the axiom, Things
which are equal to the same thing are equal to one another, for the
miniature was like M. M. and like the courtezan, and yet the two women
were not like each other. Murray agreed with me, and we spent an hour in
a philosophical discussion on the matter. As the false M. M. was named
Innocente, we expressed a wish to know how her name agreed with her
profession, and how the knave had induced her to play the part she had
taken; and she told us the following story:
"I have known Count Capsucefalo for two years, and have found him useful,
for, though he has given me no money, he has made me profit largely
through the people he has introduced to me. About the end of last autumn
he came to me one day, and said that if I could make up as a nun with
some clothes he would get me, and in that character pass a night with an
Englishman, I should be the better by five hundred sequins. 'You need not
be afraid of anything,' said he, 'as I myself will take you to the casino
where the dupe will be awaiting you, and I will come and take you back to
your imaginary convent towards the end of the night. He shewed me how I
must behave, and told me what to reply if my lover asked any questions
about the discipline of the convent.
"I liked the plot, gentlemen, and I told him I was ready to carry it out.
And be pleased to consider that there are not many women of my profession
who would hesitate over a chance of getting five hundred sequins. Finding
the scheme both agreeable and profitable, I promised to play my part with
the greatest skill. The bargain was struck, and he gave me full
instructions as to my dialogue. He told me that the Englishman could only
talk about my convent and any lovers I might have had; that on the latter
point I was to cut him short, and to answer with a laugh that I did not
know what he was talking about, and even to tell him that I was a nun in
appearance only, and that in the course of toying I might let him see my
hair. 'That,' said Capsucefalo, 'won't prevent him from thinking you a
nun--yes! and the very nun he is amorous of, for he will have made up his
mind that you cannot possibly be anyone else.' Seizing the point of the
jest, I did not take the trouble to find out the name of the nun I was to
represent, nor the convent whence I was to come; the only thing in my
head was the five hundred sequins. So little have I troubled about aught
else that, though I passed a delicious night with you, and found you
rather worthy of being paid for than paying, I have not ascertained who
and what you are, and I don't know at this moment to whom I am speaking.
You know what a night I had; I have told you it was delicious, and I was
happy in the idea that I was going to have another. You have found
everything out. I am sorry, but I am not afraid of anything, since I can
put on any disguise I like, and can't prevent my lovers taking me for a
saint if they like to do so. You have found weapons in my possession, but
everyone is allowed to bear arms in self-defence. I plead not guilty on
all counts."
"Do you know me?" said I.
"No, but I have often seen you passing under my window. I live at St.
Roch, near the bridge."
The way in which the woman told her yarn convinced us that she was an
adept in the science of prostitution, but we thought Capsucefalo, in
spite of the count, worthy of the pillory. The girl was about ten years
older than M. M., she was pretty, but light-complexioned, while my
beautiful nun had fine dark brown hair and was at least three inches
taller.
After twelve o'clock we sat down to supper, and did honour to the
excellent meal which my dear Antoinette had prepared for us. We were
cruel enough to leave the poor wretch without offering her so much as a
glass of wine, but we thought it our duty.
While we were talking, the jolly Englishman made some witty comments on
my eagerness to convince him that he had not enjoyed M. M.'s favours.
"I can't believe," said he, "that you have shewn so much interest without
being in love with the divine nun."
I answered by saying that if I were her lover I was much to be pitied in
being condemned to go to the parlour, and no farther.
"I would gladly give a hundred guineas a month," said he, "to have the
privilege of visiting her at the grating."
So saying he gave me my hundred sequins, complimenting me on my success,
and I slipped them forthwith into my pocket.
At two o'clock in the morning we heard a soft knock on the street door.
"Here is our friend," I said, "be discreet, and you will see that he will
make a full confession."
He came in and saw Murray and the lady, but did not discover that a third
party was present till he heard the ante-room door being locked. He
turned round and saw me, and as he knew me, merely said, without losing
countenance:
"Ah, you are here; you know, of course, that the secret must be kept?"
Murray laughed and calmly asked him to be seated, and he enquired, with
the lady's pistols in his hands, where he was going to take her before
day-break.
"Home."
"I think you may be mistaken, as it is very possible that when you leave
this place you will both of you be provided with a bed in prison."
"No, I am not afraid of that happening; the thing would make too much
noise, and the laugh would not be on your side. Come," said he to his
mate, "put on your cloak and let us be off."
The ambassador, who like an Englishman kept quite cool the whole time,
poured him out a glass of Chambertin, and the blackguard drank his
health. Murray seeing he had on a fine ring set with brilliants, praised
it, and shewing some curiosity to see it more closely he drew it off the
fellow's finger, examined it, found it without flaw, and asked how much
it was worth. Capsucefalo, a little taken aback, said it cost him four
hundred sequins.
"I will hold it as a pledge for that sum," said the ambassador, putting
the ring into his pocket. The other looked chop-fallen, and Murray
laughing at his retiring manners told the girl to put on her cloak and to
pack off with her worthy acolyte. She did so directly, and with a low bow
they disappeared.
"Farewell, nun procurer!" said the ambassador, but the count made no
answer.
As soon as they were gone I thanked Murray warmly for the moderation he
had shewn, as a scandal would have only injured three innocent people.
"Be sure," said he, "that the guilty parties shall be punished without
anyone's knowing the reason"
I then made Tonine come upstairs, and my English friend offered her a
glass of wine, which she declined with much modesty and politeness.
Murray looked at her with flaming glances, and left after giving me his
heartiest thanks.
Poor little Tonine had been resigned, and obedient for many hours, and
she had good cause to think I had been unfaithful to her; however, I gave
her the most unmistakable proofs of my fidelity. We stayed in bed for six
hours, and rose happy in the morning.
After dinner I hurried off to my noble M---- M----, and told her the whole
story. She listened eagerly, her various feelings flitting across her
face. Fear, anger, wrath, approval of my method of clearing up my natural
suspicions, joy at discovering me still her lover--all were depicted in
succession in her glance, and in the play of her features, and in the red
and white which followed one another on her cheeks and forehead. She was
delighted to hear that the masker who was with me in the parlour was the
English ambassador, but she became nobly disdainful when I told her that
he would gladly give a hundred guineas a month for the pleasure of
visiting her in the parlour. She was angry with him for fancying that she
had been in his power, and for finding a likeness between her and a
portrait, when, so she said, there was no likeness at all; I had given
her the portrait. She added, with a shrewd smile, that she was sure I had
not let my little maid see the false nun, as she might have been
mistaken.
"You know, do you, that I have a young servant?"
"Yes, and a pretty one, too. She is Laura's daughter, and if you love her
I am very glad, and so is C---- C----. I hope you will let me have a sight
of her. C---- C---- has seen her before."
As I saw that she knew too much for me to be able to deceive her, I took
my cue directly and told her in detail the history of my amours. She
shewed her satisfaction too openly not to be sincere. Before I left her
she said her honour obliged her to get Capsucefalo assassinated, for the
wretch had wronged her beyond pardon. By way of quieting her I promised
that if the ambassador did not rid us of him within the week I would
charge myself with the execution of our common vengeance.
About this time died Bragadin the procurator, brother of my patron,
leaving M. de Bragadin sufficiently well off. However, as the family
threatened to become extinct, he desired a woman who had been his
mistress, and of whom he had had a natural son, to become his wife. By
this marriage the son would have become legitimate, and the family
renewed again. The College of Cardinals would have recognized the wife
for a small fee, and all would have gone admirably.
The woman wrote to me, asking me to call on her; and I was going to,
curious to know what a woman, whom I did not know from Adam, could want
with me, when I received a summons from M. de Bragadin. He begged me to
ask Paralis if he ought to follow De la Haye's advice in a matter he had
promised not to confide to me, but of which the oracle must be informed.
The oracle, naturally opposed to the Jesuit, told him to consult his own
feelings and nothing else. After this I went to the lady.
She began by telling me the whole story. She introduced her son to me,
and told me that if the marriage could be performed, a deed would be
delivered in my favour by which, at the death of M. de Bragadin, I should
become entitled to an estate worth five thousand crowns per annum.
As I guessed without much trouble that this was the same matter which De
la Haye had proposed to M. de Bragadin, I answered without hesitation
that since De la Haye was before me I could do nothing, and thereupon
made her my bow.
I could not help wondering at this Jesuit's continually intriguing to
marry my old friends without my knowledge. Two years ago, if I had not
set my face against it, he would have married M. Dandolo. I cared not a
whit whether the family of Bragadin became extinct or not, but I did care
for the life of my benefactor, and was quite sure that marriage would
shorten it by many years; he was already sixty-three, and had recovered
from a serious apoplectic stroke.
I went to dine with Lady Murray (English-women who are daughters of lords
keep the title), and after dinner the ambassador told me that he had told
M. Cavalli the whole story of the false nun, and that the secretary had
informed him, the evening before, that everything had been done to his
liking. Count Capsucefalo had been sent to Cephalonia, his native
country, with the order never to return to Venice, and the courtezan had
disappeared.
The fine part, or rather the fearful part, about these sentences is that
no one ever knows the reason why or wherefore, and that the lot may fall
on the innocent as well as the guilty. M. M. was delighted with the
event, and I was more pleased than she, for I should have been sorry to
have been obliged to soil my hands with the blood of that rascally count.
There are seasons in the life of men which may be called 'fasti' and
'nefasti'; I have proved this often in my long career, and on the
strength of the rubs and struggles I have had to encounter. I am able, as
well as any man, to verify the truth of this axiom. I had just
experienced a run of luck. Fortune had befriended me at play, I had been
happy in the society of men, and from love I had nothing to ask; but now
the reverse of the medal began to appear. Love was still kind, but
Fortune had quite left me, and you will soon see, reader, that men used
me no better than the blind goddess. Nevertheless, since one's fate has
phases as well as the moon, good follows evil as disasters succeed to
happiness.
I still played on the martingale, but with such bad luck that I was soon
left without a sequin. As I shared my property with M. M. I was obliged
to tell her of my losses, and it was at her request that I sold all her
diamonds, losing what I got for them; she had now only five hundred
sequins by her. There was no more talk of her escaping from the convent,
for we had nothing to live on! I still gamed, but for small stakes,
waiting for the slow return of good luck.
One day the English ambassador, after giving me a supper at his casino
with the celebrated Fanny Murray, asked me to let him sup at my casino at
Muran, which I now only kept up for the sake of Tonine. I granted him the
favour, but did not imitate his generosity. He found my little mistress
smiling and polite, but always keeping within the bounds of decency, from
which he would have very willingly excused her. The next morning he wrote
to me as follows:
"I am madly in love with Tonine. If you like to hand her over to me I
will make the following provision for her: I will set her up in a
suitable lodging which I will furnish throughout, and which I will give
to her with all its contents, provided that I may visit her whenever I
please, and that she gives me all the rights of a fortunate lover. I will
give her a maid, a cook, and thirty sequins a month as provision for two
people, without reckoning the wine, which I will procure myself. Besides
this I will give her a life income of two hundred crowns per annum, over
which she will have full control after living with me for a year. I give
you a week to send your answer."
I replied immediately that I would let him know in three days whether his
proposal were accepted, for Tonine had a mother of whom she was fond, and
she would possibly not care to do anything without her consent. I also
informed him that in all appearance the girl was with child.
The business was an important one for Tonine. I loved her, but I knew
perfectly well that we could not pass the rest of our lives together, and
I saw no prospect of being able to make her as good a provision as that
offered by the ambassador. Consequently I had no doubts on the question,
and the very same day I went to Muran and told her all.
"You wish to leave me, then," said she, in tears.
"I love you, dearest, and what I propose ought to convince you of my
love."
"Not so; I cannot serve two masters."
"You will only serve your new lover, sweetheart. I beg of you to reflect
that you will have a fine dowry, on the strength of which you may marry
well; and that however much I love you I cannot possibly make so good a
provision for you."
"Leave me to-day for tears and reflection, and come to supper with me
to-morrow."
I did not fail to keep the appointment.
"I think your English friend is a very pretty man," she said, "and when
he speaks in the Venetian dialect it makes me die with laughter. If my
mother agrees, I might, perhaps, force myself to love him. Supposing we
did not agree we could part at the end of a year, and I should be the
richer by an income of two hundred crowns."
"I am charmed with the sense of your arguments; speak about it to your
mother."
"I daren't, sweetheart; this kind of thing is too delicate to be
discussed between a mother and her daughter speak to her yourself."
"I will, indeed."
Laura, whom I had not seen since she had given me her daughter, asked for
no time to think it over, but full of glee told me that now her daughter
would be able to soothe her declining years, and that she would leave
Muran of which she was tired. She shewed me a hundred and thirty sequins
which Tonine had gained in my service, and which she had placed in her
hands.
Barberine, Tonine's younger sister, came to kiss my hand. I thought her
charming, and I gave her all the silver in my pocket. I then left,
telling Laura that I should expect her at my house. She soon followed me,
and gave her child a mother's blessing, telling her that she and her
family could go and live in Venice for sixty sous a day. Tonine embraced
her, and told her that she should have it.
This important affair having been managed to everybody's satisfaction, I
went to see M---- M----, who came into the parlour with C---- C----, whom I
found looking sad, though prettier than ever. She was melancholy, but
none the less tender. She could not stay for more than a quarter of an
hour for fear of being seen, as she was forbidden ever to go into the
parlour. I told M. M. the story of Tonine, who was going to live with
Murray in Venice; she was sorry to hear it, "for," said she, "now that
you have no longer any attraction at Muran, I shall see you less than
ever." I promised to come and see her often, but vain promises! The time
was near which parted us for ever.
The same evening I went to tell the good news to my friend Murray. He was
in a transport of joy, and begged me to come and sup with him at his
casino the day after next, and to bring the girl with me, that the
surrender might be made in form. I did not fail him, for once the matter
was decided, I longed to bring it to an end. In my presence he assigned
to her the yearly income for her life of two hundred Venetian ducats, and
by a second deed he gave her all the contents of the house with which he
was going to provide her, provided always that she lived with him for a
year. He allowed her to receive me as a friend, also to receive her
mother and sisters, and she was free to go and see them when she would.
Tonine threw her arms about his neck, and assured him that she would
endeavour to please him to the utmost of her ability. "I will see him,"
said she, pointing to me, "but as his friend he shall have nothing more
from me." Throughout this truly affecting scene she kept back her tears,
but I could not conceal mine. Murray was happy, but I was not long a
witness of his good fortune, the reason of which I will explain a little
later.
Three days afterwards Laura came to me, told me that she was living in
Venice, and asked me to take her to her daughter's. I owed this woman too
much to refuse her, and I took her there forthwith. Tonine gave thanks to
God, and also to me, and her mother took up the song, for they were not
quite sure whether they were more indebted to God or to me. Tonine was
eloquent in her praise of Murray, and made no complaint at my not having
come to see her, at which I was glad. As I was going Laura asked me to
take her back in my gondola, and as we had to pass by the house in which
she lived she begged me to come in for a moment, and I could not hurt her
feelings by refusing. I owe it to my honour to remark here that I was
thus polite without thinking that I should see Barberine again.
This girl, as pretty as her sister, though in another style, began by
awakening my curiosity--a weakness which usually renders the profligate
man inconstant. If all women were to have the same features, the same
disposition, and the same manners, men would not only never be
inconstant, but would never be in love. Under that state of things one
would choose a wife by instinct and keep to her till death, but our world
would then be under a different system to the present. Novelty is the
master of the soul. We know that what we do not see is very nearly the
same as what we have seen, but we are curious, we like to be quite sure,
and to attain our ends we give ourselves as much trouble as if we were
certain of finding some prize beyond compare.
Barberine, who looked upon me as an old friend--for her mother had
accustomed her to kiss my hand whenever I went there, who had undressed
more than once in my presence without troubling about me, who knew I had
made her sister's fortune and the family fortune as well, and thought
herself prettier than Tonine because her skin was fairer, and because she
had fine black eyes, desiring to take her sister's place, knew that to
succeed she must take me by storm. Her common sense told her that as I
hardly ever came to the house, I should not be likely to become amorous
of her unless she won me by storm; and to this end she shewed the utmost
complaisance when she had the chance, so that I won her without any
difficulty. All this reasoning came from her own head, for I am sure her
mother gave her no instructions. Laura was a mother of a kind common the
world over, but especially in Italy. She was willing to take advantage of
the earnings of her daughters, but she would never have induced them to
take the path of evil. There her virtue stopped short.
After I had inspected her two rooms and her little kitchen, and had
admired the cleanness which shone all around, Barberine asked me if I
would like to see their small garden.
"With pleasure," I replied, "for a garden is a rarity in Venice."
Her mother told her to give me some figs if there were any ripe ones. The
garden consisted of about thirty square feet, and grew only salad herbs
and a fine fig tree. It had not a good crop, and I told her that I could
not see any figs.
"I can see some at the top," said Barberine, "and I will gather them if
you will hold me the ladder."
"Yes, climb away; I will hold it quite firmly."
She stepped up lightly, and stretching out an arm to get at some figs to
one side of her, she put her body off its balance, holding on to the
ladder with the other hand.
"My dear Barberine, what do you think I can see?"
"What you have often seen with my sister."
"That's true! but you are prettier than she is."
The girl made no reply, but, as if she could not reach the fruit, she put
her foot on a high branch, and spewed me the most seductive picture. I
was in an ecstasy, and Barberine, who saw it, did not hurry herself. At
last I helped her to come down, and letting my hand wander indiscreetly,
I asked her if the fruit I held had been plucked, and she kept me a long
time telling me it was quite fresh. I took her within my arms, and
already her captive, I pressed her amorously to my heart, printing on her
lips a fiery kiss, which she gave me back with as much ardour.
"Will you give me what I have caught, dearest?"
"My mother is going to Muran to-morrow, and she will stay there all the
day; if you come, there is nothing I will refuse you."
When speech like this proceeds from a mouth still innocent, the man to
whom it is addressed ought to be happy, for desires are but pain and
torment, and enjoyment is sweet because it delivers us from them. This
shews that those who prefer a little resistance to an easy conquest are
in the wrong; but a too easy conquest often points to a depraved nature,
and this men do not like, however depraved they themselves may be.
We returned to the house, and I gave Barberine a tender kiss before
Laura's eyes, telling her that she had a very jewel in her daughter--a
compliment which made her face light up with pleasure. I gave the dear
girl ten sequins, and I went away congratulating myself, but cursing my
luck at not being able to make as good provision for Barberine as Murray
had made for her sister.
Tonine had told me that for manners' sake I should sup once with her. I
went the same evening and found Righelini and Murray there. The supper
was delicious, and I was delighted with the excellent understanding the
two lovers had already come to. I complimented the ambassador on the loss
of one of his tastes, and he told me he should be very sorry at such a
loss, as it would warn him of his declining powers.
"But," said I, "you used to like to perform the mysterious sacrifice of
Love without a veil."
"It was not I but Ancilla who liked it, and as I preferred pleasing her
to pleasing myself, I gave in to her taste without any difficulty."
"I am delighted with your answer, as I confess it would cost me something
to be the witness of your exploits with Tonine."
Having casually remarked that I had no longer a house in Muran, Righelini
told me that if I liked he could get me a delightful house at a low rent
on the Tondamente Nuovo.
As this quarter facing north, and as agreeable in summer as disagreeable
in winter, was opposite to Muran, where I should have to go twice a week,
I told the doctor I should be glad to look at the house.
I took leave of the rich and fortunate ambassador at midnight, and before
passing the day with my new prize I went to sleep so as to be fresh and
capable of running a good course.
I went to Barberine at an early hour, and as soon as she saw me she said,
"My mother will not be back till the evening, and my brother will take
his dinner at the school. Here is a fowl, a ham, some cheese, and two
bottles of Scopolo wine. We will take our mess whenever you like:"
"You astonish me, sweetheart, for how did you manage to get such a good
dinner?"
"We owe it to my mother, so to her be the praise."
"You have told her, then, what we are going to do?"
"No, not I, for I know nothing about it; but I told her you were coming
to see me, and at the same time I gave her the ten sequins."
"And what did your mother say?"
"She said she wouldn't be sorry if you were to love me as you loved my
sister."
"I love you better, though I love her well."
"You love her? Why have you left her, then?"
"I have not left her, for we supped together yesterday evening; but we no
longer live together as lovers, that is all. I have yielded her up to a
rich friend of mine, who has made her fortune."
"That is well, though I don't understand much about these affairs. I hope
you will tell Tonine that I have taken her place, and I should be very
pleased if you would let her know that you are quite sure you are my
first lover."
"And supposing the news vexes her?"
"So much the better. Will you do it for me? it's the first favour I have
asked of you."
"I promise to do so."
After this rapid dialogue we took breakfast, and then, perfectly agreed,
we went to bed, rather as if we were about to sacrifice to Hymen than to
love.
The game was new to Barberine, and her transports, her green
notions--which she told me openly--her inexperience, or rather her
awkwardness, enchanted me. I seemed for the first time to pluck the fruit
of the tree of knowledge, and never had I tasted fruit so delicious. My
little maid would have been ashamed to let me see how the first thorn
hurt her, and to convince me that she only smelt the rose, she strove to
make me think she experienced more pleasure than is possible in a first
trial, always more or less painful. She was not yet a big girl, the roses
on her swelling breasts were as yet but buds, and she was a woman only in
her heart.
After more than one assault delivered and sustained with spirit, we got
up for dinner, and after we had refreshed ourselves we mounted once more
the altar of love, where we remained till the evening. Laura found us
dressed and well pleased with each other on her return. I made Barberine
another present of twenty sequins, I swore to love her always, and went
on my way. At the time I certainly meant to keep to my oath, but that
which destiny had in store for me could not be reconciled with these
promises which welled forth from my soul in a moment of excitement.
The next morning Righelini took me to see the lodging he had spoken to me
about. I liked it and took it on the spot, paying the first quarter in
advance. The house belonged to a widow with two daughters, the elder of
whom had just been blooded. Righelini was her doctor, and had treated her
for nine months without success. As he was going to pay her a visit I
went in with him, and found myself in the presence of a fine waxen
statue. Surprise drew from me these words:
"She is pretty, but the sculptor should give her some colour."
On which the statue smiled in a manner which would have been charming if
her lips had but been red.
"Her pallor," said Righelini, "will not astonish you when I tell you she
has just been blooded for the hundred and fourth time."
I gave a very natural gesture of surprise.
This fine girl had attained the age of eighteen years without
experiencing the monthly relief afforded by nature, the result being that
she felt a deathly faintness three or four times a week, and the only
relief was to open the vein.
"I want to send her to the country," said the doctor, "where pure and
wholesome air, and, above all, more exercise, will do her more good than
all the drugs in the world."
After I had been told that my bed should be made ready by the evening, I
went away with Righelini, who told me that the only cure for the girl
would be a good strong lover.
"But my dear doctor," said I, "can't you make your own prescription?"
"That would be too risky a game, for I might find myself compelled to
marry her, and I hate marriage like the devil."
Though I was no better inclined towards marriage than the doctor, I was
too near the fire not to get burnt, and the reader will see in the next
chapter how I performed the miraculous cure of bringing the colours of
health into the cheeks of this pallid beauty.
CHAPTER XXV
The Fair Invalid I Cure Her--A Plot Formed to Ruin Me--What
Happened at the House of the Young Countess Bonafede--The
Erberia--Domiciliary Visit--My Conversation with M. de
Bragadin--I Am Arrested by Order of the State Inquisitors.
After leaving Dr. Righelini I went to sup with M. de Bragadin, and gave
the generous and worthy old man a happy evening. This was always the
case; I made him and his two good friends happy whenever I took meals
with them.
Leaving them at an early hour, I went to my lodging and was greatly
surprised to find my bedroom balcony occupied. A young lady of an
exquisite figure rose as soon as she saw me, and gracefully asked me
pardon for the liberty she had taken.
"I am," she said, "the statue you saw this morning. We do not light the
candles in the evening for fear of attracting the gnats, but when you
want to go to bed we will shut the door and go away. I beg to introduce
you to my younger sister, my mother has gone to bed."
I answered her to the effect that the balcony was always at her service,
and that since it was still early I begged their permission to put on my
dressing-gown and to keep them company. Her conversation was charming;
she made me spend two most delightful hours, and did not leave me till
twelve o'clock. Her younger sister lighted me a candle, and as they went
they wished me a good night.
I lay down full of this pretty girl, and I could not believe that she was
really ill. She spoke to the point, she was cheerful, clever, and full of
spirits. I could not understand how it came to pass that she had not been
already cured in a town like Venice, if her cure was really only to be
effected in the manner described by Dr. Righelini; for in spite of her
pallor she seemed to me quite fair enough to charm a lover, and I
believed her to be spirited enough to determine to take the most
agreeable medicine a doctor can prescribe.
In the morning I rang the bell as I was getting up, and the younger
sister came into my room, and said that as they kept no servant she had
come to do what I wanted. I did not care to have a servant when I was not
at M. de Bragadin's, as I found myself more at liberty to do what I
liked. After she had done me some small services, I asked her how her
sister was.
"Very well," said she, "for her pale complexion is not an illness, and
she only suffers when her breath fails her. She has a very good appetite,
and sleeps as well as I do."
"Whom do I hear playing the violin?"
"It's the dancing master giving my sister a lesson."
I hurried over my dressing that I might see her; and I found her
charming, though her old dancing master allowed her to turn in her toes.
All that this young and beautiful girl wanted was the Promethean spark,
the colour of life; her whiteness was too like snow, and was distressing
to look at.
The dancing master begged me to dance a minuet with his pupil, and I
assented, asking him to play larghissimo. "The signorina would find it
too tiring," said he; but she hastened to answer that she did not feel
weak, and would like to dance thus. She danced very well, but when we had
done she was obliged to throw herself in a chair. "In future, my dear
master," said she, "I will only dance like that, for I think the rapid
motion will do me good."
When the master was gone, I told her that her lessons were too short, and
that her master was letting her get into bad habits. I then set her feet,
her shoulders, and her arms in the proper manner. I taught her how to
give her hand gracefully, to bend her knees in time; in fine, I gave her
a regular lesson for an hour, and seeing that she was getting rather
tired I begged her to sit down, and I went out to pay a visit to M. M.
I found her very sad, for C---- C----'s father was dead, and they had
taken her out of the convent to marry her to a lawyer. Before leaving
C---- C---- had left a letter for me, in which she said that if I would
promise to marry her at some time suitable to myself, she would wait for
me, and refuse all other offers. I answered her straightforwardly that I
had no property and no prospects, that I left her free, advising her not
to refuse any offer which might be to her advantage.
In spite of this dismissal C---- C---- did not marry N---- till after my
flight from The Leads, when nobody expected to see me again in Venice. I
did not see her for nineteen years, and then I was grieved to find her a
widow, and poorly off. If I went to Venice now I should not marry her,
for at my age marriage is an absurdity, but I would share with her my
little all, and live with her as with a dear sister.
When I hear women talking about the bad faith and inconstancy of men, and
maintaining that when men make promises of eternal constancy they are
always deceivers, I confess that they are right, and join in their
complaints. Still it cannot be helped, for the promises of lovers are
dictated by the heart, and consequently the lamentations of women only
make me want to laugh. Alas! we love without heeding reason, and cease to
love in the same manner.
About this time I received a letter from the Abbe de Bernis, who wrote
also to M---- M----. He told me that I ought to do my utmost to make our
nun take a reasonable view of things, dwelling on the risks I should run
in carrying her off and bringing her to Paris, where all his influence
would be of no avail to obtain for us that safety so indispensable to
happiness. I saw M---- M----; we shewed each other our letters, she had
some bitter tears, and her grief pierced me to the heart. I still had a
great love for her in spite of my daily infidelities, and when I thought
of those moments in which I had seen her given over to voluptuousness I
could not help pitying her fate as I thought of the days of despair in
store for her. But soon after this an event happened which gave rise to
some wholesome reflections. One day, when I had come to see her, she
said,
"They have just been burying a nun who died of consumption the day before
yesterday in the odour of sanctity. She was called 'Maria Concetta.' She
knew you, and told C---- C---- your name when you used to come to mass on
feast days. C---- C---- begged her to be discreet, but the nun told her
that you were a dangerous man, whose presence should be shunned by a
young girl. C---- C---- told me all this after the mask of Pierrot."
"What was this saint's name when she was in the world?"
"Martha."
"I know her."
I then told M---- M---- the whole history of my loves with Nanette and
Marton, ending with the letter she wrote me, in which she said that she
owed me, indirectly, that eternal salvation to which she hoped to attain.
In eight or ten days my conversation with my hostess'
daughter--conversation which took place on the balcony, and which
generally lasted till midnight--and the lesson I gave her every morning,
produced the inevitable and natural results; firstly, that she no longer
complained of her breath failing, and, secondly, that I fell in love with
her. Nature's cure had not yet relieved her, but she no longer needed to
be let blood. Righelini came to visit her as usual, and seeing that she
was better he prophesied that nature's remedy, without which only art
could keep her alive, would make all right before the autumn. Her mother
looked upon me as an angel sent by God to cure her daughter, who for her
part shewed me that gratitude which with women is the first step towards
love. I had made her dismiss her old dancing master, and I had taught her
to dance with extreme grace.
At the end of these ten or twelve days, just as I was going to give her
her lesson, her breath failed instantaneously, and she fell back into my
arms like a dead woman. I was alarmed, but her mother, who had become
accustomed to see her thus, sent for the surgeon, and her sister unlaced
her. I was enchanted with her exquisite bosom, which needed no colouring
to make it more beautiful. I covered it up, saying that the surgeon would
make a false stroke if he were to see her thus uncovered; but feeling
that I laid my hand upon her with delight, she gently repulsed me,
looking at me with a languishing gaze which made the deepest impression
on me.
The surgeon came and bled her in the arm, and almost instantaneously she
recovered full consciousness. At most only four ounces of blood were
taken from her, and her mother telling me that this was the utmost extent
to which she was blooded, I saw it was no such matter for wonder as
Righelini represented it, for being blooded twice a week she lost three
pounds of blood a month, which she would have done naturally if the
vessels had not been obstructed.
The surgeon had hardly gone out of the door when to my astonishment she
told me that if I would wait for her a moment she would come back and
begin her dancing. This she did, and danced as if there had been nothing
the matter.
Her bosom, on which two of my senses were qualified to give evidence, was
the last stroke, and made me madly in love with her. I returned to the
house in the evening, and found her in her room with the sister. She told
me that she was expecting her god-father, who was an intimate friend of
her father's, and had come every evening to spend an hour with her for
the last eighteen years.
"How old is he?"
"He is over fifty."
"Is he a married man?"
"Yes, his name is Count S----. He is as fond of me as a father would be,
and his affection has continued the same since my childhood. Even his
wife comes to see me sometimes, and to ask me to dinner. Neat autumn I am
going into the country with her, and I hope the fresh air will do me
good. My god-father knows you are staying with us and is satisfied. He
does not know you, but if you like you can make his acquaintance."
I was glad to hear all this, as I gained a good deal of useful
information without having to ask any awkward questions. The friendship
of this Greek looked very like love. He was the husband of Countess
S----, who had taken me to the convent at Muran two years before.
I found the count a very polite man. He thanked me in a paternal manner
for my kindness to his daughter, and begged me to do him the honour of
dining with him on the following day, telling me that he would introduce
me to his wife. I accepted his invitation with pleasure, for I was fond
of dramatic situations, and my meeting with the countess promised to be
an exciting one. This invitation bespoke the courteous gentleman, and I
charmed my pretty pupil by singing his praises after he had gone.
"My god-father," said she, "is in possession of all the necessary
documents for withdrawing from the house of Persico our family fortune,
which amounts to forty thousand crowns. A quarter of this sum belongs to
me, and my mother has promised my sister and myself to share her dowry
between us."
I concluded from this that she would bring her husband fifteen thousand
Venetian ducats.
I guessed that she was appealing to me with her fortune, and wished to
make me in love with her by shewing herself chary of her favours; for
whenever I allowed myself any small liberties, she checked me with words,
of remonstrance to which I could find no answer. I determined to make her
pursue another course.
Next day I took her with me to her god-father's without telling her that
I knew the countess. I fancied the lady would pretend not to know me, but
I was wrong, as she welcomed me in the handsomest manner as if I were an
old friend. This, no doubt, was a surprise for the count, but he was too
much a man of the world to, shew any astonishment. He asked her when she
had made my acquaintance, and she, like a woman of experience, answered
without the slightest hesitation that we had seen each other two years
ago at Mira. The matter was settled, and we spent a very pleasant day.
Towards evening I took the young lady in my gondola back to the house,
but wishing to shorten the journey I allowed myself to indulge in a few
caresses. I was hurt at being responded to by reproaches, and for that
reason, as soon as she had set foot on her own doorstep, instead of
getting out I went to Tonine's house, and spent nearly the whole night
there with the ambassador, who came a little after me. Next day, as I did
not get up till quite late, there was no dancing lesson, and when I
excused myself she told me not to trouble any more about it. In the
evening I sat on the balcony far into the night, but she did not come.
Vexed at this air of indifference I rose early in the morning and went
out, not returning till nightfall. She was on the balcony, but as she
kept me at a respectful distance I only talked to her on commonplace
subjects. In the morning I was roused by a tremendous noise. I got up,
and hurriedly putting on my dressing-gown ran into her room to see what
was the matter, only to find her dying. I had no need to feign an
interest in her, for I felt the most tender concern. As it was at the
beginning of July it was extremely hot, and my fair invalid was only
covered by a thin sheet. She could only speak to me with her eyes, but
though the lids were lowered she looked upon me so lovingly! I asked her
if she suffered from palpitations, and laying my hand upon her heart I
pressed a fiery kiss upon her breast. This was the electric spark, for
she gave a sigh which did her good. She had not strength to repulse the
hand which I pressed amorously upon her heart, and becoming bolder I
fastened my burning lips upon her languid mouth. I warmed her with my
breath, and my audacious hand penetrated to the very sanctuary of bliss.
She made an effort to push me back, and told me with her eyes, since she
could not speak, how insulted she felt. I drew back my hand, and at that
moment the surgeon came. Hardly was the vein opened when she drew a long
breath, and by the time the operation was over she wished to get up. I
entreated her to stay in bed, and her mother added her voice to mine; at
last I persuaded her, telling her that I would not leave her for a
second, and that I would have my dinner by her bedside. She then put on a
corset and asked her sister to draw a sarcenet coverlet over her, as her
limbs could be seen as plainly as through a crape veil.
Having given orders for my dinner, I sat down by her bedside, burning
with love, and taking her hand and covering it with kisses I told her
that I was sure she would get better if she would let herself love.
"Alas!" she said, "whom shall I love, not knowing whether I shall be
loved in return?"
I did not leave this question unanswered, and continuing the amorous
discourse with animation I won a sigh and a lovelorn glance. I put my
hand on her knee, begging her to let me leave it there, and promising to
go no farther, but little by little I attained the center, and strove to
give her some pleasant sensations.
"Let me alone," said she, in a sentimental voice, drawing away, "'tis
perchance the cause of my illness."
"No, sweetheart," I replied, "that cannot be." And my mouth stopped all
her objections upon her lips.
I was enchanted, for I was now in a fair way, and I saw the moment of
bliss in the distance, feeling certain that I could effect a cure if the
doctor was not mistaken. I spared her all indiscreet questions out of
regard for her modesty; but I declared myself her lover, promising to ask
nothing of her but what was necessary to feed the fire of my love. They
sent me up a very good dinner, and she did justice to it; afterwards
saying that she was quite well she got up, and I went away to dress
myself for going out. I came back early in the evening, and found her on
my balcony. There, as I sat close to her looking into her face, speaking
by turns the language of the eyes and that of sighs, fixing my amorous
gaze upon those charms which the moonlight rendered sweeter, I made her
share in the fire which consumed me; and as I pressed her amorously to my
bosom she completed my bliss with such warmth that I could easily see
that she thought she was receiving a favour and not granting one. I
sacrificed the victim without staining the altar with blood.
Her sister came to tell her that it grew late.
"Do you go to bed," she answered; "the fresh air is doing me good, and I
want to enjoy it a little longer."
As soon as we were alone we went to bed together as if we had been doing
it for a whole year, and we passed a glorious night, I full of love and
the desire of curing her, and she of tender and ardent voluptuousness. At
day-break she embraced me, her eyes dewy with bliss, and went to lie down
in her own bed. I, like her, stood in need of a rest, and on that day
there was no talk of a dancing lesson. In spite of the fierce pleasure of
enjoyment and the transports of this delightful girl, I did not for a
moment lay prudence aside. We continued to pass such nights as these for
three weeks, and I had the pleasure of seeing her thoroughly cured. I
should doubtless have married her, if an event had not happened to me
towards the end of the month, of which I shall speak lower down.
You will remember, dear reader, about a romance by the Abbe Chiari, a
satirical romance which Mr. Murray had given me, and in which I fared
badly enough at the author's hands I had small reason to be pleased with
him, and I let him know my opinion in such wise that the abbe who dreaded
a caning, kept upon his guard. About the same time I received an
anonymous letter, the writer of which told me that I should be better
occupied in taking care of myself than in thoughts of chastising the
abbe, for I was threatened by an imminent danger. Anonymous
letter-writers should be held in contempt, but one ought to know how, on
occasion, to make the best of advice given in that way. I did nothing,
and made a great mistake.
About the same time a man named Manuzzi, a stone setter for his first
trade, and also a spy, a vile agent of the State Inquisitors--a man of
whom I knew nothing--found a way to make my acquaintance by offering to
let me have diamonds on credit, and by this means he got the entry of my
house. As he was looking at some books scattered here and there about the
room, he stopped short at the manuscripts which were on magic. Enjoying
foolishly enough, his look of astonishment, I shewed him the books which
teach one how to summon the elementary spirits. My readers will, I hope,
do me the favour to believe that I put no faith in these conjuring books,
but I had them by me and used to amuse myself with them as one does amuse
one's self with the multitudinous follies which proceed from the heads of
visionaries. A few days after, the traitor came to see me and told me
that a collector, whose name he might not tell me, was ready to give me a
thousand sequins for my five books, but that he would like to examine
them first to see if they were genuine. As he promised to let me have
them back in twenty-four hours, and not thinking much about the matter, I
let him have them. He did not fail to bring them back the next day,
telling me that the collector thought them forgeries. I found out, some
years after, that he had taken them to the State Inquisitors, who thus
discovered that I was a notable magician.
Everything that happened throughout this fatal month tended to my ruin,
for Madame Memmo, mother of Andre, Bernard, and Laurent Memmo, had taken
it into her head that I had inclined her sons to atheistic opinions, and
took counsel with the old knight Antony Mocenigo, M. de Bragadin's uncle,
who was angry with me, because, as he said, I had conspired to seduce his
nephew. The matter was a serious one, and an auto-da-fe was very
possible, as it came under the jurisdiction of the Holy Office--a kind of
wild beast, with which it is not good to quarrel. Nevertheless, as there
would be some difficulty in shutting me up in the ecclesiastical prisons
of the Holy Office, it was determined to carry my case before the State
Inquisitors, who took upon themselves the provisional duty of putting a
watch upon my manner of living.
M. Antony Condulmer, who as a friend of Abbe Chiari's was an enemy of
mine, was then an Inquisitor of State, and he took the opportunity of
looking upon me in the light of a disturber of the peace of the
commonwealth. A secretary of an embassy, whom I knew some years after,
told me that a paid informer, with two other witnesses, also, doubtless,
in the pay of this grand tribunal, had declared that I was guilty of only
believing in the devil, as if this absurd belief, if it were possible,
did not necessarily connote a belief in God! These three honest fellows
testified with an oath that when I lost money at play, on which occasion
all the faithful are wont to blaspheme, I was never heard to curse the
devil. I was further accused of eating meat all the year round, of only
going to hear fine masses, and I was vehemently suspected of being a
Freemason. It was added that I frequented the society of foreign
ministers, and that living as I did with three noblemen, it was certain
that I revealed, for the large sums which I was seen to lose, as many
state secrets as I could worm out of them.
All these accusations, none of which had any foundation in fact, served
the Tribunal as a pretext to treat me as an enemy of the commonwealth and
as a prime conspirator. For several weeks I was counselled by persons
whom I might have trusted to go abroad whilst the Tribunal was engaged on
my case. This should have been enough, for the only people who can live
in peace at Venice are those whose existence the Tribunal is ignorant of,
but I obstinately despised all these hints. If I had listened to the
indirect advice which was given me, I should have become anxious, and I
was the sworn foe of all anxiety. I kept saying to myself, "I feel
remorse for nothing and I am therefore guilty of nothing, and the
innocent have nothing to fear." I was a fool, for I argued as if I had
been a free man in a free country. I must also confess that what to a
great extent kept me from thinking of possible misfortune was the actual
misfortune which oppressed me from morning to night. I lost every day, I
owed money everywhere, I had pawned all my jewels, and even my portrait
cases, taking the precaution, however, of removing the portraits, which
with my important papers and my amorous letters I had placed in the hands
of Madame Manzoni. I found myself avoided in society. An old senator told
me, one day, that it was known that the young Countess Bonafede had
become mad in consequence of the love philtres I had given her. She was
still at the asylum, and in her moments of delirium she did nothing but
utter my name with curses. I must let my readers into the secret of this
small history.
This young Countess Bonafede, to whom I had given some sequins a few days
after my return to Venice, thought herself capable of making me continue
my visits, from which she had profited largely. Worried by her letters I
went to see her several times, and always left her a few sequins, but
with the exception of my first visit I was never polite enough to give
her any proofs of my affection. My coldness had baulked all her
endeavours for a year, when she played a criminal part, of which, though
I was never able absolutely to convict her, I had every reason to believe
her guilty.
She wrote me a letter, in which she importuned me to come and see her at
a certain hour on important business.
My curiosity, as well as a desire to be of service to her, took me there
at the appointed time; but as soon as she saw me she flung her arms round
my neck, and told me that the important business was love. This made me
laugh heartily, and I was pleased to find her looking neater than usual,
which, doubtless, made me find her looking prettier. She reminded me of
St. Andre, and succeeded so well in her efforts that I was on the point
of satisfying her desires. I took off my cloak, and asked her if her
father were in. She told me he had gone out. Being obliged to go out for
a minute, in coming back I mistook the door, and I found myself in the
next room, where I was much astonished to see the count and two
villainous-looking fellows with him.
"My dear count," I said, "your daughter has just told me that you were
out."
"I myself told her to do so, as I have some business with these
gentlemen, which, however, can wait for another day."
I would have gone, but he stopped me, and having dismissed the two men he
told me that he was delighted to see me, and forthwith began the tale of
his troubles, which were of more than one kind. The State Inquisitors had
stopped his slender pension, and he was on the eve of seeing himself
driven out with his family into the streets to beg his bread. He said
that he had not been able to pay his landlord anything for three years,
but if he could pay only a quarter's rent, he would obtain a respite, or
if he persisted in turning him out, he could make a night-flitting of it,
and take up his abode somewhere else. As he only wanted twenty ducats, I
took out six sequins and gave them to him. He embraced me, and shed tears
of joy; then, taking his poor cloak, he called his daughter, told her to
keep me company, and went out.
Alone with the countess, I examined the door of communication between the
two rooms and found it slightly open.
"Your father," I said, "would have surprised me, and it is easy to guess
what he would have done with the two sbirri who were with him. The plot
is clear, and I have only escaped from it by the happiest of chances."
She denied, wept, called God to witness, threw herself on her knees; but
I turned my head away, and taking my cloak went away without a word. She
kept on writing to me, but her letters remained unanswered, and I saw her
no more.
It was summer-time, and between the heat, her passions, hunger, and
wretchedness, her head was turned, and she became so mad that she went
out of the house stark naked, and ran up and down St. Peter's Place,
asking those who stopped her to take her to my house. This sad story went
all over the town and caused me a great deal of annoyance. The poor
wretch was sent to an asylum, and did not recover her reason for five
years. When she came out she found herself reduced to beg her bread in
the streets, like all her brothers, except one, whom I found a cadet in
the guards of the King of Spain twelve years afterwards.
At the time of which I am speaking all this had happened a year ago, but
the story was dug up against me, and dressed out in the attire of
fiction, and thus formed part of those clouds which were to discharge
their thunder upon me to my destruction.
In the July of 1755 the hateful court gave Messer-Grande instructions to
secure me, alive or dead. In this furious style all orders for arrests
proceeding from the Three were issued, for the least of their commands
carried with it the penalty of death.
Three or four days before the Feast of St. James, my patron saint,
M---- M---- made me a present of several ells of silver lace to trim a
sarcenet dress which I was going to wear on the eve of the feast. I went
to see her, dressed in my fine suit, and I told her that I should come
again on the day following to ask her to lend me some money, as I did not
know where to turn to find some. She was still in possession of the five
hundred sequins which she had put aside when I had sold her diamonds.
As I was sure of getting the money in the morning I passed the night at
play, and I lost the five hundred sequins in advance. At day-break, being
in need of a little quiet, I went to the Erberia, a space of ground on
the quay of the Grand Canal. Here is held the herb, fruit, and flower
market.
People in good society who come to walk in the Erberia at a rather early
hour usually say that they come to see the hundreds of boats laden with
vegetables, fruit and flowers, which hail from the numerous islands near
the town; but everyone knows that they are men and women who have been
spending the night in the excesses of Venus or Bacchus, or who have lost
all hope at the gaming-table, and come here to breath a purer air and to
calm their minds. The fashion of walking in this place shews how the
character of a nation changes. The Venetians of old time who made as
great a mystery of love as of state affairs, have been replaced by the
modern Venetians, whose most prominent characteristic is to make a
mystery of nothing. Those who come to the Erberia with women wish to
excite the envy of their friends by thus publishing their good fortune.
Those who come alone are on the watch for discoveries, or on the look-out
for materials to make wives or husbands jealous, the women only come to
be seen, glad to let everybody know that they are without any restraint
upon their actions. There was certainly no question of smartness there,
considering the disordered style of dress worn. The women seemed to have
agreed to shew all the signs of disorder imaginable, to give those who
saw them something to talk about. As for the men, on whose arms they
leaned, their careless and lounging airs were intended to give the idea
of a surfeit of pleasure, and to make one think that the disordered
appearance of their companions was a sure triumph they had enjoyed. In
short it was the correct thing to look tired out, and as if one stood in
need of sleep.
This veracious description, reader, will not give you a very high opinion
of the morals of my dear fellow citizens; but what object should I have
at my age for deceiving? Venice is not at the world's end, but is well
enough known to those whose curiosity brings them into Italy; and
everyone can see for himself if my pictures are overdrawn.
After walking up and down for half an hour, I came away, and thinking the
whole house still a-bed I drew my key out to open the door, but what was
my astonishment to find it useless, as the door was open, and what is
more, the lock burst off. I ran upstairs, and found them all up, and my
landlady uttering bitter lamentations.
"Messer-Grande," she told me, "has entered my house forcibly, accompanied
by a band of sbirri. He turned everything upside down, on the pretext
that he was in search of a portmanteau full of salt--a highly contraband
article. He said he knew that a portmanteau had been landed there the
evening before, which was quite true; but it belonged to Count S----, and
only contained linen and clothes. Messer-Grande, after inspecting it,
went out without saying a word."
He had also paid my room a visit. She told me that she must have some
reparation made her, and thinking she was in the right I promised to
speak to M. de Bragadin on the matter the same day. Needing rest above
all things, I lay down, but my nervous excitement, which I attributed to
my heavy losses at play, made me rise after three or four hours, and I
went to see M. de Bragadin, to whom I told the whole story begging him to
press for some signal amends. I made a lively representation to him of
all the grounds on which my landlady required proportionate amends to be
made, since the laws guaranteed the peace of all law-abiding people.
I saw that the three friends were greatly saddened by what I said, and
the wise old man, quietly but sadly, told me that I should have my answer
after dinner.
De la Haye dined with us, but all through the meal, which was a
melancholy one, he spoke not a word. His silence should have told me all,
if I had not been under the influence of some malevolent genii who would
not allow me to exercise my common sense: as to the sorrow of my three
friends, I put that down to their friendship for me. My connection with
these worthy men had always been the talk of the town, and as all were
agreed that it could not be explained on natural grounds, it was deemed
to be the effect of some sorcery exercised by me. These three men were
thoroughly religious and virtuous citizens; I was nothing if not
irreligious, and Venice did not contain a greater libertine. Virtue, it
was said, may have compassion on vice, but cannot become its friend.
After dinner M. de Bragadin took me into his closet with his two friends,
from whom he had no secrets. He told me with wonderful calmness that
instead of meditating vengeance on Messer-Grande I should be thinking of
putting myself in a place of safety. "The portmanteau," said he, "was a
mere pretext; it was you they wanted and thought to find. Since your good
genius has made them miss you, look out for yourself; perhaps by
to-morrow it may be too late. I have been a State Inquisitor for eight
months, and I know the way in which the arrests ordered by the court are
carried out. They would not break open a door to look for a box of salt.
Indeed, it is possible that they knew you were out, and sought to warn
you to escape in this manner. Take my advice, my dear son, and set out
directly for Fusina, and thence as quickly as you can make your way to
Florence, where you can remain till I write to you that you may return
with safety. If you have no money I will give you a hundred sequins for
present expenses. Believe me that prudence bids you go."
Blinded by my folly, I answered him that being guilty of nothing I had
nothing to fear, and that consequently, although I knew his advice was
good, I could not follow it.
"The high court," said he, "may deem you guilty of crimes real or
imaginary; but in any case it will give you no account of the accusations
against you. Ask your oracle if you shall follow my advice or not." I
refused because I knew the folly of such a proceeding, but by way of
excuse I said that I only consulted it when I was in doubt. Finally, I
reasoned that if I fled I should be shewing fear, and thus confessing my
guilt, for an innocent man, feeling no remorse, cannot reasonably be
afraid of anything.
"If secrecy," said I, "is of the essence of the Court, you cannot
possibly judge, after my escape, whether I have done so rightly or
wrongly. The same reasons, which, according to your excellence, bid me
go, would forbid my return. Must I then say good-bye for ever to my
country, and all that is dear to me?" As a last resource he tried to
persuade me to pass the following day and night, at least, at the palace.
I am still ashamed of having refused the worthy old man to whom I owed so
much this favour; for the palace of a noble is sacred to the police who
dare not cross its threshold without a special order from the Tribunal,
which is practically never given; by yielding to his request I should
have avoided a grievous misfortune, and spared the worthy old man some
acute grief.
I was moved to see M. de Bragadin weeping, and perhaps I might have
granted to his tears that which I had obstinately refused to his
arguments and entreaties. "For Heaven's sake!" said I, "spare me the
harrowing sight of your tears." In an instant he summoned all his
strength to his assistance, made some indifferent remarks, and then, with
a smile full of good nature, he embraced me, saying, "Perhaps I may be
fated never to see you again, but 'Fata viam invenient'."
I embraced him affectionately, and went away, but his prediction was
verified, for I never saw him again; he died eleven years afterwards. I
found myself in the street without feeling the slightest fear, but I was
in a good deal of trouble about my debts. I had not the heart to go to
Muran to take away from M. M. her last five hundred sequins, which sum I
owed to the man who won it from me in the night; I preferred asking him
to wait eight days, and I did so. After performing this unpleasant piece
of business I returned home, and, having consoled my landlady to the
utmost of my power, I kissed the daughter, and lay down to sleep. The
date was July 25th, 1755.
Next morning at day-break who should enter my room but the awful
Messer-Grande. To awake, to see him, and to hear him asking if I were
Jacques Casanova, was the work of a moment. At my "yes, I am Casanova,"
he told me to rise, to put on my clothes, to give him all the papers and
manuscripts in my possession, and to follow him.
"On whose authority do you order me to do this?"
"By the authority of the Tribunal."
EPISODE 10 -- UNDER THE LEADS
CHAPTER XXVI
Under The Leads--The Earthquake
What a strange and unexplained power certain words exercise upon the
soul! I, who the evening before so bravely fortified myself with my
innocence and courage, by the word tribunal was turned to a stone, with
merely the faculty of passive obedience left to me.
My desk was open, and all my papers were on a table where I was
accustomed to write.
"Take them," said I, to the agent of the dreadful Tribunal, pointing to
the papers which covered the table. He filled a bag with them, and gave
it to one of the sbirri, and then told me that I must also give up the
bound manuscripts which I had in my possession. I shewed him where they
were, and this incident opened my eyes. I saw now, clearly enough, that I
had been betrayed by the wretch Manuzzi. The books were, "The Key of
Solomon the King," "The Zecorben," a "Picatrix," a book of "Instructions
on the Planetary Hours," and the necessary incantations for conversing
with demons of all sorts. Those who were aware that I possessed these
books took me for an expert magician, and I was not sorry to have such a
reputation.
Messer-Grande took also the books on the table by my bed, such as
Petrarch, Ariosto, Horace. "The Military' Philosopher" (a manuscript
which Mathilde had given me), "The Porter of Chartreux," and "The
Aretin," which Manuzzi had also denounced, for Messer-Grande asked me for
it by name. This spy, Manuzzi, had all the appearance of an honest man--a
very necessary qualification for his profession. His son made his fortune
in Poland by marrying a lady named Opeska, whom, as they say, he killed,
though I have never had any positive proof on the matter, and am willing
to stretch Christian charity to the extent of believing he was innocent,
although he was quite capable of such a crime.
While Messer-Grande was thus rummaging among my manuscripts, books and
letters, I was dressing myself in an absent-minded manner, neither
hurrying myself nor the reverse. I made my toilette, shaved myself, and
combed my hair; putting on mechanically a laced shirt and my holiday suit
without saying a word, and without Messer-Grande--who did not let me
escape his sight for an instant--complaining that I was dressing myself
as if I were going to a wedding.
As I went out I was surprised to see a band of forty men-at-arms in the
ante-room. They had done me the honour of thinking all these men
necessary for my arrest, though, according to the axiom 'Ne Hercules
quidem contra duos', two would have been enough. It is curious that in
London, where everyone is brave, only one man is needed to arrest
another, whereas in my dear native land, where cowardice prevails, thirty
are required. The reason is, perhaps, that the coward on the offensive is
more afraid than the coward on the defensive, and thus a man usually
cowardly is transformed for the moment into a man of courage. It is
certain that at Venice one often sees a man defending himself against
twenty sbirri, and finally escaping after beating them soundly. I
remember once helping a friend of mine at Paris to escape from the hands
of forty bum-bailiffs, and we put the whole vile rout of them to flight.
Messer-Grande made me get into a gondola, and sat down near me with an
escort of four men. When we came to our destination he offered me coffee,
which I refused; and he then shut me up in a room. I passed these four
hours in sleep, waking up every quarter of an hour to pass water--an
extraordinary occurrence, as I was not at all subject to stranguary; the
heat was great, and I had not supped the evening before. I have noticed
at other times that surprise at a deed of oppression acts on me as a
powerful narcotic, but I found out at the time I speak of that great
surprise is also a diuretic. I make this discovery over to the doctors,
it is possible that some learned man may make use of it to solace the
ills of humanity. I remember laughing very heartily at Prague six years
ago, on learning that some thin-skinned ladies, on reading my flight from
The Leads, which was published at that date, took great offence at the
above account, which they thought I should have done well to leave out. I
should have left it out, perhaps, in speaking to a lady, but the public
is not a pretty woman whom I am intent on cajoling, my only aim is to be
instructive. Indeed, I see no impropriety in the circumstance I have
narrated, which is as common to men and women as eating and drinking; and
if there is anything in it to shock too sensitive nerves, it is that we
resemble in this respect the cows and pigs.
It is probable that just as my overwhelmed soul gave signs of its failing
strength by the loss of the thinking faculty, so my body distilled a
great part of those fluids which by their continual circulation set the
thinking faculty in motion. Thus a sudden shock might cause instantaneous
death, and send one to Paradise by a cut much too short.
In course of time the captain of the men-at-arms came to tell me that he
was under orders to take me under the Leads. Without a word I followed
him. We went by gondola, and after a thousand turnings among the small
canals we got into the Grand Canal, and landed at the prison quay. After
climbing several flights of stairs we crossed a closed bridge which forms
the communication between the prisons and the Doge's palace, crossing the
canal called Rio di Palazzo. On the other side of this bridge there is a
gallery which we traversed. We then crossed one room, and entered
another, where sat an individual in the dress of a noble, who, after
looking fixedly at me, said, "E quello, mettetelo in deposito:"
This man was the secretary of the Inquisitors, the prudent Dominic
Cavalli, who was apparently ashamed to speak Venetian in my presence as
he pronounced my doom in the Tuscan language.
Messer-Grande then made me over to the warden of The Leads, who stood by
with an enormous bunch of keys, and accompanied by two guards, made me
climb two short flights of stairs, at the top of which followed a passage
and then another gallery, at the end of which he opened a door, and I
found myself in a dirty garret, thirty-six feet long by twelve broad,
badly lighted by a window high up in the roof. I thought this garret was
my prison, but I was mistaken; for, taking an enormous key, the gaoler
opened a thick door lined with iron, three and a half feet high, with a
round hole in the middle, eight inches in diameter, just as I was looking
intently at an iron machine. This machine was like a horse shoe, an inch
thick and about five inches across from one end to the other. I was
thinking what could be the use to which this horrible instrument was put,
when the gaoler said, with a smile,
"I see, sir, that you wish to know what that is for, and as it happens I
can satisfy your curiosity. When their excellencies give orders that
anyone is to be strangled, he is made to sit down on a stool, the back
turned to this collar, and his head is so placed that the collar goes
round one half of the neck. A silk band, which goes round the other half,
passes through this hole, and the two ends are connected with the axle of
a wheel which is turned by someone until the prisoner gives up the ghost,
for the confessor, God be thanked! never leaves him till he is dead."
"All this sounds very ingenious, and I should think that it is you who
have the honour of turning the wheel."
He made no answer, and signing to me to enter, which I did by bending
double, he shut me up, and afterwards asked me through the grated hole
what I would like to eat.
"I haven't thought anything about it yet," I answered. And he went away,
locking all the doors carefully behind him.
Stunned with grief, I leant my elbows on the top of the grating. It was
crossed, by six iron bars an inch thick, which formed sixteen square
holes. This opening would have lighted my cell, if a square beam
supporting the roof which joined the wall below the window had not
intercepted what little light came into that horrid garret. After making
the tour of my sad abode, my head lowered, as the cell was not more than
five and a half feet high, I found by groping along that it formed
three-quarters of a square of twelve feet. The fourth quarter was a kind
of recess, which would have held a bed; but there was neither bed, nor
table, nor chair, nor any furniture whatever, except a bucket--the use of
which may be guessed, and a bench fixed in the wall a foot wide and four
feet from the ground. On it I placed my cloak, my fine suit, and my hat
trimmed with Spanish paint and adorned with a beautiful white feather.
The heat was great, and my instinct made me go mechanically to the
grating, the only place where I could lean on my elbows. I could not see
the window, but I saw the light in the garret, and rats of a fearful
size, which walked unconcernedly about it; these horrible creatures
coming close under my grating without shewing the slightest fear. At the
sight of these I hastened to close up the round hole in the middle of the
door with an inside shutter, for a visit from one of the rats would have
frozen my blood. I passed eight hours in silence and without stirring, my
arms all the time crossed on the top of the grating.
At last the clock roused me from my reverie, and I began to feel restless
that no one came to give me anything to eat or to bring me a bed whereon
to sleep. I thought they might at least let me have a chair and some
bread and water. I had no appetite, certainly; but were my gaolers to
guess as much? And never in my life had I been so thirsty. I was quite
sure, however, that somebody would come before the close of the day; but
when I heard eight o'clock strike I became furious, knocking at the door,
stamping my feet, fretting and fuming, and accompanying this useless
hubbub with loud cries. After more than an hour of this wild exercise,
seeing no one, without the slightest reason to think I could be heard,
and shrouded in darkness, I shut the grating for fear of the rats, and
threw myself at full length upon the floor. So cruel a desertion seemed
to me unnatural, and I came to the conclusion that the Inquisitors had
sworn my death. My investigation as to what I had done to deserve such a
fate was not a long one, for in the most scrupulous examination of my
conduct I could find no crimes. I was, it is true, a profligate, a
gambler, a bold talker, a man who thought of little besides enjoying this
present life, but in all that there was no offence against the state.
Nevertheless, finding myself treated as a criminal, rage and despair made
me express myself against the horrible despotism which oppressed me in a
manner which I will leave my readers to guess, but which I will not
repeat here. But notwithstanding my brief and anxiety, the hunger which
began to make itself felt, and the thirst which tormented me, and the
hardness of the boards on which I lay, did not prevent exhausted nature
from reasserting her rights; I fell asleep.
My strong constitution was in need of sleep; and in a young and healthy
subject this imperious necessity silences all others, and in this way
above all is sleep rightly termed the benefactor of man.
The clock striking midnight awoke me. How sad is the awaking when it
makes one regret one's empty dreams. I could scarcely believe that I had
spent three painless hours. As I lay on my left side, I stretched out my
right hand to get my handkerchief, which I remembered putting on that
side. I felt about for it, when--heavens! what was my surprise to feel
another hand as cold as ice. The fright sent an electric shock through
me, and my hair began to stand on end.
Never had I been so alarmed, nor should I have previously thought myself
capable of experiencing such terror. I passed three or four minutes in a
kind of swoon, not only motionless but incapable of thinking. As I got
back my senses by degrees, I tried to make myself believe that the hand I
fancied I had touched was a mere creature of my disordered imagination;
and with this idea I stretched out my hand again, and again with the same
result. Benumbed with fright, I uttered a piercing cry, and, dropping the
hand I held, I drew back my arm, trembling all over:
Soon, as I got a little calmer and more capable of reasoning, I concluded
that a corpse had been placed beside me whilst I slept, for I was certain
it was not there when I lay down.
"This," said I, "is the body of some strangled wretch, and they would
thus warn me of the fate which is in store for me."
The thought maddened me; and my fear giving place to rage, for the third
time I stretched my arm towards the icy hand, seizing it to make certain
of the fact in all its atrocity, and wishing to get up, I rose upon my
left elbow, and found that I had got hold of my other hand. Deadened by
the weight of my body and the hardness of the boards, it had lost warmth,
motion, and all sensation.
In spite of the humorous features in this incident, it did not cheer me
up, but, on the contrary, inspired me with the darkest fancies. I saw
that I was in a place where, if the false appeared true, the truth might
appear false, where understanding was bereaved of half its prerogatives,
where the imagination becoming affected would either make the reason a
victim to empty hopes or to dark despair. I resolved to be on my guard;
and for the first time in my life, at the age of thirty, I called
philosophy to my assistance. I had within me all the seeds of philosophy,
but so far I had had no need for it.
I am convinced that most men die without ever having thought, in the
proper sense of the word, not so much for want of wit or of good sense,
but rather because the shock necessary to the reasoning faculty in its
inception has never occurred to them to lift them out of their daily
habits.
After what I had experienced, I could think of sleep no more, and to get
up would have been useless as I could not stand upright, so I took the
only sensible course and remained seated. I sat thus till four o'clock in
the morning, the sun would rise at five, and I longed to see the day, for
a presentiment which I held infallible told me that it would set me again
at liberty. I was consumed with a desire for revenge, nor did I conceal
it from myself. I saw myself at the head of the people, about to
exterminate the Government which had oppressed me; I massacred all the
aristocrats without pity; all must be shattered and brought to the dust.
I was delirious; I knew the authors of my misfortune, and in my fancy I
destroyed them. I restored the natural right common to all men of being
obedient only to the law, and of being tried only by their peers and by
laws to which they have agreed-in short, I built castles in Spain. Such
is man when he has become the prey of a devouring passion. He does not
suspect that the principle which moves him is not reason but wrath, its
greatest enemy.
I waited for a less time than I had expected, and thus I became a little
more quiet. At half-past four the deadly silence of the place--this hell
of the living--was broken by the shriek of bolts being shot back in the
passages leading to my cell.
"Have you had time yet to think about what you will take to eat?" said
the harsh voice of my gaoler from the wicket.
One is lucky when the insolence of a wretch like this only shews itself
in the guise of jesting. I answered that I should like some rice soup, a
piece of boiled beef, a roast, bread, wine, and water. I saw that the
lout was astonished not to hear the lamentations he expected. He went
away and came back again in a quarter of an hour to say that he was
astonished I did not require a bed and the necessary pieces of furniture,
"for" said he, "if you flatter yourself that you are only here for a
night, you are very much mistaken."
"Then bring me whatever you think necessary."
"Where shall I go for it? Here is a pencil and paper; write it down."
I skewed him by writing where to go for my shirts, stockings, and clothes
of all sorts, a bed, table, chair, the books which Messer-Grande had
confiscated, paper, pens, and so forth. On my reading out the list to him
(the lout did not know how to read) he cried, "Scratch out," said he,
"scratch out books, paper, pens, looking-glass and razors, for all that
is forbidden fruit here, and then give me some money to get your dinner."
I had three sequins so I gave him one, and he went off. He spent an hour
in the passages engaged, as I learnt afterwards, in attending on seven
other prisoners who were imprisoned in cells placed far apart from each
other to prevent all communication.
About noon the gaoler reappeared followed by five guards, whose duty it
was to serve the state prisoners. He opened: the cell door to bring in my
dinner and the furniture I had asked for. The bed was placed in the
recess; my dinner was laid out on a small table, and I had to eat with an
ivory spoon he had procured out of the money I had given him; all forks,
knives, and edged tools being forbidden.
"Tell me what you would like for to-morrow," said he, "for I can only
come here once a day at sunrise. The Lord High Secretary has told me to
inform you that he will send you some suitable books, but those you wish
for are forbidden."
"Thank him for his kindness in putting me by myself."
"I will do so, but you make a mistake in jesting thus."
"I don't jest at all, for I think truly that it is much better to be
alone than to mingle with the scoundrels who are doubtless here."
"What, sir! scoundrels? Not at all, not at all. They are only respectable
people here, who, for reasons known to their excellencies alone, have to
be sequestered from society. You have been put by yourself as an
additional punishment, and you want me to thank the secretary on that
account?"
"I was not aware of that."
The fool was right, and I soon found it out. I discovered that a man
imprisoned by himself can have no occupations. Alone in a gloomy cell
where he only sees the fellow who brings his food once a day, where he
cannot walk upright, he is the most wretched of men. He would like to be
in hell, if he believes in it, for the sake of the company. So strong a
feeling is this that I got to desire the company of a murderer, of one
stricken with the plague, or of a bear. The loneliness behind the prison
bars is terrible, but it must be learnt by experience to be understood,
and such an experience I would not wish even to my enemies. To a man of
letters in my situation, paper and ink would take away nine-tenths of the
torture, but the wretches who persecuted me did not dream of granting me
such an alleviation of my misery.
After the gaoler had gone, I set my table near the grating for the sake
of the light, and sat down to dinner, but I could only swallow a few
spoonfuls of soup. Having fasted for nearly forty-eight hours, it was not
surprising that I felt ill. I passed the day quietly enough seated on my
sofa, and proposing myself to read the "suitable books" which they had
been good enough to promise me. I did not shut my eyes the whole night,
kept awake by the hideous noise made by the rats, and by the deafening
chime of the clock of St. Mark's, which seemed to be striking in my room.
This double vexation was not my chief trouble, and I daresay many of my
readers will guess what I am going to speak of-namely, the myriads of
fleas which held high holiday over me. These small insects drank my blood
with unutterable voracity, their incessant bites gave me spasmodic
convulsions and poisoned my blood.
At day-break, Lawrence (such was the gaoler's name) came to my cell and
had my bed made, and the room swept and cleansed, and one of the guards
gave me water wherewith to wash myself. I wanted to take a walk in the
garret, but Lawrence told me that was forbidden. He gave me two thick
books which I forbore to open, not being quite sure of repressing the
wrath with which they might inspire me, and which the spy would have
infallibly reported to his masters. After leaving me my fodder and two
cut lemons he went away.
As soon as I was alone I ate my soup in a hurry, so as to take it hot,
and then I drew as near as I could to the light with one of the books,
and was delighted to find that I could see to read. I looked at the
title, and read, "The Mystical City of Sister Mary of Jesus, of Agrada."
I had never heard of it. The other book was by a Jesuit named Caravita.
This fellow, a hypocrite like the rest of them, had invented a new cult
of the "Adoration of the Sacred Heart of our Lord Jesus Christ." This,
according to the author, was the part of our Divine Redeemer, which above
all others should be adored a curious idea of a besotted ignoramus, with
which I got disgusted at the first page, for to my thinking the heart is
no more worthy a part than the lungs, stomach; or any other of the
inwards. The "Mystical City" rather interested me.
I read in it the wild conceptions of a Spanish nun, devout to
superstition, melancholy, shut in by convent walls, and swayed by the
ignorance and bigotry of her confessors. All these grotesque, monstrous,
and fantastic visions of hers were dignified with the name of
revelations. The lover and bosom-friend of the Holy Virgin, she had
received instructions from God Himself to write the life of His divine
mother; the necessary information was furnished her by the Holy Ghost.
This life of Mary began, not with the day of her birth, but with her
immaculate conception in the womb of Anne, her mother. This Sister Mary
of Agrada was the head of a Franciscan convent founded by herself in her
own house. After telling in detail all the deeds of her divine heroine
whilst in her mother's womb, she informs us that at the age of three she
swept and cleansed the house with the assistance of nine hundred
servants, all of whom were angels whom God had placed at her disposal,
under the command of Michael, who came and went between God and herself
to conduct their mutual correspondence.
What strikes the judicious reader of the book is the evident belief of
the more than fanatical writer that nothing is due to her invention;
everything is told in good faith and with full belief. The work contains
the dreams of a visionary, who, without vanity but inebriated with the
idea of God, thinks to reveal only the inspirations of the Divine Spirit.
The book was published with the permission of the very holy and very
horrible Inquisition. I could not recover from my astonishment! Far from
its stirring up in my breast a holy and simple zeal of religion, it
inclined me to treat all the mystical dogmas of the Faith as fabulous.
Such works may have dangerous results; for example, a more susceptible
reader than myself, or one more inclined to believe in the marvellous,
runs the risk of becoming as great a visionary as the poor nun herself.
The need of doing something made me spend a week over this masterpiece of
madness, the product of a hyper-exalted brain. I took care to say nothing
to the gaoler about this fine work, but I began to feel the effects of
reading it. As soon as I went off to sleep I experienced the disease
which Sister Mary of Agrada had communicated to my mind weakened by
melancholy, want of proper nourishment and exercise, bad air, and the
horrible uncertainty of my fate. The wildness of my dreams made me laugh
when I recalled them in my waking moments. If I had possessed the
necessary materials I would have written my visions down, and I might
possibly have produced in my cell a still madder work than the one chosen
with such insight by Cavalli.
This set me thinking how mistaken is the opinion which makes human
intellect an absolute force; it is merely relative, and he who studies
himself carefully will find only weakness. I perceived that though men
rarely become mad, still such an event is well within the bounds of
possibility, for our reasoning faculties are like powder, which, though
it catches fire easily, will never catch fire at all without a spark. The
book of the Spanish nun has all the properties necessary to make a man
crack-brained; but for the poison to take effect he must be isolated, put
under the Leads, and deprived of all other employments.
In November, 1767, as I was going from Pampeluna to Madrid, my coachman,
Andrea Capello, stopped for us to dine in a town of Old Castille. So
dismal and dreary a place did I find it that I asked its name. How I
laughed when I was told that it was Agrada!
"Here, then," I said to myself, "did that saintly lunatic produce that
masterpiece which but for M. Cavalli I should never have known."
An old priest, who had the highest possible opinion of me the moment I
began to ask him about this truthful historian of the mother of Christ,
shewed me the very place where she had written it, and assured me that
the father, mother, sister, and in short all the kindred of the blessed
biographer, had been great saints in their generation. He told me, and
spoke truly, that the Spaniards had solicited her canonization at Rome,
with that of the venerable Palafox. This "Mystical City," perhaps, gave
Father Malagrida the idea of writing the life of St. Anne, written, also,
at the dictation of the Holy Ghost, but the poor devil of a Jesuit had to
suffer martyrdom for it--an additional reason for his canonization, if
the horrible society ever comes to life again, and attains the universal
power which is its secret aim.
At the end of eight or nine days I found myself moneyless. Lawrence asked
me for some, but I had not got it.
"Where can I get some?"
"Nowhere."
What displeased this ignorant and gossiping fellow about me was my
silence and my laconic manner of talking.
Next day he told me that the Tribunal had assigned me fifty sous per diem
of which he would have to take charge, but that he would give me an
account of his expenditure every month, and that he would spend the
surplus on what I liked.
"Get me the Leyden Gazette twice a week."
"I can't do that, because it is not allowed by the authorities."
Sixty-five livres a month was more than I wanted, since I could not eat
more than I did: the great heat and the want of proper nourishment had
weakened me. It was in the dog-days; the strength of the sun's rays upon
the lead of the roof made my cell like a stove, so that the streams of
perspiration which rolled off my poor body as I sat quite naked on my
sofa-chair wetted the floor to right and left of me.
I had been in this hell-on-earth for fifteen days without any secretion
from the bowels. At the end of this almost incredible time nature
re-asserted herself, and I thought my last hour was come. The
haemorrhoidal veins were swollen to such an extent that the pressure on
them gave me almost unbearable agony. To this fatal time I owe the
inception of that sad infirmity of which I have never been able to
completely cure myself. The recurrence of the same pains, though not so
acute, remind me of the cause, and do not make my remembrance of it any
the more agreeable. This disease got me compliments in Russia when I was
there ten years later, and I found it in such esteem that I did not dare
to complain. The same kind of thing happened to me at Constantinople,
when I was complaining of a cold in the head in the presence of a Turk,
who was thinking, I could see, that a dog of a Christian was not worthy
of such a blessing.
The same day I sickened with a high fever and kept my bed. I said nothing
to Lawrence about it, but the day after, on finding my dinner untouched,
he asked me how I was.
"Very well."
"That can't be, sir, as you have eaten nothing. You are ill, and you will
experience the generosity of the Tribunal who will provide you, without
fee or charge, with a physician, surgeon, and all necessary medicines."
He went out, returning after three hours without guards, holding a candle
in his hand, and followed by a grave-looking personage; this was the
doctor. I was in the height of the fever, which had not left me for three
days. He came up to me and began to ask me questions, but I told him that
with my confessor and my doctor I would only speak apart. The doctor told
Lawrence to leave the room, but on the refusal of that Argus to do so, he
went away saying that I was dangerously ill, possibly unto death. For
this I hoped, for my life as it had become was no longer my chiefest
good. I was somewhat glad also to think that my pitiless persecutors
might, on hearing of my condition, be forced to reflect on the cruelty of
the treatment to which they had subjected me.
Four hours afterwards I heard the noise of bolts once more, and the
doctor came in holding the candle himself. Lawrence remained outside. I
had become so weak that I experienced a grateful restfulness. Kindly
nature does not suffer a man seriously ill to feel weary. I was delighted
to hear that my infamous turnkey was outside, for since his explanation
of the iron collar I had looked an him with loathing.
In a quarter of an hour I had told the doctor all.
"If we want to get well," said he, "we must not be melancholy."
"Write me the prescription, and take it to the only apothecary who can
make it up. M. Cavalli is the bad doctor who exhibited 'The Heart of
Jesus,' and 'Tire Mystical City.'"
"Those two preparations are quite capable of having brought on the fever
and the haemorrhoids. I will not forsake you"
After making me a large jug of lemonade, and telling the to drink
frequently, he went away. I slept soundly, dreaming fantastic dreams.
In he morning the doctor came again with Lawrence and a surgeon, who bled
me. The doctor left me some medicine which he told me to take in the
evening, and a bottle of soap. "I have obtained leave," said he, "for you
to move into the garret where the heat is less, and the air better than
here."
"I decline the favour, as I abominate the rats, which you know nothing
about, and which would certainly get into my bed."
"What a pity! I told M. Cavalli that he had almost killed you with his
books, and he has commissioned me to take them back, and to give you
Boethius; and here it is."
"I am much obliged to you. I like it better than Seneca, and I am sure it
will do me good."
"I am leaving you a very necessary instrument, and some barley water for
you to refresh yourself with."
He visited me four times, and pulled me through; my constitution did the
rest, and my appetite returned. At the beginning of September I found
myself, on the whole, very well, suffering from no actual ills except the
heat, the vermin, and weariness, for I could not be always reading
Boethius.
One day Lawrence told me that I might go out of my cell to wash myself
whilst the bed was being made and the room swept. I took advantage of the
favour to walk up and down for the ten minutes taken by these operations,
and as I walked hard the rats were alarmed and dared not shew themselves.
On the same day Lawrence gave me an account of my money, and brought
himself in as my debtor to the amount of thirty livres, which however, I
could not put into my pocket. I left the money in his hands, telling him
to lay it out on masses on my behalf, feeling sure that he would make
quite a different use of it, and he thanked me in a tone that persuaded
me he would be his own priest. I gave him the money every month, and I
never saw a priest's receipt. Lawrence was wise to celebrate the
sacrifice at the tavern; the money was useful to someone at all events.
I lived from day to day, persuading myself every night that the next day
I should be at liberty; but as I was each day deceived, I decided in my
poor brain that I should be set free without fail on the 1st of October,
on which day the new Inquisitors begin their term of office. According to
this theory, my imprisonment would last as long as the authority of the
present Inquisitors, and thus was explained the fact that I had seen
nothing of the secretary, who would otherwise have undoubtedly come to
interrogate, examine, and convict me of my crimes, and finally to
announce my doom. All this appeared to me unanswerable, because it seemed
natural, but it was fallacious under the Leads, where nothing is done
after the natural order. I imagined the Inquisitors must have discovered
my innocence and the wrong they had done me, and that they only kept me
in prison for form's sake, and to protect their repute from the stain of
committing injustice; hence I concluded that they would give me my
freedom when they laid down their tyrannical authority. My mind was so
composed and quiet that I felt as if I could forgive them, and forget the
wrong that they had done me. "How can they leave me here to the mercy of
their successors," I thought, "to whom they cannot leave any evidence
capable of condemning me?" I could not believe that my sentence had been
pronounced and confirmed, without my being told of it, or of the reasons
by which my judges had been actuated. I was so certain that I had right
on my side, that I reasoned accordingly; but this was not the attitude I
should have assumed towards a court which stands aloof from all the
courts in the world for its unbounded absolutism. To prove anyone guilty,
it is only necessary for the Inquisitors to proceed against him; so there
is no need to speak to him, and when he is condemned it would be useless
to announce to the prisoner his sentence, as his consent is not required,
and they prefer to leave the poor wretch the feeling of hope; and
certainly, if he were told the whole process, imprisonment would not be
shortened by an hour. The wise man tells no one of his business, and the
business of the Tribunal of Venice is only to judge and to doom. The
guilty party is not required to have any share in the matter; he is like
a nail, which to be driven into a wall needs only to be struck.
To a certain extent I was acquainted with the ways of the Colossus which
was crushing me under foot, but there are things on earth which one can
only truly understand by experience. If amongst my readers there are any
who think such laws unjust, I forgive them, as I know they have a strong
likeness to injustice; but let me tell them that they are also necessary,
as a tribunal like the Venetian could not subsist without them. Those who
maintain these laws in full vigour are senators, chosen from amongst the
fittest for that office, and with a reputation for honour and virtue.
The last day of September I passed a sleepless night, and was on thorns
to see the dawn appear, so sure was I that that day would make me free.
The reign of those villains who had made me a captive drew to a close;
but the dawn appeared, Lawrence came as usual, and told me nothing new.
For five or six days I hovered between rage and despair, and then I
imagined that for some reasons which to me were unfathomable they had
decided to keep me prisoner for the remainder of my days. This awful idea
only made me laugh, for I knew that it was in my power to remain a slave
for no long time, but only till I should take it into my own hands to
break my prison. I knew that I should escape or die: 'Deliberata morte
ferocior'.
In the beginning of November I seriously formed the plan of forcibly
escaping from a place where I was forcibly kept. I began to rack my
brains to find a way of carrying the idea into execution, and I conceived
a hundred schemes, each one bolder than the other, but a new plan always
made me give up the one I was on the point of accepting.
While I was immersed in this toilsome sea of thought, an event happened
which brought home to me the sad state of mind I was in.
I was standing up in the garret looking towards the top, and my glance
fell on the great beam, not shaking but turning on its right side, and
then, by slow and interrupted movement in the opposite direction, turning
again and replacing itself in its original position. As I lost my balance
at the same time, I knew it was the shock of an earthquake. Lawrence and
the guards, who just then came out of my room, said that they too, had
felt the earth tremble. In such despair was I that this incident made me
feel a joy which I kept to myself, saying nothing. Four or five seconds
after the same movement occurred, and I could not refrain from saying,
"Another, O my God! but stronger."
The guards, terrified with what they thought the impious ravings of a
desperate madman, fled in horror.
After they were gone, as I was pondering the matter over, I found that I
looked upon the overthrow of the Doge's palace as one of the events which
might lead to liberty; the mighty pile, as it fell, might throw me safe
and sound, and consequently free, on St. Mark's Place, or at the worst it
could only crush me beneath its ruins. Situated as I was, liberty reckons
for all, and life for nothing, or rather for very little. Thus in the
depths of my soul I began to grow mad.
This earthquake shock was the result of those which at the same time
destroyed Lisbon.
CHAPTER XXVII
Various Adventures--My Companions--I Prepare to Escape--
Change of Cell
To make the reader understand how I managed to escape from a place like
the Leads, I must explain the nature of the locality.
The Leads, used for the confinement of state prisoners, are in fact the
lofts of the ducal palace, and take their name from the large plates of
lead with which the roof is covered. One can only reach them through the
gates of the palace, the prison buildings, or by the bridge of which I
have spoken called the Bridge of Sighs. It is impossible to reach the
cells without passing through the hall where the State Inquisitors hold
their meetings, and their secretary has the sole charge of the key, which
he only gives to the gaoler for a short time in the early morning whilst
he is attending to the prisoners. This is done at day-break, because
otherwise the guards as they came and went would be in the way of those
who have to do with the Council of Ten, as the Council meets every day in
a hall called The Bussola, which the guards have to cross every time they
go to the Leads.
The prisons are under the roof on two sides of the palace; three to the
west (mine being among the number) and four to the east. On the west the
roof looks into the court of the palace, and on the east straight on to
the canal called Rio di Palazzo. On this side the cells are well lighted,
and one can stand up straight, which is not the case in the prison where
I was, which was distinguished by the name of 'Trave', on account of the
enormous beam which deprived me of light. The floor of my cell was
directly over the ceiling of the Inquisitors' hall, where they commonly
met only at night after the sitting of the Council of Ten of which the
whole three are members.
As I knew my ground and the habits of the Inquisitors perfectly well, the
only way to escape--the only way at least which I deemed likely to
succeed--was to make a hole in the floor of my cell; but to do this tools
must be obtained--a difficult task in a place where all communication
with the outside world was forbidden, where neither letters nor visits
were allowed. To bribe a guard a good deal of money would be necessary,
and I had none. And supposing that the gaoler and his two guards allowed
themselves to be strangled--for my hands were my only weapons--there was
always a third guard on duty at the door of the passage, which he locked
and would not open till his fellow who wished to pass through gave him
the password. In spite of all these difficulties my only thought was how
to escape, and as Boethius gave me no hints on this point I read him no
more, and as I was certain that the difficulty was only to be solved by
stress of thinking I centered all my thoughts on this one object.
It has always been my opinion that when a man sets himself determinedly
to do something, and thinks of nought but his design, he must succeed
despite all difficulties in his path: such an one may make himself Pope
or Grand Vizier, he may overturn an ancient line of kings--provided that
he knows how to seize on his opportunity, and be a man of wit and
pertinacity. To succeed one must count on being fortunate and despise all
ill success, but it is a most difficult operation.
Towards the middle of November, Lawrence told me that Messer-Grande had a
prisoner in his hands whom the new secretary, Businello, had ordered to
be placed in the worst cell, and who consequently was going to share
mine. He told me that on the secretary's reminding him that I looked upon
it as a favour to be left alone, he answered that I had grown wiser in
the four months of my imprisonment. I was not sorry to hear the news or
that there was a new secretary. This M. Pierre Businello was a worthy man
whom I knew at Paris. He afterwards went to London as ambassador of the
Republic.
In the afternoon I heard the noise of the bolts, and presently Lawrence
and two guards entered leading in a young man who was weeping bitterly;
and after taking off his handcuffs they shut him up with me, and went out
without saying a word. I was lying on my bed, and he could not see me. I
was amused at his astonishment. Being, fortunately for himself, seven or
eight inches shorter than I, he was able to stand upright, and he began
to inspect my arm-chair, which he doubtless thought was meant for his own
use. Glancing at the ledge above the grating he saw Boethius, took it up,
opened it, and put it down with a kind of passion, probably because being
in Latin it was of no use to him. Continuing his inspection of the cell
he went to the left, and groping about was much surprised to find
clothes. He approached the recess, and stretching out his hand he touched
me, and immediately begged my pardon in a respectful manner. I asked him
to sit down and we were friends.
"Who are you?" said I.
"I am Maggiorin, of Vicenza. My father, who was a coachman, kept me at
school till I was eleven, by which time I had learnt to read and write; I
was afterwards apprenticed to a barber, where I learnt my business
thoroughly. After that I became valet to the Count of X---. I had been in
the service of the nobleman for two years when his daughter came from the
convent. It was my duty to do her hair, and by degrees I fell in love
with her, and inspired her with a reciprocal passion. After having sworn
a thousand times to exist only for one another, we gave ourselves up to
the task of shewing each other marks of our affection, the result of
which was that the state of the young countess discovered all. An old and
devoted servant was the first to find out our connection and the
condition of my mistress, and she told her that she felt in duty bound to
tell her father, but my sweetheart succeeded in making her promise to be
silent, saying that in the course of the week she herself would tell him
through her confessor. She informed me of all this, and instead of going
to confession we prepared for flight. She had laid hands on a good sum of
money and some diamonds which had belonged to her mother, and we were to
set out for Milan to-night. But to-day the count called me after dinner,
and giving me a letter, he told me to start at once and to deliver it
with my own hand to the person to whom it was addressed at Venice. He
spoke to me so kindly and quietly that I had not the slightest suspicion
of the fate in store for me. I went to get my cloak, said good-bye to my
little wife, telling her that I should soon return. Seeing deeper below
the surface than I, and perchance having a presentiment of my misfortune,
she was sick at heart. I came here in hot haste, and took care to deliver
the fatal letter. They made me wait for an answer, and in the mean time I
went to an inn; but as I came out I was arrested and put in the
guard-room, where I was kept till they brought me here. I suppose, sir, I
might consider the young countess as my wife?"
"You make a mistake."
"But nature---- "
"Nature, when a man listens to her and nothing else, takes him from one
folly to another, till she puts him under the Leads."
"I am under the Leads, then, am I?"
"As I am."
The poor young man shed some bitter tears. He was a well-made lad, open,
honest, and amorous beyond words. I secretly pardoned the countess, and
condemned the count for exposing his daughter to such temptation. A
shepherd who shuts up the wolf in the fold should not complain if his
flock be devoured. In all his tears and lamentations he thought not of
himself but always of his sweetheart. He thought that the gaoler would
return and bring him some food and a bed; but I undeceived him, and
offered him a share of what I had. His heart, however, was too full for
him to eat. In the evening I gave him my mattress, on which he passed the
night, for though he looked neat and clean enough I did not care to have
him to sleep with me, dreading the results of a lover's dreams. He
neither understood how wrongly he had acted, nor how the count was
constrained to punish him publicly as a cloak to the honour of his
daughter and his house. The next day he was given a mattress and a dinner
to the value of fifteen sous, which the Tribunal had assigned to him,
either as a favour or a charity, for the word justice would not be
appropriate in speaking of this terrible body. I told the gaoler that my
dinner would suffice for the two of us, and that he could employ the
young man's allowance in saying masses in his usual manner. He agreed
willingly, and having told him that he was lucky to be in my company, he
said that we could walk in the garret for half an hour. I found this walk
an excellent thing for my health and my plan of escape, which, however, I
could not carry out for eleven months afterwards. At the end of this
resort of rats, I saw a number of old pieces of furniture thrown on the
ground to the right and left of two great chests, and in front of a large
pile of papers sewn up into separate volumes. I helped myself to a dozen
of them for the sake of the reading, and I found them to be accounts of
trials, and very diverting; for I was allowed to read these papers, which
had once contained such secrets. I found some curious replies to the
judges' questions respecting the seduction of maidens, gallantries
carried a little too far by persons employed in girls' schools, facts
relating to confessors who had abused their penitents, schoolmasters
convicted of pederasty with their pupils, and guardians who had seduced
their wards. Some of the papers dating two or three centuries back, in
which the style and the manners illustrated gave me considerable
entertainment. Among the pieces of furniture on the floor I saw a
warming-pan, a kettle, a fire-shovel, a pair of tongs, some old
candle-sticks, some earthenware pots, and even a syringe. From this I
concluded that some prisoner of distinction had been allowed to make use
of these articles. But what interested me most was a straight iron bar as
thick as my thumb, and about a foot and a half long. However, I left
everything as it was, as my plans had not been sufficiently ripened by
time for me to appropriate any object in particular.
One day towards the end of the month my companion was taken away, and
Lawrence told me that he had been condemned to the prisons known as The
Fours, which are within the same walls as the ordinary prisons, but
belong to the State Inquisitors. Those confined in them have the
privilege of being able to call the gaoler when they like. The prisons
are gloomy, but there is an oil lamp in the midst which gives the
necessary light, and there is no fear of fire as everything is made of
marble. I heard, a long time after, that the unfortunate Maggiorin was
there for five years, and was afterwards sent to Cerigo for ten. I do not
know whether he ever came from there. He had kept me good company, and
this I discovered as soon as he was gone, for in a few days I became as
melancholy as before. Fortunately, I was still allowed my walk in the
garret, and I began to examine its contents with more minuteness. One of
the chests was full of fine paper, pieces of cardboard, uncut pens, and
clews of pack thread; the other was fastened down. A piece of polished
black marble, an inch thick, six inches long, and three broad, attracted
my attention, and I possessed myself of it without knowing what I was
going to do with it, and I secreted it in my cell, covering it up with my
shirts.
A week after Maggiorin had gone, Lawrence told me that in all probability
I should soon get another companion. This fellow Lawrence, who at bottom
was a mere gabbling fool, began to get uneasy at my never asking him any
questions. This fondness for gossip was not altogether appropriate to his
office, but where is one to find beings absolutely vile? There are such
persons, but happily they are few and far between, and are not to be
sought for in the lower orders. Thus my gaoler found himself unable to
hold his tongue, and thought that the reason I asked no questions must be
that I thought him incapable of answering them; and feeling hurt at this,
and wishing to prove to me that I made a mistake, he began to gossip
without being solicited.
"I believe you will often have visitors," said he, "as the other six
cells have each two prisoners, who are not likely to be sent to the
Fours." I made him no reply, but he went on, in a few seconds, "They send
to the Fours all sorts of people after they have been sentenced, though
they know nothing of that. The prisoners whom I have charge of under the
Leads are like yourself, persons of note, and are only guilty of deeds of
which the inquisitive must know nothing. If you knew, sir, what sort of
people shared your fate, you would be astonished, It's true that you are
called a man of parts; but you will pardon me.... You know that all men
of parts are treated well here. You take me, I see. Fifty sous a day,
that's something. They give three livres to a citizen, four to a
gentleman, and eight to a foreign count. I ought to know, I think, as
everything goes through my hands."
He then commenced to sing his own praises, which consisted of negative
clauses.
"I'm no thief, nor traitor, nor greedy, nor malicious, nor brutal, as all
my predecessors were, and when I have drunk a pint over and above I am
all the better for it. If my father had sent me to school I should have
learnt to read and write, and I might be Messer-Grande to-day, but that's
not my fault. M. Andre Diedo has a high opinion of me. My wife, who cooks
for you every day, and is only twenty-four, goes to see him when she
will, and he will have her come in without ceremony, even if he be in
bed, and that's more than he'll do for a senator. I promise you you will
be always having the new-comers in your cell, but never for any length of
time, for as soon as the secretary has got what he wants to know from
them, he sends them to their place--to the Fours, to some fort, or to the
Levant; and if they be foreigners they are sent across the frontier, for
our Government does not hold itself master of the subjects of other
princes, if they be not in its service. The clemency of the Court is
beyond compare; there's not another in the world that treats its
prisoners so well. They say it's cruel to disallow writing and visitors;
but that's foolish, for what are writing and company but waste of time?
You will tell me that you have nothing to do, but we can't say as much."
Such was, almost word for word, the first harangue with which the fellow
honoured me, and I must say I found it amusing. I saw that if the man had
been less of a fool he would most certainly have been more of a
scoundrel.
The next day brought me a new messmate, who was treated as Maggiorin had
been, and I thus found it necessary to buy another ivory spoon, for as
the newcomers were given nothing on the first day of their imprisonment I
had to do all the honours of the cell.
My new mate made me a low bow, for my beard, now four inches long, was
still more imposing than my figure. Lawrence often lent me scissors to
cut my nails, but he was forbidden, under pain of very heavy punishment,
to let me touch my beard. I knew not the reason of this order, but I
ended by becoming used to my beard as one gets used to everything.
The new-comer was a man of about fifty, approaching my size, a little
bent, thin, with a large mouth, and very bad teeth. He had small grey
eyes hidden under thick eyebrows of a red colour, which made him look
like an owl; and this picture was set off by a small black wig, which
exhaled a disagreeable odour of oil, and by a dress of coarse grey cloth.
He accepted my offer of dinner, but was reserved, and said not a word the
whole day, and I was also silent, thinking he would soon recover the use
of his tongue, as he did the next day.
Early in the morning he was given a bed and a bag full of linen. The
gaoler asked him, as he had asked me, what he would have for dinner, and
for money to pay for it.
"I have no money."
"What! a moneyed man like you have no money?"
"I haven't a sou."
"Very good; in that case I will get you some army biscuit and water,
according to instructions."
He went out, and returned directly afterwards with a pound and a half of
biscuit, and a pitcher, which he set before the prisoner, and then went
away.
Left alone with this phantom I heard a sigh, and my pity made me break
the silence.
"Don't sigh, sir, you shall share my dinner. But I think you have made a
great mistake in coming here without money."
"I have some, but it does not do to let those harpies know of it:"
"And so you condemn yourself to bread and water. Truly a wise proceeding!
Do you know the reason of your imprisonment?"
"Yes, sir, and I will endeavour in a few words to inform you of it."
"My name is Squaldo Nobili. My father was a countryman who had me taught
reading and writing, and at his death left me his cottage and the small
patch of ground belonging to it. I lived in Friuli, about a day's journey
from the Marshes of Udine. As a torrent called Corno often damaged my
little property, I determined to sell it and to set up in Venice, which I
did ten years ago. I brought with me eight thousand livres in fair
sequins, and knowing that in this happy commonwealth all men enjoyed the
blessings of liberty, I believed that by utilizing my capital I might
make a little income, and I began to lend money, on security. Relying on
my thrift, my judgment, and my, knowledge of the world, I chose this
business in preference to all others. I rented a small house in the
neighbourhood of the Royal Canal, and having furnished it I lived there
in comfort by myself; and in the course of two years I found I had made a
profit of ten thousand livres, though I had expended two thousand on
household expenses as I wished to live in comfort. In this fashion I saw
myself in a fair way of making a respectable fortune in time; but one,
day, having lent a Jew two sequins upon some books, I found one amongst
them called 'La Sagesse,' by Charron. It was then I found out how good a
thing it is to be able to read, for this book, which you, sir, may not
have read, contains all that a man need know--purging him of all the
prejudices of his childhood. With Charron good-bye to hell and all the
empty terrors of a future life; one's eyes are opened, one knows the way
to bliss, one becomes wise indeed. Do you, sir, get this book, and pay no
heed to those foolish persons who would tell you this treasure is not to
be approached."
This curious discourse made me know my man. As to Charron, I had read the
book though I did not know it had been translated into Italian. The
author who was a great admirer of Montaigne thought to surpass his model,
but toiled in vain. He is not much read despite the prohibition to read
his works, which should have given them some popularity. He had the
impudence to give his book the title of one of Solomon's treatises--a
circumstance which does not say much for his modesty. My companion went
on as follows:
"Set free by Charron from any scruples I still might have, and from those
false ideas so hard to rid one's self of, I pushed my business in such
sort, that at the end of six years I could lay my hand on ten thousand
sequins. There is no need for you to be astonished at that, as in this
wealthy city gambling, debauchery, and idleness set all the world awry
and in continual need of money; so do the wise gather what the fool
drops.
"Three years ago a certain Count Seriman came and asked me to take from
him five hundred sequins, to put them in my business, and to give him
half profits. All he asked for was an obligation in which I promised to
return him the whole sum on demand. At the end of a year I sent him
seventy-five sequins, which made fifteen per cent. on his money; he gave
me a receipt for it, but was ill pleased. He was wrong, for I was in no
need of money, and had not used his for business purposes. At the end of
the second year, out of pure generosity, I sent him the same amount; but
we came to a quarrel and he demanded the return of the five hundred
sequins. 'Certainly,' I said, 'but I must deduct the hundred and fifty
you have already received.' Enraged at this he served me with a writ for
the payment of the whole sum. A clever lawyer undertook my defence and
was able to gain me two years. Three months ago I was spoken to as to an
agreement, and I refused to hear of it, but fearing violence I went to
the Abbe Justiniani, the Spanish ambassador's secretary, and for a small
sum he let me a house in the precincts of the Embassy, where one is safe
from surprises. I was quite willing to let Count Seriman have his money,
but I claimed a reduction of a hundred sequins on account of the costs of
the lawsuit. A week ago the lawyers on both sides came to me. I shewed
them a purse of two hundred and fifty sequins, and told them they might
take it, but not a penny more. They went away without saying a word, both
wearing an ill-pleased air, of which I took no notice. Three days ago the
Abbe Justiniani told me that the ambassador had thought fit to give
permission to the State Inquisitors to send their men at once to my house
to make search therein. I thought the thing impossible under the shelter
of a foreign ambassador, and instead of taking the usual precautions, I
waited the approach of the men-at-arms, only putting my money in a place
of safety. At daybreak Messer-Grande came to the house, and asked me for
three hundred and fifty sequins, and on my telling him that I hadn't a
farthing he seized me, and here I am."
I shuddered, less at having such an infamous companion than at his
evidently considering me as his equal, for if he had thought of me in any
other light he would certainly not have told me this long tale, doubtless
in the belief that I should take his part. In all the folly about Charron
with which he tormented me in the three days we were together, I found by
bitter experience the truth of the Italian proverb: 'Guardati da colui
che non ha letto che un libro solo'. By reading the work of the misguided
priest he had become an Atheist, and of this he made his boast all the
day long. In the afternoon Lawrence came to tell him to come and speak
with the secretary. He dressed himself hastily, and instead of his own
shoes he took mine without my seeing him. He came back in half an hour in
tears, and took out of his shoes two purses containing three hundred and
fifty sequins, and, the gaoler going before, he went to take them to the
secretary. A few moments afterwards he returned, and taking his cloak
went away. Lawrence told me that he had been set at liberty. I thought,
and with good reason, that, to make him acknowledge his debt and pay it,
the secretary had threatened him with the torture; and if it were only
used in similar cases, I, who detest the principle of torture, would be
the first to proclaim its utility.
On New Year's Day, 1733, I received my presents. Lawrence brought me a
dressing-gown lined with foxskin, a coverlet of wadded silk, and a
bear-skin bag for me to put my legs in, which I welcomed gladly, for the
coldness was unbearable as the heat in August. Lawrence told me that I
might spend to the amount of six sequins a month, that I might have what
books I liked, and take in the newspaper, and that this present came from
M. de Bragadin. I asked him for a pencil, and I wrote upon a scrap of
paper: "I am grateful for the kindness of the Tribunal and the goodness
of M. de Bragadin."
The man who would know what were my feelings at all this must have been
in a similar situation to my own. In the first gush of feeling I forgave
my oppressors, and was on the point of giving up the idea of escape; so
easily shall you move a man that you have brought low and overwhelmed
with misfortune. Lawrence told me that M. de Bragadin had come before the
three Inquisitors, and that on his knees, and with tears in his eyes, he
had entreated them to let him give me this mark of his affection if I
were still in the land of the living; the Inquisitors were moved, and
were not able to refuse his request.
I wrote down without delay the names of the books I wanted.
One fine morning, as I was walking in the garret, my eyes fell on the
iron bar I have mentioned, and I saw that it might very easily be made
into a defensive or offensive weapon. I took possession of it, and having
hidden it under my dressing-gown I conveyed it into my cell. As soon as I
was alone, I took the piece of black marble, and I found that I had to my
hand an excellent whetstone; for by rubbing the bar with the stone I
obtained a very good edge.
My interest roused in this work in which I was but an apprentice, and in
the fashion in which I seemed likely to become possessed of an instrument
totally prohibited under the Leads, impelled, perhaps, also by my vanity
to make a weapon without any of the necessary tools, and incited by my
very difficulties (for I worked away till dark without anything to hold
my whetstone except my left hand, and without a drop of oil to soften the
iron), I made up my mind to persevere in my difficult task. My saliva
served me in the stead of oil, and I toiled eight days to produce eight
edges terminating in a sharp point, the edges being an inch and a half in
length. My bar thus sharpened formed an eight-sided dagger, and would
have done justice to a first-rate cutler. No one can imagine the toil and
trouble I had to bear, nor the patience required to finish this difficult
task without any other tools than a loose piece of stone. I put myself,
in fact, to a kind of torture unknown to the tyrants of all ages. My
right arm had become so stiff that I could hardly move it; the palm of my
hand was covered with a large scar, the result of the numerous blisters
caused by the hardness and the length of the work. No one would guess the
sufferings I underwent to bring my work to completion.
Proud of what I had done, without thinking what use I could make of my
weapon, my first care was to hide it in such a manner as would defy a
minute search. After thinking over a thousand plans, to all of which
there was some objection, I cast my eyes on my arm-chair, and there I
contrived to hide it so as to be secure from all suspicion. Thus did
Providence aid me to contrive a wonderful and almost inconceivable plan
of escape. I confess to a feeling of vanity, not because I eventually
succeeded--for I owed something to good luck--but because I was brave
enough to undertake such a scheme in spite of the difficulties which
might have ruined my plans and prevented my ever attaining liberty.
After thinking for three or four days as to what I should do with the bar
I had made into an edged tool, as thick as a walking-stick and twenty
inches long, I determined that the best plan would be to make a hole in
the floor under my bed.
I was sure that the room below my cell was no other than the one in which
I had seen M. Cavalli. I knew that this room was opened every morning,
and I felt persuaded that, after I had made my hole, I could easily let
myself down with my sheets, which I would make into a rope and fasten to
my bed. Once there, I would hide under the table of the court, and in the
morning, when the door was opened, I could escape and get to a place of
safety before anyone could follow me. I thought it possible that a sentry
might be placed in the hall, but my short pike ought to soon rid me of
him. The floor might be of double or even of triple thickness, and this
thought puzzled me; for in that case how was I to prevent the guard
sweeping out the room throughout the two months my work might last. If I
forbade them to do so, I might rouse suspicion; all the more as, to free
myself of the fleas, I had requested them to sweep out the cell every
day, and in sweeping they would soon discover what I was about. I must
find some way out of this difficulty.
I began by forbidding them to sweep, without giving any reason. A week
after, Lawrence asked me why I did so. I told him because of the dust
which might make me cough violently and give me some fatal injury.
"I will make them water the floor," said he.
"That would be worse, Lawrence, for the damp might cause a plethora."
In this manner I obtained a week's respite, but at the end of that time
the lout gave orders that my cell should be swept. He had the bed carried
out into the garret, and on pretence of having the sweeping done with
greater care, he lighted a candle. This let me know that the rascal was
suspicious of something; but I was crafty enough to take no notice of
him, and so far from giving up my plea, I only thought how I could put it
on good train. Next morning I pricked my finger and covered my
handkerchief with the blood, and then awaited Lawrence in bed. As soon as
he came I told him that I had coughed so violently as to break a
blood-vessel, which had made me bring up all the blood he saw. "Get me a
doctor." The doctor came, ordered me to be bled, and wrote me a
prescription. I told him it was Lawrence's fault, as he had persisted in
having the room swept. The doctor blamed him for doing so, and just as if
I had asked him he told us of a young man who had died from the same
cause, and said that there was nothing more dangerous than breathing in
dust. Lawrence called all the gods to witness that he had only had the
room swept for my sake, and promised it should not happen again. I
laughed to myself, for the doctor could not have played his part better
if I had given him the word. The guards who were there were delighted,
and said they would take care only to sweep the cells of those prisoners
who had angered them.
When the doctor was gone, Lawrence begged my pardon, and assured me that
all the other prisoners were in good health although their cells were
swept out regularly.
"But what the doctor says is worth considering," said he, "and I shall
tell them all about it, for I look upon them as my children."
The blood-letting did me good, as it made me sleep, and relieved me of
the spasms with which I was sometimes troubled. I had regained my
appetite and was getting back my strength every day, but the time to set
about my work was not yet come; it was still too cold, and I could not
hold the bar for any length of time without my hand becoming stiff. My
scheme required much thought. I had to exercise boldness and foresight to
rid myself of troubles which chance might bring to pass or which I could
foresee. The situation of a man who had to act as I had, is an unhappy
one, but in risking all for all half its bitterness vanishes.
The long nights of winter distressed me, for I had to pass nineteen
mortal hours in darkness; and on the cloudy days, which are common enough
at Venice, the light I had was not sufficient for me to be able to read.
Without any distractions I fell back on the idea of my escape, and a man
who always thinks on one subject is in danger of becoming a monomaniac. A
wretched kitchen-lamp would have made me happy, but how am I to get such
a thing? O blessed prerogative of thought! how happy was I when I thought
I had found a way to possess myself of such a treasure! To make such a
lamp I required a vase, wicks, oil, a flint and steel, tinder, and
matches. A porringer would do for the vase, and I had one which was used
for cooking eggs in butter. Pretending that the common oil did not agree
with me, I got them to buy me Lucca oil for my salad, and my cotton
counterpane would furnish me with wicks. I then said I had the toothache,
and asked Lawrence to get me a pumice-stone, but as he did not know what
I meant I told him that a musket-flint would do as well if it were soaked
in vinegar for a day, and, then being applied to the tooth the pain would
be eased. Lawrence told me that the vinegar I had was excellent, and that
I could soak the stone myself, and he gave me three or four flints he had
in his pocket. All I had to do was to get some sulphur and tinder, and
the procuring of these two articles set all my wits to work. At last
fortune came to my assistance.
I had suffered from a kind of rash, which as it came off had left some
red spots on my arms, and occasionally caused me some irritation. I told
Lawrence to ask the doctor for a cure, and the next day he brought me a
piece of paper which the secretary had seen, and on which the doctor had
written, "Regulate the food for a day, and the skin will be cured by four
ounces of oil of sweet almonds or an ointment of flour of sulphur, but
this local application is hazardous."
"Never mind the danger," said I to Lawrence; "buy me the ointment, or
rather get me the sulphur, as I have some butter by me, and I can make it
up myself. Have you any matches? Give me a few."
He found some in his pockets, and he gave me them.
What a small thing brings comfort in distress! But in my place these
matches were no small thing, but rather a great treasure.
I had puzzled my head for several hours as to what substitute I could
find for tinder--the only thing I still lacked, and which I could not ask
for under any pretense whatsoever--when I remembered that I had told the
tailor to put some under the armpits of my coat to prevent the
perspiration spoiling the stuff. The coat, quite new, was before me, and
my heart began to beat, but supposing the tailor had not put it in! Thus
I hung between hope and fear. I had only to take a step to know all; but
such a step would have been decisive, and I dared not take it. At last I
drew nigh, and feeling myself unworthy of such mercies I fell on my knees
and fervently prayed of God that the tailor might not have forgotten the
tinder. After this heartfelt prayer I took my coat, unsewed it, and
found-the tinder! My joy knew no bounds. I naturally gave thanks to God,
since it was with confidence in Him that I took courage and searched my
coat, and I returned thanks to Him with all my heart.
I now had all the necessary materials, and I soon made myself a lamp. Let
the reader imagine my joy at having in a manner made light in the midst
of darkness, and it was no less sweet because against the orders of my
infamous oppressors. Now there was no more night for me, and also no more
salad, for though I was very fond of it the need of keeping the oil to
give light caused me to make this sacrifice without it costing me many
pangs. I fixed upon the first Monday in Lent to begin the difficult work
of breaking through the floor, for I suspected that in the tumult of the
carnival I might have some visitors, and I was in the right.
At noon, on Quinquagesima Sunday, I heard the noise of the bolts, and
presently Lawrence entered, followed by a thick-set man whom I recognized
as the Jew, Gabriel Schalon, known for lending money to young men.
We knew each other, so exchanged compliments. His company was by no means
agreeable to me, but my opinion was not asked. He began by congratulating
me on having the pleasure of his society; and by way of answer I offered
him to share my dinner, but he refused, saying he would only take a
little soup, and would keep his appetite for a better supper at his own
house.
"When?"
"This evening. You heard when I asked for my bed he told me that we would
talk about that to-morrow. That means plainly that I shall have no need
of it. And do you think it likely that a man like me would be left
without anything to eat?"
"That was my experience."
"Possibly, but between ourselves our cases are somewhat different; and
without going any farther into that question, the Inquisitors have made a
mistake in arresting me, and they will be in some trouble, I am certain,
as to how to atone for doing so."
"They will possibly give you a pension. A man of your importance has to
be conciliated."
"True, there's not a broker on the exchange more useful than myself, and
the five sages have often profited by the advice I have given them. My
detention is a curious incident, which, perchance, will be of service to
you."
"Indeed. How, may I ask?"
"I will get you out of here in a month's time. I know to whom to speak
and what way to do it:"
"I reckon on you, then."
"You may do so."
This knave and fool together believed himself to be somebody. He
volunteered to inform me as to what was being said of me in the town, but
as he only related the idle tales of men as ignorant as himself, he
wearied me, and to escape listening to him I took up a book. The fellow
had the impudence to ask me not to read, as he was very fond of talking,
but henceforth he talked only to himself. I did not dare to light my lamp
before this creature, and as night drew on he decided on accepting some
bread and Cyprus wine, and he was afterwards obliged to do as best he
could with my mattress, which was now the common bed of all new-comers.
In the morning he had a bed and some food from his own house. I was
burdened with this wretched fellow for two months, for before condemning
him to the Fours the secretary had several interviews with him to bring
to light his knaveries, and to oblige him to cancel a goodly number of
illegal agreements. He confessed to me himself that he had bought of M.
Domenico Micheli the right to moneys which could not belong to the buyer
till after the father of the seller was dead. "It's true," said he, "that
he agreed to give me fifty per cent., but you must consider that if he
died before his father I should lose all." At last, seeing that my cursed
fellow did not go, I determined to light my lamp again after having made
him promise to observe secrecy. He only kept his promise while he was
with me, as Lawrence knew all about it, but luckily he attached no
importance to the fact.
This unwelcome guest was a true burden to me, as he not only prevented me
from working for my escape but also from reading. He was troublesome,
ignorant, superstitious, a braggart, cowardly, and sometimes like a
madman. He would have had me cry, since fear made him weep, and he said
over and over again that this imprisonment would ruin his reputation. On
this count I reassured him with a sarcasm he did not understand. I told
him that his reputation was too well known to suffer anything from this
little misfortune, and he took that for a compliment. He would not
confess to being a miser, but I made him admit that if the Inquisitors
would give him a hundred sequins for every day of his imprisonment he
would gladly pass the rest of his life under the Leads.
He was a Talmudist, like all modern Jews, and he tried to make me believe
that he was very devout; but I once extracted a smile of approbation from
him by telling him that he would forswear Moses if the Pope would make
him a cardinal. As the son of a rabbi he was learned in all the
ceremonies of his religion, but like most men he considered the essence
of a religion to lie in its discipline and outward forms.
This Jew, who was extremely fat, passed three-quarters of his life in
bed; and though he often dozed in the daytime, he was annoyed at not
being able to sleep at night--all the more as he saw that I slept
excellently. He once took it into his head to wake me up as I was
enjoying my sleep.
"What do you want?" said I; "waking me up with a start like this."
"My dear fellow, I can't sleep a wink. Have compassion on me and let us
have a little talk."
"You scoundrel! You act thus and you dare to call yourself my friend! I
know your lack of sleep torments you, but if you again deprive me of the
only blessing I enjoy I will arise and strangle you."
I uttered these words in a kind of transport.
"Forgive me, for mercy's sake! and be sure that I will not trouble you
again."
It is possible that I should not have strangled him, but I was very much
tempted to do so. A prisoner who is happy enough to sleep soundly, all
the while he sleeps is no longer a captive, and feels no more the weight
of his chains. He ought to look upon the wretch who awakens him as a
guard who deprives him of his liberty, and makes him feel his misery once
more, since, awakening, he feels all his former woes. Furthermore, the
sleeping prisoner often dreams that he is free again, in like manner as
the wretch dying of hunger sees himself in dreams seated at a sumptuous
feast.
I congratulated myself on not having commenced my great work before he
came, especially as he required that the room should be swept out. The
first time he asked for it to be dote, the guards made me laugh by saying
that it would kill me. However, he insisted; and I had my revenge by
pretending to be ill, but from interested motives I made no further
opposition.
On the Wednesday in Holy Week Lawrence told us that the secretary would
make us the customary visit in the afternoon, the object being to give
peace to them that would receive the sacrament at Easter, and also to
know if they had anything to say against the gaoler. "So, gentlemen,"
said Lawrence, "if you have any complaints to make of me make them. Dress
yourselves fully, as is customary." I told Lawrence to get me a confessor
for the day.
I put myself into full dress, and the Jew followed my example, taking
leave of me in advance, so sure was he that the secretary would set him
free on hearing what he had to say. "My presentiment," said he, "is of
the same kind as I have had before, and I have never been deceived."
"I congratulate you, but don't reckon without your host." He did not
understand what I meant.
In course of time the secretary came, and as soon as the cell-door was
opened the Jew ran out and threw himself at his feet on both knees, I
heard for five minutes nothing but his tears and complaints, for the
secretary said not one word. He came back, and Lawrence told me to go
out. With a beard of eight months' growth, and a dress made for
love-making in August, I must have presented a somewhat curious
appearance. Much to my disgust I shivered with cold, and was afraid that
the secretary would think I was trembling with fear. As I was obliged to
bend low to come out of my hole, my bow was ready made, and drawing
myself up, I looked at him calmly without affecting any unseasonable
hardihood, and waited for him to speak. The secretary also kept silence,
so that we stood facing each other like a pair of statues. At the end of
two minutes, the secretary, seeing that I said nothing, gave me a slight
bow, and went away. I re-entered my cell, and taking off my clothes in
haste, got into bed to get warm again. The Jew was astonished at my not
having spoken to the secretary, although my silence had cried more loudly
than his cowardly complaints. A prisoner of my kind has no business to
open his mouth before his judge, except to answer questions. On Maundy
Thursday a Jesuit came to confess me, and on Holy Saturday a priest of
St. Mark's came to administer to me the Holy Communion. My confession
appearing rather too laconic to the sweet son of Ignatius he thought good
to remonstrate with me before giving me his absolution.
"Do you pray to God?" he said.
"From the morning unto the evening, and from the evening unto the
morning, for, placed as I am, all that I feel--my anxiety, my grief, all
the wanderings of my mind--can be but a prayer in the eyes of the Divine
Wisdom which alone sees my heart."
The Jesuit smiled slightly and replied by a discourse rather metaphysical
than moral, which did not at all tally with my views. I should have
confuted him on every point if he had not astonished me by a prophecy he
made. "Since it is from us," said he, "that you learnt what you know of
religion, practise it in our fashion, pray like us, and know that you
will only come out of this place on the day of the saint whose name you
bear." So saying he gave me absolution, and left me. This man left the
strongest possible impression on my mind. I did my best, but I could not
rid myself of it. I proceeded to pass in review all the saints in the
calendar.
The Jesuit was the director of M. Flaminio Corner, an old senator, and
then a State Inquisitor. This statesman was a famous man of letters, a
great politician, highly religious, and author of several pious and
ascetic works written in Latin. His reputation was spotless.
On being informed that I should be set free on the feast-day of my patron
saint, and thinking that my informant ought to know for certain what he
told me, I felt glad to have a patron-saint. "But which is it?" I asked
myself. "It cannot be St. James of Compostella, whose name I bear, for it
was on the feast-day of that saint that Messer-Grande burst open my
door." I took the almanac and looking for the saints' days nearest at
hand I found St. George--a saint of some note, but of whom I had never
thought. I then devoted myself to St. Mark, whose feast fell on the
twenty-fifth of the month, and whose protection as a Venetian I might
justly claim. To him, then, I addressed my vows, but all in vain, for his
feast came round and still I was in prison. Then I took myself to St.
James, the brother of Christ, who comes before St. Philip, but again in
the wrong. I tried St. Anthony, who, if the tale told at Padua be true,
worked thirteen miracles a day. He worked none for me. Thus I passed from
one to the other, and by degrees I got to hope in the protection of the
saints just as one hopes for anything one desires, but does not expect to
come to pass; and I finished up by hoping only in my Saint Bar, and in
the strength of my arms. Nevertheless the promise of the Jesuit came to
pass, since I escaped from The Leads on All Hallows Day; and it is
certain that if I had a patron-saint, he must be looked for in their
number since they are all honoured on that day.
A fortnight after Easter I was delivered from my troublesome Israelite,
and the poor devil instead of being sent back to his home had to spend
two years in The Fours, and on his gaining his freedom he went and set up
in Trieste, where he ended his days.
No sooner was I again alone than I set zealously about my work. I had to
make haste for fear of some new visitor, who, like the Jew, might insist
on the cell being swept. I began by drawing back my bed, and after
lighting my lamp I lay down on my belly, my pike in my hand, with a
napkin close by in which to gather the fragments of board as I scooped
them out. My task was to destroy the board by dint of driving into it the
point of my tool. At first the pieces I got away were not much larger
than grains of wheat, but they soon increased in size.
The board was made of deal, and was sixteen inches broad. I began to
pierce it at its juncture with another board, and as there were no nails
or clamps my work was simple. After six hours' toil I tied up the napkin,
and put it on one side to empty it the following day behind the pile of
papers in the garret. The fragments were four or five times larger in
bulk than the hole from whence they came. I put back my bed in its place,
and on emptying the napkin the next morning I took care so to dispose the
fragments that they should not be seen.
Having broken through the first board, which I found to be two inches
thick, I was stopped by a second which I judged to be as thick as the
first. Tormented by the fear of new visitors I redoubled my efforts, and
in three weeks I had pierced the three boards of which the floor was
composed; and then I thought that all was lost, for I found I had to
pierce a bed of small pieces of marble known at Venice as terrazzo
marmorin. This forms the usual floor of venetian houses of all kinds,
except the cottages, for even the high nobility prefer the terrazzo to
the finest boarded floor. I was thunderstruck to find that my bar made no
impression on this composition; but, nevertheless, I was not altogether
discouraged and cast down. I remembered Hannibal, who, according to Livy,
opened up a passage through the Alps by breaking the rocks with axes and
other instruments, having previously softened them with vinegar. I
thought that Hannibal had succeeded not by aceto, but aceta, which in the
Latin of Padua might well be the same as ascia; and who can guarantee the
text to be free from the blunders of the copyist? All the same, I poured
into the hole a bottle of strong vinegar I had by me, and in the morning,
either because of the vinegar or because I, refreshed and rested, put
more strength and patience into the work, I saw that I should overcome
this new difficulty; for I had not to break the pieces of marble, but
only to pulverize with the end of my bar the cement which kept them
together. I soon perceived that the greatest difficulty was on the
surface, and in four days the whole mosaic was destroyed without the
point of my pike being at all damaged.
Below the pavement I found another plank, but I had expected as much. I
concluded that this would be the last; that is the first to be put down
when the rooms below were being ceiled. I pierced it with some
difficulty, as, the hole being ten inches deep, it had become troublesome
to work the pike. A thousand times I commended myself to the mercy of
God. Those Free-thinkers who say that praying is no good do not know what
they are talking about; for I know by experience that, having prayed to
God, I always felt myself grow stronger, which fact amply proves the
usefulness of prayer, whether the renewal of strength come straight from
God, or whether it comes only from the trust one has in Him.
On the 25th of June, on which day the Republic celebrates the wonderful
appearance of St. Mark under the form of a winged lion in the ducal
church, about three o'clock in the afternoon, as I was labouring on my
belly at the hole, stark naked, covered with sweat, my lamp beside me. I
heard with mortal fear the shriek of a bolt and the noise of the door of
the first passage. It was a fearful moment! I blew out my lamp, and
leaving my bar in the hole I threw into it the napkin with the shavings
it contained, and as swift as lightning I replaced my bed as best I
could, and threw myself on it just as the door of my cell opened. If
Lawrence had come in two seconds sooner he would have caught me. He was
about to walk over me, but crying out dolefully I stopped him, and he
fell back, saying,
"Truly, sir, I pity you, for the air here is as hot as a furnace. Get up,
and thank God for giving you such good company."
"Come in, my lord, come in," said he to the poor wretch who followed him.
Then, without heeding my nakedness, the fellow made the noble gentleman
enter, and he seeing me to be naked, sought to avoid me while I vainly
tried to find my shirt.
The new-comer thought he was in hell, and cried out,
"Where am I? My God! where have I been put? What heat! What a stench!
With whom am I?"
Lawrence made him go out, and asked me to put on my shirt to go into the
garret for a moment. Addressing himself to the new prisoner, he said
that, having to get a bed and other necessaries, he would leave us in the
garret till he came back, and that, in the mean time, the cell would be
freed from the bad smell, which was only oil. What a start it gave me as
I heard him utter the word "oil." In my hurry I had forgotten to snuff
the wick after blowing it out. As Lawrence asked me no questions about
it, I concluded that he knew all, and the accursed Jew must have betrayed
me. I thought myself lucky that he was not able to tell him any more.
From that time the repulsion which I had felt for Lawrence disappeared.
After putting on my shirt and dressing-gown, I went out and found my new
companion engaged in writing a list of what he wanted the gaoler to get
him. As soon as he saw me, he exclaimed, "Ah! it's Casanova." I, too,
recognised him as the Abbe and Count Fenarolo, a man of fifty, amiable,
rich, and a favourite in society. He embraced me, and when I told him
that I should have expected to see anybody in that place rather than him,
he could not keep back his tears, which made me weep also.
When we were alone I told him that, as soon as his bed came, I should
offer him the recess, begging him at the same time not to accept it. I
asked him, also, not to ask to have the cell swept, saying that I would
tell him the reason another time. He promised to keep all secrecy in the
matter, and said he thought himself fortunate to be placed with me. He
said that as no one knew why I was imprisoned, everyone was guessing at
it. Some said that I was the heresiarch of a new sect; others that Madame
Memmo had persuaded the Inquisitors that I had made her sons Atheists,
and others that Antony Condulmer, the State Inquisitor, had me imprisoned
as a disturber of the peace, because I hissed Abbe Chiari's plays, and
had formed a design to go to Padua for the express purpose of killing
him.
All these accusations had a certain foundation in fact which gave them an
air of truth, but in reality they were all wholly false. I cared too
little for religion to trouble myself to found a new one. The sons of
Madame Memmo were full of wit, and more likely to seduce than to be
seduced; and Master Condulmer would have had too much on his hands if he
had imprisoned all those who hissed the Abbe Chiari; and as for this
abbe, once a Jesuit, I had forgiven him, as the famous Father Origo,
himself formerly a Jesuit, had taught me to take my revenge by praising
him everywhere, which incited the malicious to vent their satire on the
abbe; and thus I was avenged without any trouble to myself.
In the evening they brought a good bed, fine linen, perfumes, an
excellent supper, and choice wines. The abbe ate nothing, but I supped
for two. When Lawrence had wished us good night and had shut us up till
the next day, I got out my lamp, which I found to be empty, the napkin
having sucked up all the oil. This made me laugh, for as the napkin might
very well have caught and set the room on fire, the idea of the confusion
which would have ensued excited my hilarity. I imparted the cause of my
mirth to my companion, who laughed himself, and then, lighting the lamp,
we spent the night in pleasant talk. The history of his imprisonment was
as follows:
"Yesterday, at three o'clock in the afternoon, Madame Alessandria, Count
Martinengo, and myself, got into a gondola. We went to Padua to see the
opera, intending to return to Venice afterwards. In the second act my
evil genius led me to the gaming-table, where I unfortunately saw Count
Rosenberg, the Austrian ambassador, without his mask, and about ten paces
from him was Madame Ruzzini, whose husband is going to Vienna to
represent the Republic. I greeted them both, and was just going away,
when the ambassador called out to me, so as to be heard by everyone, 'You
are very fortunate in being able to pay your court to so sweet a lady. At
present the personage I represent makes the fairest land in the world no
better for me than a galley. Tell the lady, I beseech you, that the laws
which now prevent me speaking to her will be without force at Venice,
where I shall go next year, and then I shall declare war against her.'
Madame Ruzzini, who saw that she was being spoken of, asked me what the
count had said, and I told her, word for word. 'Tell him,' said she,
'that I accept his declaration of war, and that we shall see who will
wage it best.' I did not think I had committed a crime in reporting her
reply, which was after all a mere compliment. After the opera we set out,
and got here at midnight. I was going to sleep when a messenger brought
me a note ordering me to go to the Bussola at one o'clock, Signor
Bussinello, Secretary of the Council of Ten, having something to say to
me. Astonished at such an order--always of bad omen, and vexed at being
obliged to obey, I went at the time appointed, and my lord secretary,
without giving me a word, ordered me to be taken here."
Certainly no fault could be less criminal than that which Count Fenarolo
had committed, but one can break certain laws in all innocence without
being any the less punishable. I congratulated him on knowing what his
crime had been, and told him that he would be set free in a week, and
would be requested to spend six months in the Bressian. "I can't think,"
said he, "that they will leave me here for a week." I determined to keep
him good company, and to soften the bitterness of his imprisonment, and
so well did I sympathize with his position that I forgot all about my
own.
The next morning at day-break, Lawrence brought coffee and a basket
filled with all the requisites for a good dinner. The abbe was
astonished, for he could not conceive how anyone could eat at such an
early hour. They let us walk for an hour in the garret and then shut us
up again, and we saw no more of them throughout the day. The fleas which
tormented us made the abbe ask why I did not have the cell swept out. I
could not let him think that dirt and untidiness was agreeable to me, or
that my skin was any harder than his own, so I told him the whole story,
and shewed him what I had done. He was vexed at having as it were forced
me to make him my confidant, but he encouraged me to go on, and if
possible to finish what I was about that day, as he said he would help me
to descend and then would draw up the rope, not wishing to complicate his
own difficulties by an escape. I shewed him the model of a contrivance by
means of which I could certainly get possession of the sheets which were
to be my rope; it was a short stick attached by one end to a long piece
of thread. By this stick I intended to attach my rope to the bed, and as
the thread hung down to the floor of the room below, as soon as I got
there I should pull the thread and the rope would fall down. He tried it,
and congratulated me on my invention, as this was a necessary part of my
scheme, as otherwise the rope hanging down would have immediately
discovered me. My noble companion was convinced that I ought to stop my
work, for I might be surprised, having to do several days' work before
finishing the hole which would cost Lawrence his life. Should the thought
of gaining my liberty at the expense of a fellow-creature have made me
desist? I should have still persisted if my escape had meant death to the
whole body of Venetian guards, and even to the Inquisitors themselves.
Can the love of country, all holy though it be, prevail in the heart of
the man whose country is oppressing him?
My good humour did not prevent my companion having some bad quarters of
an hour. He was in love with Madame Alessandria, who had been a singer,
and was either the mistress or the wife of his friend Martinengo; and he
should have deemed himself happy, but the happier a lover is, so much the
more his unhappiness when he is snatched from the beloved object. He
sighed, wept, and declared that he loved a woman in whom all the noble
virtues were contained. I compassionated him, and took care not to
comfort him by saying that love is a mere trifle--a cold piece of comfort
given to lovers by fools, and, moreover, it is not true that love is a
mere trifle.
The week I had mentioned as the probable term of his imprisonment passed
quickly enough, and I lost my friend, but did not waste my time by
mourning for him; he was set free, and I was content. I did not beg him
to be discreet, for the least doubt on that score would have wounded his
noble spirit. During the week he was with me he only ate soup and fruit,
taking a little Canary wine. It was I who made good cheer in his stead
and greatly to his delight. Before he left we swore eternal friendship.
The next day Lawrence gave me an account of my money, and on finding that
I had a balance of four sequins I gave them to him, telling him it was a
present from me to his wife. I did not tell him that it was for the rent
of my lamp, but he was free to think so if he chose. Again betaking
myself to my work, and toiling without cessation, on the 23rd of August I
saw it finished. This delay was caused by an inevitable accident. As I
was hollowing out the last plank, I put my eye to a little hole, through
which I ought to have seen the hall of the Inquisitors-in fact, I did see
it, but I saw also at one side of the hole a surface about eight inches
thick. It was, as I had feared all the time it would be, one of the beams
which kept up the ceiling. I was thus compelled to enlarge my hole on the
other side, for the beam would have made it so narrow that a man of my
size could never have got through. I increased the hole, therefore, by a
fourth, working--between fear and hope, for it was possible that the
space between two of the beams would not be large enough. After I had
finished, a second little hole assured me that God had blessed my labour.
I then carefully stopped up the two small holes to prevent anything
falling down into the hall, and also lest a ray from my lamp should be
perceived, for this would have discovered all and ruined me.
I fixed my escape for the eve of St. Augustine's Day, because I knew that
the Grand Council assembled on that feast, and there would consequently
be nobody near the room through which I must pass in getting away. This
would have been on the twenty-seventh of the month, but a misfortune
happened to me on the twenty-fifth which makes me still shudder when I
think of it, notwithstanding the years which have passed since then.
Precisely at noon I heard the noise of bolts, and I thought I should die;
for a violent beating of the heart made me imagine my last hour was come.
I fell into my easy chair, and waited. Lawrence came into the garret and
put his head at the grating, and said, "I give you joy, sir, for the good
news I am bringing you." At first, not being able to think of any other
news which could be good to me, I fancied I had been set at liberty, and
I trembled, for I knew that the discovery of the hole I had made would
have caused my pardon to be recalled.
Lawrence came in and told me to follow him.
"Wait till I put on my clothes."
"It's of no consequence, as you only have to walk from this abominable
cell to another, well lighted and quite fresh, with two windows whence
you can see half Venice, and you can stand upright too."---- I could bear
no more, I felt that I was fainting. "Give me the vinegar," said I, "and
go and tell the secretary that I thank the Court for this favour, and
entreat it to leave me where I am."
"You make me laugh, sir. Have you gone mad? They would take you from hell
to put you in heaven, and you would refuse to stir? Come, come, the Court
must be obeyed, pray rise, sir. I will give you my arm, and will have
your clothes and your books brought for you." Seeing that resistance was
of no avail, I got up, and was much comforted at hearing him give orders
for my arm-chair to be brought, for my pike was to follow me, and with it
hope. I should have much liked to have been able to take the hole--the
object of so much wasted trouble and hope--with me. I may say with truth
that, as I came forth from that horrible and doleful place, my spirit
remained there.
Leaning on Lawrence's shoulder, while he, thinking to cheer me up,
cracked his foolish jokes, I passed through two narrow passages, and
going down three steps I found myself in a well-lighted hall, at the end
of which, on the left-hand side, was a door leading into another passage
two feet broad by about twelve long, and in the corner was my new cell.
It had a barred window which was opposite to two windows, also barred,
which lighted the passage, and thus one had a fine view as far as Lido.
At that trying moment I did not care much for the view; but later on I
found that a sweet and pleasant wind came through the window when it was
opened, and tempered the insufferable heat; and this was a true blessing
for the poor wretch who had to breathe the sultry prison air, especially
in the hot season.
As soon as I got into my new cell Lawrence had my arm-chair brought in,
and went away, saying that he would have the remainder of my effects
brought to me. I sat on my arm-chair as motionless as a statue, waiting
for the storm, but not fearing it. What overwhelmed me was the
distressing idea that all my pains and contrivances were of no use,
nevertheless I felt neither sorry nor repentant for what I had done, and
I made myself abstain from thinking of what was going to happen, and thus
kept myself calm.
Lifting up my soul to God I could not help thinking that this misfortune
was a Divine punishment for neglecting to escape when all was ready.
Nevertheless, though I could have escaped three days sooner, I thought my
punishment too severe, all the more as I had put off my escape from
motives of prudence, which seemed to me worthy of reward, for if I had
only consulted my own impatience to be gone I should have risked
everything. To controvert the reasons which made me postpone my flight to
the 27th of August, a special revelation would have been requisite; and
though I had read "Mary of Agrada" I was not mad enough for that.
CHAPTER XXVIII
The Subterranean Prisons Known as the Wells--Lawrence's
Vengeance--I Enter into a Correspondence With Another
Prisoner, Father Balbi: His Character--I Plan With Him a
Means of Escape--How I Contrived to Let Him Have My Pike I
Am Given a Scoundrelly Companion: His Portrait.
I was thus anxious and despairing when two of the guards brought me my
bed. They went back to fetch the rest of my belongings, and for two hours
I saw no one, although the door of my cell remained open. This unnatural
delay engendered many thoughts, but I could not fix exactly on the reason
of it. I only knew that I had everything to fear, and this knowledge made
me brace up my mind so that I should be able to meet calmly all possible
misfortunes.
Besides The Leads and The Fours the State Inquisitors also possess
certain horrible subterranean cells beneath the ducal palace, where are
sent men whom they do not wish to put to death, though they be thought
worthy of it.
These subterranean prisons are precisely like tombs, but they call them
"wells," because they always contain two feet of water, which penetrates
from the sea by the same grating by which light is given, this grating
being only a square foot in size. If the unfortunates condemned to live
in these sewers do not wish to take a bath of filthy water, they have to
remain all day seated on a trestle, which serves them both for bed and
cupboard. In the morning they are given a pitcher of water, some thin
soup, and a ration of army bread which they have to eat immediately, or
it becomes the prey of the enormous water rats who swarm in those
dreadful abodes. Usually the wretches condemned to The Wells are
imprisoned there for life, and there have been prisoners who have
attained a great age. A villain who died whilst I was under the Leads had
passed thirty-seven years in The Wells, and he was forty-four when
sentenced. Knowing that he deserved death, it is possible that he took
his imprisonment as a favour, for there are men who fear nought save
death. His name was Beguelin. A Frenchman by birth, he had served in the
Venetian army during the last war against the Turks in 1716, under the
command of Field-Marshal the Count of Schulenbourg, who made the Grand
Vizier raise the siege of Corfu. This Beguelin was the marshal's spy. He
disguised himself as a Turk, and penetrated into the Mussulman quarters,
but at the same time he was also in the service of the Grand Vizier, and
being detected in this course he certainly had reason to be thankful for
being allowed to die in The Wells. The rest of his life must have been
divided between weariness and hunger, but no doubt he often said, 'Dum
vita superest, bene est'.
I have seen at Spiegelberg, in Moravia, prisons fearful in another way.
There mercy sends the prisoners under sentence of death, and not one of
them ever survives a year of imprisonment. What mercy!
During the two mortal hours of suspense, full of sombre thoughts and the
most melancholy ideas, I could not help fancying that I was going to be
plunged in one of these horrible dens, where the wretched inhabitants
feed on idle hopes or become the prey of panic fears. The Tribunal might
well send him to hell who had endeavoured to escape from purgatory.
At last I heard hurried steps, and I soon saw Lawrence standing before
me, transformed with rage, foaming at the mouth, and blaspheming God and
His saints. He began by ordering me to give him the hatchet and the tools
I had used to pierce the floor, and to tell him from which of the guards
I had got the tools. Without moving, and quite calmly, I told him that I
did not know what he was talking about. At this reply he gave orders that
I should be searched, but rising with a determined air I shook my fist at
the knaves, and having taken off my clothes I said to them, "Do your
duty, but let no one touch me."
They searched my mattress, turned my bed inside out, felt the cushions of
my arm-chair, and found nothing.
"You won't tell me, then, where are the instruments with which you made
the hole. It's of no matter, as we shall find a way to make you speak."
"If it be true that I have made a hole at all, I shall say that you gave
me the tools, and that I have returned them to you."
At this threat, which made his followers smile with glee, probably
because he had been abusing them, he stamped his feet, tore his hair, and
went out like one possessed. The guards returned and brought me all my
properties, the whetstone and lamp excepted. After locking up my cell he
shut the two windows which gave me a little air. I thus found myself
confined in a narrow space without the possibility of receiving the least
breath of air from any quarter. Nevertheless, my situation did not
disturb me to any great extent, as I must confess I thought I had got off
cheaply. In spite of his training, Lawrence had not thought of turning
the armchair over; and thus, finding myself still possessor of the iron
bar, I thanked Providence, and thought myself still at liberty to regard
the bar as means by which, sooner or later, I should make my escape.
I passed a sleepless night, as much from the heat as the change in my
prospects. At day-break Lawrence came and brought some insufferable wine,
and some water I should not have cared to drink. All the rest was of a
piece; dry salad, putrid meat, and bread harder than English biscuit. He
cleaned nothing, and when I asked him to open the windows he seemed not
to hear me; but a guard armed with an iron bar began to sound all over my
room, against the wall, on the floor, and above all under my bed. I
looked on with an unmoved expression, but it did not escape my notice
that the guard did not sound the ceiling. "That way," said I to myself,
"will lead me out of this place of torments." But for any such project to
succeed I should have to depend purely on chance, for all my operations
would leave visible traces. The cell was quite new, and the least scratch
would have attracted the notice of my keepers.
I passed a terrible day, for the heat was like that of a furnace, and I
was quite unable to make any use of the food with which I had been
provided. The perspiration and the lack of nourishment made me so weak
that I could neither walk nor read. Next day my dinner was the same; the
horrible smell of the veal the rascal brought me made me draw back from
it instantly. "Have you received orders," said I, "to kill me with hunger
and heat?"
He locked the door, and went out without a word. On the third day I was
treated in the same manner. I asked for a pencil and paper to write to
the secretary. Still no answer.
In despair, I eat my soup, and then soaking my bread in a little Cyprus
wine I resolved to get strength to avenge myself on Lawrence by plunging
my pike into his throat. My rage told me that I had no other course, but
I grew calmer in the night, and in the morning, when the scoundrel
appeared, I contented myself with saying that I would kill him as soon as
I was at liberty. He only laughed at my threat, and again went out
without opening his lips.
I began to think that he was acting under orders from the secretary, to
whom he must have told all. I knew not what to do. I strove between
patience and despair, and felt as if I were dying for want of food. At
last on the eighth day, with rage in my heart and in a voice of thunder,
I bade him, under the name of "hangman," and in the presence of the
archers, give me an account of my money. He answered drily that I should
have it the next day. Then as he was about to go I took my bucket, and
made as if I would go and empty it in the passage. Foreseeing my design,
he told a guard to take it, and during the disgusting operation opened a
window, which he shut as soon as the affair was done, so that in spite of
my remonstrances I was left in the plague-stricken atmosphere. I
determined to speak to him still worse the next day; but as soon as he
appeared my anger cooled, for before giving me the account of my money he
presented me with a basket of lemons which M. de Bragadin had sent me,
also a large bottle of water, which seemed drinkable, and a nice roasted
fowl; and, besides this, one of the guards opened the two windows. When
he gave me the account I only looked at the sum total, and I told him to
give the balance to his wife with the exception of a sequin, which I told
him to give the guards who were with him. I thus made friends with these
fellows, who thanked me heartily.
Lawrence, who remained alone with me on purpose, spoke as follows:
"You have already told me, sir, that I myself furnished you with the
tools to make that enormous hole, and I will ask no more about it; but
would you kindly tell me where you got the materials to make a lamp?"
"From you."
"Well, for the moment, sir, I'm dashed, for I did not think that wit
meant impudence."
"I am not telling you any lies. You it was who with your own hands gave
me all the requisites--oil, flint, and matches; the rest I had by me."
"You are right; but can you shew me as simply that I gave you the tools
to make that hole?"
"Certainly, for you are the only person who has given me anything."
"Lord have mercy upon me! what do I hear? Tell me, then, how I gave you a
hatchet?"
"I will tell you the whole story and I will speak the truth, but only in
the presence of the secretary."
"I don't wish to know any more, and I believe everything you say. I only
ask you to say nothing about it, as I am a poor man with a family to
provide for." He went out with his head between his hands.
I congratulated myself heartily on having found a way to make the rascal
afraid of me; he thought that I knew enough to hang him. I saw that his
own interest would keep him from saying anything to his superiors about
the matter.
I had told Lawrence to bring me the works of Maffei, but the expense
displeased him though he did not dare to say so. He asked me what I could
want with books with so many to my hand.
"I have read them all," I said, "and want some fresh ones."
"I will get someone who is here to lend you his books, if you will lend
yours in return; thus you will save your money."
"Perhaps the books are romances, for which I do not care."
"They are scientific works; and if you think yours is the only long head
here, you are very much mistaken."
"Very good, we shall see. I will lend this book to the 'long head,' and
do you bring me one from him."
I had given him Petau's Rationarium, and in four minutes he brought me
the first volume of Wolff's works. Well pleased with it I told him, much
to his delight, that I would do without Maffei.
Less pleased with the learned reading than at the opportunity to begin a
correspondence with someone who might help me in my plan of escape (which
I had already sketched out in my head), I opened the book as soon as
Lawrence was gone, and was overjoyed to find on one of the leaves the
maxim of Seneca, 'Calamitosus est animus futuri anxius', paraphrased in
six elegant verses. I made another six on the spot, and this is the way
in which I contrived to write them, I had let the nail of my little
finger grow long to serve as an earpick; I out it to a point, and made a
pen of it. I had no ink, and I was going to prick myself and write in my
blood, when I bethought me that the juice of some mulberries I had by me
would be an excellent substitute for ink. Besides the six verses I wrote
out a list of my books, and put it in the back of the same book. It must
be understood that Italian books are generally bound in parchment, and in
such a way that when the book is opened the back becomes a kind of
pocket. On the title page I wrote, 'latet'. I was anxious to get an
answer, so the next day I told Lawrence that I had read the book and
wanted another; and in a few minutes the second volume was in my hands.
As soon as I was alone I opened the book, and found a loose leaf with the
following communication in Latin:
"Both of us are in the same prison, and to both of us it must be pleasant
to find how the ignorance of our gaoler procures us a privilege before
unknown to such a place. I, Marin Balbi, who write to you, am a Venetian
of high birth, and a regular cleric, and my companion is Count Andre
Asquin, of Udine, the capital of Friuli. He begs me to inform you that
all the books in his possession, of which you will find a list at the
back of this volume, are at your service; but we warn you that we must
use all possible care to prevent our correspondence being discovered by
Lawrence."
In our position there was nothing wonderful in our both pitching on the
idea of sending each other the catalogues of our small libraries, or in
our choosing the same hiding-place--the back of the books; all this was
plain common sense; but the advice to be careful contained on the loose
leaf struck me with some astonishment. It seemed next to impossible that
Lawrence should leave the book unopened, but if he had opened it he would
have seen the leaf, and not knowing how to read he would have kept it in
his pocket till he could get someone to tell him the contents, and thus
all would have been strangled at its birth. This made me think that my
correspondent was an arrant block-head.
After reading through the list, I wrote who I was, how I had been
arrested, my ignorance as to what crime I had committed, and my hope of
soon becoming free. Balbi then wrote me a letter of sixteen pages, in
which he gave me the history of all his misfortunes. He had been four
years in prison, and the reason was that he had enjoyed the good graces
of three girls, of whom he had three children, all of whom he baptized
under his own name.
The first time his superior had let him off with an admonition, the
second time he was threatened with punishment, and on the third and last
occasion he was imprisoned. The father-superior of his convent brought
him his dinner every day. He told me in his letter that both the superior
and the Tribunal were tyrants, since they had no lawful authority over
his conscience: that being sure that the three children were his, he
thought himself constrained as a man of honour not to deprive them of the
advantage of bearing his name. He finished by telling me that he had
found himself obliged to recognize his children to prevent slander
attributing them to others, which would have injured the reputation of
the three honest girls who bore them; and besides he could not stifle the
voice of nature, which spoke so well on behalf of these little ones. His
last words were, "There is no danger of the superior falling into the
same fault, as he confines his attention to the boys."
This letter made me know my man. Eccentric, sensual, a bad logician,
vicious, a fool, indiscreet, and ungrateful, all this appeared in his
letter, for after telling me that he should be badly off without Count
Asquin who was seventy years old, and had books and money, he devoted two
pages to abusing him, telling me of his faults and follies. In society I
should have had nothing more to do with a man of his character, but under
the Leads I was obliged to put everything to some use. I found in the
back of the book a pencil, pens, and paper, and I was thus enabled to
write at my ease.
He told me also the history of the prisoners who were under the Leads,
and of those who had been there since his imprisonment. He said that the
guard who secretly brought him whatever he wanted was called Nicolas, he
also told me the names of the prisoners, and what he knew about them, and
to convince me he gave me the history of the hole I had made. It seems I
had been taken from my cell to make room for the patrician Priuli, and
that Lawrence had taken two hours to repair the damage I had done, and
that he had imparted the secret to the carpenter, the blacksmith, and all
the guards under pain of death if they revealed it. "In another day," the
guard had said, "Casanova would have escaped, and Lawrence would have
swung, for though he pretended great astonishment when he saw the hole,
there can be no doubt that he and no other provided the tools." "Nicolas
has told me," added my correspondent, "that M. de Bragadin has promised
him a thousand sequins if he will aid you to make your escape but that
Lawrence, who knows of it, hopes to get the money without risking his
neck, his plan being to obtain your liberty by means of the influence of
his wife with M. Diedo. None of the guards dare to speak of what happened
for fear Lawrence might get himself out of the difficulty, and take his
revenge by having them dismissed." He begged me to tell him all the
details, and how I got the tools, and to count upon his keeping the
secret.
I had no doubts as to his curiosity, but many as to his discretion, and
this very request shewed him to be the most indiscreet of men.
Nevertheless, I concluded that I must make use of him, for he seemed to
me the kind of man to assist me in my escape. I began to write an answer
to him, but a sudden suspicion made me keep back what I had written. I
fancied that the correspondence might be a mere artifice of Lawrence's to
find out who had given me the tools, and what I had done with them. To
satisfy him without compromising myself I told him that I had made the
hole with a strong knife in my possession, which I had placed on the
window-ledge in the passage. In less than three days this false
confidence of mine made me feel secure, as Lawrence did not go to the
window, as he would certainly have done if the letter had been
intercepted. Furthermore, Father Balbi told me that he could understand
how I might have a knife, as Lawrence had told him that I had not been
searched previous to my imprisonment. Lawrence himself had received no
orders to search me, and this circumstance might have stood him in good
stead if I had succeeded in escaping, as all prisoners handed over to him
by the captain of the guard were supposed to have been searched already.
On the other hand, Messer-Grande might have said that, having seen me get
out of my bed, he was sure that I had no weapons about me, and thus both
of them would have got out of trouble. The monk ended by begging me to
send him my knife by Nicolas, on whom I might rely.
The monk's thoughtlessness seemed to me almost incredible. I wrote and
told him that I was not at all inclined to put my trust in Nicolas, and
that my secret was one not to be imparted in writing. However, I was
amused by his letters. In one of them he told me why Count Asquin was
kept under the Leads, in spite of his helplessness, for he was enormously
fat, and as he had a broken leg which had been badly set he could hardly
put one foot before another. It seems that the count, not being a very
wealthy man, followed the profession of a barrister at Udine, and in that
capacity defended the country-folk against the nobility, who wished to
deprive the peasants of their vote in the assembly of the province. The
claims of the farmers disturbed the public peace, and by way of bringing
them to reason the nobles had recourse to the State Inquisitors, who
ordered the count-barrister to abandon his clients. The count replied
that the municipal law authorized him to defend the constitution, and
would not give in; whereon the Inquisitors arrested him, law or no law,
and for the last five years he had breathed the invigorating air of The
Leads. Like myself he had fifty sous a day, but he could do what he liked
with the money. The monk, who was always penniless, told me a good deal
to the disadvantage of the count, whom he represented as very miserly. He
informed me that in the cell on the other side of the hall there were two
gentlemen of the "Seven Townships," who were likewise imprisoned for
disobedience, but one of them had become mad, and was in chains; in
another cell, he said, there were two lawyers.
My suspicions quieted, I reasoned as follows:
I wish to regain my liberty at all hazards. My pike is an admirable
instrument, but I can make no use of it as my cell is sounded all over
(except the ceiling) every day. If I would escape, it is by the ceiling,
therefore, that way I must go, but to do that I must make a hole through
it, and that I cannot do from my side, for it would not be the work of a
day. I must have someone to help me; and not having much choice I had to
pick out the monk. He was thirty-eight, and though not rich in common
sense I judged that the love of liberty--the first need of man--would
give him sufficient courage to carry out any orders I might give. I must
begin by telling him my plan in its entirety, and then I shall have to
find a way to give him the bar. I had, then, two difficult problems
before me.
My first step was to ask him if he wished to be free, and if he were
disposed to hazard all in attempting his escape in my company. He replied
that his mate and he would do anything to break their chains, but, added
he, "it is of no use to break one's head against a stone wall." He filled
four pages with the impossibilities which presented themselves to his
feeble intellect, for the fellow saw no chance of success on any quarter.
I replied that I did not trouble myself with general difficulties, and
that in forming my plan I had only thought of special difficulties, which
I would find means to overcome, and I finished by giving him my word of
honour to set him free, if he would promise to carry out exactly whatever
orders I might give.
He gave me his promise to do so. I told him that I had a pike twenty
inches long, and with this tool he must pierce the ceiling of his cell
next the wall which separated us, and he would then be above my head; his
next step would be to make a hole in the ceiling of my cell and aid me to
escape by it. "Here your task will end and mine will begin, and I will
undertake to set both you and Count Asquin at liberty."
He answered that when I had got out of my cell I should be still in
prison, and our position would be the same as now, as we should only be
in the garrets which were secured by three strong doors.
"I know that, reverend father," I replied, "but we are not going to
escape by the doors. My plan is complete, and I will guarantee its
success. All I ask of you is to carry out my directions, and to make no
difficulties. Do you busy yourself to find out some way of getting my bar
without the knowledge of the gaoler. In the meanwhile, make him get you
about forty pictures of saints, large enough to cover all the walls of
your cell. Lawrence will suspect nothing, and they will do to conceal the
opening you are to make in the ceiling. To do this will be the work of
some days, and of mornings Lawrence will not see what you have done the
day before, as you will have covered it up with one of the pictures. If
you ask me why I do not undertake the work myself, I can only say that
the gaoler suspects me, and the objection will doubtless seem to you a
weighty one."
Although I had told him to think of a plan to get hold of the pike, I
thought of nothing else myself, and had a happy thought which I hastened
to put into execution. I told Lawrence to buy me a folio Bible, which had
been published recently; it was the Vulgate with the Septuagint. I hoped
to be able to put the pike in the back of the binding of this large
volume, and thus to convey it to the monk, but when I saw the book I
found the tool to be two inches longer.
My correspondent had written to tell me that his cell was covered with
pictures, and I had communicated him my idea about the Bible and the
difficulty presented by its want of length. Happy at being able to
display his genius, he rallied me on the poverty of my imagination,
telling me that I had only to send him the pike wrapped up in my fox-skin
cloak.
"Lawrence," said he, "had often talked about your cloak, and Count Asquin
would arouse no suspicion by asking to see it in order to buy one of the
same kind. All you have to do is to send it folded up. Lawrence would
never dream of unfolding it."
I, on the other hand, was sure that he would. In the first place, because
a cloak folded up is more troublesome to carry than when it is unfolded.
However, not to rebuff him and at the same time to shew him that I was
the wiser, I wrote that he had only to send for the cloak. The next day
Lawrence asked me for it, and I gave it folded up, but without the bar,
and in a quarter of an hour he brought it back to me, saying that the
gentleman had admired it very much.
The monk wrote me a doleful letter, in which he confessed he had given me
a piece of bad advice, adding that I was wrong to follow it. According to
him the pike was lost, as Lawrence had brought in the cloak all unfolded.
After this, all hope was gone. I undeceived him, and begged him for the
future to be a little more sparing of his advice. It was necessary to
bring the matter to a head, and I determined to send him the bar under
cover of my Bible, taking measures to prevent the gaoler from seeing the
ends of the great volume. My scheme was as follows:
I told Lawrence that I wanted to celebrate St. Michael's Day with a
macaroni cheese; but wishing to shew my gratitude to the person who had
kindly lent me his books, I should like to make him a large dish of it,
and to prepare it with my own hands. Lawrence told me (as had been
arranged between the monk and myself) that the gentleman in question
wished to read the large book which cost three sequins.
"Very good," said I, "I will send it him with the macaroni; but get me
the largest dish you have, as I wish to do the thing on a grand scale."
He promised to do what I asked him. I wrapped up the pike in paper and
put it in the back of the Bible, taking care that it projected an equal
distance at each end. Now, if I placed on the Bible a great dish of
macaroni full of melted butter I was quite sure that Lawrence would not
examine the ends. All his gaze would be concentrated upon the plate, to
avoid spilling the grease on the book. I told Father Balbi of my plan,
charging him to take care how he took the dish, and above all to take
dish and Bible together, and not one by one. On the day appointed
Lawrence came earlier than usual, carrying a saucepan full of boiling
macaroni, and all the necessary ingredients for seasoning the dish. I
melted a quantity of butter, and after putting the macaroni into the dish
I poured the butter over it till it was full to the brim. The dish was a
huge one, and was much larger than the book on which I placed it. I did
all this at the door of my cell, Lawrence being outside.
When all was ready I carefully took up the Bible and dish, placing the
back of the book next to the bearer, and told Lawrence to stretch out his
arms and take it, to be careful not to spill the grease over the book,
and to carry the whole to its destination immediately. As I gave him this
weighty load I kept my eyes fixed on his, and I saw to my joy that he did
not take his gaze off the butter, which he was afraid of spilling. He
said it would be better to take the dish first, and then to come back for
the book; but I told him that this would spoil the present, and that both
must go together. He then complained that I had put in too much butter,
and said, jokingly, that if it were spilt he would not be responsible for
the loss. As soon as I saw the Bible in the lout's arms I was certain of
success, as he could not see the ends of the pike without twisting his
head, and I saw no reason why he should divert his gaze from the plate,
which he had enough to do to carry evenly. I followed him with my eyes
till he disappeared into the ante-chamber of the monk's cell, and he,
blowing his nose three times, gave me the pre-arranged signal that all
was right, which was confirmed by the appearance of Lawrence in a few
moments afterwards.
Father Balbi lost no time in setting about the work, and in eight days he
succeeded in making a large enough opening in the ceiling, which he
covered with a picture pasted to the ceiling with breadcrumbs. On the 8th
of October he wrote to say that he had passed the whole night in working
at the partition wall, and had only succeeded in loosening one brick. He
told me the difficulty of separating the bricks joined to one another by
a strong cement was enormous, but he promised to persevere, "though," he
said, "we shall only make our position worse than it is now." I told him
that I was certain of success; that he must believe in me and persevere.
Alas! I was certain of nothing, but I had to speak thus or to give up
all. I was fain to escape from this hell on earth, where I was imprisoned
by a most detestable tyranny, and I thought only of forwarding this end,
with the resolve to succeed, or at all events not to stop before I came
to a difficulty which was insurmountable. I had read in the great book of
experience that in important schemes action is the grand requisite, and
that the rest must be left to fortune. If I had entrusted Father Balbi
with these deep mysteries of moral philosophy he would have pronounced me
a madman. His work was only toilsome on the first night, for the more he
worked the easier it became, and when he had finished he found he had
taken out thirty-six bricks.
On the 16th of October, as I was engaged in translating an ode of Horace,
I heard a trampling noise above my head, and then three light blows were
struck. This was the signal agreed upon to assure us that our
calculations were correct. He worked till the evening, and the next day
he wrote that if the roof of my cell was only two boards thick his work
would be finished that day. He assured me that he was carefully making
the hole round as I had charged him, and that he would not pierce the
ceiling. This was a vital point, as the slightest mark would have led to
discovery. "The final touch," he said, "will only take a quarter of an
hour." I had fixed on the day after the next to escape from my cell at
night-time to enter no more, for with a mate I was quite sure that I
could make in two or three hours a hole in the roof of the ducal palace,
and once on the outside of the roof I would trust to chance for the means
of getting to the ground.
I had not yet got so far as this, for my bad luck had more than one
obstacle in store for me. On the same day (it was a Monday) at two
o'clock in the afternoon, whilst Father Balbi was at work, I heard the
door of the hall being opened. My blood ran cold, but I had sufficient
presence of mind to knock twice-the signal of alarm--at which it had been
agreed that Father Balbi was to make haste back to his cell and set all
in order. In less than a minute afterwards Lawrence opened the door, and
begged my pardon for giving me a very unpleasant companion. This was a
man between forty and fifty, short, thin, ugly, and badly dressed,
wearing a black wig; while I was looking at him he was unbound by two
guards. I had no reason to doubt that he was a knave, since Lawrence told
me so before his face without his displaying the slightest emotion. "The
Court," I said, "can do what seems good to it." After Lawrence had
brought him a bed he told him that the Court allowed him ten sous a day,
and then locked us up together.
Overwhelmed by this disaster, I glanced at the fellow, whom his every
feature proclaimed rogue. I was about to speak to him when he began by
thanking me for having got him a bed. Wishing to gain him over, I invited
him to take his meals with me. He kissed my hand, and asked me if he
would still be able to claim the ten sous which the Court had allowed
him. On my answering in the affirmative he fell on his knees, and drawing
an enormous rosary from his pocket he cast his gaze all round the cell.
"What do you want?"
"You will pardon me, sir, but I am looking for some statue of the Holy
Virgin, for I am a Christian; if there were even a small crucifix it
would be something, for I have never been in so much need of the
protection of St. Francis d'Assisi, whose name I bear, though all
unworthy."
I could scarcely help laughing, not at his Christian piety, since faith
and conscience are beyond control, but at the curious turn he gave his
remonstrance. I concluded he took me for a Jew; and to disabuse him of
this notion I made haste to give him the "Hours of the Holy Virgin,"
whose picture he kissed, and then gave me the book back, telling me in a
modest voice that his father--a, galley officer--had neglected to have
him taught to read. "I am," said he, "a devotee of the Holy Rosary," and
he told me a host of miracles, to which I listened with the patience of
an angel. When he had come to an end I asked him if he had had his
dinner, and he replied that he was dying of hunger. I gave him everything
I had, which he devoured rather than ate; drinking all my wine, and then
becoming maudlin he began to weep, and finally to talk without rhyme or
reason. I asked him how he got into trouble, and he told me the following
story:
"My aim and my only aim has always been the glory of God, and of the holy
Republic of Venice, and that its laws may be exactly obeyed. Always
lending an attentive ear to the plots of the wicked, whose end is to
deceive, to deprive their prince of his just dues, and to conspire
secretly, I have over and again unveiled their secret plans, and have not
failed to report to Messer-Grande all I know. It is true that I am always
paid, but the money has never given me so much pleasure as the thought
that I have been able to serve the blessed St. Mark. I have always
despised those who think there is something dishonourable in the business
of a spy. The word sounds ill only to the ill-affected; for a spy is a
lover of the state, the scourge of the guilty, and faithful subject of
his prince. When I have been put to the test, the feeling of friendship,
which might count for something with other men, has never had the
slightest influence over me, and still less the sentiment which is called
gratitude. I have often, in order to worm out a secret, sworn to be as
silent as the grave, and have never failed to reveal it. Indeed, I am
able to do so with full confidence, as my director who is a good Jesuit
has told me that I may lawfully reveal such secrets, not only because my
intention was to do so, but because, when the safety of the state is at
stake, there is no such thing as a binding oath. I must confess that in
my zeal I have betrayed my own father, and that in me the promptings of
our weak nature have been quite mortified. Three weeks ago I observed
that there was a kind of cabal between four or five notables of the town
of Isola, where I live. I knew them to be disaffected to the Government
on account of certain contraband articles which had been confiscated. The
first chaplain--a subject of Austria by birth--was in the plot. They
gathered together of evenings in an inn, in a room where there was a bed;
there they drank and talked, and afterwards went their ways. As I was
determined to discover the conspiracy, I was brave enough to hide under
the bed on a day on which I was sure I would not be seen. Towards the
evening my gentlemen came, and began to talk; amongst other things, they
said that the town of Isola was not within the jurisdiction of St. Mark,
but rather in the principality of Trieste, as it could not possibly be
considered to form part of the Venetian territory. The chaplain said to
the chief of the plot, a man named Pietro Paolo, that if he and the
others would sign a document to that effect, he himself would go to the
imperial ambassador, and that the Empress would not only take possession
of the island, but would reward them for what they had done. They all
professed themselves ready to go on, and the chaplain promised to bring
the document the next day, and afterwards to take it to the ambassadors.
"I determined to frustrate this detestable project, although one of the
conspirators was my gossip--a spiritual relationship which gave him a
greater claim on me than if he had been my own brother.
"After they were gone, I came out of my hiding-place and did not think it
necessary to expose myself to danger by hiding again as I had found out
sufficient for my purpose. I set out the same night in a boat, and
reached here the next day before noon. I had the names of the six rebels
written down, and I took the paper to the secretary of the Tribunal,
telling him all I had heard. He ordered me to appear, the day following,
at the palace, and an agent of the Government should go back with me to
Isola that I might point the chaplain out to him, as he had probably not
yet gone to the Austrian ambassador's. 'That done,' said the lord
secretary, 'you will no longer meddle in the matter.' I executed his
orders, and after having shewn the chaplain to the agent, I was at
leisure for my own affairs.
"After dinner my gossip called me in to shave him (for I am a barber by
profession), and after I had done so he gave me a capital glass of
refosco with some slices of sausages, and we ate together in all good
fellowship. My love for him had still possession of my soul, so I took
his hand, and, shedding some heartfelt tears, I advised him to have no
more to do with the canon, and above all, not to sign the document he
knew of. He protested that he was no particular friend of the chaplain's,
and swore he did not know what document I was talking about. I burst into
a laugh, telling him it was only my joke, and went forth very sorry at
having yielded to a sentiment of affection which had made me commit so
grievous a fault. The next day I saw neither the man nor the chaplain. A
week after, having paid a visit to the palace, I was promptly imprisoned,
and here I am with you, my dear sir. I thank St. Francis for having given
me the company of a good Christian, who is here for reasons of which I
desire to know nothing, for I am not curious. My name is Soradaci, and my
wife is a Legrenzi, daughter of a secretary to the Council of Ten, who,
in spite of all prejudice to the contrary, determined to marry me. She
will be in despair at not knowing what has become of me, but I hope to be
here only for a few days, since the only reason of my imprisonment is
that the secretary wishes to be able to examine me more conveniently."
I shuddered to think of the monster who was with me, but feeling that the
situation was a risky one, And that I should have to make use of him, I
compassionated him, praised his patriotism, and predicted that he would
be set at liberty in a few days. A few moments after he fell asleep, and
I took the opportunity of telling the whole story to Father Balbi,
shewing him that we should be obliged to put off our work to a more
convenient season. Next day I told Lawrence to buy me a wooden crucifix,
a statue of Our Lady, a portrait of St. Francis, and two bottles of holy
water. Soradaci asked for his ten sous, and Lawrence, with an air of
contempt, gave him twenty. I asked Lawrence to buy me four times the
usual amount of garlic, wine, and salt--a diet in which my hateful
companion delighted. After the gaoler was gone I deftly drew out the
letter Balbi had written me, and in which he drew a vivid picture of his
alarm. He thought all was lost, and over and over again thanked Heaven
that Lawrence had put Soradaci in my cell, "for," said he, "if he had
come into mine, he would not have found me there, and we should possibly
have shared a cell in The Wells as a reward for our endeavours."
Soradaci's tale had satisfied me that he was only imprisoned to be
examined, as it seemed plain that the secretary had arrested him on
suspicion of bearing false witness. I thereupon resolved to entrust him
with two letters which would do me neither good nor harm if they were
delivered at their addresses, but which would be beneficial to me if the
traitor gave them to the secretary as a proof of his loyalty, as I had
not the slightest doubt he would do.
I spent two hours in writing these two letters in pencil. Next day
Lawrence brought me the crucifix, the two pictures, and the holy water,
and having worked the rascal well up to the point, I said, "I reckon upon
your friendship and your courage. Here are two letters I want you to
deliver when you recover your liberty. My happiness depends on your
loyality, but you must hide the letters, as they were found upon you we
should both of us be undone. You must swear by the crucifix and these
holy pictures not to betray me."
"I am ready, dear master, to swear to anything you like, and I owe you
too much to betray you."
This speech was followed by much weeping and lamentation. He called
himself unhappy wretch at being suspected of treason towards a man for
whom he would have given his life. I knew my man, but I played out the
comedy. Having given him a shirt and a cap, I stood up bare-headed, and
then having sprinkled the cell with holy water, and plentifully bedewed
him with the same liquid, I made him swear a dreadful oath, stuffed with
senseless imprecations, which for that very reason were the better fitted
to strike terror to his soul. After his having sworn the oath to deliver
my letters to their addresses, I gave him them, and he himself proposed
to sew them up at the back of his waistcoat, between the stuff and the
lining, to which proceedings I assented.
I was morally sure that he would deliver my letters to the secretary in
the first opportunity, so I took the utmost care that my style of writing
should not discover the trick. They could only gain me the esteem of the
Court, and possibly its mercy. One of the letters was addressed to M. de
Bragadin and the other to the Abbe Grimani, and I told them not to be
anxious about me as I was in good hopes of soon being set at liberty,
that they would find when I came out that my imprisonment had done me
more good than harm, as there was no one in Venice who stood in need of
reform more than I.
I begged M. de Bragadin to be kind enough to send me a pair of fur boots
for the winter, as my cell was high enough for me to stand upright and to
walk up and down.
I took care that Soradaci should not suspect the innocent nature of these
letters, as he might then have been seized with the temptation to do an
honest thing for me, and have delivered them, which was not what I was
aiming at. You will see, dear reader, in the following chapter, the power
of oaths over the vile soul of my odious companion, and also if I have
not verified the saying 'In vino veritas', for in the story he told me
the wretch had shewn himself in his true colours.
CHAPTER XXIX
Treason of Soradaci--How I Get the Best of Him--Father Balbi
Ends His Work--I Escape from My Cell--Unseasonable
Observations of Count Asquin The Critical Moment
Soradaci had had my letters for two or three days when Lawrence came one
afternoon to take him to the secretary. As he was several hours away, I
hoped to see his face no more; but to my great astonishment he was
brought back in the evening. As soon as Lawrence had gone, he told me
that the secretary suspected him of having warned the chaplain, since
that individual had never been near the ambassador's and no document of
any kind was found upon him. He added that after a long examination he
had been confined in a very small cell, and was then bound and brought
again before the secretary, who wanted him to confess that he told
someone at Isola that the priest would never return, but that he had not
done so as he had said no such thing. At last the secretary got tired,
called the guards, and had him brought back to my cell.
I was distressed to hear his account, as I saw that the wretch would
probably remain a long time in my company. Having to inform Father Balbi
of this fatal misadventure, I wrote to him during the night, and being
obliged to do so more than once, I got accustomed to write correctly
enough in the dark.
On the next day, to assure myself that my suspicions were well founded, I
told the spy to give me the letter I had written to M. de Bragadin as I
wanted to add something to it. "You can sew it up afterwards," said I.
"It would be dangerous," he replied, "as the gaoler might come in in the
mean time, and then we should be both ruined."
"No matter. Give me my letters:"
Thereupon the hound threw himself at my feet, and swore that on his
appearing for a second time before the dreaded secretary, he had been
seized with a severe trembling; and that he had felt in his back,
especially in the place where the letters were, so intolerable an
oppression, that the secretary had asked him the cause, and that he had
not been able to conceal the truth. Then the secretary rang his bell, and
Lawrence came in, unbound him, and took off his waist-coat and unsewed
the lining. The secretary then read the letters and put them in a drawer
of his bureau, telling him that if he had taken the letters he would have
been discovered and have lost his life.
I pretended to be overwhelmed, and covering my face with my hands I knelt
down at the bedside before the picture of the Virgin, and asked, her to
avenge me on the wretch who had broken the most sacred oaths. I
afterwards lay down on the bed, my face to the wall, and remained there
the whole day without moving, without speaking a word, and pretending not
to hear the tears, cries, and protestations of repentance uttered by the
villain. I played my part in the comedy I had sketched out to perfection.
In the night I wrote to Father Balbi to come at two o'clock in the
afternoon, not a minute sooner or later, to work for four hours, and not
a minute more. "On this precision," I wrote, "our liberty depends and if
you observe it all will be well."
It was the 25th of October, and the time for me to carry out my design or
to give it up for ever drew near. The State Inquisitors and their
secretary went every year to a village on the mainland, and passed there
the first three days of November. Lawrence, taking advantage of his
masters' absence, did not fail to get drunk every evening, and did not
appear at The Leads in the morning till a late hour.
Advised of these circumstances, I chose this time to make my escape, as I
was certain that my flight would not be noticed till late in the morning.
Another reason for my determination to hurry my escape, when I could no
longer doubt the villainy of my detestable companion, seems to me to be
worthy of record.
The greatest relief of a man in the midst of misfortune is the hope of
escaping from it. He sighs for the hour when his sorrows are to end; he
thinks he can hasten it by his prayers; he will do anything to know when
his torments shall cease. The sufferer, impatient and enfeebled, is
mostly inclined to superstition. "God," says he, "knows the time, and God
may reveal it to me, it matters not how." Whilst he is in this state he
is ready to trust in divination in any manner his fancy leads him, and is
more or less disposed to believe in the oracle of which he makes choice.
I then was in this state of mind; but not knowing how to make use of the
Bible to inform me of the moment in which I should recover my liberty, I
determined to consult the divine Orlando Furioso, which I had read a
hundred times, which I knew by heart, and which was my delight under the
Leads. I idolized the genius of Ariosto, and considered him a far better
fortune-teller than Virgil.
With this idea I wrote a question addressed to the supposed Intelligence,
in which I ask in what canto of Ariosto I should find the day of my
deliverance. I then made a reversed pyramid composed of the number formed
from the words of the question, and by subtracting the number nine I
obtained, finally, nine. This told me that I should find my fate in the
ninth canto. I followed the same method to find out the exact stanza and
verse, and got seven for the stanza and one for the verse.
I took up the poem, and my heart beating as if I trusted wholly in the
oracle, I opened it, turned down the leaf, and read;
'Fra il fin d'ottobre, a il capo di novembre'.
The precision of the line and its appropriateness to my circumstances
appeared so wonderful to me, that I will not confess that I placed my
faith entirely in it; but the reader will pardon me if I say that I did
all in my power to make the prediction a correct one. The most singular
circumstance is that between the end of October and the beginning of
November, there is only the instant midnight, and it was just as the
clock was striking midnight on the 31st of October that I escaped from my
cell, as the reader will soon see.
The following is the manner in which I passed the morning to strike awe
into the soul of that vicious brute, to confound his feeble intellect,
and to render him harmless to me.
As soon as Lawrence had left us I told Soradaci to come and take some
soup. The scoundrel was in bed, and he had told Lawrence that he was ill.
He would not have dared to approach me if I had not called him. However,
he rose from his bed, and threw himself flat upon the ground at my feet,
and said, weeping violently, that if I would not forgive him he would die
before the day was done, as he already felt the curse and the vengeance
of the Holy Virgin which I had denounced against him. He felt devouring
pains in his bowels, and his mouth was covered with sores. He shewed it
me, and I saw it was full of ulcers, but I cannot say whether it was thus
the night before. I did not much care to examine him to see if he were
telling me the truth. My cue was to pretend to believe him, and to make
him hope for mercy. I began by making him eat and drink. The traitor most
likely intended to deceive me, but as I was myself determined to deceive
him it remained to be seen which was the a cuter. I had planned an attack
against which it was improbable that he could defend himself.
Assuming an inspired air, I said, "Be seated and take this soup, and
afterwards I will tell you of your good fortune, for know that the Virgin
of the Rosary appeared to me at day-break, and bids me pardon you. Thou
shalt not die but live, and shalt come out of this place with me." In
great wonderment, and kneeling on the ground for want of a chair, he ate
the soup with me, and afterwards seated himself on the bed to hear what I
had to say. Thus I spoke to him:
"The grief I experienced at your dreadful treason made me pass a
sleepless night, as the letters might condemn me to spend here the
remnant of my days. My only consolation, I confess, was the certainty
that you would die here also before my eyes within three days. Full of
this thought not worthy of a Christian (for God bids us forgive our
enemies) my weariness made me sleep, and in my sleep I had a vision. I
saw that Holy Virgin, Mother of God, whose likeness you behold--I saw her
before me, and opening her lips she spoke thus:
"'Soradaci is a devotee of my Holy Rosary. I protect him, and I will that
you forgive him, and then the curse he has drawn on himself will cease.
In return for your generosity, I will order one of my angels to take the
form of man, to come down from heaven, to break open the roof of your
prison, and set you free within five or six days. The angel will begin
his task this day at two o'clock precisely, and he will work till half an
hour before sunset, since he must ascend again into heaven while the
daylight lasts. When you come out of this place, take Soradaci with you,
and have a care for him if he will renounce his business of spying. Tell
him all.'
"With these words the Holy Virgin vanished out of my sight, and I awoke."
I spoke all the while with a serious face and the air of one inspired,
and I saw that the traitor was petrified. I then took my Book of Hours,
sprinkled the cell with holy water, and pretended to pray, kissing from
time to time the picture of the Virgin. An hour afterwards the brute, who
so far had not opened his mouth, asked me bluntly at what time the angel
would come down from heaven, and if we should hear him breaking in the
cell.
"I am certain that he will begin at two o'clock, that we shall hear him
at his work, and that he will depart at the hour named by the Holy
Virgin."
"You may have dreamt it all."
"Nay, not so. Will you swear to me to spy no more?"
Instead of answering he went off to sleep, and did not awake for two
hours after, when he asked if he could put off taking the oath. I asked
of him,
"You can put off taking it," I said, "till the angel enters to set me
free; but if you do not then renounce by an oath the infamous trade which
has brought you here, and which will end by bringing you to the gallows,
I shall leave you in the cell, for so the Mother of God commands, and if
you do not obey you will lose her protection."
As I had expected, I saw an expression of satisfaction on his hideous
features, for he was quite certain that the angel would not come. He
looked at me with a pitying air. I longed to hear the hour strike. The
play amused me intensely, for I was persuaded that the approach of the
angel would set his miserable wits a-reeling. I was sure, also, that the
plan would succeed if Lawrence had not forgotten to give the monk the
books, and this was not likely.
An hour before the time appointed I was fain to dine. I only drank water,
and Soradaci drank all the wine and consumed all the garlic I had, and
thus made himself worse.
As soon as I heard the first stroke of two I fell on my knees, ordering
him, in an awful voice, to do the like. He obeyed, looking at me in a
dazed way. When I heard the first slight noise I examined, "Lo! the angel
cometh!" and fell down on my face, and with a hearty fisticuff forced him
into the same position. The noise of breaking was plainly heard, and for
a quarter of an hour I kept in that troublesome position, and if the
circumstances had been different I should have laughed to see how
motionless the creature was; but I restrained myself, remembering my
design of completely turning the fellow's head, or at least of obsessing
him for a time. As soon as I got up I knelt and allowed him to imitate
me, and I spent three hours in saying the rosary to him. From time to
time he dozed off, wearied rather by his position than by the monotony of
the prayer, but during the whole time he never interrupted me. Now and
again he dared to raise a furtive glance towards the ceiling. With a sort
of stupor on his face, he turned his head in the direction of the Virgin,
and the whole of his behaviour was for me the highest comedy. When I
heard the clock strike the hour for the work to cease, I said to him,
"Prostrate thyself, for the angel departeth."
Balbi returned to his cell, and we heard him no more. As I rose to my
feet, fixing my gaze on the wretched fellow, I read fright on every
feature, and was delighted. I addressed a few words to him that I might
see in what state of mind he was. He shed tears in abundance, and what he
said was mostly extravagant, his ideas having no sequence or connection.
He spoke of his sins, of his acts of devotion, of his zeal in the service
of St. Mark, and of the work he had done for the Commonwealth, and to
this attributed the special favours Mary had shewn him. I had to put up
with a long story about the miracles of the Rosary which his wife, whose
confessor was a young Dominican, had told him. He said that he did not
know what use I could make of an ignorant fellow like him.
"I will take you into my service, and you shall have all that you need
without being obliged to pursue the hazardous trade of a spy."
"Shall we not be able to remain at Venice?"
"Certainly not. The angel will take us to a land which does not belong to
St. Mark. Will you swear to me that you will spy no more? And if you
swear, will you become a perjurer a second time?"
"If I take the oath, I will surely keep it, of that there can be no
doubt; but you must confess that if I had not perjured myself you would
never have received such favour at the hands of the Virgin. My broken
faith is the cause of your bliss. You ought, therefore, to love me and to
be content with my treason."
"Dost love Judas who betrayed Jesus Christ?"
"No."
"You perceive, then, that one detests the traitor and at the same time
adores the Divine Providence, which knows how to bring good out of evil.
Up to the present time you have done wickedly. You have offended God and
the Virgin His Mother, and I will not receive your oath till you have
expiated your sins."
"What sin have I done?"
"You have sinned by pride, Soradaci, in thinking that I was under an
obligation to you for betraying me and giving my letters to the
secretary."
"How shall I expiate this sin?"
"Thus. To-morrow, when Lawrence comes, you must lie on your bed, your
face towards the wall, and without the slightest motion or a single
glance at Lawrence. If he address you, you must answer, without looking
at him, that you could not sleep, and need rest. Do you promise me
entirely to do this thing?"
"I will do whatsoever you tell me."
"Quick, then, take your oath before this holy picture."
"I promise, Holy Mother of God, that when Lawrence comes I will not look
at him, nor stir from my bed."
"And I, Most Holy Virgin, swear by the bowels of your Divine Son that if
I see Soradici move in the least or look towards Lawrence, I will throw
myself straightway upon him and strangle him without mercy, to your
honour and glory."
I counted on my threat having at least as much effect upon him as his
oath. Nevertheless, as I was anxious to make sure, I asked him if he had
anything to say against the oath, and after thinking for a moment he
answered that he was quite content with it. Well pleased myself, I gave
him something to eat, and told him to go to bed as I needed sleep.
As soon as he was asleep I began to write, and wrote on for two hours. I
told Balbi all that had happened, and said that if the work was far
enough advanced he need only come above my cell to put the final stroke
to it and break through. I made him note that we should set out on the
night of the 31st of October, and that we should be four in all, counting
his companion and mine. It was now the twenty-eighth of the month.
In the morning the monk wrote me that the passage was made, and that he
should only require to work at the ceiling of my cell to break through
the last board and this would be done in four minutes. Soradaci observed
his oath, pretending to sleep, and Lawrence said nothing to him. I kept
my eyes upon him the whole time, and I verily believe I should have
strangled him if he had made the slightest motion towards Lawrence, for a
wink would have been enough to betray me.
The rest of the day was devoted to high discourses and exalted
expressions, which I uttered as solemnly as I could, and I enjoyed the
sight of seeing him become more and more fanatical. To heighten the
effect of my mystic exhortation I dosed him heavily with wine, and did
not let him go till he had fallen into a drunken sleep.
Though a stranger to all metaphysical speculations, and a man who had
never exercised his reasoning faculties except in devising some piece of
spy-craft, the fellow confused me for a moment by saying that he could
not conceive how an angel should have to take so much trouble to break
open our cell. But after lifting my eyes to heaven, or rather to the roof
of my dungeon-cell, I said,
"The ways of God are inscrutable; and since the messenger of Heaven works
not as an angel (for then a slight single blow would be enough), he works
like a man, whose form he has doubtless taken, as we are not worthy to
look upon his celestial body. And, furthermore," said I, like a true
Jesuit, who knows how to draw advantage from everything, "I foresee that
the angel, to punish us for your evil thought, which has offended the
Holy Virgin, will not come to-day. Wretch, your thoughts are not those of
an honest, pious, and religious man, but those of a sinner who thinks he
has to do with Messer-Grande and his myrmidons."
I wanted to drive him to despair, and I had succeeded. He began to weep
bitterly, and his sobs almost choked him, when two o'clock struck and not
sign of the angel was heard. Instead of calming him I endeavoured to
augment his misery by my complaints. The next morning he was obedient to
my orders, for when Lawrence asked him how he was, he replied without
moving his head. He behaved in the same manner on the day following, and
until I saw Lawrence for the last time on the morning of the 31st
October. I gave him the book for Barbi, and told the monk to come at noon
to break through the ceiling. I feared nothing, as Lawrence had told me
that the Inquisitors and the secretary had already set out for the
country. I had no reason to dread the arrival of a new companion, and all
I had to do was to manage my knave.
After Lawrence was gone I told Soradaci that the angel would come and
make an opening in the ceiling about noon.
"He will bring a pair of scissors with him," I said, "and you will have
to cut the angel's beard and mine."
"Has the angel a beard?"
"Yes, you shall see it for yourself. Afterwards we will get out of the
cell and proceed to break the roof of the palace, whence we shall descend
into St. Mark's Place and set out for Germany."
He answered nothing. He had to eat by himself, for my mind was too much
occupied to think about dinner--indeed, I had been unable to sleep.
The appointed hour struck--and the angel came, Soradaci was going to fall
down on his face, but I told him it was not necessary. In three minutes
the passage was completed, the piece of board fell at my feet, and Father
Balbi into my arms. "Your work is ended and mine begun," said I to him.
We embraced each other, and he gave me the pike and a pair of scissors. I
told Soradaci to cut our beards, but I could not help laughing to see the
creature--his mouth all agape-staring at the angel, who was more like a
devil. However, though quite beside himself, he cut our beards admirably.
Anxious to see how the land lay, I told the monk to stay with Soradaci,
as I did not care to leave him alone, and I went out. I found the hole in
the wall narrow, but I succeeded in getting through it. I was above the
count's cell, and I came in and greeted the worthy old man. The man
before me was not fitted to encounter such difficulties as would be
involved in an escape by a steep roof covered with plates of lead. He
asked me what my plan was, and told me that he thought I had acted rather
inconsiderately. "I only ask to go forward," said I, "till I find death
or freedom." "If you intend," he answered, "to pierce the roof and to
descend from thence, I see no prospect of success, unless you have wings;
and I at all events have not the courage to accompany you. I will remain
here, and pray to God on your behalf."
I went out again to look at the roof, getting as close as I could to the
sides of the loft. Touching the lower part of the roof, I took up a
position between the beams, and feeling the wood with the end of the bar
I luckily found them to be half rotten. At every blow of the bar they
fell to dust, so feeling certain of my ability to make a large enough
hole in less than a hour I returned to my cell, and for four hours
employed myself in cutting up sheets, coverlets, and bedding, to make
ropes. I took care to make the knots myself and to be assured of their
strength, for a single weak knot might cost us our lives. At last I had
ready a hundred fathoms of rope.
In great undertakings there are certain critical points which the leader
who deserves to succeed trusts to no one but himself. When the rope was
ready I made a parcel of my suit, my cloak, a few shirts, stockings, and
handkerchiefs, and the three of us went into the count's cell. The first
thing the count did was to congratulate Soradaci on having been placed in
the same cell as myself, and on being so soon about to regain his
liberty. His air of speechless confusion made me want to laugh. I took no
more trouble about him, for I had thrown off the mask of Tartuffe which I
had found terribly inconvenient all the time I had worn it for the
rascal's sake. He knew, I could see, that he had been deceived, but he
understood nothing else, as he could not make out how I could have
arranged with the supposed angel to come and go at certain fixed times.
He listened attentively to the count, who told us we were going to our
destruction, and like the coward that he was, he began to plan how to
escape from the dangerous journey. I told the monk to put his bundle
together while I was making the hole in the roof by the side of the loft.
At eight o'clock, without needing any help, my opening was made. I had
broken up the beams, and the space was twice the size required. I got the
plate of lead off in one piece. I could not do it by myself, because it
was riveted. The monk came to my aid, and by dint of driving the bar
between the gutter and the lead I succeeded in loosening it, and then,
heaving at it with our shoulders, we beat it up till the opening was wide
enough. On putting my head out through the hole I was distressed to see
the brilliant light of the crescent moon then entering in its first
quarter. This was a piece of bad luck which must be borne patiently, and
we should have to wait till midnight, when the moon would have gone to
light up the Antipodes. On such a fine night as this everybody would be
walking in St. Mark's Place, and I dared not shew myself on the roof as
the moonlight would have thrown a huge shadow of me on the place, and
have drawn towards me all eyes, especially those of Messer-Grande and his
myrmidons, and our fine scheme would have been brought to nothing by
their detestable activity. I immediately decided that we could not escape
till after the moon set; in the mean time I prayed for the help of God,
but did not ask Him to work any miracles for me. I was at the mercy of
Fortune, and I had to take care not to give her any advantages; and if my
scheme ended in failure I should be consoled by the thought that I had
not made a single mistake. The moon would set at eleven and sunrise was
at six, so we had seven hours of perfect darkness at our service; and
though we had a hard task, I considered that in seven hours it would be
accomplished.
I told Father Balbi that we could pass the three hours in talking to
Count Asquin. I requested him to go first and ask the count to lend me
thirty sequins, which would be as necessary to me as my pike had been
hitherto. He carried my message, and a few minutes after came and asked
me to go myself, as the count wished to talk to me alone. The poor old
man began by saying with great politeness that I really stood in no need
of money to escape, that he had none, that he had a large family, that if
I was killed the money would be lost, with a thousand other futilities of
the same kind to disguise his avarice, or the dislike he felt to parting
with his money. My reply lasted for half an hour, and contained some
excellent arguments, which never have had and never will have any force,
as the finest weapons of oratory are blunted when used against one of the
strongest of the passions. It was a matter of a 'nolenti baculus'; not
that I was cruel enough to use force towards an unhappy old man like the
count. I ended my speech by saying that if he would flee with us I would
carry him upon my back like AEneas carried Anchises; but if he was going
to stay in prison to offer up prayers for our success, his prayers would
be observed, as it would be a case of praying God to give success when he
himself had refused to contribute the most ordinary aid.
He replied by a flood of tears, which affected me. He then asked if two
sequins would be enough, and I answered in the affirmative. He then gave
them to me begging me to return them to him if after getting on the roof
I saw my wisest course would be to come back. I promised to do so,
feeling somewhat astonished that he should deem me capable of a retreat.
He little knew me, for I would have preferred death to an imprisonment
which would have been life-long.
I called my companions, and we set all our baggage near the hole. I
divided the hundred fathoms of rope into two packets, and we spent two
hours in talking over the chances of our undertaking. The first proof
which Father Balbi gave me of his fine character was to tell me, ten
times over, that I had broken my word with him, since I had assured him
that my scheme was complete and certain, while it was really nothing of
the kind. He went so far as to tell me that if he had known as much he
would not have taken me from my cell. The count also, with all the weight
of his seventy years, told me that I should do well to give up so
hazardous an undertaking, in which success was impossible and death
probable. As he was a barrister he made me a speech as follows, and I had
not much difficulty in guessing that he was inspired by the thought of
the two sequins which I should have had to give him back, if he had
succeeded in persuading me to stay where I was:
"The incline of the roof covered with lead plates," said he, "will render
it impossible for you to walk, indeed you will scarcely be able to stand
on your feet. It is true that the roof has seven or eight windows, but
they are all barred with iron, and you could not keep your footing near
them since they are far from the sides. Your ropes are useless, as you
will find nothing whereon to fasten them; and even if you did, a man
descending from such a height cannot reach the ground by himself. One of
you will therefore have to lower the two others one at a time as one
lowers a bucket or a bundle of wood, and he who does so will have to stay
behind and go back to his cell. Which of you three has a vocation for
this dangerous work of charity? And supposing that one of you is heroic
enough to do so, can you tell me on which side you are going to descend?
Not by the side towards the palace, for you would be seen; not by the
church, as you would find yourselves still shut up, and as to the court
side you surely would not think of it, for you would fall into the hands
of the 'arsenalotti' who are always going their rounds there. You have
only the canal side left, and where is your gondola to take you off? Not
having any such thing, you will be obliged to throw yourself in and
escape by swimming towards St. Appollonia, which you will reach in a
wretched condition, not knowing where to turn to next. You must remember
that the leads are slippery, and that if you were to fall into the canal,
considering the height of the fall and the shallowness of the water, you
would most certainly be killed if you could swim like sharks. You would
be crushed to death, for three or four feet of water are not sufficient
to counteract the effect of a fall from such a height. In short, the best
fate you can expect is to find yourselves on the ground with broken arms
and legs."
The effect of this discourse--a very unseasonable one, under the
circumstances--was to make my blood boil, but I listened with a patience
wholly foreign to my nature. The rough reproaches of the monk enraged me,
and inclined me to answer him in his own way; but I felt that my position
was a difficult one, and that unless I was careful I might ruin all, for
I had to do with a coward quite capable of saying that he was not going
to risk his life, and by myself I could not hope to succeed. I
constrained myself, therefore, and as politely as I could I told them
that I was sure of success, though I could not as yet communicate the
details of my plan. "I shall profit by your wise counsels," said I to
Count Asquin, "and be very prudent, but my trust in God and in my own
strength will carry me through all difficulties."
From time to time I stretched out my hand to assure myself that Soradaci
was there, for he did not speak a word. I laughed to myself to think what
he might be turning in his head now that he was convinced that I had
deceived him. At half-past ten I told him to go and see what was the
position of the moon. He obeyed and returned, saying that in an hour and
a-half it would have disappeared, and that there was a thick fog which
would make the leads very dangerous.
"All I ask," I said, "is that the fog be not made of oil. Put your cloak
in a packet with some of the rope which must be divided equally between
us."
At this I was astonished to find him at my knees kissing my hands, and
entreating me not to kill him. "I should be sure," said he, "to fall over
into the canal, and I should not be of any use to you. Ah! leave me here,
and all the night I will pray to St. Francis for you. You can kill me or
save me alive; but of this I am determined, never to follow you."
The fool never thought how he had responded to my prayers.
"You are right," I said, "you may stop here on the condition that you
will pray to St. Francis; and that you go forthwith and fetch my books,
which I wish to leave to the count."
He did so without answering me, doubtless with much joy. My books were
worth at least a hundred crowns. The count told me that he would give
them back on my return.
"You may be sure," I said, "that you will never see me here again. The
books will cover your expenditure of two sequins. As to this rascal, I am
delighted, as he cannot muster sufficient courage to come with me. He
would be in the way, and the fellow is not worthy of sharing with Father
Balbi and myself the honours of so brave a flight."
"That's true," said the count, "provided that he does not congratulate
himself to-morrow."
I asked the count to give me pens, ink, and paper, which he possessed in
spite of the regulations to the contrary, for such prohibitions were
nothing to Lawrence, who would have sold St. Mark himself for a crown. I
then wrote the following letter, which I gave to Soradaci, not being able
to read it over, as I had written it in the dark. I began by a fine
heading, which I wrote in Latin, and which in English would run thus:
"'I shall not die, but live and declare the works of the Lord.'"
"Our lords of state are bound to do all in their power to keep a prisoner
under the Leads, and on the other hand the prisoner, who is fortunately
not on parole, is bound also to make his escape. Their right to act thus
is founded on justice, while the prisoner follows the voice of nature;
and since they have not asked him whether he will be put in prison, so he
ought not to ask them leave to escape.
"Jacques Casanova, writing in the bitterness of his heart, knows that he
may have the ill luck to be recaptured before he succeeds in leaving the
Venetian territory and escaping to a friendly state; but if so, he
appeals to the humanity of the judges not to add to the misery of the
condition from which, yielding to the voice of nature, he is endeavouring
to escape. He begs them, if he be taken, to return him whatever may be in
his cell, but if he succeed he gives the whole to Francis Soradaci, who
is still a captive for want of courage to escape, not like me preferring
liberty to life. Casanova entreats their excellencies not to refuse the
poor wretch this gift. Dated an hour before midnight, in the cell of
Count Asquin, on October 31st, 1756."
I warned Soradaci not to give this letter to Lawrence, but to the
secretary in person, who, no doubt, would interrogate him if he did not
go himself to the cell, which was the more likely course. The count said
my letter was perfect, but that he would give me back all my books if I
returned. The fool said he wished to see me again to prove that he would
return everything gladly.
But our time was come. The moon had set. I hung the half of the ropes by
Father Balbi's neck on one side and his clothes on the other. I did the
same to myself, and with our hats on and our coats off we went to the
opening.
E quindi uscimmo a rimirar le stelle.--DANTE.
CHAPTER XXX
The Escape I Nearly Lose My Life on the Roof I Get out of
the Ducal Palace, Take a Boat, and Reach the Mainland--
Danger to Which I Am Exposed by Father Balbi--My Scheme for
Ridding Myself of Him
I got out the first, and Father Balbi followed me. Soradaci who had come
as far as the opening, had orders to put the plate of lead back in its
place, and then to go and pray to St. Francis for us. Keeping on my hands
and knees, and grasping my pike firmly I pushed it obliquely between the
joining of the plates of lead, and then holding the side of the plate
which I had lifted I succeeded in drawing myself up to the summit of the
roof. The monk had taken hold of my waistband to follow me, and thus I
was like a beast of burden who has to carry and draw along at the same
time; and this on a steep and slippery roof.
When we were half-way up the monk asked me to stop, as one of his packets
had slipped off, and he hoped it had not gone further than the gutter. My
first thought was to give him a kick and to send him after his packet,
but, praised be to God! I had sufficient self-control not to yield to it,
and indeed the punishment would have been too heavy for both of us, as I
should have had no chance of escaping by myself. I asked him if it were
the bundle of rope, and on his replying that it was a small packet of his
own containing manuscript he had found in one of the garrets under the
Leads, I told him he must bear it patiently, as a single step might be
our destruction. The poor monk gave a sigh, and he still clinging to my
waist we continued climbing.
After having surmounted with the greatest difficulty fifteen or sixteen
plates we got to the top, on which I sat astride, Father Balbi imitating
my example. Our backs were towards the little island of St. George the
Greater, and about two hundred paces in front of us were the numerous
cupolas of St. Mark's Church, which forms part of the ducal palace, for
St. Mark's is really the Doge's private chapel, and no monarch in the
world can boast of having a finer. My first step was to take off my
bundle, and I told my companion to do the same. He put the rope as best
he could upon his thighs, but wishing to take off his hat, which was in
his way, he took hold of it awkwardly, and it was soon dancing from plate
to plate to join the packet of linen in the gutter. My poor companion was
in despair.
"A bad omen," he exclaimed; "our task is but begun and here am I deprived
of shirt, hat, and a precious manuscript, containing a curious account of
the festivals of the palace."
I felt calmer now that I was no longer crawling on hands and knees, and I
told him quietly that the two accidents which had happened to him had
nothing extraordinary in them, and that not even a superstitious person
would call them omens, that I did not consider them in that light, and
that they were far from damping my spirits.
"They ought rather," said I, "to warn you to be prudent, and to remind
you that God is certainly watching over us, for if your hat had fallen to
the left instead of to the right, we should have been undone; as in that
case it would have fallen into the palace court, where it would have
caught the attention of the guards, and have let them know that there was
someone on the roof; and in a few minutes we should have been retaken."
After looking about me for some time I told the monk to stay still till I
came back, and I set out, my pike in my hand, sitting astride the roof
and moving along without any difficulty. For nearly an hour I went to
this side and that, keeping a sharp look-out, but in vain; for I could
see nothing to which the rope could be fastened, and I was in the
greatest perplexity as to what was to be done. It was of no use thinking
of getting down on the canal side or by the court of the palace, and the
church offered only precipices which led to nothing. To get to the other
side of the church towards the Canonica, I should have had to climb roofs
so steep that I saw no prospect of success. The situation called for
hardihood, but not the smallest piece of rashness.
It was necessary, however, either to escape, or to reenter the prison,
perhaps never again to leave it, or to throw myself into the canal. In
such a dilemma it was necessary to leave a good deal to chance, and to
make a start of some kind. My eye caught a window on the canal sides, and
two-thirds of the distance from the gutter to the summit of the roof. It
was a good distance from the spot I had set out from, so I concluded that
the garret lighted by it did not form part of the prison I had just
broken. It could only light a loft, inhabited or uninhabited, above some
rooms in the palace, the doors of which would probably be opened by
day-break. I was morally sure that if the palace servants saw us they
would help us to escape, and not deliver us over to the Inquisitors, even
if they recognized us as criminals of the deepest dye; so heartily was
the State Inquisition hated by everyone.
It was thus necessary for me to get in front of the window, and letting
myself slide softly down in a straight line I soon found myself astride
on top of the dormer-roof. Then grasping the sides I stretched my head
over, and succeeded in seeing and touching a small grating, behind which
was a window of square panes of glass joined with thin strips of lead. I
did not trouble myself about the window, but the grating, small as it
was, appeared an insurmountable difficulty, failing a file, and I had
only my pike.
I was thoroughly perplexed, and was beginning to lose courage, when an
incident of the simplest and most natural kind came to my aid and
fortified my resolution.
Philosophic reader, if you will place yourself for a moment in my
position, if you will share the sufferings which for fifteen months had
been my lot, if you think of my danger on the top of a roof, where the
slightest step in a wrong direction would have cost me my life, if you
consider the few hours at my disposal to overcome difficulties which
might spring up at any moment, the candid confession I am about to make
will not lower me in your esteem; at any rate, if you do not forget that
a man in an anxious and dangerous position is in reality only half
himself.
It was the clock of St. Mark's striking midnight, which, by a violent
shock, drew me out of the state of perplexity I had fallen into. The
clock reminded me that the day just beginning was All Saints' Day--the
day of my patron saint (at least if I had one)--and the prophecy of my
confessor came into my mind. But I confess that what chiefly strengthened
me, both bodily and mentally, was the profane oracle of my beloved
Ariosto: 'Fra il fin d'ottobre, a il capo di novembre'.
The chime seemed to me a speaking talisman, commanding me to be up and
doing,--and--promising me the victory. Lying on my belly I stretched my
head down towards the grating, and pushing my pike into the sash which
held it I resolved to take it out in a piece. In a quarter of an hour I
succeeded, and held the whole grate in my hands,--and putting it on one
side I easily broke the glass window, though wounding my left hand.
With the aid of my pike, using it as I had done before, I regained the
ridge of the roof, and went back to the spot where I had left Balbi. I
found him enraged and despairing, and he abused me heartily for having
left him for so long. He assured me that he was only waiting for it to
get light to return to the prison.
"What did you think had become of me?"
"I thought you must have fallen over."
"And you can find no better way than abuse to express the joy you ought
to feel at seeing me again?"
"What have you been doing all this time?"
"Follow me, and you shall see."
I took up my packets again and made my way towards the window. As soon as
were opposite to it I told Balbi what I had done, and asked him if he
could think of any way of getting into the loft. For one it was easy
enough, for the other could lower him by the rope; but I could not
discover how the second of us was to get down afterwards, as there was
nothing to which the rope could be fastened. If I let myself fall I might
break my arms and legs, for I did not know the distance between the
window and the floor of the room. To this chain of reasoning uttered in
the friendliest possible tone, the brute replied thus:
"You let me down, and when I have got to the bottom you will have plenty
of time to think how you are going to follow me."
I confess that my first indignant impulse was to drive my pike into his
throat. My good genius stayed my arm, and I uttered not a word in
reproach of his base selfishness. On the contrary, I straightway untied
my bundle of rope and bound him strongly under the elbows, and making him
lie flat down I lowered him feet foremost on to the roof of the
dormer-window. When he got there I told him to lower himself into the
window as far as his hips, supporting himself by holding his elbows
against the sides of the window. As soon as he had done so, I slid down
the roof as before, and lying down on the dormer-roof with a firm grasp
of the rope I told the monk not to be afraid but to let himself go. When
he reached the floor of the loft he untied himself, and on drawing the
rope back I found the fall was one of fifty feet-too dangerous a jump to
be risked. The monk who for two hours had been a prey to terror; seated
in a position which I confess was not a very reassuring one, was not
quite cool, and called out to me to throw him the ropes for him to take
care of--a piece of advice you may be sure I took care not to follow.
Not knowing what to do next, and waiting for some fortunate idea, I made
my way back to the ridge of the roof, and from there spied out a corner
near a cupola; which I had not visited. I went towards it and found a
flat roof, with a large window closed with two shutters. At hand was a
tubful of plaster, a trowel, and ladder which I thought long enough for
my purpose. This was enough, and tying my rope to the first round I
dragged this troublesome burden after me to the window. My next task was
to get the end of the ladder (which was twelve fathoms long) into the
opening, and the difficulties I encountered made me sorry that I had
deprived myself of the aid of the monk. [The unit of measure:'fathoms'
describing the ladder and earlier the 100 fathoms of rope, is likely a
translation error: Casanova might have manufactured 100 feet of rope and
might have dragged a 12 foot ladder up the steep roof, but not a longer.
D.W.]
I had set the ladder in such a way that one end touched the window, and
the other went below the gutter. I next slid down to the roof of the
window, and drawing the ladder towards me I fastened the end of my rope
to the eighth round, and then let it go again till it was parallel with
the window. I then strove to get it in, but I could not insert it farther
than the fifth round, for the end of the ladder being stopped by the
inside roof of the window no force on earth could have pushed it any
further without breaking either the ladder or the ceiling. There was
nothing to be done but to lift it by the other end; it would then slip
down by its own weight. I might, it is true, have placed the ladder
across the window, and have fastened the rope to it, in which manner I
might have let myself down into the loft without any risk; but the ladder
would have been left outside to shew Lawrence and the guards where to
look for us and possibly to find us in the morning.
I did not care to risk by a piece of imprudence the fruit of so much toil
and danger, and to destroy all traces of our whereabouts the ladder must
be drawn in. Having no one to give me a helping hand, I resolved to go
myself to the parapet to lift the ladder and attain the end I had in
view. I did so, but at such a hazard as had almost cost me my life. I
could let go the ladder while I slackened the rope without any fear of
its falling over, as it had caught to the parapet by the third rung.
Then, my pike in my hand, I slid down beside the ladder to the parapet,
which held up the points of my feet, as I was lying on my belly. In this
position I pushed the ladder forward, and was able to get it into the
window to the length of a foot, and that diminished by a good deal its
weight. I now only had to push it in another two feet, as I was sure that
I could get it in altogether by means of the rope from the roof of the
window. To impel the ladder to the extent required I got on my knees, but
the effort I had to use made me slip, and in an instant I was over the
parapet as far as my chest, sustained by my elbows.
I shudder still when I think of this awful moment, which cannot be
conceived in all its horror. My natural instinct made me almost
unconsciously strain every nerve to regain the parapet, and--I had nearly
said miraculously--I succeeded. Taking care not to let myself slip back
an inch I struggled upwards with my hands and arms, while my belly was
resting on the edge of the parapet. Fortunately the ladder was safe, for
with that unlucky effort which had nearly cost me so dearly I had pushed
it in more than three feet, and there it remained.
Finding myself resting on my groin on the parapet, I saw that I had only
to lift up my right leg and to put up first one knee and then the other
to be absolutely out of danger; but I had not yet got to the end of my
trouble. The effort I made gave me so severe a spasm that I became
cramped and unable to use my limbs. However, I did not lose my head, but
kept quiet till the pain had gone off, knowing by experience that keeping
still is the best cure for the false cramp. It was a dreadful moment! In
two minutes I made another effort, and had the good fortune to get my two
knees on to the parapet, and as soon as I had taken breath I cautiously
hoisted the ladder and pushed it half-way through the window. I then took
my pike, and crawling up as I had done before I reached the window, where
my knowledge of the laws of equilibrium and leverage aided me to insert
the ladder to its full length, my companion receiving the end of it. I
then threw into the loft the bundles and the fragments that I had broken
off the window, and I stepped down to the monk, who welcomed me heartily
and drew in the ladder. Arm in arm, we proceeded to inspect the gloomy
retreat in which we found ourselves, and judged it to be about thirty
paces long by twenty wide.
At one end were folding-doors barred with iron. This looked bad, but
putting my hand to the latch in the middle it yielded to the pressure,
and the door opened. The first thing we did was to make the tour of the
room, and crossing it we stumbled against a large table surrounded by
stools and armchairs. Returning to the part where we had seen windows, we
opened the shutters of one of them, and the light of the stars only
shewed us: the cupolas and the depths beneath them. I did not think for a
moment of lowering myself down, as I wished to know where I was going,
and I did not recognize our surroundings. I shut the window up, and we
returned to the place where we had left our packages. Quite exhausted I
let myself fall on the floor, and placing a bundle of rope under my head
a sweet sleep came to my, relief. I abandoned myself to it without
resistance, and indeed, I believe if death were to have been the result,
I should have slept all the same, and I still remember how I enjoyed that
sleep.
It lasted for three and a half hours, and I was awakened by the monk's
calling out and shaking me. He told me that it had just struck five. He
said it was inconceivable to him how I could sleep in the situation we
were in. But that which was inconceivable to him was not so to me. I had
not fallen asleep on purpose, but had only yielded to the demands of
exhausted nature, and, if I may say so, to the extremity of my need. In
my exhaustion there was nothing to wonder at, since I had neither eaten
nor slept for two days, and the efforts I had made--efforts almost beyond
the limits of mortal endurance--might well have exhausted any man. In my
sleep my activity had come back to me, and I was delighted to see the
darkness disappearing, so that we should be able to proceed with more
certainty and quickness.
Casting a rapid glance around, I said to myself, "This is not a prison,
there ought, therefore, be some easy exit from it." We addressed
ourselves to the end opposite to the folding-doors, and in a narrow
recess I thought I made out a doorway. I felt it over and touched a lock,
into which I thrust my pike, and opened it with three or four heaves. We
then found ourselves in a small room, and I discovered a key on a table,
which I tried on a door opposite to us, which, however, proved to be
unlocked. I told the monk to go for our bundles, and replacing the key we
passed out and came into a gallery containing presses full of papers.
They were the state archives. I came across a short flight of stone
stairs, which I descended, then another, which I descended also, and
found a glass door at the end, on opening which I entered a hall well
known to me: we were in the ducal chancery. I opened a window and could
have got down easily, but the result would have been that we should have
been trapped in the maze of little courts around St. Mark's Church. I saw
on a desk an iron instrument, of which I took possession; it had a
rounded point and a wooden handle, being used by the clerks of the
chancery to pierce parchments for the purpose of affixing the leaden
seals. On opening the desk I saw the copy of a letter advising the
Proveditore of Corfu of a grant of three thousand sequins for the
restoration of the old fortress. I searched for the sequins but they were
not there. God knows how gladly I would have taken them, and how I would
have laughed the monk to scorn if he had accused me of theft! I should
have received the money as a gift from Heaven, and should have regarded
myself as its master by conquest.
Going to the door of the chancery, I put my bar in the keyhole, but
finding immediately that I could not break it open, I resolved on making
a hole in the door. I took care to choose the side where the wood had
fewest knots, and working with all speed I struck as hard and as cleaving
strokes as I was able. The monk, who helped me as well as he could with
the punch I had taken from the desk, trembled at the echoing clamour of
my pike which must have been audible at some distance. I felt the danger
myself, but it had to be risked.
In half an hour the hole was large enough--a fortunate circumstance, for
I should have had much trouble in making it any larger without the aid of
a saw. I was afraid when I looked at the edges of the hole, for they
bristled with jagged pieces of wood which seemed made for tearing clothes
and flesh together. The hole was at a height of five feet from the
ground. We placed beneath it two stools, one beside the other, and when
we had stepped upon them the monk with arms crossed and head foremost
began to make his way through the hole, and taking him by the thighs, and
afterwards by the legs, I succeeded in pushing him through, and though it
was dark I felt quite secure, as I knew the surroundings. As soon as my
companion had reached the other side I threw him my belongings, with the
exception of the ropes, which I left behind, and placing a third stool on
the two others, I climbed up, and got through as far as my middle, though
with much difficulty, owing to the extreme narrowness of the hole. Then,
having nothing to grasp with my hands, nor anyone to push me as I had
pushed the monk, I asked him to take me, and draw me gently and by slow
degrees towards him. He did so, and I endured silently the fearful
torture I had to undergo, as my thighs and legs were torn by the
splinters of wood.
As soon as I got through I made haste to pick up my bundle of linen, and
going down two flights of stairs I opened without difficulty the door
leading into the passage whence opens the chief door to the grand
staircase, and in another the door of the closet of the 'Savio alla
scrittura'. The chief door was locked, and I saw at once that, failing a
catapult or a mine of gunpowder, I could not possibly get through. The
bar I still held seemed to say, "Hic fines posuit. My use is ended and
you can lay me down." It was dear to me as the instrument of freedom, and
was worthy of being hung as an 'ex voto' on the altar of liberty.
I sat down with the utmost tranquillity, and told the monk to do the
same.
"My work is done," I said, "the rest must be left to God and fortune.
"Abbia chi regge il ciel cura del resto, O la fortuna se non tocca a lui.
"I do not know whether those who sweep out the palace will come here
to-day, which is All Saints' Day, or tomorrow, All Souls' Day. If anyone
comes, I shall run out as soon as the door opens, and do you follow after
me; but if nobody comes, I do not budge a step, and if I die of hunger so
much the worse for me."
At this speech of mine he became beside himself. He called me a madman,
seducer, deceiver, and a liar. I let him talk, and took no notice. It
struck six; only an hour had passed since I had my awakening in the loft.
My first task was to change my clothes. Father Balbi looked like a
peasant, but he was in better condition than I, his clothes were not torn
to shreds or covered with blood, his red flannel waistcoat and purple
breeches were intact, while my figure could only inspire pity or terror,
so bloodstained and tattered was I. I took off my stockings, and the
blood gushed out of two wounds I had given myself on the parapet, while
the splinters in the hole in the door had torn my waistcoat, shirt,
breeches, legs and thighs. I was dreadfully wounded all over my body. I
made bandages of handkerchiefs, and dressed my wounds as best I could,
and then put on my fine suit, which on a winter's day would look odd
enough. Having tied up my hair, I put on white stockings, a laced shirt,
failing any other, and two others over it, and then stowing away some
stockings and handkerchiefs in my pockets, I threw everything else into a
corner of the room. I flung my fine cloak over the monk, and the fellow
looked as if he had stolen it. I must have looked like a man who has been
to a dance and has spent the rest of the night in a disorderly house,
though the only foil to my reasonable elegance of attire was the bandages
round my knees.
In this guise, with my exquisite hat trimmed with Spanish lace and
adorned with a white feather on my head, I opened a window. I was
immediately remarked by some lounger in the palace court, who, not
understanding what anyone of my appearance was doing there at such an
early hour, went to tell the door-keeper of the circumstance. He,
thinking he must have locked somebody in the night before, went for his
keys and came towards us. I was sorry to have let myself be seen at the
window, not knowing that therein chance was working for our escape, and
was sitting down listening to the idle talk of the monk, when I heard the
jingling of keys. Much perturbed I got up and put my eye to a chink in
the door, and saw a man with a great bunch of keys in his hand mounting
leisurely up the stairs. I told the monk not to open his mouth, to keep
well behind me, and to follow my steps. I took my pike, and concealing it
in my right sleeve I got into a corner by the door, whence I could get
out as soon as it was opened and run down the stairs. I prayed that the
man might make no resistance, as if he did I should be obliged to fell
him to the earth, and I determined to do so.
The door opened; and the poor man as soon as he saw me seemed turned to a
stone. Without an instant's delay and in dead silence, I made haste to
descend the stairs, the monk following me. Avoiding the appearance of a
fugitive, but walking fast, I went by the giants' Stairs, taking no
notice of Father Balbi, who kept cabling: out "To the church! to the
church!"
The church door was only about twenty paces from the stairs, but the
churches were no longer sanctuaries in Venice; and no one ever took
refuge in them. The monk knew this, but fright had deprived him of his
faculties. He told me afterwards that the motive which impelled him to go
to the church was the voice of religion bidding him seek the horns of the
altar.
"Why didn't you go by yourself?" said I.
"I did not, like to abandon you," but he should rather have said, "I did
not like to lose the comfort of your company."
The safety I sought was beyond the borders of the Republic, and
thitherward I began to bend my steps. Already there in spirit, I must
needs be there in body also. I went straight towards the chief door of
the palace, and looking at no one that might be tempted to look at me I
got to the canal and entered the first gondola that I came across,
shouting to the boatman on the poop,
"I want to go to Fusina; be quick and, call another gondolier."
This was soon done, and while the gondola was being got off I sat down on
the seat in the middle, and Balbi at the side. The odd appearance of the
monk, without a hat and with a fine cloak on his shoulders, with my
unseasonable attire, was enough to make people take us for an astrologer
and his man.
As soon as we had passed the custom-house, the gondoliers began to row
with a will along the Giudecca Canal, by which we must pass to go to
Fusina or to Mestre, which latter place was really our destination. When
we had traversed half the length of the canal I put my head out, and said
to the waterman on the poop,
"When do you think we shall get to Mestre?"
"But you told me to go to Fusina."
"You must be mad; I said Mestre."
The other boatman said that I was mistaken, and the fool of a monk, in
his capacity of zealous Christian and friend of truth, took care to tell
me that I was wrong. I wanted to give him a hearty kick as a punishment
for his stupidity, but reflecting that common sense comes not by wishing
for it I burst into a peal of laughter, and agreed that I might have made
a mistake, but that my real intention was to go to Mestre. To that they
answered nothing, but a minute after the master boatman said he was ready
to take me to England if I liked.
"Bravely spoken," said I, "and now for Mestre, ho!" "We shall be there in
three quarters of an hour, as the wind and tide are in our favour."
Well pleased I looked at the canal behind us, and thought it had never
seemed so fair, especially as there was not a single boat coming our way.
It was a glorious morning, the air was clear and glowing with the first
rays of the sun, and my two young watermen rowed easily and well; and as
I thought over the night of sorrow, the dangers I had escaped, the abode
where I had been fast bound the day before, all the chances which had
been in my favour, and the liberty of which I now began to taste the
sweets, I was so moved in my heart and grateful to my God that, well nigh
choked with emotion, I burst into tears.
My nice companion who had hitherto only spoken to back up the gondoliers,
thought himself bound to offer me his consolations. He did not understand
why I was weeping, and the tone he took made me pass from sweet
affliction to a strange mirthfulness which made him go astray once more,
as he thought I had got mad. The poor monk, as I have said, was a fool,
and whatever was bad about him was the result of his folly. I had been
under the sad necessity of turning him to account, but though without
intending to do so he had almost been my ruin. It was no use trying to
make him believe that I had told the gondoliers to go to Fusina whilst I
intended to go to Mestre; he said I could not have thought of that till I
got on to the Grand Canal.
In due course we reached Mestre. There were no horses to ride post, but I
found men with coaches who did as well, and I agreed with one of them to
take me to Trevisa in an hour and a quarter. The horses were put in in
three minutes, and with the idea that Father Balbi was behind me I turned
round to say "Get up," but he was not there. I told an ostler to go and
look for him, with the intention of reprimanding him sharply, even if he
had gone for a necessary occasion, for we had no time to waste, not even
thus. The man came back saying he could not find' him, to my great rage
and indignation. I was tempted to abandon him, but a feeling of humanity
restrained me. I made enquiries all round; everybody had seen him, but
not a soul knew where he was. I walked along the High Street, and some
instinct prompting me to put my head in at the window of a cafe. I saw
the wretched man standing at the bar drinking chocolate and making love
to the girl. Catching sight of me, he pointed to the girl and said--
"She's charming," and then invited me to take a cup of chocolate, saying
that I must pay, as he hadn't a penny. I kept back my wrath and answered,
"I don't want any, and do you make haste!" and caught hold of his arm in
such sort that he turned white with pain. I paid the money and we went
out. I trembled with anger. We got into our coach, but we had scarcely
gone ten paces before I recognised: an inhabitant, of Mestre named Balbi
Tommasi, a good sort of man; but reported to be one of the familiars of
the Holy Office. He knew me, too, and coming up called out,
"I am delighted to see you here. I suppose you have just escaped. How did
you do it?"
"I have not escaped, but have been set at liberty."
"No, no, that's not possible, as I was at M. Grimani's yesterday evening,
and I should have heard of it."
It will be easier for the reader to imagine my state of mind than for me
to describe it. I was discovered by a man whom I believed to be a hired
agent of the Government, who only had to give a glance to one of the
sbirri with whom Mestre swarmed to have me arrested. I told him to speak
softly, and getting down I asked him to come to one side. I took him
behind a house, and seeing that there was nobody in sight, a ditch in
front, beyond which the open country extended, I grasped my pike and took
him by the neck. At this: he gave a struggle, slipped out of my hands,
leapt over the ditch, and without turning round set off to run at, full
speed. As soon as he was some way off he slackened his course, turned
round and kissed his hand to me, in token of wishing me a prosperous
journey. And as soon; as he was out of my sight I gave thanks to God
that, this man by his quickness had preserved me from the commission of a
crime, for I would have killed him; and he, as it turned out, bore me no
ill will.
I was in a terrible position. In open war with all the powers of-the
Republic, everything had to give way to my safety, which made me neglect
no means of attaining my ends.
With the gloom of a man who has passed through a great peril, I gave a
glance of contempt towards the monk, who now saw to what danger he had
exposed us, and then got up again into the carriage. We reached Trevisa
without further adventure, and I told the posting-master to get me a
carriage and two horses ready by ten o'clock; though I had no intention
of continuing my journey along the highway, both because. I lacked means;
and because I feared pursuit. The inn-keeper asked me, if I would take
any breakfast, of which I stood in great need, for I was dying with
hunger, but I did not dare to, accept his offer, as a quarter of an
hour's delay might, prove fatal. I was afraid of being retaken, and of
being ashamed of it for the rest of my life; for a man of sense ought to
be able to snap his fingers at four hundred thousand men in the open
country, and if he cannot escape capture he must be a fool.
I went out by St. Thomas's Gate as if I was going for a short walk, and
after walking for a mile on the highway I struck into the fields,
resolving not to leave them as long as I should be within the borders of
the Republic. The shortest way was by Bassano, but I took the longer
path, thinking I might possibly be expected on the more direct road,
while they would never think of my leaving the Venetian territory by way
of Feltre, which is the longest way of getting into the state subject to
the Bishop of Trent.
After walking for three hours I let myself drop to the ground, for I
could not move a step further. I must either take some food or die there,
so I told the monk to leave the cloak with me and go to a farm I saw,
there to buy something to eat. I gave him the money, and he set off,
telling me that he thought I had more courage. The miserable man did not
know what courage was, but he was more robust than myself, and he had,
doubtless, taken in provisions before leaving the prison. Besides he had
had some chocolate; he was thin and wiry, and a monk, and mental
anxieties were unknown to him.
Although the house was not an inn, the good farmer's wife sent me a
sufficient meal which only cost me thirty Venetian sous. After satisfying
my appetite, feeling that sleep was creeping on me, I set out again on
the tramp, well braced up. In four hours' time I stopped at a hamlet, and
found that I was twenty-four miles from Trevisa. I was done up, my ankles
were swollen, and my shoes were in holes. There was only another hour of
day-light before us. Stretching myself out beneath a grove of trees I
made Father Balbi sit by me, and discoursed to him in the manner
following:
"We must make for Borgo di Valsugano, it is the first town beyond the
borders of the Republic. We shall be as safe there as if we were in
London, and we can take our ease for awhile; but to get there we must go
carefully to work, and the first thing we must do is to separate. You
must go by Mantello Woods, and I by the mountains; you by the easiest and
shortest way, and I by the longest and most difficult; you with money and
I without a penny. I will make you a present of my cloak, which you must
exchange for a great coat and a hat, and everybody will take you for a
countryman, as you are luckily rather like one in the face. Take these
seventeen livres, which is all that remains to me of the two sequins
Count Asquin gave me. You will reach Borgo by the day after to-morrow,
and I shall be twenty-four hours later. Wait for me in the first inn on
the left-hand side of the street, and be sure I shall come in due season.
I require a good night's rest in a good bed; and Providence will get me
one somewhere, but I must sleep without fear of being disturbed, and in
your company that would be out of the question. I am certain that we are
being sought for on all sides, and that our descriptions have been so
correctly given that if we went into any inn together we should be
certain to be arrested. You see the state I am in, and my urgent
necessity for a ten hours' rest. Farewell, then, do you go that way and I
will take this, and I will find somewhere near here a rest for the sole
of my foot."
"I have been expecting you to say as much," said Father Balbi, "and for
answer I will remind you of the promise you gave me when I let myself be
persuaded to break into your cell. You promised me that we should always
keep company; and so don't flatter yourself that I shall leave you, your
fate and mine are linked together. We shall be able to get a good refuge
for our money, we won't go to the inns, and no one will arrest us."
"You are determined, are you, not to follow the good advice I have given
you?"
"I am."
"We shall see about that."
I rose to my feet, though with some difficulty, and taking the measure of
his height I marked it out upon the ground, then drawing my pike from my
pocket, I proceeded with the utmost coolness to excavate the earth,
taking no notice of the questions the monk asked me. After working: for a
quarter of an hour I set myself to gaze sadly upon him, and I told him
that I felt obliged as a Christian to warn him to commend his soul to
God, "since I am about to bury you here, alive or dead; and if you prove
the stronger, you will bury me. You can escape if you wish to, as I shall
not pursue you."
He made no reply, and I betook myself to my work again, but I confess
that I began to be afraid of being rushed to extremities by this brute,
of whom I was determined to rid myself.
At last, whether convinced by my arguments or afraid Of my pike, he came
towards me. Not guessing. What he was about, I presented the point of my
pike towards him, but I had nothing to fear.
"I will do what you want," said he.
I straightway gave him all the money I had, and promising to rejoin him
at Borgo I bade him farewell. Although I had not a penny in my pocket and
had two rivers to cross over, I congratulated myself on having got rid of
a man of his character, for by myself I felt confident of being able to
cross the bounds of the Republic.
CHAPTER XXXI
I Find a Lodging in the House of the Chief of the Sbirri--I
Pass a Good Night There and Recover My Strength--I Go to
Mass--A Disagreeable Meeting I Am Obliged to Take Six
Sequins by Force--Out of Danger--Arrived at Munich--Balbi I
Set Out for Paris--My Arrival--Attempt on the Life of Louis
XV
As soon as I saw Father Balbi far enough off I got up, and seeing at a
little distance a shepherd keeping his flock on the hill-side, I made my
way-towards him to obtain such information as I needed. "What is the name
of this village, my friend?" said I.
"Valde Piadene, signor," he answered, to my surprise, for I found I was
much farther on my way that I thought. I next asked him the owners of
five or six houses which I saw scattered around, and the persons he
mentioned chanced to be all known to me, but were not the kind of men I
should have cared to trouble with my presence. On my asking him the name
of a palace before me, he said it belonged to the Grimanis, the chief of
whom was a State Inquisitor, and then resident at the palace, so I had to
take care not to let him see me. Finally, an my enquiring the owner of a
red house in the distance, he told me, much to my surprise, that it
belonged to the chief of the sbirri. Bidding farewell to the kindly
shepherd I began to go down the hill mechanically, and I am still puzzled
to know what instinct directed my steps towards that house, which common
sense and fear also should have made me shun. I steered my course for it
in a straight line, and I can say with truth that I did so quite
unwittingly. If it be true that we have all of us an invisible
intelligence--a beneficent genius who guides our steps aright--as was the
case with Socrates, to that alone I should attribute the irresistible
attraction which drew me towards the house where I had most to dread.
However that may be, it was the boldest stroke I have played in my whole
life.
I entered with an easy and unconstrained air, and asked a child who was
playing at top in the court-yard where his father was. Instead of
replying, the child went to call his mother, and directly afterwards
appeared a pretty woman in the family way, who politely asked me my
business with her husband, apologizing for his absence.
"I am sorry," I said, "to hear that my gossip is not in, though at the
same time I am delighted to make the acquaintance of his charming wife."
"Your gossip? You will be M. Vetturi, then? My husband told me that you
had kindly promised to be the god-father of our next child. I am
delighted to know you, but my husband will be very vexed to have been
away:
"I hope he will soon return, as I wanted to ask him for a night's
lodging. I dare not go anywhere in the state you see me."
"You shall have the best bed in the house, and I will get you a good
supper. My husband when he comes back will thank your excellence for
doing us so much honour. He went away with all his people an hour ago,
and I don't expect him back for three or four days."
"Why is he away for such a long time, my dear madam?"
"You have not heard, then, that two prisoners have escaped from The
Leads? One is a noble and the other a private individual named Casanova.
My husband has received a letter from Messer-Grande ordering him to make
a search for them; if he find them he will take them back to Venice, and
if not he will return here, but he will be on the look-out for three days
at least."
"I am sorry for this accident, my dear madam, but I should not like to
put you out, and indeed I should be glad to lie down immediately."
"You shall do so, and my mother shall attend to your wants. But what is
the matter with your knees?"
"I fell down whilst hunting on the mountains, and gave myself some severe
wounds, and am much weakened by loss of blood."
"Oh! my poor gentleman, my poor gentleman! But my mother will cure you."
She called her mother, and having told her of my necessities she went
out. This pretty sbirress had not the wit of her profession, for the
story I had told her sounded like a fairy-tale. On horseback with white
silk stockings! Hunting in sarcenet, without cloak and without a man! Her
husband would make fine game of her when he came back; but God bless her
for her kind heart and benevolent stupidity. Her mother tended me with
all the politeness I should have met with in the best families. The
worthy woman treated me like a mother, and called me "son" as she
attended to my wounds. The name sounded pleasantly in my ears, and did no
little towards my cure by the sentiments it awoke in my breast. If I had
been less taken up with the position I was in I should have repaid her
care with some evident marks of the gratitude I felt, but the place I was
in and the part I was playing made the situation too serious a one for me
to think of anything else.
This kindly woman, after looking at my knees and my thighs, told me that
I must make my mind to suffer a little pain, but I might be sure of being
cured by the morning. All I had to do was to bear the application of
medicated linen to my wounds, and not to stir till the next day. I
promised to bear the pain patiently, and to do exactly as she told me.
I was given an excellent supper, and I ate and drank with good appetite.
I then gave myself up to treatment, and fell asleep whilst my nurse was
attending to me. I suppose she undressed me as she would a child, but I
remembered nothing about it when I woke up--I was, in fact, totally
unconscious. Though I had made a good supper I had only done so to
satisfy my craving for food and to regain my strength, and sleep came to
me with an irresistible force, as my physical exhaustion did not leave me
the power of arguing myself out of it. I took my supper at six o'clock in
the evening, and I heard six striking as I awoke. I seemed to have been
enchanted. Rousing myself up and gathering my wits together, I first took
off the linen bandages, and I was astonished to find my wounds healed and
quite free from pain. I did my hair, dressed myself in less than five
minutes, and finding the door of my room open I went downstairs, crossed
the court, and left the house behind me, without appearing to notice two
individuals who were standing outside, and must have been sbirri. I made
haste to lengthen the distance between me and the place where I had found
the kindliest hospitality, the utmost politeness, the most tender care,
and best of all, new health and strength, and as I walked I could not
help feeling terrified at the danger I had been in. I shuddered
involuntarily; and at the present moment, after so many years, I still
shudder when I think of the peril to which I had so heedlessly exposed
myself. I wondered how I managed to go in, and still more how I came out;
it seemed absurd that I should not be followed. For five hours I tramped
on, keeping to the woods and mountains, not meeting a soul besides a few
countryfolk, and turning neither to the right nor left.
It was not yet noon, when, as I went along my way, I stopped short at the
sound of a bell. I was on high ground, and looking in the direction from
which the sound came I saw, a little church in the valley, and many,
people going towards it to hear mass. My heart desired to express
thankfulness for the protection of Providence, and, though all nature was
a temple worthy of its Creator, custom drew me to the church. When men
are in trouble, every passing thought seems an inspiration. It was All
Souls' Day. I went down the hill, and came into the church, and saw, to
my astonishment, M. Marc Antoine Grimani, the nephew of the State
Inquisitor, with Madame Marie Visani, his wife. I made my bow; which was
returned, and after I had heard mass I left the church. M. Grimani
followed me by himself, and when he had got near me, called me by name,
saying, "What are you doing here, Casanova, and what has become of your
friend?"
"I have given him what little money I had for him to escape by another
road, whilst I, without a penny in my pocket, am endeavouring to reach a
place of safety by this way. If your excellence would kindly give me some
help, it would speed my journey for me."
"I can't give you anything, but you will find recluses on your way who
won't let you die of hunger. But tell me how you contrived to pierce the
roof of The Leads."
"The story is an interesting one, but it would take up too much time, and
in the meanwhile the recluses might eat up the food which is to keep me
from dying of hunger."
With this sarcasm I made him a profound bow, and went upon my way. In
spite of my great want, his refusal pleased me, as it made me think
myself a better gentleman than the "excellence" who had referred me to
the charity of recluses. I heard at Paris afterwards that when his wife
heard of it she reproached him for his hard-hearted behaviour. There can
be no doubt that kindly and generous feelings are more often to be found
in the hearts of women than of men.
I continued my journey till sunset. Weary and faint with hunger I stopped
at a good-looking house, which stood by itself. I asked to speak to the
master, and the porter told me that he was not in as he had gone to a
wedding on the other side of the river, and would be away for two days,
but that he had bidden him to welcome all his friends while he was away.
Providence! luck! chance! whichever you like.
I went in and was treated to a good supper and a good bed. I found by the
addresses of some letters which were lying about that I was being
entertained in the house of M. Rombenchi--a consul, of what nation I know
not. I wrote a letter to him and sealed it to await his return. After
making an excellent supper and having had a good sleep, I rose, and
dressing myself carefully set out again without being able to leave the
porter any mark of my gratitude, and shortly afterwards crossed the
river, promising to pay when I came back. After walking for five hours I
dined in a monastery of Capuchins, who are very useful to people in my
position. I then set out again, feeling fresh and strong, and walked
along at a good pace till three o'clock. I halted at a house which I
found from a countryman belonged to a friend of mine. I walked in, asked
if the master was at home, and was shewn into a room where he was writing
by himself. I stepped forward to greet him, but as soon as he saw me he
seemed horrified and bid me be gone forthwith, giving me idle and
insulting reasons for his behaviour. I explained to him how I was
situated, and asked him to let me have sixty sequins on my note of hand,
drawn on M. de Bragadin. He replied that he could not so much as give me
a glass of water, since he dreaded the wrath of the Tribunal for my very
presence in his house. He was a stockbroker, about sixty years old, and
was under great obligations to me. His inhuman refusal produced quite a
different effect on me than that of M. Grimani. Whether from rage,
indignation, or nature, I took him by the collar, I shewed him my pike,
and raising my voice threatened to kill him. Trembling all over, he took
a key from his pocket and shewing me a bureau told me he kept money
there, and I had only to open it and take what I wanted; I told him to
open it himself. He did so, and on his opening a drawer containing gold,
I told him to count me out six sequins.
"You asked me for sixty."
"Yes, that was when I was asking a loan of you as a friend; but since I
owe the money to force, I require six only, and I will give you no note
of hand. You shall be repaid at Venice, where I shall write of the pass
to which you forced me, you cowardly wretch!"
"I beg your pardon! take the sixty sequins, I entreat you."
"No, no more. I am going on my way, and I advise you not to hinder me,
lest in my despair I come back and burn your house about your ears."
I went out and walked for two hours, until the approach of night and
weariness made me stop short at the house of a farmer, where I had a bad
supper and a bed of straw. In the morning, I bought an old overcoat, and
hired an ass to journey on, and near Feltre I bought a pair of boots. In
this guise I passed the hut called the Scala. There was a guard there
who, much to my delight, as the reader will guess, did not even honour me
by asking my name. I then took a two-horse carriage and got to Borgo de
Valsugano in good time, and found Father Balbi at the inn I had told him
of. If he had not greeted me first I should not have known him. A great
overcoat, a low hat over a thick cotton cap, disguised him to admiration.
He told me that a farmer had given him these articles in exchange for my
cloak, that he had arrived without difficulty, and was faring well. He
was kind enough to tell me that he did not expect to see me, as he did
not believe my promise to rejoin him was made in good faith. Possibly I
should have been wise not to undeceive him on this account.
I passed the following day in the inn, where, without getting out of my
bed, I wrote more than twenty letters to Venice, in many of which I
explained what I had been obliged to do to get the six sequins.
The monk wrote impudent letters to his superior, Father Barbarigo, and to
his brother nobles, and love-letters to the servant girls who had been
his ruin. I took the lace off my dress, and sold my hat, and thus got rid
of a gay appearance unsuitable to my position, as it made me too much an
object of notice.
The next day I went to Pergina and lay there, and was visited by a young
Count d'Alberg, who had discovered, in some way or another, that we had
escaped from the state-prisons of Venice. From Pergina I went to Trent
and from there to Bolzan, where, needing money for my dress, linen, and
the continuation of my journey, I introduced myself to an old banker
named Mensch, who gave me a man to send to Venice with a letter to M. de
Bragadin. In the mean time the old banker put me in a good inn where I
spent the six days the messenger was away in bed. He brought me the sum
of a hundred sequins, and my first care was to clothe my companion, and
afterwards myself. Every day I found the society of the wretched Balbi
more intolerable. "Without me you would never have escaped" was
continually in his mouth, and he kept reminding me that I had promised
him half of whatever money I got. He made love to all the servant girls,
and as he had neither the figure nor the manners to please them, his
attentions were returned with good hearty slaps, which he bore patiently,
but was as outrageous as ever in the course of twenty-four hours. I was
amused, but at the same time vexed to be coupled to a man of so low a
nature.
We travelled post, and in three days we got to Munich, where I went to
lodge at the sign of the "Stag." There I found two young Venetians of the
Cantarini family, who had been there some time in company with Count
Pompei, a Veronese; but not knowing them, and having no longer any need
of depending on recluses for my daily bread, I did not care to pay my
respects to them. It was otherwise with Countess Coronini, whom I knew at
St. Justine's Convent at Venice, and who stood very well with the
Bavarian Court.
This illustrious lady, then seventy years old, gave me a good reception
and promised to speak on my behalf to the Elector, with a view to his
granting me an asylum in his country. The next day, having fulfilled her
promise, she told me that his highness had nothing to say against me, but
as for Balbi there was no safety for him in Bavaria, for as a fugitive
monk he might be claimed by the monks at Munich, and his highness had no
wish to meddle with the monks. The countess advised me therefore to get
him out of the town as soon as possible, for him to fly to some other
quarter, and thus to avoid the bad turn which his beloved brethren the
monks were certain to do him.
Feeling in duty bound to look after the interests of the wretched fellow,
I went to the Elector's confessor to ask him to give Balbi letters of
introduction to some town in Swabia. The confessor, a Jesuit, did not
give the lie to the fine reputation of his brethren of the order; his
reception of me was as discourteous as it well could be. He told me in a
careless way that at Munich I was well known. I asked him without
flinching if I was to take this as a piece of good or bad news; but he
made no answer, and left me standing. Another priest told me that he had
gone out to verify the truth of a miracle of which the whole town was
talking.
"What miracle is that, reverend father?" I said.
"The empress, the widow of Charles VII, whose body is still exposed to
the public gaze, has warm feet, although she is dead."
"Perhaps something keeps them warm."
"You can assure yourself personally of the truth of this wonderful
circumstance."
To neglect such an opportunity would have been to lose the chance of
mirth or edification, and I was as desirous of the one as of the other.
Wishing to be able to boast that I had seen a miracle--and one, moreover,
of a peculiar interest for myself, who have always had the misfortune to
suffer from cold feet--I went to see the mighty dead. It was quite true
that her feet were warm, but the matter was capable of a simple
explanation, as the feet of her defunct majesty were turned towards a
burning lamp at a little distance off. A dancer of my acquaintance, whom
curiosity had brought there with the rest, came up to me, complimented me
upon my fortunate escape, and told me everybody was talking about it. His
news pleased me, as it is always a good thing to interest the public.
This son of Terpsichore asked me to dinner, and I was glad to accept his
invitation. His name was Michel de l'Agata, and his wife was the pretty
Gandela, whom I had known sixteen years ago at the old Malipiero's. The
Gandela was enchanted to see me, and to hear from my own lips the story
of my wondrous escape. She interested herself on behalf of the monk, and
offered me to give him a letter of introduction for Augsburg Canon Bassi,
of Bologna, who was Dean of St. Maurice's Chapter, and a friend of hers.
I took advantage of the offer, and she forthwith wrote me the letter,
telling me that I need not trouble myself any more about the monk, as she
was sure that the dean would take care of him, and even make it all right
at Venice.
Delighted at getting rid of him in so honourable a manner, I ran to the
inn, told him what I had done, gave him the letter, and promised not to
abandon him in the case of the dean's not giving him a warm welcome. I
got him a good carriage, and started him off the next day at daybreak.
Four days after, Balbi wrote that the dean had received him with great
kindness, that he had given him a room in the deanery, that he had
dressed him as an abbe, that he had introduced him to the Prince-Bishop
of Armstadt, and that he had received assurances of his safety from the
civil magistrates. Furthermore, the dean had promised to keep him till he
obtained his secularization from Rome, and with it freedom to return to
Venice, for as soon as he ceased to be a monk the Tribunal would have no
lien upon him. Father Balbi finished by asking me to send him a few
sequins for pocket-money, as he was too much of a gentleman to ask the
dean who, quoth the ungrateful fellow, "is not gentleman enough to offer
to give me anything." I gave him no answer.
As I was now alone in peace and quietness, I thought seriously of
regaining my health, for my sufferings had given me nervous spasms which
might become dangerous. I put myself on diet, and in three weeks I was
perfectly well. In the meanwhile Madame Riviere came from Dresden with
her son and two daughters. She was going to Paris to marry the elder. The
son had been diligent, and would have passed for a young man of culture.
The elder daughter, who was going to marry an actor, was extremely
beautiful, an accomplished dancer, and played on the clavichord like a
professional, and was altogether most charming and graceful. This
pleasant family was delighted to see me again, and I thought myself
fortunate when Madame Riviere, anticipating my wishes, intimated to me
that my company as far as Paris would give them great pleasure. I had
nothing to say respecting the expenses of the journey. I had to accept
their offer in its entirety. My design was to settle in Paris, and I took
this stroke of fortune as an omen of success in the only town where the
blind goddess freely dispenses her favours to those who leave themselves
to be guided by her, and know how to take advantage of her gifts. And, as
the reader will see by and by, I was not mistaken; but all the gifts of
fortune were of no avail, since I abused them all by my folly. Fifteen
months under the Leads should have made me aware of my weak points, but
in point of fact I needed a little longer stay to learn how to cure
myself of my failings.
Madame Riviere wished to take me with her, but she could not put off her
departure, and I required a week's delay to get money and letters from
Venice. She promised to wait a week in Strassburg, and we agreed that if
possible I would join her there. She left Munich on the 18th of December.
Two days afterwards I got from Venice the bill of exchange for which I
was waiting. I made haste to pay my debts, and immediately afterwards I
started for Augsburg, not so much for the sake of seeing Father Balbi, as
because I wanted to make the acquaintance of the kindly dean who had rid
me of him. I reached Augsburg in seven hours after leaving Munich, and I
went immediately to the house of the good ecclesiastic. He was not in,
but I found Balbi in an abbe's dress, with his hair covered with white
powder, which set off in a new but not a pleasing manner the beauties of
his complexion of about the same colour as a horse chestnut. Balbi was
under forty, but he was decidedly ugly, having one of those faces in
which baseness, cowardice, impudence, and malice are plainly expressed,
joining to this advantage a tone of voice and manners admirably
calculated to repulse anyone inclined to do him a service. I found him
comfortably housed, well looked after, and well clad; he had books and
all the requisites for writing. I complimented him upon his situation,
calling him a fortunate fellow, and applying the same epithet to myself
for having gained him all the advantages he enjoyed, and the hope of one
day becoming a secular priest. But the ungrateful hound, instead of
thanking me, reproached me for having craftily rid myself of him, and
added that, as I was going to Paris, I might as well take him with me, as
the dullness of Augsburg was almost killing him.
"What do you want at Paris?"
"What do you want yourself?"
"To put my talents to account."
"So do I."
"Well, then, you don't require me, and can fly on your own wings. The
people who are taking me to Paris would probably not care for me if I had
you for a companion."
"You promised not to abandon me."
"Can a man who leaves another well provided for and an assured future be
said to abandon him?"
"Well provided! I have not got a penny."
"What do you want with money? You have a good table, a good lodging,
clothes, linen, attendance, and so forth. And if you want pocket-money,
why don't you ask your brethren the monks?"
"Ask monks for money? They take it, but they don't give it."
"Ask your friends, then."
"I have no friends."
"You are to be pitied, but the reason probably is that you have never
been a friend to anyone. You ought to say masses, that is a good way of
getting money."
"I am unknown."
"You must wait, then, till you are known, and then you can make up for
lost time."
"Your suggestions are idle; you will surely give me a few sequins."
"I can't spare any."
"Wait for the dean. He will be back to-morrow. You can talk to him and
persuade him to lend me some money. You can tell him that I will pay it
back."
"I cannot wait, for I am setting out on my journey directly, and were he
here this moment I should not have the face to tell him to lend you money
after all his generous treatment of you, and when he or anyone can see
that you have all you need."
After this sharp dialogue I left him, and travelling post I set out,
displeased with myself for having given such advantages to a man wholly
unworthy of them. In the March following I had a letter from the good
Dean Bassi, in which he told me how Balbi had run away, taking with him
one of his servant girls, a sum of money, a gold watch, and a dozen
silver spoons and forks. He did not know where he was gone.
Towards the end of the same year I learnt at Paris that the wretched man
had taken refuge at Coire, the capital of the Grisons, where he asked to
be made a member of the Calvinistic Church, and to be recognized as
lawful husband of the woman with him; but in a short time the community
discovered that the new convert was no good, and expelled him from the
bosom of the Church of Calvin. Our ne'er-do-well having no more money,
his wife left him, and he, not knowing what to do next, took the
desperate step of going to Bressa, a town within the Venetian territory,
where he sought the governor, telling him his name, the story of his
flight, and his repentance, begging the governor to take him under his
protection and to obtain his pardon.
The first effect of the podesta's protection was that the penitent was
imprisoned, and he then wrote to the Tribunal to know what to do with
him. The Tribunal told him to send Father Balbi in chains to Venice, and
on his arrival Messer-Grande gave him over to the Tribunal, which put him
once more under the Leads. He did not find Count Asquin there, as the
Tribunal, out of consideration for his great age, had moved him to The
Fours a couple of months after our escape.
Five or six years later, I heard that the Tribunal, after keeping the
unlucky monk for two years under the Leads, had sent him to his convent.
There, his superior fearing lest his flock should take contagion from
this scabby sheep, sent him to their original monastery near Feltre, a
lonely building on a height. However, Balbi did not stop there six
months. Having got the key of the fields, he went to Rome, and threw
himself at the feet of Pope Rezzonico, who absolved him of his sins, and
released him from his monastic vows. Balbi, now a secular priest,
returned to Venice, where he lived a dissolute and wretched life. In 1783
he died the death of Diogenes, minus the wit of the cynic.
At Strassburg I rejoined Madame Riviere and her delightful family, from
whom I received a sincere and hearty welcome. We were staying at the
"Hotel de l'Esprit," and we passed a few days there most pleasurably,
afterwards setting out in an excellent travelling carriage for Paris the
Only, Paris the Universal. During the journey I thought myself bound to
the expense of making it a pleasant one, as I had not to put my hand in
my pocket for other expenses. The charms of Mdlle. Riviere enchanted me,
but I should have esteemed myself wanting in gratitude and respect to
this worthy family if I had darted at her a single amorous glance, or if
I had let her suspect my feelings for her by a single word. In fact I
thought myself obliged to play the heavy father, though my age did not
fit me for the part, and I lavished on this agreeable family all the care
which can be given in return for pleasant society, a seat in a
comfortable travelling carriage, an excellent table, and a good bed.
We reached Paris on the 5th of January, 1757, and I went to the house of
my friend Baletti, who received me with open arms, and assured me that
though I had not written he had been expecting me, since he judged that I
would strive to put the greatest possible distance between myself and
Venice, and he could think of no other retreat for me than Paris. The
whole house kept holiday when my arrival became known, and I have never
met with more sincere regard than in that delightful family. I greeted
with enthusiasm the father and mother, whom I found exactly the same as
when I had seen them last in 1752, but I was struck with astonishment at
the daughter whom I had left a child, for she was now a tall and
well-shaped girl. Mdlle. Baletti was fifteen years old, and her mother
had brought her up with care, had given her the best masters, virtue,
grace, talents, a good manner, tact, a knowledge of society-in short, all
that a clever mother can give to a dear daughter.
After finding a pleasant lodging near the Baletti's, I took a coach and
went to the "Hotel de Bourbon" with the intention of calling on M. de
Bernis, who was then chief secretary for foreign affairs. I had good
reasons for relying on his assistance. He was out; he had gone to
Versailles. At Paris one must go sharply to work, and, as it is vulgarly
but forcibly said, "strike while the iron's hot." As I was impatient to
see what kind of a reception I should get from the liberal-minded lover
of my fair M---- M----, I went to the Pont-Royal, took a hackney coach,
and went to Versailles. Again bad luck!
Our coaches crossed each other on the way, and my humble equipage had not
caught his excellency's eye. M. de Bernis had returned to Paris with
Count de Castillana, the ambassador from Naples, and I determined to
return also; but when I got to the gate I saw a mob of people running
here and there in the greatest confusion, and from all sides I heard the
cry, "The king is assassinated! The king is assassinated!"
My frightened coachman only thought of getting on his way, but the coach
was stopped. I was made to get out and taken to the guard-room, where
there were several people already, and in less than three minutes there
were twenty of us, all under arrest, all astonished at the situation, and
all as much guilty as I was. We sat glum and silent, looking at each
other without daring to speak. I knew not what to think, and not
believing in enchantment I began to think I must be dreaming. Every face
expressed surprise, as everyone, though innocent, was more or less
afraid.
We were not left in this disagreeable position for long, as in five
minutes an officer came in, and after some polite apologies told us we
were free.
"The king is wounded," he said, "and he has been taken to his room. The
assassin, whom nobody knows, is under arrest. M. de la Martiniere is
being looked for everywhere."
As soon as I had got back to my coach, and was thinking myself lucky for
being there, a gentlemanly-looking young man came up to me and besought
me to give him a seat in my coach, and he would gladly pay half the fare;
but in spite of the laws of politeness I refused his request. I may
possibly have been wrong. On any other occasion I should have been most
happy to give him a place, but there are times when prudence does not
allow one to be polite. I was about three hours on the way, and in this
short time I was overtaken every minute by at least two hundred couriers
riding at a breakneck pace. Every minute brought a new courier, and every
courier shouted his news to the winds. The first told me what I already
knew; then I heard that the king had been bled, that the wound was not
mortal, and finally, that the wound was trifling, and that his majesty
could go to the Trianon if he liked.
Fortified with this good news, I went to Silvia's and found the family at
table. I told them I had just come from Versailles.
"The king has been assassinated."
"Not at all; he is able to go to the Trianon, or the Parc-aux-cerfs, if
he likes. M. de la Martiniere has bled him, and found him to be in no
danger. The assassin has been arrested, and the wretched man will be
burnt, drawn with red-hot pincers, and quartered."
This news was soon spread abroad by Silvia's servants, and a crowd of the
neighbours came to hear what I had to say, and I had to repeat the same
thing ten times over. At this period the Parisians fancied that they
loved the king. They certainly acted the part of loyal subjects to
admiration. At the present day they are more enlightened, and would only
love the sovereign whose sole desire is the happiness of his people, and
such a king--the first citizens of a great nation--not Paris and its
suburbs, but all France, will be eager to love and obey. As for kings
like Louis XV., they have become totally impracticable; but if there are
any such, however much they may be supported by interested parties, in
the eyes of public opinion they will be dishonoured and disgraced before
their bodies are in a grave and their names are written in the book of
history.
CHAPTER XXXII
The Minister of Foreign Affairs M. de Boulogne, the
Comptroller--M. le Duc de Choiseul--M. Paris du Vernai--
Establishment of the Lottery--My Brother's Arrival at Paris;
His Reception by the Academy
Once more, then, I was in Paris, which I ought to regard as my
fatherland, since I could return no more to that land which gave me
birth: an unworthy country, yet, in spite of all, ever dear to me,
possibly on account of early impressions and early prejudices, or
possibly because the beauties of Venice are really unmatched in the
world. But mighty Paris is a place of good luck or ill, as one takes it,
and it was my part to catch the favouring gale.
Paris was not wholly new to me, as my readers know I had spent two years
there, but I must confess that, having then no other aim than to pass the
time pleasantly, I had merely devoted myself to pleasure and enjoyment.
Fortune, to whom I had paid no court, had not opened to me her golden
doors; but I now felt that I must treat her more reverently, and attach
myself to the throng of her favoured sons whom she loads with her gifts.
I understood now that the nearer one draws to the sun the more one feels
the warmth of its rays. I saw that to attain my end I should have to
employ all my mental and physical talents, that I must make friends of
the great, and take cue from all whom I found it to be my interest to
please. To follow the plans suggested by these thoughts, I saw that I
must avoid what is called bad company, that I must give up my old habits
and pretensions, which would be sure to make me enemies, who would have
no scruple in representing me as a trifler, and not fit to be trusted
with affairs of any importance.
I think I thought wisely, and the reader, I hope, will be of the same
opinion. "I will be reserved," said I, "in what I say and what I do, and
thus I shall get a reputation for discretion which will bring its
reward."
I was in no anxiety on the score of present needs, as I could reckon on a
monthly allowance of a hundred crowns, which my adopted father, the good
and generous M. de Bragadin, sent me, and I found this sum sufficient in
the meanwhile, for with a little self-restraint one can live cheaply at
Paris, and cut a good figure at the same time. I was obliged to wear a
good suit of clothes, and to have a decent lodging; for in all large
towns the most important thing is outward show, by which at the beginning
one is always judged. My anxiety was only for the pressing needs of the
moment, for to speak the truth I had neither clothes nor linen--in a
word, nothing.
If my relations with the French ambassador are recalled, it will be found
natural that my first idea was to address myself to him, as I knew him
sufficiently well to reckon on his serving me.
Being perfectly certain that the porter would tell me that my lord was
engaged, I took care to have a letter, and in the morning I went to the
Palais Bourbon. The porter took my letter, and I gave him my address and
returned home.
Wherever I went I had to tell the story of my escape from The Leads. This
became a service almost as tiring as the flight itself had been, as it
took me two hours to tell my tale, without the slightest bit of
fancy-work; but I had to be polite to the curious enquirers, and to
pretend that I believed them moved by the most affectionate interest in
my welfare. In general, the best way to please is to take the benevolence
of all with whom one has relation for granted.
I supped at Silvia's, and as the evening was quieter than the night
before, I had time to congratulate myself on all the friendship they
shewed me. The girl was, as I had said, fifteen years old, and I was in
every way charmed with her. I complimented the mother on the good results
of her education, and I did not even think of guarding myself from
falling a victim to her charms. I had taken so lately such well-founded
and philosophical resolutions, and I was not yet sufficiently at my ease
to value the pain of being tempted. I left at an early hour, impatient to
see what kind of an answer the minister had sent me. I had not long to
wait, and I received a short letter appointing a meeting for two o'clock
in the afternoon. It may be guessed that I was punctual, and my reception
by his excellence was most flattering. M. de Bernis expressed his
pleasure at seeing me after my fortunate escape, and at being able to be
of service to me. He told me that M---- M---- had informed him of my
escape, and he had flattered himself that the first person I should go
and see in Paris would be himself. He shewed me the letters from
M---- M---- relating to my arrest and escape, but all the details in the
latter were purely imaginary and had no foundation in fact. M---- M---- was
not to blame, as she could only write what she had heard, and it was not
easy for anyone besides myself to know the real circumstances of my
escape. The charming nun said that, no longer buoyed up by the hope of
seeing either of the men who alone had made her in love with life, her
existence had become a burden to her, and she was unfortunate in not
being able to take any comfort in religion. "C---C---- often comes to see
me," she said, "but I grieve to say she is not happy with her husband."
I told M. de Bernis that the account of my flight from The Leads, as told
by our friend, was wholly inaccurate, and I would therefore take the
liberty of writing out the whole story with the minutest details. He
challenged me to keep my word, assuring me that he would send a copy to
M---- M----, and at the same time, with the utmost courtesy, he put a
packet of a hundred Louis in my hand, telling me that he would think what
he could do for me, and would advise me as soon as he had any
communication to make.
Thus furnished with ample funds, my first care was for my dress; and this
done I went to work, and in a week sent my generous protector the result,
giving him permission to have as many copies printed as he liked, and to
make any use he pleased of it to interest in my behalf such persons as
might be of service to me.
Three weeks after, the minister summoned me to say that he had spoken of
me to M. Erizzo, the Venetian ambassador, who had nothing to say against
me, but for fear of embroiling himself with the State Inquisitors
declined to receive me. Not wanting anything from him--his refusal did me
no harm. M. de Bernis then told me that he had given a copy of my history
to Madame la Marquise de Pompadour, and he promised to take the first
opportunity of presenting me to this all-powerful lady. "You can present
yourself, my dear Casanova," added his excellence, "to the Duc de
Choiseul, and M. de Boulogne, the comptroller. You will be well received,
and with a little wit you ought to be able to make good use of the
letter. He himself will give you the cue, and you will see that he who
listens obtains. Try to invent some useful plan for the royal exchequer;
don't let it be complicated or chimerical, and if you don't write it out
at too great length I will give you my opinion on it."
I left the minister in a pleased and grateful mood, but extremely puzzled
to find a way of increasing the royal revenue. I knew nothing of finance,
and after racking my brains all that I could think of was new methods of
taxation; but all my plans were either absurd or certain to be unpopular,
and I rejected them all on consideration.
As soon as I found out that M. de Choiseul was in Paris I called on him.
He received me in his dressing-room, where he was writing while his valet
did his hair. He stretched his politeness so far as to interrupt himself
several times to ask me questions, but as soon as I began to reply his
grace began to write again, and I suspect did not hear what I was saying;
and though now and again he seemed to be looking at me, it was plain that
his eyes and his thoughts were occupied on different objects. In spite of
this way of receiving visitors--or me, at all events, M. de Choiseul was
a man of wit.
When he had finished writing he said in Italian that M. de Bernis had
told him of some circumstances of my escape, and he added,
"Tell me how you succeeded."
"My lord, it would be too long a story; it would take me at least two
hours, and your grace seems busy."
"Tell me briefly about it."
"However much I speak to the point, I shall take two hours."
"You can keep the details for another time."
"The story is devoid of interest without the details"
"Well, well, you can tell me the whole story in brief, without losing
much of the interest:"
"Very good; after that I can say no more. I must tell your lordship,
then, that, the State Inquisitors shut me up under the Leads; that after
fifteen months and five days of imprisonment I succeeded in piercing the
roof; that after many difficulties I reached the chancery by a window,
and broke open the door; afterwards I got to St. Mark's Place, whence,
taking a gondola which bore me to the mainland, I arrived at Paris, and
have had the honour to pay my duty to your lordship."
"But.... what are The Leads?"
"My lord, I should take a quarter of an hour, at least, to explain."
"How did you pierce the roof?"
"I could not tell your lordship in less than half an hour:"
"Why were you shut up?"
"It would be a long tale, my lord."
"I think you are right. The interest of the story lies chiefly in the
details."
"I took the liberty of saying as much to your grace."
"Well, I must go to Versailles, but I shall be delighted if you will come
and see me sometimes. In the meanwhile, M. Casanova, think what I can do
for you."
I had been almost offended at the way in which M. de Choiseul had
received me, and I was inclined to resent it; but the end of our
conversation, and above all the kindly tone of his last words, quieted
me, and I left him, if not satisfied, at least without bitterness in my
heart.
From him I went to M. de Boulogne's, and found him a man of quite a
different stamp to the duke--in manners, dress, and appearance. He
received me with great politeness, and began by complimenting me on the
high place I enjoyed in the opinion of M. de Bernis, and on my skill in
matters of finance.
I felt that no compliment had been so ill deserved, and I could hardly
help bursting into laughter. My good angel, however, made me keep my
countenance.
M. de Boulogne had an old man with him, every feature bore the imprint of
genius, and who inspired me with respect.
"Give me your views;" said the comptroller, "either on paper or 'viva
voce'. You will find me willing to learn and ready to grasp your ideas.
Here is M. Paris du Vernai, who wants twenty millions for his military
school; and he wishes to get this sum without a charge on the state or
emptying the treasury."
"It is God alone, sir, who has the creative power."
"I am not a god," said M. du Vernai, "but for all that I have now and
then created but the times have changed."
"Everything," I said, "is more difficult than it used to be; but in spite
of difficulties I have a plan which would give the king the interest of a
hundred millions."
"What expense would there be to the Crown?"
"Merely the cost of receiving."
"The nation, then, would furnish the sum in question?"
"Undoubtedly, but voluntarily."
"I know what you are thinking of."
"You astonish me, sir, as I have told nobody of my plan."
"If you have no other engagement, do me the honour of dining with me
to-morrow, and I will tell you what your project is. It is a good one,
but surrounded, I believe, with insuperable difficulties. Nevertheless,
we will talk it over and see what can be done. Will you come?"
"I will do myself that honour."
"Very good, I will expect you at Plaisance."
After he had gone, M. de Boulogne praised his talents and honesty. He was
the brother of M. de Montmartel, whom secret history makes the father of
Madame de Pompadour, for he was the lover of Madame Poisson at the same
time as M. le Normand.
I left the comptroller's and went to walk in the Tuileries, thinking over
the strange stroke of luck which had happened to me. I had been told that
twenty millions were wanted, and I had boasted of being able to get a
hundred, without the slightest idea of how it was to be done; and on that
a well-known man experienced in the public business had asked me to
dinner to convince me that he knew what my scheme was. There was
something odd and comic about the whole affair; but that corresponded
very well with my modes of thought and action. "If he thinks he is going
to pump me," said I, "he will find himself mistaken. When he tells me
what the plan is, it will rest with me to say he has guessed it or he is
wrong as the inspiration of the moment suggests. If the question lies
within my comprehension I may, perhaps, be able to suggest something new;
and if I understand nothing I will wrap myself up in a mysterious
silence, which sometimes produces a good effect. At all events, I will
not repulse Fortune when she appears to be favourable to me."
M. de Bernis had only told M. de Boulogne that I was a financier to get
me a hearing, as otherwise he might have declined to see me. I was sorry
not to be master, at least, of the jargon of the business, as in that way
men have got out of a similar difficulty, and by knowing the technical
terms, and nothing more, have made their mark. No matter, I was bound to
the engagement. I must put a good face on a bad game, and if necessary
pay with the currency of assurance. The next morning I took a carriage,
and in a pensive mood I told the coachman to take me to M. du Vernai's,
at Plaisance--a place a little beyond Vincennes.
I was set down at the door of the famous man who, forty years ago, had
rescued France on the brink of the precipice down which Law had almost
precipitated her. I went in and saw a great fire burning on the hearth,
which was surrounded by seven or eight persons, to whom I was introduced
as a friend of the minister for foreign affairs and of the comptroller;
afterwards he introduced these gentlemen to me, giving to each his proper
title, and I noted that four of them were treasury officials. After
making my bow to each, I gave myself over to the worship of Harpocrates,
and without too great an air of listening was all ears and eyes.
The conversation at first was of no special interest as they were talking
of the Seine being frozen over, the ice being a foot thick. Then came the
recent death of M. de Fontenelle, then the case of Damien, who would
confess nothing, and of the five millions his trial would cost the Crown.
Then coming to war they praised M. de Soubise, who had been chosen by the
king to command the army. Hence the transition was easy to the expenses
of the war, and how they were to be defrayed.
I listened and was weary, for all they said was so full of technicalities
that I could not follow the meaning; and if silence can ever be imposing,
my determined silence of an hour and a half's duration ought to have made
me seem a very important personage in the eyes of these gentlemen. At
last, just as I was beginning to yawn, dinner was announced, and I was
another hour and a half without opening my mouth, except to do honour to
an excellent repast. Directly the dessert had been served, M. du Vernai
asked me to follow him into a neighbouring apartment, and to leave the
other guests at the table. I followed him, and we crossed a hall where we
found a man of good aspect, about fifty years old, who followed us into a
closet and was introduced to me by M. du Vernai under the name of
Calsabigi. Directly after, two superintendents of the treasury came in,
and M. du Vernai smilingly gave me a folio book, saying,
"That, I think, M. Casanova, is your plan."
I took the book and read, Lottery consisting of ninety tickets, to be
drawn every month, only one in eighteen to be a winning number. I gave
him back the book and said, with the utmost calmness,
"I confess, sir, that is exactly my idea."
"You have been anticipated, then; the project is by M. de Calsabigi
here."
"I am delighted, not at being anticipated, but to find that we think
alike; but may I ask you why you have not carried out the plan?"
"Several very plausible reasons have been given against it, which have
had no decisive answers."
"I can only conceive one reason against it," said I, coolly; "perhaps the
king would not allow his subjects to gamble."
"Never mind that, the king will let his subjects gamble as much as they
like: the question is, will they gamble?"
"I wonder how anyone can have any doubt on that score, as the winners are
certain of being paid."
"Let us grant, then, that they will gamble: how is the money to be
found?"
"How is the money to be found? The simplest thing in the world. All you
want is a decree in council authorizing you to draw on the treasury. All
I want is for the nation to believe that the king can afford to pay a
hundred millions."
"A hundred millions!"
"Yes, a hundred millions, sir. We must dazzle people."
"But if France is to believe that the Crown can afford to pay a hundred
millions, it must believe that the Crown can afford to lose a hundred
millions, and who is going to believe that? Do you?"
"To be sure I do, for the Crown, before it could lose a hundred millions,
would have received at least a hundred and fifty millions, and so there
need be no anxiety on that score."
"I am not the only person who has doubts on the subject. You must grant
the possibility of the Crown losing an enormous sum at the first
drawing?"
"Certainly, sir, but between possibility and reality is all the region of
the infinite. Indeed, I may say that it would be a great piece of good
fortune if the Crown were to lose largely on the first drawing."
"A piece of bad fortune, you mean, surely?"
"A bad fortune to be desired. You know that all the insurance companies
are rich. I will undertake to prove before all the mathematicians in
Europe that the king is bound to gain one in five in this lottery. That
is the secret. You will confess that the reason ought to yield to a
mathematical proof?"
"Yes, of course; but how is it that the Castelletto cannot guarantee the
Crown a certain gain?"
"Neither the Castelletto nor anybody in the world can guarantee
absolutely that the king shall always win. What guarantees us against any
suspicion of sharp practice is the drawing once a month, as then the
public is sure that the holder of the lottery may lose."
"Will you be good enough to express your sentiments on the subject before
the council?"
"I will do so with much pleasure."
"You will answer all objections?"
"I think I can promise as much."
"Will you give me your plan?"
"Not before it is accepted, and I am guaranteed a reasonable profit."
"But your plan may possibly be the same as the one before us."
"I think not. I see M. de Calsabigi for the first time, and as he has not
shewn me his scheme, and I have not communicated mine to him, it is
improbable, not to say impossible, that we should agree in all respects.
Besides, in my plan I clearly shew how much profit the Crown ought to get
per annum."
"It might, therefore, be formed by a company who would pay the Crown a
fixed sum?"
"I think not."
"Why?"
"For this reason. The only thing which would make the lottery pay, would
be an irresistible current of public opinion in its favour. I should not
care to have anything to do with it in the service of a company, who,
thinking to increase their profits, might extend their operations--a
course which would entail certain loss."
"I don't see how."
"In a thousand ways which I will explain to you another time, and which I
am sure you can guess for yourself. In short, if I am to have any voice
in the matter, it must be a Government lottery or nothing."
"M. de Calsabigi thinks so, too."
"I am delighted to hear it, but not at all surprised; for, thinking on
the same lines, we are bound to arrive at the same results."
"Have you anybody ready for the Castelletto?"
"I shall only want intelligent machines, of whom there are plenty in
France."
I went out for a moment and found them in groups on my return, discussing
my project with great earnestness.
M. Calsabigi after asking me a few questions took my hand, which he shook
heartily, saying he should like to have some further conversation with
me; and returning the friendly pressure, I told him that I should esteem
it as an honour to be numbered amongst his friends. Thereupon I left my
address with M. du Vernai and took my leave, satisfied, by my inspection
of the faces before me, that they all had a high opinion of my talents.
Three days after, M. de Calsabigi called on me; and after receiving him
in my best style I said that if I had not called on him it was only
because I did not wish to be troublesome. He told me that my decisive way
of speaking had made a great impression, and he was certain that if I
cared to make interest with the comptroller we could set up the lottery
and make a large profit.
"I think so, too," said I, "but the financiers will make a much larger
profit, and yet they do not seem anxious about it. They have not
communicated with me, but it is their look-out, as I shall not make it my
chief aim."
"You will undoubtedly hear something about it today, for I know for a
fact that M. de Boulogne has spoken of you to M. de Courteuil."
"Very good, but I assure you I did not ask him to do so."
After some further conversation he asked me, in the most friendly manner
possible, to come and dine with him, and I accepted his invitation with a
great pleasure; and just as we were starting I received a note from M. de
Bernis, in which he said that if I could come to Versailles the next day
he would present me to Madame de Pompadour, and that I should have an
opportunity of seeing M. de Boulogne.
In high glee at this happy chance, less from vanity than policy I made M.
de Calsabigi read the letter, and I was pleased to see him opening his
eyes as he read it.
"You can force Du Vernai himself to accept the lottery," he said, "and
your fortune is made if you are not too rich already to care about such
matters."
"Nobody is ever rich enough to despise good fortune, especially when it
is not due to favour."
"Very true. We have been doing our utmost for two years to get the plan
accepted, and have met with nothing beyond foolish objections which you
have crushed to pieces. Nevertheless, our plans must be very similar.
Believe me it will be best for us to work in concert, for by yourself you
would find insuperable difficulties in the working, and you will find no
'intelligent machines' in Paris. My brother will do all the work, and you
will be able to reap the advantages at your ease."
"Are you, then, not the inventor of the scheme which has been shewn me?"
"No, it is the work of my brother."
"Shall I have the pleasure or seeing him?"
"Certainly. His body is feeble, but his mind is in all its vigour. We
shall see him directly."
The brother was not a man of a very pleasing appearance, as he was
covered with a kind of leprosy; but that did not prevent him having a
good appetite, writing, and enjoying all his bodily and intellectual
faculties; he talked well and amusingly. He never went into society, as,
besides his personal disfigurement, he was tormented with an irresistible
and frequent desire of scratching himself, now in one place, and now in
another; and as all scratching is accounted an abominable thing in Paris,
he preferred to be able to use his fingernails to the pleasures of
society. He was pleased to say that, believing in God and His works, he
was persuaded his nails had been given him to procure the only solace he
was capable of in the kind of fury with which he was tormented.
"You are a believer, then, in final causes? I think you are right, but
still I believe you would have scratched yourself if God had forgotten to
give you any nails."
My remarks made him laugh, and he then began to speak of our common
business, and I soon found him to be a man of intellect. He was the elder
of the two brothers, and a bachelor. He was expert in all kinds of
calculations, an accomplished financier, with a universal knowledge of
commerce, a good historian, a wit, a poet, and a man of gallantry. His
birthplace was Leghorn, he had been in a Government office at Naples, and
had come to Paris with M. de l'Hopital. His brother was also a man of
learning and talent, but in every respect his inferior.
He shewed me the pile of papers, on which he had worked out all the
problems referring to the lottery.
"If you think you can do without me," said he, "I must compliment you on
your abilities; but I think you will find yourself mistaken, for if you
have no practical knowledge of the matter and no business men to help
you, your theories will not carry you far. What will you do after you
have obtained the decree? When you speak before the council, if you take
my advice, you will fix a date after which you are not to be held
responsible--that is to say, after which you will have nothing more to do
with it. Unless you do so, you will be certain to encounter trifling and
procrastination which will defer your plan to the Greek Kalends. On the
other hand, I can assure you that M. du Vernai would be very glad to see
us join hands:"
Very much inclined to take these gentlemen into partnership, for the good
reason that I could not do without them, but taking care that they should
suspect nothing, I went down with the younger brother, who introduced me
to his wife before dinner. I found present an old lady well known at
Paris under the name of General La Mothe, famous for her former beauty
and her gout, another lady somewhat advanced in years, who was called
Baroness Blanche, and was still the mistress of M. de Vaux, another
styled the President's lady, and a fourth, fair as the dawn, Madame
Razzetti, from Piedmont, the wife of one of the violin players at the
opera, and said to be courted by M. de Fondpertuis, the superintendent of
the opera.
We sat down to dinner, but I was silent and absorbed, all my thoughts
being monopolized by the lottery. In the evening, at Silvia's, I was
pronounced absent and pensive, and so I was in spite of the sentiment
with which Mademoiselle Baletti inspired me--a sentiment which every day
grew in strength.
I set out for Versailles next morning two hours before day-break, and was
welcomed by M. de Bernis, who said he would bet that but for him I should
never have discovered my talent for finance.
"M. de Boulogne tells me you astonished M. du Vernai, who is generally
esteemed one of the acutest men in France. If you will take my advice,
Casanova, you will keep up that acquaintance and pay him assiduous court.
I may tell you that the lottery is certain to be established, that it
will be your doing, and that you ought to make something considerable out
of it. As soon as the king goes out to hunt, be at hand in the private
apartments, and I will seize a favourable moment for introducing you to
the famous marquise. Afterwards go to the Office for Foreign Affairs, and
introduce yourself in my name to the Abbe de la Ville. He is the chief
official there, and will give you a good reception."
M. de Boulogne told me that, as soon as the council of the military
school had given their consent, he would have the decree for the
establishment of the lottery published, and he urged me to communicate to
him any ideas which I might have on the subject of finance.
At noon Madame de Pompadour passed through the private apartments with
the Prince de Soubise, and my patron hastened to point me out to the
illustrious lady. She made me a graceful curtsy, and told me that she had
been much interested in the subject of my flight.
"Do you go," said she, "to see your ambassador?"
"I shew my respect to him, madam, by keeping away."
"I hope you mean to settle in France."
"It would be my dearest wish to do so, madam, but I stand in need of
patronage, and I know that in France patronage is only given to men of
talent, which is for me a discouraging circumstance."
"On the contrary, I think you have reason to be hopeful, as you have some
good friends. I myself shall be delighted if I can be of any assistance
to you."
As the fair marquise moved on, I could only stammer forth my gratitude.
I next went to the Abbe de la Ville, who received me with the utmost
courtesy, and told me that he would remember me at the earliest
opportunity.
Versailles was a beautiful spot, but I had only compliments and not
invitations to expect there, so after leaving M. de la Ville I went to an
inn to get some dinner. As I was sitting down, an abbe of excellent
appearance, just like dozens of other French abbes, accosted me politely,
and asked me if I objected to our dining together. I always thought the
company of a pleasant man a thing to be desired, so I granted his
request; and as soon as he sat down he complimented me on the
distinguished manner in which I had been treated by M. de la Ville. "I
was there writing a letter," said he, "and I could hear all the obliging
things the abbe said to you. May I ask, sir, how you obtained access to
him?"
"If you really wish to know, I may be able to tell you."
"It is pure curiosity on my part."
"Well, then, I will say nothing, from pure prudence."
"I beg your pardon."
"Certainly, with pleasure."
Having thus shut the mouth of the curious impertinent, he confined his
conversation to ordinary and more agreeable topics. After dinner, having
no further business at Versailles, I made preparations for leaving, on
which the abbe begged to be of my company. Although a man who frequents
the society of abbes is not thought much more of than one who frequents
the society of girls. I told him that as I was going to Paris in a public
conveyance--far from its being a question of permission--I should be only
too happy to have the pleasure of his company. On reaching Paris we
parted, after promising to call on each other, and I went to Silvia's and
took supper there. The agreeable mistress of the house complimented me on
my noble acquaintances, and made me promise to cultivate their society.
As soon as I got back to my own lodging, I found a note from M. du
Vernai, who requested me to come to the military school at eleven o'clock
on the next day, and later in the evening Calsabigi came to me from his
brother, with a large sheet of paper containing all the calculations
pertaining to the lottery.
Fortune seemed to be in my favour, for this tabular statement came to me
like a blessing from on high. Resolving, therefore, to follow the
instructions which I pretended to receive indifferently. I went to the
military school, and as soon as I arrived the conference began. M.
d'Alembert had been requested to be present as an expert in arithmetical
calculations. If M. du Vernai had been the only person to be consulted,
this step would not have been necessary; but the council contained some
obstinate heads who were unwilling to give in. The conference lasted
three hours.
After my speech, which only lasted half an hour, M. de Courteuil summed
up my arguments, and an hour was passed in stating objections which I
refuted with the greatest ease. I finally told them that no man of honour
and learning would volunteer to conduct the lottery on the understanding
that it was to win every time, and that if anyone had the impudence to
give such an undertaking they should turn him out of the room forthwith,
for it was impossible that such an agreement could be maintained except
by some roguery.
This had its effect, for nobody replied; and M. du Vernai remarked that
if the worst came to the worst the lottery could be suppressed. At this I
knew my business was done, and all present, after signing a document
which M. du Vernai gave them, took their leave, and I myself left
directly afterwards with a friendly leave-taking from M. du Vernal.
M. Calsabigi came to see me the next day, bringing the agreeable news
that the affair was settled, and that all that was wanting was the
publication of the decree.
"I am delighted to hear it," I said, "and I will go to M. de Boulogne's
every day, and get you appointed chief administrator as soon as I know
what I have got for myself."
I took care not to leave a stone unturned in this direction, as I knew
that, with the great, promising and keeping a promise are two different
things. The decree appeared a week after. Calsabigi was made
superintendent, with an allowance of three thousand francs for every
drawing, a yearly pension of four thousand francs for us both, and the
chief of the lottery. His share was a much larger one than mine, but I
was not jealous as I knew he had a greater claim than I. I sold five of
the six offices that had been allotted to me for two thousand francs
each, and opened the sixth with great style in the Rue St. Denis, putting
my valet there as a clerk. He was a bright young Italian, who had been
valet to the Prince de la Catolica, the ambassador from Naples.
The day for the first drawing was fixed, and notice was given that the
winning numbers would be paid in a week from the time of drawing at the
chief office.
With the idea of drawing custom to my office, I gave notice that all
winning tickets bearing my signature would be paid at my office in
twenty-four hours after the drawing. This drew crowds to my office and
considerably increased my profits, as I had six per cent. on the
receipts. A number of the clerks in the other offices were foolish enough
to complain to Calsabigi that I had spoilt their gains, but he sent them
about their business telling them that to get the better of me they had
only to do as I did--if they had the money.
My first taking amounted to forty thousand francs. An hour after the
drawing my clerk brought me the numbers, and shewed me that we had from
seventeen to eighteen thousand francs to pay, for which I gave him the
necessary funds.
Without my thinking of it I thus made the fortune of my clerk, for every
winner gave him something, and all this I let him keep for himself.
The total receipts amounted to two millions, and the administration made
a profit of six hundred thousand francs, of which Paris alone had
contributed a hundred thousand francs. This was well enough for a first
attempt.
On the day after the drawing I dined with Calsabigi at M. du Vernai's,
and I had the pleasure of hearing him complain that he had made too much
money. Paris had eighteen or twenty ternes, and although they were small
they increased the reputation of the lottery, and it was easy to see that
the receipts at the next drawing would be doubled. The mock assaults that
were made upon me put me in a good humour, and Calsabigi said that my
idea had insured me an income of a hundred thousand francs a year, though
it would ruin the other receivers.
"I have played similar strokes myself," said M. du Vernai, "and have
mostly succeeded; and as for the other receivers they are at perfect
liberty to follow M. Casanova's example, and it all tends to increase the
repute of an institution which we owe to him and to you."
At the second drawing a terne of forty thousand francs obliged me to
borrow money. My receipts amounted to sixty thousand, but being obliged
to deliver over my chest on the evening before the drawing, I had to pay
out of my own funds, and was not repaid for a week.
In all the great houses I went to, and at the theatres, as soon as I was
seen, everybody gave me money, asking me to lay it out as I liked and to
send them the tickets, as, so far, the lottery was strange to most
people. I thus got into the way of carrying about me tickets of all
sorts, or rather of all prices, which I gave to people to choose from,
going home in the evening with my pockets full of gold. This was an
immense advantage to me, as kind of privilege which I enjoyed to the
exclusion of the other receivers who were not in society, and did not
drive a carriage like myself--no small point in one's favour, in a large
town where men are judged by the state they keep. I found I was thus able
to go into any society, and to get credit everywhere.
I had hardly been a month in Paris when my brother Francis, with whom I
had parted in 1752, arrived from Dresden with Madame Sylvestre. He had
been at Dresden for four years, taken up with the pursuit of his art,
having copied all the battle pieces in the Elector's Galley. We were both
of us glad to meet once more, but on my offering to see what my great
friends could do for him with the Academicians, he replied with all an
artist's pride that he was much obliged to me, but would rather not have
any other patrons than his talents. "The French," said he, "have rejected
me once, and I am far from bearing them ill-will on that account, for I
would reject myself now if I were what I was then; but with their love of
genius I reckon on a better reception this time."
His confidence pleased me, and I complimented him upon it, for I have
always been of the opinion that true merit begins by doing justice to
itself.
Francis painted a fine picture, which on being exhibited at the Louvre,
was received with applause. The Academy bought the picture for twelve
thousand francs, my brother became famous, and in twenty-six years he
made almost a million of money; but in spite of that, foolish
expenditure, his luxurious style of living, and two bad marriages, were
the ruin of him.
MEMOIRS OF JACQUES CASANOVA de SEINGALT 1725-1798
VOLUME 3 -- THE ETERNAL QUEST
[Illustration: Cover 3]
[Illustration: Titlepage 3]
EPISODE 11 -- PARIS AND HOLLAND
CHAPTER I
Count Tiretta of Trevisa Abbe Coste--Lambertini, the Pope's
Niece Her Nick--Name for Tiretta The Aunt and Niece--
Our Talk by the Fireside--Punishment of Damien--Tiretta's
Mistake Anger of Madame***--Their Reconciliation--
My Happiness with Mdlle. de la Meure Silvia's Daughter--Mdlle.
de la Meure Marries--My Despair and Jealousy--A Change far
the Better
In the beginning of March, 1757, I received a letter from my friend
Madame Manzoni, which she sent to me by a young man of good appearance,
with a frank and high-born air, whom I recognized as a Venetian by his
accent. He was young Count Tiretta de Trevisa, recommended to my care by
Madame Manzoni, who said that he would tell me his story, which I might
be sure would be a true one. The kind woman sent to me by him a small box
in which she told me I should find all my manuscripts, as she did not
think she would ever see me again.
I gave Tiretta the heartiest of welcomes, telling him that he could not
have found a better way to my favour than through a woman to whom I was
under the greatest obligations.
"And now, that you may be at your ease with me, I should like to know in
what manner I can be of service to you?"
"I have need of your friendship, perhaps of your purse, but at any rate
of your protection."
"You have my friendship and my protection already, and my purse is at
your service."
After expressing his gratitude to me, Tiretta said,
"A year ago the Supreme Council of my country entrusted me with an
employment dangerous to one of my years. I was made, with some other
young gentlemen of my own age, a keeper of the Mont de Piete. The
pleasures of the carnival having put us to a good deal of expense, we
were short of money, and borrowed from the till hoping to be able to make
up the money before balancing-day, but hoping all in vain.
"The fathers of my two companions, richer than mine, paid the sums they
had taken, and I, not being able to pay, took the part of escaping by
flight from the shame and the punishment I should have undergone.
"Madame Manzoni advised me to throw myself on your mercy, and she gave me
a little box which you shall have to-day. I only got to Paris yesterday,
and have only two louis, a little linen, and the clothes on my back. I am
twenty-five, have an iron constitution, and a determination to do all in
my power to make an honest living; but I can do nothing. I have not
cultivated any one talent in a manner to make use of it now. I can play
on the flute, but only as an amateur. I only know my own language, and I
have no taste for literature. So what can you make of me? I must add
that I have not a single expectation, least of all from my father, for to
save the honour of the family he will be obliged to sell my portion of
the estate, to which I shall have to bid an eternal farewell."
If the count's story had surprised me, the simplicity with which he told
it had given me pleasure; and I was resolved to do honour to Madame
Manzoni's introduction, feeling that it was my duty to serve a
fellow-countryman, who was really guilty of nothing worse than gross
thoughtlessness.
"Begin," said I, "by bringing your small belongings to the room next to
mine, and get your meals there. I will pay for everything while I am
looking out for something which may do for you.
"We will talk of business to-morrow, for as I never dine here I rarely if
ever come home till late, and I do not expect to have the honour of
seeing you again today. Leave me for the present, as I have got some work
to do; and if you go out to walk, beware of bad company, and whatever you
do keep your own counsel. You are fond of gaming, I suppose?"
"I hate it, as it has been the cause of half my troubles."
"And the other half, I'll wager, was caused by women."
"You have guessed aright--oh, those women!"
"Well, don't be angry with them, but make them pay for the ill they have
done you."
"I will, with the greatest pleasure, if I can."
"If you are not too particular in your goods, you will find Paris rich in
such commodities."
"What do you mean by particular? I would never be a prince's pathic."
"No, no, I was not thinking of that. I mean by 'particular' a man who
cannot be affectionate unless he is in love. The man who . . . ."
"I see what you mean, and I can lay no claim to such a character. Any hag
with golden eyes will always find me as affectionate as a Celadon."
"Well said! I shall soon be able to arrange matters for you."
"I hope you will."
"Are you going to the ambassador's?"
"Good God!--no! What should I do when I got there? Tell him my story?
He might make things unpleasant for me."
"Not without your going to see him, but I expect he is not concerning
himself with your case."
"That's all I ask him."
"Everybody, my dear count, is in mourning in Paris, so go to my tailor's
and get yourself a black suit. Tell him you come from me, and say you
want it by tomorrow. Good bye."
I went out soon after, and did not come back till midnight. I found the
box which Madame Manzoni had sent me in my room, and in it my manuscripts
and my beloved portraits, for I never pawned a snuff-box without taking
the portrait out.
Next day Tiretta made his appearance all in black, and thanked me for his
transformation.
"They are quick, you see, at Paris. It would have taken a week at
Trevisa."
"Trevisa, my dear fellow, is not Paris."
As I said this, the Abbe de la Coste was announced. I did not know the
name, but I gave orders for him to be admitted; and there presently
appeared the same little priest with whom I had dined at Versailles after
leaving the Abbe de la Ville.
After the customary greetings he began by complimenting me on the success
of my lottery, and then remarked that I had distributed tickets for more
than six thousand francs.
"Yes," I said, "and I have tickets left for several thousands more."
"Very good, then I will invest a thousand crowns in it."
"Whenever you please. If you call at my office you can choose the
numbers."
"No, I don't think I'll trouble to do so; give me any numbers just as
they come."
"Very good; here is the list you can choose from."
He chose numbers to the amount of three thousand francs, and then asked
me for a piece of paper to write an acknowledgment.
"Why so? I can't do business that way, as I only dispose of my tickets
for cash."
"But you may be certain that you will have the money to-morrow."
"I am quite sure I should, but you ought to be certain that you will have
the tickets to-morrow. They are registered at my office, and I can
dispose of them in no other manner."
"Give me some which are not registered."
"Impossible; I could not do it."
"Why not?"
"Because if they proved to be winning numbers I should have to pay out of
my own pocket an honour I do not desire."
"Well, I think you might run the risk."
"I think not, if I wish to remain an honest man, at all events."
The abbe, who saw he could get nothing out of me, turned to Tiretta, and
began to speak to him in bad Italian, and at last offered to introduce
him to Madame de Lambertini, the widow of one of the Pope's nephews. Her
name, her relationship to the Pope, and the abbe's spontaneous offer,
made me curious to know more, so I said that my friend would accept his
offer, and that I would have the honour to be of the party; whereupon we
set out.
We got down at the door of the supposed niece of the Holy Father in the
Rue Christine, and we proceeded to go upstairs. We saw a woman who,
despite her youthful air, was, I am sure, not a day under forty. She was
rather thin, had fine black eyes, a good complexion, lively but giddy
manners, was a great laugher, and still capable of exciting a passing
fancy. I soon made myself at home with her, and found out, when she began
to talk, that she was neither a widow nor the niece of the Pope. She came
from Modena, and was a mere adventuress. This discovery shewed me what
sort of a man the abbe was.
I thought from his expression that the count had taken a fancy to her,
and when she asked us to dinner I refused on the plea of an engagement;
but Tiretta, who took my meaning, accepted. Soon after I went away with
the abbe, whom I dropped at the Quai de la Ferraille, and I then went to
beg a dinner at Calsabigi's.
After dinner Calsabigi took me on one side, and told me that M. du Vernai
had commissioned him to warn me that I could not dispose of tickets on
account.
"Does M. du Vernai take me for a fool or a knave? As I am neither, I
shall complain to M. de Boulogne."
"You will be wrong; he merely wanted to warn you and not offend you."
"You offend me very much yourself, sir, in talking to me in that fashion;
and you may make up your mind that no one shall talk to me thus a second
time."
Calsabigi did all in his power to quiet me down, and at last persuaded me
to go with him to M. du Vernai's. The worthy old gentleman seeing the
rage I was in apologized to me for what he had said, and told me that a
certain Abbe de la Coste had informed him that I did so. At this I was
highly indignant, and I told him what had happened that morning, which
let M. du Vernai know what kind of a man the abbe was. I never saw him
again, either because he got wind of my discovery, or because a happy
chance kept him out of my way; but I heard, three years after, that he
had been condemned to the hulks for selling tickets of a Trevaux lottery
which was non-existent, and in the hulks he died.
Next day Tiretta came in, and said he had only just returned.
"You have been sleeping out, have you, master profligate?"
"Yes, I was so charmed with the she-pope that I kept her company all the
night."
"You were not afraid of being in the way?"
"On the contrary, I think she was thoroughly satisfied with my
conversation."
"As far as I can see, you had to bring into play all your powers of
eloquence."
"She is so well pleased with my fluency that she has begged me to accept
a room in her house, and to allow her to introduce me as a cousin to M.
le Noir, who, I suppose, is her lover."
"You will be a trio, then; and how do you think you will get on
together?"
"That's her business. She says this gentleman will give me a good
situation in the Inland Revenue."
"Have you accepted her offer?"
"I did not refuse it, but I told her that I could do nothing without your
advice. She entreated me to get you to come to dinner with her on
Sunday."
"I shall be happy to go."
I went with my friend, and as soon as the harebrain saw us she fell on
Tiretta's neck, calling him dear Count "Six-times"--a name which stuck to
him all the time he was at Paris.
"What has gained my friend so fine a title, madam?"
"His erotic achievements. He is lord of an honour of which little is
known in France, and I am desirous of being the lady."
"I commend you for so noble an ambition."
After telling me of his feats with a freedom which chewed her exemption
from vulgar prejudice, she informed me that she wished her cousin to live
in the same house, and had already obtained M. le Noir's permission,
which was given freely.
"M. le Noir," added the fair Lambertini, "will drop in after dinner, and
I am dying to introduce Count 'Sixtimes' to him."
After dinner she kept on speaking of the mighty deeds of my countryman,
and began to stir him up, while he, no doubt, pleased to have a witness
to his exploits, reduced her to silence. I confess that I witnessed the
scene without excitement, but as I could not help seeing the athletic
person of the count, I concluded that he might fare well everywhere with
the ladies.
About three o'clock two elderly women arrived, to whom the Lambertini
eagerly introduced Count "Six-times." In great astonishment they enquired
the origin of his title, and the heroine of the story having whispered it
to them, my friend became an object of interest.
"I can't believe it," said one of these ladies, ogling the count, while
his face seemed to say,
"Would you like to try?"
Shortly after, a coach stopped at the door, and a fat woman of
middle-aged appearance and a very pretty girl were ushered in; after them
came a pale man in a black suit and a long wig. After greeting them in a
manner which implied intimacy, the Pope's niece introduced her cousin
Count "Six-strokes". The elderly woman seemed to be astonished at such a
name, but the Lambertini gave no explanation. Nevertheless, people seemed
to think it rather curious that a man who did not know a word of French
should be living in Paris, and that in spite of his ignorance he
continued to jabber away in an easy manner, though nobody could
understand what he was talking about.
After some foolish conversation, the Pope's niece proposed a game at Loo.
She asked me to play but on my refusing did not make a point of it, but
she insisted on her cousin being her partner.
"He knows nothing about cards," said she; "but that's no matter, he will
learn, and I will undertake to instruct him."
As the girl, by whose beauty I was struck, did not understand the game, I
offered her a seat by the fire, asking her to grant me the honour of
keeping her company, whereupon the elderly woman who had brought her
began to laugh, and said I should have some difficulty in getting her
niece to talk about anything, adding, in a polite manner, that she hoped
I would be lenient with her as she had only just left a convent. I
assured her that I should have no difficulty in amusing myself with one
so amiable, and the game having begun I took up my position near the
pretty niece.
I had been near her for several minutes, and solely occupied in mute
admiration of her beauty, when she asked me who was that handsome
gentleman who talked so oddly.
"He is a nobleman, and a fellow-countryman of mine, whom an affair of
honour has banished from his country."
"He speaks a curious dialect."
"Yes, but the fact is that French is very little spoken in Italy; he will
soon pick it up in Paris, and then he will be laughed at no longer. I am
sorry to have brought him here, for in less than twenty-four hours he was
spoiled."
"How spoiled?"
"I daren't tell you as, perhaps, your aunt would not like it."
"I don't think I should tell her, but, perhaps, I should not have asked."
"Oh, yes! you should; and as you wish to know I will make no mystery of
it. Madame Lambertini took a fancy to him; they passed the night
together, and in token of the satisfaction he gave her she has given him
the ridiculous nickname of 'Count Sixtimes.' That's all. I am vexed about
it, as my friend was no profligate."
Astonishment--and very reasonable astonishment--will be expressed that I
dared to talk in this way to a girl fresh from a convent; but I should
have been astonished myself at the bare idea of any respectable girl
coming to Lambertini's house. I fixed my gaze on my fair companion, and
saw the blush of shame mounting over her pretty face; but I thought that
might have more than one meaning.
Judge of my surprise when, two minutes afterwards, I heard this question:
"But what has 'Sixtimes' got to do with sleeping with Madame Lambertini?"
"My dear young lady, the explanation is perfectly simple: my friend in a
single night did what a husband often takes six weeks to do."
"And you think me silly enough to tell my aunt of what we have been
talking? Don't believe it."
"But there's another thing I am sorry about."
"You shall tell me what that is directly."
The reason which obliged the charming niece to retire for a few minutes
may be guessed without our going into explanations. When she came back
she went behind her aunt's chair, her eyes fixed on Tiretta, and then
came up to me, and taking her seat again, said:
"Now, what else is it that you are sorry about?" her eyes sparkling as
she asked the question.
"May I tell you, do you think?"
"You have said so much already, that I don't think you need have any
scruples in telling me the rest."
"Very good: you must know, then, that this very day and in my presence
he---- -her."
"If that displeased you, you must be jealous."
"Possibly, but the fact is that I was humbled by a circumstance I dare
not tell you."
"I think you are laughing at me with your 'dare not tell you.'"
"God forbid, mademoiselle! I will confess, then, that I was humbled
because Madame Lambertini made me see that my friend was taller than
myself by two inches."
"Then she imposed on you, for you are taller than your friend."
"I am not speaking of that kind of tallness, but another; you know what I
mean, and there my friend is really monstrous."
"Monstrous! then what have you to be sorry about? Isn't it better not to
be monstrous?"
"Certainly; but in the article we are discussing, some women, unlike you,
prefer monstrosity."
"I think that's absurd of them, or rather mad; or perhaps, I have not
sufficiently clear ideas on the subject to imagine what size it would be
to be called monstrous; and I think it is odd that such a thing should
humble you."
"You would not have thought it of me, to see me?"
"Certainly not, for when I came into the room I thought you looked a
well-proportioned man, but if you are not I am sorry for you."
"I won't leave you in doubt on the subject; look for yourself, and tell
me what you think."
"Why, it's you who are the monster! I declare you make me feel quite
afraid."
At this she began to perspire violently, and went behind her aunt's
chair. I did not stir, as I was sure she would soon come back, putting
her down in my own mind as very far removed from silliness or innocence
either. I supposed she wished to affect what she did not possess. I was,
moreover, delighted at having taken the opportunity so well. I had
punished her for having tried to impose on me; and as I had taken a great
fancy to her, I was pleased that she seemed to like her punishment. As
for her possession of wit, there could be no doubt on that point, for it
was she who had sustained the chief part in our dialogue, and my sayings
and doings were all prompted by her questions, and the persevering way in
which she kept to the subject.
She had not been behind her aunt's chair for five minutes when the latter
was looed. She, not knowing whom to attack, turned on her niece and said,
"Get you gone, little silly, you are bringing me bad luck! Besides, it is
bad manners to leave the gentleman who so kindly offered to keep you
company all by himself."
The amiable niece made not answer, and came back to me smiling. "If my
aunt knew," said she, "what you had done to me, she would not have
accused me of bad manners."
"I can't tell you how sorry I am. I want you to have some evidence of my
repentance, but all that I can do is to go. Will you be offended if I
do?"
"If you leave me, my aunt will call me a dreadful stupid, and will say
that I have tired you out."
"Would you like me to stay, then?"
"You can't go."
"Had you no idea what I shewed you was like till just now?"
"My ideas on the subject were inaccurate. My aunt only took me out of the
convent a month ago, and I had been there since I was seven."
"How old are you now?"
"Seventeen. They tried to make me take the veil, but not having any
relish for the fooleries of the cloister I refused."
"Are you vexed with me?"
"I ought to be very angry with you, but I know it was my fault, so I will
only ask you to be discreet."
"Don't be afraid, if I were indiscreet I should be the first to suffer."
"You have given me a lesson which will come in useful. Stop! stop! or I
will go away."
"No, keep quiet; it's done now."
I had taken her pretty hand, with which she let me do as I liked, and at
last when she drew it back she was astonished to find it wanted wiping.
"What is that?"
"The most pleasant of substances, which renovates the world."
"I see you are an excellent master. Your pupils make rapid progress, and
you give your lessons with such a learned air."
"Now don't be angry with me for what has happened. I should never have
dared to go so far if your beauty had not inspired me."
"Am I to take that speech as a declaration of love?"
"Yes, it is bold, sweetheart, but it is sincere. If it were not, I should
be unworthy both of you and of myself."
"Can I believe you?"
"Yes, with all your heart. But tell me if I may hope for your love?"
"I don't know. All I know at present is that I ought to hate you, for in
the space of a quarter of an hour you have taught me what I thought I
should never know till I was married."
"Are you sorry?"
"I ought to be, although I feel that I have nothing more to learn on a
matter which I never dared to think about. But how is it that you have
got so quiet?"
"Because we are talking reasonably and after the rapture love requires
some repose. But look at this!"
"What! again? Is that the rest of the lesson?"
"It is the natural result of it."
"How is it that you don't frighten me now?"
"The soldier gets used to fire."
"I see our fire is going out."
With these words she took up a stick to poke the fire, and as she was
stooping down in a favourable position my rash hand dared to approach the
porch of the temple, and found the door closed in such sort that it would
be necessary to break it open if one wished to enter the sanctuary. She
got up in a dignified way, and told me in a polite and feeling manner
that she was a well-born girl and worthy of respect. Pretending to be
confused I made a thousand excuses, and I soon saw the amiable expression
return to the face which it became so well. I said that in spite of my
repentance I was glad to know that she had never made another man happy.
"Believe me," she said, "that if I make anyone happy it will be my
husband, to whom I have given my hand and heart."
I took her hand, which she abandoned to my rapturous kisses. I had
reached this pleasant stage in the proceedings when M. le Noir was
announced, he having come to enquire what the Pope's niece had to say to
him.
M. le Noir, a man of a certain age and of a simple appearance, begged the
company to remain seated. The Lambertini introduced me to him, and he
asked if I were the artist; but on being informed that I was his elder
brother, he congratulated me on my lottery and the esteem in which M. du
Vernai held me. But what interested him most was the cousin whom the fair
niece of the Pope introduced to him under his real name of Tiretta,
thinking, doubtless, that his new title would not carry much weight with
M. le Noir. Taking up the discourse, I told him that the count was
commanded to me by a lady whom I greatly esteemed, and that he had been
obliged to leave his country for the present on account of an affair of
honour. The Lambertini added that she wished to accommodate him, but had
not liked to do so till she had consulted M. le Noir. "Madam," said the
worthy man, "you have sovereign power in your house, and I shall be
delighted to see the count in your society."
As M. le Noir spoke Italian very well, Tiretta left the table, and we sat
down all four of us by the fire, where my fresh conquest had an
opportunity of shewing her wit. M. le Noir was a man of much intelligence
and great experience. He made her talk of the convent where she had been,
and as soon as he knew her name he began to speak of her father, with
whom he had been well acquainted. He was a councillor of the Parliament
of Rouen, and had enjoyed a great reputation during his lifetime.
My sweetheart was above the ordinary height, her hair was a fine golden
colour, and her regular features, despite the brilliance of her eyes,
expressed candour and modesty. Her dress allowed me to follow all the
lines of her figure, and the eyes dwelt pleasantly on the beauty of her
form, and on the two spheres which seemed to lament their too close
confinement. Although M. le Noir said nothing of all this, it was easy to
see that in his own way he admired her perfections no less than I. He
left us at eight o'clock, and half an hour afterwards the fat aunt went
away followed by her charming niece and the pale man who had come with
them. I lost no time in taking leave with Tiretta, who promised the
Pope's niece to join her on the morrow, which he did.
Three or four days later I received at my office a letter from Mdlle. de
la Meure--the pretty niece. It ran as follows: "Madame, my aunt, my late
mother's sister, is a devotee, fond of gaming, rich, stingy, and unjust.
She does not like me, and not having succeeded in persuading me to take
the veil, she wants to marry me to a wealthy Dunkirk merchant, whom I do
not know, but (mark this) whom she does not know any more than I do. The
matrimonial agent has praised him very much, and very naturally, as a man
must praise his own goods. This gentleman is satisfied with an income of
twelve hundred francs per annum, but he promises to leave me in his will
no less than a hundred and fifty thousand francs. You must know that by
my mother's will my aunt is obliged to pay me on my wedding day
twenty-five thousand crowns.
"If what has taken place between us has not made me contemptible in your
sight, I offer you my hand and heart with sixty-five thousand francs, and
as much more on my aunt's death.
"Don't send me any answer, as I don't know how or by whom to receive your
letter. You can answer me in your own person next Sunday at Madame
Lambertini's. You will thus have four days whereon to consider this most
important question. I do not exactly know whether I love you, but I am
quite sure that I prefer you to any other man. I know that each of us has
still to gain the other's esteem, but I am sure you would make my life a
happy one, and that I should be a faithful wife. If you think that the
happiness I seek can add to your own, I must warn you that you will need
the aid of a lawyer, as my aunt is miserly, and will stick at trifles.
"If you decide in the affirmative you must find a convent for me to take
refuge in before I commit myself to anything, as otherwise I should be
exposed to the harsh treatment I wish to avoid. If, on the other hand, my
proposal does not meet your views, I have one favour to ask by granting
which you will earn my everlasting gratitude. This is that you will
endeavour to see me no more, and will take care not to be present in any
company in which you think I am to be found. Thus you will help me to
forget you, and this is the least you can do for me. You may guess that I
shall never be happy till I have become your wife or have forgotten you.
Farewell! I reckon upon seeing you on Sunday."
This letter affected me. I felt that it was dictated by prudent,
virtuous, and honourable feelings, and I found even more merit in the
intellectual endowments of the girl than in her beauty. I blushed at
having in a manner led her astray, and I should have thought myself
worthy of punishment if I had been capable of refusing the hand offered
to me with so much nobility of feeling. And a second but still a powerful
consideration made me look complacently upon a fortune larger than I
could reasonably expect to win. Nevertheless, the idea of the marriage
state, for which I felt I had no vocation, made me tremble.
I knew myself too well not to be aware that as a married man I should be
unhappy, and, consequently, with the best intentions I should fail in
making the woman's life a happy one. My uncertainty in the four days
which she had wisely left me convinced me that I was not in love with
her. In spite of that, so weak was I that I could not summon up courage
to reject her offer--still less to tell her so frankly, which would have
made her esteem me.
During these four days I was entirely absorbed in this one subject. I
bitterly repented of having outraged her modesty, for I now esteemed and
respected her, but yet I could not make up my mind to repair the wrong I
had done her. I could not bear to incur her dislike, but the idea of
tying myself down was dreadful to me; and such is the condition of a man
who has to choose between two alternatives, and cannot make up his mind.
Fearing lest my evil genius should take me to the opera or elsewhere, and
in spite of myself make me miss my appointment, I resolved to dine with
the Lambertini without having come to any decision. The pious niece of
the Pope was at mass when I reached her house. I found Tiretta engaged in
playing on the flute, but as soon as he saw me he dropped the instrument,
ran up to me, embraced me, and gave me back the money his suit had cost
me.
"I see you are in cash, old fellow; I congratulate you."
"It's a grievous piece of luck to me, for the money is stolen, and I am
sorry I have got it though I was an accomplice in the theft."
"What! the money is stolen?"
"Yes, sharping is done here, and I have been taught to help. I share in
their ill-gotten gains because I have not the strength of mind to refuse.
My landlady and two or three women of the same sort pluck the pigeons.
The business does not suit me, and I am thinking of leaving it. Sooner or
later I shall kill or be killed, and either event will be the death of
me, so I am thinking of leaving this cutthroat place as soon as
possible."
"I advise you--nay, I bid you do so by all means, and I should think you
had better be gone to-day than to-morrow."
"I don't want to do anything suddenly, as M. le Noir is a gentleman and
my friend, and he thinks me a cousin to this wretched woman. As he knows
nothing of the infamous trade she carries on, he would suspect something,
and perhaps would leave her after learning the reason of my departure. I
shall find some excuse or other in the course of the next five or six
days, and then I will make haste and return to you."
The Lambertini thanked me for coming to dinner in a friendly manner, and
told me that we should have the company of Mdlle. de la Meure and her
aunt. I asked her if she was still satisfied with my friend "Sixtimes,"
and she told me that though the count did not always reside on his manor,
she was for all that delighted with him; and said she,
"I am too good a monarch to ask too much of my vassals."
I congratulated her, and we continued to jest till the arrival of the two
other guests.
As soon as Mdlle. de la Meure saw me she could scarcely conceal her
pleasure. She was in half mourning, and looked so pretty in this costume,
which threw up the whiteness of her skin, that I still wonder why that
instant did not determine my fate.
Tiretta, who had been making his toilette, rejoined us, and as nothing
prevented me from shewing the liking I had taken for the amiable girl I
paid her all possible attention. I told the aunt that I found her niece
so pretty that I would renounce my bachelorhood if I could find such a
mate.
"My niece is a virtuous and sweet-tempered 'girl, sir, but she is utterly
devoid either of intelligence or piety."
"Never mind the intelligence," said the niece, "but I was never found
wanting in piety at the convent."
"I dare say the nuns are of the jesuitical party."
"What has that got to do with it, aunt?"
"Very much, child; the Jesuits and their adherents are well known to have
no vital religion. But let us talk of something else. All that I want you
to do is to know how to please your future husband."
"Is mademoiselle about to marry, then?"
"Her intended will probably arrive at the beginning of next month."
"Is he a lawyer?"
"No, sir; he is a well-to-do merchant."
"M. le Noir told me that your niece was the daughter of a councillor, and
I did not imagine that you would sanction her marrying beneath her."
"There will be no question of such a thing in this instance, sir; and,
after all, what is marrying beneath one? My niece's intended is an
honest, and therefore a noble, man, and I am sure it will be her fault if
she does not lead a life of perfect happiness with him."
"Quite so, supposing she loves him."
"Oh! love and all that kind of thing will come in good time, you know."
As these remarks could only give pain to the young lady, who listened in
silence, I changed the conversation to the enormous crowd which would be
present at the execution of Damien, and finding them extremely desirous
of witnessing this horrible sight I offered them a large window with an
excellent view. The ladies accepted with great pleasure, and I promised
to escort them in good time.
I had no such thing as a window, but I knew that in Paris, as everywhere,
money will procure anything. After dinner I went out on the plea of
business, and, taking the first coach I came across, in a quarter of an
hour I succeeded in renting a first floor window in excellent position
for three louis. I paid in advance, taking care to have a receipt.
My business over, I hastened to rejoin the company, and found them
engaged in piquet. Mdlle. de la Meure, who knew nothing about it, was
tired of looking on. I came up to her, and having something to say we
went to the other end of the room.
"Your letter, dearest, has made me the happiest of men. You have
displayed in it such intelligence and such admirable characteristics as
would win you the fervent adoration of every man of good sense."
"I only want one man's love. I will be content with the esteem of the
rest."
"My angel, I will make you my wife, and I shall bless till my latest
breath the lucky audacity to which I owe my being chosen before other men
who would not have refused your hand, even without the fifty thousand
crowns, which are nothing in comparison with your beauty and your wit."
"I am very glad you like me so much."
"Could I do otherwise? And now that you know my heart, do nothing
hastily, but trust in me."
"You will not forget how I am placed."
"I will bear it in mind. Let me have time to take a house, to furnish it
and to put myself in a position in which I shall be worthy of your hand.
You must remember that I am only in furnished apartments; that you are
well connected, and that I should not like to be regarded as a
fortune-hunter."
"You know that my intended husband will soon arrive?"
"Yes, I will take care of that."
"When he does come, you know, matters will be pushed on rapidly."
"Not too rapidly for me to be able to set you free in twenty-four hours,
and without letting your aunt know that the blow comes from me. You may
rest assured, dearest, that the minister for foreign affairs, on being
assured that you wish to marry me, and me only, will get you an
inviolable asylum in the best convent in Paris. He will also retain
counsel on your behalf, and if your mother's will is properly drawn out
your aunt will soon be obliged to hand over your dowry, and to give
security for the rest of the property. Do not trouble yourself about the
matter, but let the Dunkirk merchant come when he likes. At all hazards,
you may reckon upon me, and you may be sure you will not be in your
aunt's house on the day fixed for the wedding."
"I confide in you entirely, but for goodness' sake say no more on a
circumstance which wounds my sense of modesty. You said that I offered
you marriage because you took liberties with me?"
"Was I wrong?"
"Yes, partly, at all events; and you ought to know that if I had not good
reasons I should have done a very foolish thing in offering to marry you,
but I may as well tell you that, liberties or no liberties, I should
always have liked you better than anyone."
I was beside myself with joy, and seizing her hand I covered it with
tender and respectful kisses; and I feel certain that if a notary and
priest had been then and there available, I should have married her
without the smallest hesitation.
Full of each other, like all lovers, we paid no attention to the horrible
racket that was going on at the other end of the room. At last I thought
it my duty to see what was happening, and leaving my intended I rejoined
the company to quiet Tiretta.
I saw on the table a casket, its lid open, and full of all sorts of
jewels; close by were two men who were disputing with Tiretta, who held a
book in one hand. I saw at once that they were talking about a lottery,
but why were they disputing? Tiretta told me they were a pair of knaves
who had won thirty or forty louis of him by means of the book, which he
handed to me.
"Sir," said one of the gamesters, "this book treats of a lottery in which
all the calculations are made in the fairest manner possible. It contains
twelve hundred leaves, two hundred being winning leaves, while the rest
are blanks. Anyone who wants to play has only to pay a crown, and then to
put a pin's point at random between two leaves of the closed book. The
book is then opened at the place where the pin is, and if the leaf is
blank the player loses; but if, on the other hand, the leaf bears a
number, he is given the corresponding ticket, and an article of the value
indicated on the ticket is then handed to him. Please to observe, sir,
that the lowest prize is twelve francs, and there are some numbers worth
as much as six hundred francs, and even one to the value of twelve
hundred. We have been playing for an hour, and have lost several costly
articles, and madam," pointing to my sweetheart's aunt, "has won a ring
worth six louis, but as she preferred cash, she continued playing and
lost the money she had gained."
"Yes," said the aunt, "and these gentlemen have won everybody's money
with their accursed game; which proves it is all a mere cheat."
"It proves they are rogues," said Tiretta.
"But gentlemen," answered one of them, "in that case the receivers of the
Government lottery are rogues too"; whereon Tiretta gave him a box on the
ear. I threw myself between the two combatants, and told them not to
speak a word.
"All lotteries," said I, "are advantageous to the holders, but the king
is at the head of the Government lottery, and I am the principal
receiver, in which character I shall proceed to confiscate this casket,
and give you the choice of the following alternatives: You can, if you
like, return to the persons present the money you have unlawfully won
from them, whereupon I will let you go with your box. If you refuse to do
so, I shall send for a policeman, who will take you to prison, and
to-morrow you will be tried by M. Berier, to whom I shall take this book
in the morning. We shall soon see whether we are rogues as well as they."
Seeing that they had to do with a man of determination, and that
resistance would only result in their losing all, they resolved with as
good a grace as they could muster to return all their winnings, and for
all I know double the sum, for they were forced to return forty louis,
though they swore they had only won twenty. The company was too select
for me to venture to decide between them. In point of fact I was rather
inclined to believe the rascals, but I was angry with them, and I wanted
them to pay a good price for having made a comparison, quite right in the
main, but odious to me in the extreme. The same reason, doubtless,
prevented me from giving them back their book, which I had no earthly
right to keep, and which they asked me in vain to return to them. My
firmness and my threats, and perhaps also the fear of the police, made
them think themselves lucky to get off with their jewel-box. As soon as
they were gone the ladies, like the kindly creatures they were, began to
pity them. "You might have given them back their book," they said to me.
"And you, ladies, might have let them keep their money."
"But they cheated us of it."
"Did they? Well, their cheating was done with the book, and I have done
them a kindness by taking it from them."
They felt the force of my remarks, and the conversation took another
turn.
Early next morning the two gamesters paid me a visit bringing with them
as a bribe a beautiful casket containing twenty-four lovely pieces of
Dresden china. I found this argument irresistible, and I felt obliged to
return them the book, threatening them at the same time with imprisonment
if they dared to carry on their business in Paris for the future. They
promised me to abstain from doing so--no doubt with a mental reservation,
but I cared nothing about that.
I resolved to offer this beautiful gift to Mdlle. de la Meure, and I took
it to her the same day. I had a hearty welcome, and the aunt loaded me
with thanks.
On March the 28th, the day of Damien's martyrdom, I went to fetch the
ladies in good time; and as the carriage would scarcely hold us all, no
objection was made to my taking my sweetheart on my knee, and in this
order we reached the Place de Greve. The three ladies packing themselves
together as tightly as possible took up their positions at the window,
leaning forward on their elbows, so as to prevent us seeing from behind.
The window had two steps to it, and they stood on the second; and in
order to see we had to stand on the same step, for if we had stood on the
first we should not have been able to see over their heads. I have my
reasons for giving these minutiae, as otherwise the reader would have
some difficulty in guessing at the details which I am obliged to pass
over in silence.
We had the courage to watch the dreadful sight for four hours. The
circumstances of Damien's execution are too well known to render it
necessary for me to speak of them; indeed, the account would be too long
a one, and in my opinion such horrors are an offence to our common
humanity.
Damien was a fanatic, who, with the idea of doing a good work and
obtaining a heavenly reward, had tried to assassinate Louis XV.; and
though the attempt was a failure, and he only gave the king a slight
wound, he was torn to pieces as if his crime had been consummated.
While this victim of the Jesuits was being executed, I was several times
obliged to turn away my face and to stop my ears as I heard his piercing
shrieks, half of his body having been torn from him, but the Lambertini
and the fat aunt did not budge an inch. Was it because their hearts were
hardened? They told me, and I pretended to believe them, that their
horror at the wretch's wickedness prevented Them feeling that compassion
which his unheard-of torments should have excited. The fact was that
Tiretta kept the pious aunt curiously engaged during the whole time of
the execution, and this, perhaps, was what prevented the virtuous lady
from moving or even turning her head round.
Finding himself behind her, he had taken the precaution to lift up her
dress to avoid treading on it. That, no doubt, was according to the rule;
but soon after, on giving an involuntary glance in their direction, I
found that Tiretta had carried his precautions rather far, and, not
wishing to interrupt my friend or to make the lady feel awkward, I turned
my head and stood in such a way that my sweetheart could see nothing of
what was going on; this put the good lady at her ease. For two hours
after I heard a continuous rustling, and relishing the joke I kept quiet
the whole time. I admired Tiretta's hearty appetite still more than his
courage, but what pleased me most was the touching resignation with which
the pious aunt bore it all.
At the end of this long session I saw Madame turn round, and doing the
same I fixed my gaze on Tiretta, and found him looking as fresh and cool
as if nothing had happened, but the aunt seemed to me to have a rather
pensive appearance. She had been under the fatal necessity of keeping
quiet and letting Tiretta do what he liked for fear of the Lambertini's
jests, and lest her niece might be scandalized by the revelation of
mysteries of which she was supposed to know nothing.
We set out, and having dropped the Pope's niece at her door, I begged her
to lend me Tiretta for a few hours, and I then took Madame to her house
in the Rue St. Andre-des-Arts. She asked me to come and see her the
following day as she had something to tell me, and I remarked that she
took no notice of my friend as she left us. We went to the "Hotel de
Russie," where they gave you an excellent dinner for six francs a head,
and I thought my mad friend stood in need of recruiting his strength.
"What were you doing behind Madame--?" said I.
"I am sure you saw nothing, or anybody else either."
"No, because when I saw the beginning of your manoeuvres, and guessed
what was coming, I stood in such a way that neither the Lambertini or the
pretty niece could see you. I can guess what your goal was, and I must
say I admire your hearty appetite. But your wretched victim appears to be
rather angry."
"Oh! my dear fellow, that's all the affectation of an old maid. She may
pretend to be put out, but as she kept quiet the whole time I am certain
she would be glad to begin all over again."
"I think so, too, in her heart of hearts; but her pride might suggest
that you had been lacking in respect, and the suggestion would be by no
means groundless."
"Respect, you say; but must one not always be lacking in respect to women
when one wants to come to the point?"
"Quite so, but there's a distinction between what lovers may do when they
are together, and what is proper in the presence of a mixed company."
"Yes, but I snatched four distinct favours from her, without the least
opposition; had I not therefore good reasons for taking her consent for
granted?"
"You reason well, but you see she is out of humour with you. She wants to
speak to me to-morrow, and I have no doubt that you will be the subject
of our conversation."
"Possibly, but still I should think she would not speak to you of the
comic piece of business; it would be very silly of her."
"Why so? You don't know these pious women. They are brought up by
Jesuits, who often give them some good lessons on the subject, and they
are delighted to confess to a third party; and these confessions with a
seasoning of tears gives them in their own eyes quite a halo of
saintliness."
"Well, let her tell you if she likes. We shall see what comes of it."
"Possibly she may demand satisfaction; in which case I shall be glad to
do my best for her."
"You make me laugh! I can't imagine what sort of satisfaction she could
claim, unless she wants to punish me by the 'Lex talionis', which would
be hardly practicable without a repetition of the original offence. If
she had not liked the game, all she had to do was to give me a push which
would have sent me backwards."
"Yes, but that would have let us know what you had been trying to do."
"Well, if it comes to that, the slightest movement would have rendered
the whole process null and void; but as it was she stood in the proper
position as quiet as a lamb; nothing could be easier."
"It's an amusing business altogether. But did you notice that the
Lambertini was angry with you, too? She, perhaps, saw what you were
doing, and felt hurt."
"Oh! she has got another cause of complaint against me. We have fallen
out, and I am leaving her this evening."
"Really?"
"Yes, I will tell you all about it. Yesterday evening, a young fellow in
the Inland Revenue who had been seduced to sup with us by a hussy of
Genoa, after losing forty louis, threw, the cards in the face of my
landlady and called her a thief. On the impulse of the moment I took a
candle and put it out on his face. I might have destroyed one of his
eyes, but I fortunately hit him on the cheek. He immediately ran for his
sword, mine was ready, and if the Genoese had not thrown herself between
us murder might have been committed. When the poor wretch saw his cheek
in the glass, he became so furious that nothing short of the return of
all his money would appease him. They gave it him back, in spite of my
advice, for in doing so they admitted, tacitly at all events, that it had
been won by cheating. This caused a sharp dispute between the Lambertini
and myself after he had gone. She said we should have kept the forty
louis, and nothing would have happened except for my interference, that
it was her and not me whom the young man had insulted. The Genoese added
that if we had kept cool we should have had the plucking of him, but that
God alone knew what he would do now with the mark of the burn on his
face. Tired of the talk of these infamous women, I was about to leave
them, but my landlady began to ride the high horse, and went so far as to
call me a beggar.
"If M. le Noir had not come in just then, she would have had a bad time
of it, as my stick was already in my hand. As soon as they saw him they
told me to hold my tongue, but my blood was up; and turning towards the
worthy man I told him that his mistress had called me a beggar, that she
was a common prostitute, that I was not her cousin, nor in any way
related to her, and that I should leave her that very day. As soon as I
had come to the end of this short and swift discourse, I went out and
shut myself up in my room. In the course of the next two hours I shall go
and fetch my linen, and I hope to breakfast with you to-morrow."
Tiretta did well. His heart was in the right place, and he was wise not
to allow the foolish impulses of youth to plunge him in the sink of
corruption. As long as a man has not committed a dishonourable action, as
long as his heart is sound, though his head may go astray, the path of
duty is still open to him. I should say the same of women if prejudice
were not so strong in their case, and if they were not much more under
the influence of the heart than the head.
After a good dinner washed down by some delicious Sillery we parted, and
I spent the evening in writing. Next morning I did some business, and at
noon went to see the distressed devotee, whom I found at home with her
charming niece. We talked a few minutes about the weather, and she then
told my sweetheart to leave us as she wanted to speak to me. I was
prepared for what was coming and I waited for her to break the silence
which all women of her position observe. "You will be surprised, sir, at
what I am going to tell you, for I have determined to bring before you a
complaint of an unheard-of character. The case is really of the most
delicate nature, and I am impelled to make a confidant of you by the
impression you made on me when I first saw you. I consider you to be a
man of discretion, of honour, and above all a moral man; in short, I
believe you have experienced religion, and if I am making a mistake it
will be a pity, for though I have been insulted I don't lack means of
avenging myself, and as you are his friend you will be sorry for him."
"Is Tiretta the guilty party, madam?"
"The same."
"And what is his crime?"
"He is a villain; he has insulted me in the most monstrous manner."
"I should not have thought him capable of doing so."
"I daresay not, but then you are a moral man."
"But what was the nature of his offence? You may confide in my secrecy."
"I really couldn't tell you, it's quite out of the question; but I trust
you will be able to guess it. Yesterday, during the execution of the
wretched Damien, he strongly abused the position in which he found
himself behind me."
"I see; I understand what you mean; you need say no more. You have cause
for anger, and he is to blame for acting in such a manner. But allow me
to say that the case is not unexampled or even uncommon, and I think you
might make some allowance for the strength of love, the close quarters,
and above all for the youth and passion of the sinner. Moreover, the
offence is one which may be expiated in a number of ways, provided the
parties come to an agreement. Tiretta is young and a perfect gentleman,
he is handsome and at bottom a good fellow; could not a marriage be
arranged?"
I waited for a reply, but perceiving that the injured party kept silence
(a circumstance which seemed to me a good omen) I went on.
"If marriage should not meet your views, we might try a lasting
friendship, in which he could shew his repentance and prove himself
deserving of pardon. Remember, madam, that Tiretta is only a man, and
therefore subject to all the weaknesses of our poor human nature; and
even you have your share of the blame."
"I, sir?"
"Involuntarily, madam, involuntarily; not you but your charms led him
astray. Nevertheless, without this incentive the circumstance would never
have taken place, and I think you should consider your beauty as a
mitigation of the offence."
"You plead your cause well, sir, but I will do you justice and confess
that all your remarks have been characterized by much Christian feeling.
However, you are reasoning on false premises; you are ignorant of his
real crime, yet how should you guess it?"
With this she burst into tears, leading me completely off the scent, and
not knowing what to think.
"He can't have stolen her purse," said I to myself, "as I don't think him
capable of such an action; and if I did I'd blow his brains out."
The afflicted lady soon dried her tears, and went on as follows:
"You are thinking of a deed which one might possibly succeed in
reconciling with reason, and in making amends for; but the crime of which
that brute has been guilty I dare scarcely imagine, as it is almost
enough to drive me mad."
"Good heavens! you can't mean it? This is dreadful; do I hear you
aright?"
"Yes. You are moved, I see, but such are the circumstances of the case.
Pardon my tears, which flow from anger and the shame with which I am
covered."
"Yes, and from outraged religion, too."
"Certainly, certainly. That is the chief source of my grief, and I should
have mentioned it if I had not feared you were not so strongly attached
to religion as myself."
"Nobody, God be praised! could be more strongly attached to religion than
I, and nothing can ever unloose the ties which bind me to it:"
"You will be grieved, then, to hear that I am destined to suffer eternal
punishment, for I must and will be avenged."
"Not so, madam, perish the thought, as I could not become your accomplice
in such a design, and if you will not abandon it at least say nothing to
me on the subject. I will promise you to tell him nothing, although as he
lives with me the sacred laws of hospitality oblige me to give him due
warning."
"I thought he lived with the Lambertini"
"He left her yesterday. The connection between them was a criminal one,
and I have drawn him back from the brink of the precipice."
"You don't mean to say so!"
"Yes, upon my word of honour:"
"You astonish one. This is very edifying. I don't wish the young man's
death, but you must confess he owes me some reparation."
"He does indeed. A charming Frenchwoman is not to be handled in the
Italian manner without signal amends, but I can think of nothing at all
commensurate with the offence. There is only one plan, which I will
endeavour to carry out if you will agree to it."
"What is that?"
"I will put the guilty party in your power without his knowing what is to
happen, and I will leave you alone, so that you can wreak all your wrath
upon him, provided you will allow me to be, unknown to him, in the next
room, as I shall regard myself as responsible for his safety."
"I consent. You will stay in this room, and he must be left in the other
where I shall receive you, but take care he has no suspicion of your
presence."
"He shan't dream of it. He will not even know where I am taking him, for
he must not think that I have been informed of his misdoings. As soon as
we be there, and the conversation becomes general, I shall leave the
room, pretending to be going away."
"When will you bring him? I long to cover him with confusion. I will
make him tremble. I am curious to hear how he will justify himself for
such an offence."
"I can't say, but I think and hope that your presence will make him
eloquent, as I should like to see your differences adjusted."
At one o'clock the Abbe des Forges arrived, and she made me sit down to
dinner with them. This abbe was a pupil of the famous Bishop of Auxerre,
who was still living. I talked so well on the subject of grace, and made
so many quotations from St. Augustine, that the abbe and the devotee took
me for a zealous Jansenista character with which my dress and appearance
did not at all correspond. My sweetheart did not give me a single glance
while the meal was going on, and thinking she had some motives I
abstained from speaking to her.
After dinner, which, by the way, was a very good one, I promised the
offended lady to bring her the culprit bound hand and foot next day,
after the play was over. To put her at her ease I said I should walk, as
I was certain that he would not recognize the house in the dark.
As soon as I saw Tiretta, I began with a seriocomic air to reproach him
for the dreadful crime he had committed on the body of a lady in every
way virtuous and respectable, but the mad fellow began to laugh, and it
would have been waste of time for me to try to stop him.
"What!" said he, "she has had the courage to tell you all?"
"You don't deny the fact, then?"
"If she says it is so, I don't think I can give her the lie, but I am
ready to swear that I don't know how the land lay. In the position I was
in it was impossible for me to say where I took up my dwelling. However,
I will quiet her indignation, as I shall come to the point quickly, and
not let her wait."
"You will ruin the business if you don't take care; be as long as you
can; she will like that best, and it will be to your interest. Don't
hurry yourself, and never mind me, as I am sure to get on all right while
you are changing anger into a softer passion. Remember not to know that I
am in the house, and if you only stay with her a short time (which I
don't think will be the case) take a coach and be off. You know the least
a pious woman like her can do will be to provide me with fire and
company. Don't forget that she is well-born like yourself. These women of
quality are, no doubt, as immoral as any other women, since they are
constructed of the same material, but they like to have their pride
flattered by certain attentions. She is rich, a devote, and, what is
more, inclined to pleasure; strive to gain her friendship 'faciem ad
faciem', as the King of Prussia says. You may, perhaps, make your
fortune."
"If she asks you why you have left the Pope's niece, take care not to
tell her the reason. She will be pleased with your discretion. In short,
do your best to expiate the enormity of your offence."
"I have only to speak the truth. I went in in the dark."
"That's an odd reason, but it may seem convincing to a Frenchwoman."
I need not tell the reader that I gave Tiretta a full account of my
conversation with the lady. If any complain of this breach of honour, I
must tell them that I had made a mental reservation not to keep my
promise, and those who are acquainted with the morality of the children
of Ignatius will understand that I was completely at my ease.
Next day we went to the opera, and afterwards, our plans made out, we
walked to the house of the insulted and virtuous lady. She received us
with great dignity, but yet there was an agreeable undercurrent in her
voice and manner which I thought very promising.
"I never take supper," she said, "but if you had forewarned me of your
visit I should have got something for you:"
After telling her all the news I had heard in the theatre, I pretended to
be obliged to go, and begged her to let me leave the count with her for a
few minutes.
"If I am more than a quarter of an hour," said I to the count, "don't
wait. Take a coach home and we shall see each other to-morrow."
Instead of going downstairs I went into the next room, and two minutes
after who should enter but my sweetheart, who looked charmed and yet
puzzled at my appearance.
"I think I must be dreaming," said she, "but my aunt has charged me not
to leave you alone, and to tell her woman not to come upstairs unless she
rings the bell. Your friend is with her, and she told me to speak low as
he is not to know that you are here. What does it all mean?"
"You are curious, are you?"
"I confess I am in this instance, for all this mystery seems designed to
excite curiosity."
"Dearest, you shall know all; but how cold it is."
"My aunt has told me to make a good fire, she has become liberal or
rather lavish all of a sudden; look at the wax candles."
"That's a new thing, is it?"
"Oh, quite new."
As soon as we were seated in front of the fire I began to tell her the
story, to which she listened with all the attention a young girl can give
to such a matter; but as I had thought it well to pass over some of the
details, she could not properly understand what crime it was that Tiretta
had committed. I was not sorry to be obliged to tell her the story in
plain language, and to give more expression I employed the language of
gesture, which made her blush and laugh at the same time. I then told her
that, having taken up the question of the reparation that was due to her
aunt, I had so arranged matters that I was certain of being alone with
her all the time my friend was engaged. Thereupon I began to cover her
pretty face with kisses, and as I allowed myself no other liberties she
received my caresses as a proof of the greatness of my love and the
purity of my feelings.
"Dearest," she said, "what you say puzzles me; there are two things which
I can't understand. How could Tiretta succeed in committing this crime
with my aunt, which I think would only be possible with the consent of
the party attacked, but quite impossible without it; and this makes me
believe that if the thing was done it was done with her hearty good
will."
"Very true, for if she did not like it she had only to change her
position."
"Not so much as that; she need only have kept the door shut."
"There, sweetheart, you are wrong, for a properly-made man only asks you
to keep still and he will overcome all obstacles. Moreover, I don't
expect that your aunt's door is so well shut as yours."
"I believe that I could defy all the Tirettas in the world.
"There's another thing I don't understand, and that is how my blessed
aunt came to tell you all about it; for if she had any sense she might
have known that it would only make you laugh. And what satisfaction does
she expect to get from a brute like that, who possibly thinks the affair
a matter of no consequence. I should think he would do the same to any
woman who occupied the same position as my aunt."
"You are right, for he told me he went in like a blind man, not knowing
where he was going."
"Your friend is a queer fellow, and if other men are like him I am sure I
should have no feeling but contempt for them."
"She has told me nothing about the satisfaction she is thinking of, and
which she possibly feels quite sure of attaining; but I think I can guess
what it will be namely, a formal declaration of love; and I suppose he
will expiate his crime by becoming her lover, and doubtless this will be
their wedding night."
"The affair is getting amusing. I can't believe it. My dear aunt is too
anxious about her salvation; and how do you imagine the young man can
ever fall in love with her, or play the part with such a face as hers
before his eyes. Have you ever seen a countenance as disgusting as my
aunt's? Her skin is covered with pimples, her eyes distil humours, and
her teeth and breath are enough to discourage any man. She's hideous."
"All that is nothing to a young spark of twenty-five; one is always ready
for an assault at that age; not like me who only feel myself a man in
presence of charms like yours, of which I long to be the lawful
possessor."
"You will find me the most affectionate of wives, and I feel quite sure
that I shall have your heart in such good keeping that I shall never be
afraid of losing it."
We had talked thus pleasantly for an hour, and Tiretta was still with the
aunt. I thought things pointed towards a reconciliation, and judged the
matter was getting serious. I told my sweetheart my opinion, and asked
her to give me something to eat.
"I can only give you," said she, "some bread and cheese, a slice of ham,
and some wine which my aunt pronounces excellent."
"Bring them quick, then; I am fainting with hunger."
She soon laid the table for two, and put on it all the food she had. The
cheese was Roquefort, and the ham had been covered with jelly. About ten
persons with reasonable appetites should have been able to sup on what
there was; but (how I know not) the whole disappeared, and also two
bottles of Chambertin, which I seem to taste now. My sweetheart's eyes
gleamed with pleasure: truly Chambertin and Roquefort are excellent
thinks to restore an old love and to ripen a young one.
"Don't you want to know what your aunt has been doing the last two hours
with M. Sixtimes?"
"They are playing, perhaps; but there is a small hole in the wall, and I
will look and see. I can only see the two candles, and the wicks are an
inch long."
"Didn't I say so? Give me a coverlet and I will sleep on the sofa here,
and do you go to bed. But let me look at it first:"
She made me come into her little room, where I saw a pretty bed, a prayer
desk, and a large crucifix.
"Your bed is too small for you, dear heart."
"Oh, not at all! I am very comfortable"; and so saying she laid down at
full length.
"What a beautiful wife I shall have! Nay, don't move, let me look at you
so." My hand began to press the bosom of her dress, where were imprisoned
two spheres which seemed to lament their captivity. I went farther, I
began to untie strings . . . for where does desire stop short?
"Sweetheart, I cannot resist, but you will not love me afterwards."
"I will always love you:"
Soon her beautiful breasts were exposed to my burning kisses. The flame
of my love lit another in her heart, and forgetting her former self she
opened her arms to me, making me promise not to despise her, and what
would one not promise! The modesty inherent in the sex, the fear of
results, perhaps a kind of instinct which reveals to them the natural
faithlessness of men make women ask for such promises, but what mistress,
if really amorous, would even think of asking her lover to respect her in
the moment of delirious ecstacy, when all one's being is centred on the
fulfilment of desire?
After we had passed an hour in these amorous toyings, which set my
sweetheart on fire, her charms having never before been exposed to the
burning lips or the free caresses of a man, I said to her,
"I grieve to leave you without having rendered to your beauty the
greatest homage which it deserves so well."
A sigh was her only answer.
It was cold, the fire was out, and I had to spend the night on the sofa.
"Give me a coverlet, dearest, that I may go away from you, for I should
die here between love and cold if you made me abstain."
"Lie where I have been, sweetheart. I will get up and rekindle the fire."
She got up in all her naked charms, and as she put a stick to the fire
the flame leapt up; I rose, I found her standing so as to display all her
beauties, and I could refrain no longer. I pressed her to my heart, she
returned my caresses, and till day-break we gave ourselves up to an
ecstacy of pleasure.
We had spent four or five delicious hours on the sofa. She then left me,
and after making a good fire she went to her room, and I remained on the
sofa and slept till noon. I was awakened by Madame, who wore a graceful
undress.
"Still asleep, M. Casanova?"
"Ah! good morning, madam, good morning. And what has become of my
friend?"
"He has become mine, I have forgiven him."
"What has he done to be worthy of so generous a pardon?"
"He proved to me that he made a mistake."
"I am delighted to hear it; where is he?"
"He has gone home, where you will find him; but don't say anything about
your spending the night here, or he will think it was spent with my
niece. I am very much obliged to you for what you have done, and I have
only to ask you to be discreet."
"You can count on me entirely, for I am grateful to you for having
forgiven my friend."
"Who would not do so? The dear young man is something more than mortal.
If you knew how he loved me! I am grateful to him, and I have taken him
to board for a year; he will be well lodged, well fed, and so on."
"What a delightful plan! You have arranged the terms, I suppose."
"All that will be settled in a friendly way, and we shall not need to
have recourse to arbitration. We shall set out to-day for Villette, where
I have a nice little house; for you know that it is necessary, at first,
to act in such a way as to give no opportunity to slanderers. My lover
will have all he wants, and whenever you, sir, honour us with your
presence you will find a pretty room and a good bed at your disposal. All
I am sorry for is that you will find it tedious; my poor niece is so
dull."
"Madam, your niece is delightful; she gave me yesterday evening an
excellent supper and kept me company till three o'clock this morning."
"Really? I can't make it out how she gave you anything, as there was
nothing in the house."
"At any rate, madam, she gave me an excellent supper, of which there are
no remains, and after keeping me company she went to bed, and I have had
a good night on this comfortable sofa."
"I am glad that you, like myself, were pleased with everything, but I did
not think my niece so clever."
"She is very clever, madam--in my eyes, at all events:"
"Oh, sir! you are a judge of wit, let us go and see her. She has locked
her door. Come open the door, why have you shut yourself up, you little
prude? what are you afraid of. My Casanova is incapable of hurting you."
The niece opened her door and apologized for the disorder of her dress,
but what costume could have suited her better? Her costume was dazzling."
"There she is," said the aunt, "and she is not so bad looking after all,
but it is a pity she is so stupid. You were very right to give this
gentleman a supper. I am much obliged to you for doing so. I have been
playing all night, and when one is playing one only thinks of the game. I
have determined on taking young Tiretta to board with us. He is an
excellent and clever young man, and I am sure he will learn to speak
French before long. Get dressed, my dear, as we must begin to pack. We
shall set out this afternoon for Villette, and shall spend there the
whole of the spring. There is no need, you know, to say anything about
this to my sister:"
"I, aunt? Certainly not. Did I ever tell her anything on the other
occasions?"
"Other occasions! You see what a silly girl it is. Do you mean by 'other
occasions,' that I have been circumstanced like this before?"
"No, aunt. I only meant to say that I had never told her anything of what
you did."
"That's right, my dear, but you must learn to express yourself properly.
We dine at two, and I hope to have the pleasure of M. Casanova's company
at dinner; we will start immediately after the meal. Tiretta promised to
bring his small portmanteau with him, and it will go with our luggage."
After promising to dine with them, I bade the ladies good-bye; and I went
home as fast as I could walk, for I was as curious as a woman to know
what arrangements had been made.
"Well," said I to Tiretta, "I find you have got a place. Tell me all
about it."
"My dear fellow, I have sold myself for a year. My pay is to be
twenty-five louis a month, a good table, good lodging, etc., etc."
"I congratulate you."
"Do you think it is worth the trouble?"
"There's no rose without a thorn. She told me you were something more
than mortal."
"I worked hard all night to prove it to her; but I am quite sure your
time was better employed than mine."
"I slept like a king. Dress yourself, as I am coming to dinner, and I
want to see you set out for Villette. I shall come and see you there now
and then, as your sweetheart has told me that a room shall be set apart
for my convenience."
We arrived at two o'clock. Madame dressed in a girlish style presented a
singular appearance, but Mdlle. de la Meure's beauty shone like a star.
Love and pleasure had given her a new life, a new being. We had a capital
dinner, as the good lady had made the repast dainty like herself; but in
the dishes there was nothing absurd, while her whole appearance was comic
in the highest degree. At four they all set out, and I spent my evening
at the Italian comedy.
I was in love with Mdlle. de la Meure, but Silvia's daughter, whose
company at supper was all I had of her, weakened a love which now left
nothing more to desire.
We complain of women who, though loving us and sure of our love, refuse
us their favours; but we are wrong in doing so, for if they love they
have good reason to fear lest they lose us in the moment of satisfying
our desires. Naturally they should do all in their power to retain our
hearts, and the best way to do so is to cherish our desire of possessing
them; but desire is only kept alive by being denied: enjoyment kills it,
since one cannot desire what one has got. I am, therefore, of opinion
that women are quite right to refuse us. But if it be granted that the
passions of the two sexes are of equal strength, how comes it that a man
never refuses to gratify a woman who loves him and entreats him to be
kind?
We cannot receive the argument founded on the fear of results, as that is
a particular and not a general consideration. Our conclusion, then, will
be that the reason lies in the fact that a man thinks more of the
pleasure he imparts than that which he receives, and is therefore eager
to impart his bliss to another. We know, also, that, as a general rule,
women, when once enjoyed, double their love and affection. On the other
hand, women think more of the pleasure they receive than of that which
they impart, and therefore put off enjoyment as long as possible, since
they fear that in giving themselves up they lose their chief good--their
own pleasure. This feeling is peculiar to the sex, and is the only cause
of coquetry, pardonable in a woman, detestable in a man.
Silvia's daughter loved me, and she knew I loved her, although I had
never said so, but women's wit is keen. At the same time she endeavoured
not to let me know her feelings, as she was afraid of encouraging me to
ask favours of her, and she did not feel sure of her strength to refuse
them; and she knew my inconstant nature. Her relations intended her for
Clement, who had been teaching her the clavichord for the last three
years. She knew of the arrangement and had no objection, for though she
did not love him she liked him very well. Most girls are wedded without
love, and they are not sorry for it afterwards. They know that by
marriage they become of some consequence in the world, and they marry to
have a house of their own and a good position in society. They seem to
know that a husband and a lover need not be synonymous terms. At Paris
men are actuated by the same views, and most marriages are matters of
convenience. The French are jealous of their mistresses, but never of
their wives.
There could be no doubt that M. Clement was very much in love, and Mdlle.
Baletti was delighted that I noticed it, as she thought this would bring
me to a declaration, and she was quite right. The departure of Mdlle. de
la Meure had a good deal to do with my determination to declare myself;
and I was very sorry to have done so afterwards, for after I had told her
I loved her Clement was dismissed, and my position was worse than before.
The man who declares his love for a woman in words wants to be sent to
school again.
Three days after the departure of Tiretta, I took him what small
belongings he had, and Madame seemed very glad to see me. The Abbe des
Forges arrived just as we were sitting down to dinner, and though he had
been very friendly to me at Paris he did not so much as look at me all
through the meal, and treated Tiretta in the same way. I, for my part,
took no notice of him, but Tiretta, not so patient as I, at last lost his
temper and got up, begging Madame to tell him when she was going to have
that fellow to dine with her. We rose from table without saying a word,
and the silent abbe went with madam into another room.
Tiretta took me to see his room, which was handsomely furnished, and, as
was right, adjoined his sweetheart's. Whilst he was putting his things in
order, Mdlle. de la Meure made me come and see my apartment. It was a
very nice room on the ground floor, and facing hers. I took care to point
out to her how easily I could pay her a visit after everyone was in bed,
but she said we should not be comfortable in her room, and that she would
consequently save me the trouble of getting out of bed. It will be
guessed that I had no objections to make to this arrangement.
She then told me of her aunt's folly about Tiretta.
"She believes," said she, "that we do not know he sleeps with her."
"Believes, or pretends to believe."
"Possibly. She rang for me at eleven o'clock this morning and told me to
go and ask him what kind of night he had passed. I did so, but seeing his
bed had not been slept in I asked him if he had not been to sleep.
"'No,' said he, 'I have been writing all night, but please don't say
anything about it to your aunt: I promised with all my heart to be as
silent as the grave."
"Does he make sheep's eyes at you?"
"No, but if he did it would be all the same. Though he is not over sharp
he knows, I think, what I think of him."
"Why have you such a poor opinion of him?"
"Why? My aunt pays him. I think selling one's self is a dreadful idea."
"But you pay me."
"Yes, but in the same coin as you give me."
The old aunt was always calling her niece stupid, but on the contrary I
thought her very clever, and as virtuous as clever. I should never have
seduced her if she had not been brought up in a convent.
I went back to Tiretta, and had some pleasant conversation with him. I
asked him how he liked his place.
"I don't like it much, but as it costs me nothing I am not absolutely
wretched."
"But her face!"
"I don't look at it, and there's one thing I like about her--she is so
clean."
"Does she take good care of you?"
"O yes, she is full of feeling for me. This morning she refused the
greeting I offered her. 'I am sure,' said she, 'that my refusal will pain
you, but your health is so dear to me that I feel bound to look after
it."
As soon as the gloomy Abbe des Forges was gone and Madame was alone, we
rejoined her. She treated me as her gossip, and played the timid child
for Tiretta's benefit, and he played up to her admirably, much to my
admiration.
"I shall see no more of that foolish priest," said she; "for after
telling me that I was lost both in this world and the next he threatened
to abandon me, and I took him at his word."
An actress named Quinault, who had left the stage and lived close by,
came to call, and soon after Madame Favart and the Abbe de Voisenon
arrived, followed by Madame Amelin with a handsome lad named Calabre,
whom she called her nephew. He was as like her as two peas, but she did
not seem to think that a sufficient reason for confessing she was his
mother. M. Patron, a Piedmontese, who also came with her, made a bank at
faro and in a couple of hours won everybody's money with the exception of
mine, as I knew better than to play. My time was better occupied in the
company of my sweet mistress. I saw through the Piedmontese, and had put
him down as a knave; but Tiretta was not so sharp, and consequently lost
all the money he had in his pockets and a hundred louis besides. The
banker having reaped a good harvest put down the cards, and Tiretta told
him in good Italian that he was a cheat, to which the Piedmontese replied
with the greatest coolness that he lied. Thinking that the quarrel might
have an unpleasant ending, I told him that Tiretta was only jesting, and
I made my friend say so, too. He then left the company and went to his
room.
Eight years afterwards I saw this Patron at St. Petersburg, and in the
year 1767 he was assassinated in Poland.
The same evening I preached Tiretta a severe yet friendly sermon. I
pointed out to him that when he played he was at the mercy of the banker,
who might be a rogue but a man of courage too, and so in calling him a
cheat he was risking his life.
"Am I to let myself be robbed, then?"
"Yes, you have a free choice in the matter; nobody will make you play."
"I certainly will not pay him that hundred louis."
"I advise you to do so, and to do so before you are asked."
"You have a knack of persuading one to do what you will, even though one
be disposed to take no notice of your advice."
"That's because I speak from heart and head at once, and have some
experience in these affairs as well."
Three quarters of an hour afterwards I went to bed and my mistress came
to me before long. We spent a sweeter night than before, for it is often
a matter of some difficulty to pluck the first flower; and the price
which most men put on this little trifle is founded more on egotism than
any feeling of pleasure.
Next day, after dining with the family and admiring the roses on my
sweetheart's cheeks, I returned to Paris. Three or four days later
Tiretta came to tell me that the Dunkirk merchant had arrived, that he
was coming to dine at Madame's, and that she requested me to make one of
the party. I was prepared for the news, but the blood rushed into my
face. Tiretta saw it, and to a certain extent divined my feelings. "You
are in love with the niece," said he.
"Why do you think so?"
"By the mystery you make about her; but love betrays itself even by its
silence."
"You are a knowing fellow, Tiretta. I will come to dinner, but don't say
a word to anybody."
My heart was rent in twain. Possibly if the merchant had put off his
arrival for a month I should have welcomed it; but to have only just
lifted the nectar to my lips, and to see the precious vessel escape from
my hands! To this day I can recall my feelings, and the very recollection
is not devoid of bitterness.
I was in a fearful state of perplexity, as I always was whenever it was
necessary for me to resolve, and I felt that I could not do so. If the
reader has been placed in the same position he will understand my
feelings. I could not make up my mind to consent to her marrying, nor
could I resolve to wed her myself and gain certain happiness.
I went to Villette and was a little surprised to find Mdlle. de la Meure
more elaborately dressed than usual.
"Your intended," I said, "would have pronounced you charming without all
that."
"My aunt doesn't think so"
"You have not seen him yet?"
"No, but I should like to, although I trust with your help never to
become his wife."
Soon after, she arrived with Corneman, the banker, who had been the agent
in this business transaction. The merchant was a fine man, about forty,
with a frank and open face. His dress was good though not elaborate. He
introduced himself simply but in a polite manner to Madame, and he did
not look at his future wife till the aunt presented her to him. His
manner immediately became more pleasing; and without making use of
flowers of speech he said in a very feeling way that he trusted the
impression he had made on her was equal to that which she had made on
him. Her only answer was a low curtsy, but she studied him carefully.
Dinner was served, and in the course of the meal we talked of almost
everything--except marriage. The happy pair only caught each other's eyes
by chance, and did not speak to one another. After dinner Mdlle. de la
Meure went to her room, and the aunt went into her closet with the banker
and the merchant, and they were in close conversation for two hours. At
the end of that time the gentlemen were obliged to return to Paris, and
Madame, after summoning her niece, told the merchant she would expect him
to dinner on the day following, and that she was sure that her niece
would be glad to see him again.
"Won't you, my dear?"
"Yes, aunt, I shall be very glad to see the gentleman again."
If she had not answered thus, the merchant would have gone away without
hearing his future bride speak.
"Well," said the aunt, "what do you think of your husband?"
"Allow me to put off my answer till to-morrow; but be good enough, when
we are at table, to draw me into the conversation, for it is very
possible that my face has not repelled him, but so far he knows nothing
of my mental powers; possibly my want of wit may destroy any slight
impression my face may have made."
"Yes, I am afraid you will begin to talk nonsense, and make him lose the
good opinion he seems to have formed of you."
"It is not right to deceive anybody. If he is disabused of his fictitious
ideas by the appearance of the truth, so much the better for him; and so
much the worse for both of us, if we decide on marrying without the
slightest knowledge of each other's habits and ways of thought."
"What do you think of him?"
"I think he is rather nice-looking, and his manners are kind and polite;
but let us wait till to-morrow."
"Perhaps he will have nothing more to say to me; I am so stupid."
"I know very well that you think yourself very clever, and that's where
your fault lies; it's your self-conceit which makes you stupid, although
M. Casanova takes you for a wit."
"Perhaps he may know what he is talking about."
"My poor dear, he is only laughing at you."
"I have good reasons for thinking otherwise, aunt."
"There you go; you will never get any sense."
"Pardon me, madam, if I cannot be of your opinion. Mademoiselle is quite
right in saying that I do not laugh at her. I dare to say that to-morrow
she will shine in the conversation."
"You think so? I am glad to hear it. Now let us have a game at piquet,
and I will play against you and my niece, for she must learn the game."
Tiretta asked leave of his darling to go to the play, and we played on
till supper-time. On his return, Tiretta made us almost die of laughing
with his attempts to tell us in his broken French the plot of the play he
had seen.
I had been in my bedroom for a quarter of an hour, expecting to see my
sweetheart in some pretty kind of undress, when all of a sudden I saw her
come in with all her clothes on. I was surprised at this circumstance,
and it seemed to me of evil omen.
"You are astonished to see me thus," said she, "but I want to speak to
you for a moment, and then I will take off my clothes. Tell me plainly
whether I am to consent to this marriage or no?"
"How do you like him?"
"Fairly well."
"Consent, then!"
"Very good; farewell! From this moment our love ends, and our friendship
begins. Get you to bed, and I will go and do the same. Farewell!"
"No, stay, and let our friendship begin to-morrow."
"Not so, were my refusal to cost the lives of both of us. You know what
it must cost me to speak thus, but it is my irrevocable determination. If
I am to become another's wife, I must take care to be worthy of him;
perhaps I may be happy. Do not hold me, let me go. You know how well I
love you."
"At least, let us have one final embrace."
"Alas! no."
"You are weeping."
"No, I am not. In God's name let me go."
"Dear heart, you go but to weep in your chamber; stay here. I will marry
you."
"Nay, no more of that."
With these words she made an effort, escaped from my hands, and fled from
the room. I was covered with shame and regret, and could not sleep. I
hated myself, for I knew not whether I had sinned most grievously in
seducing her or in abandoning her to another.
I stayed to dinner next day in spite of my heartbreak and my sadness.
Mdlle. de la Meure talked so brilliantly and sensibly to her intended
that one could easily see he was enchanted with her. As for me, feeling
that I had nothing pleasant to say, I pretended to have the toothache as
an excuse for not talking. Sick at heart, absent-minded, and feeling the
effects of a sleepless night, I was well-nigh mad with love, jealousy,
and despair. Mdlle. de la Meure did not speak to me once, did not so much
as look at me. She was quite right, but I did not think so then. I
thought the dinner would never come to an end, and I do not think I was
ever present at so painful a meal.
As we rose from the table, Madame went into her closet with her niece and
nephew that was to be, and the niece came out in the course of an hour
and bade us congratulate her, as she was to be married in a week, and
after the wedding she would accompany her husband to Dunkirk.
"To-morrow," she added, "we are all to dine with M. Corneman, where the
deed of settlement will be signed."
I cannot imagine how it was I did not fall dead on the spot. My anguish
cannot be expressed.
Before long it was proposed that we should go to the play, but excusing
myself on the plea of business I returned to Paris. As I got to my door I
seemed to be in a fever, and I lay down on my bed, but instead of the
rest I needed I experienced only remorse and fruitless repentance-the
torments of the damned. I began to think it was my duty to stop the
marriage or die. I was sure that Mdlle. de la Meure loved me, and I
fancied she would not say no if I told her that her refusal to marry me
would cost me my life. Full of that idea I rose and wrote her a letter,
strong with all the strength of tumultuous passion. This was some relief,
and getting into bed I slept till morning. As soon as I was awake I
summoned a messenger and promised him twelve francs if he would deliver
my letter, and report its receipt in an hour and a half. My letter was
under cover of a note addressed to Tiretta, in which I told him that I
should not leave the house till I had got an answer. I had my answer four
hours after; it ran as follows: "Dearest, it is too late; you have
decided on my destiny, and I cannot go back from my word. Come to dinner
at M. Corneman's, and be sure that in a few weeks we shall be
congratulating ourselves on having won a great victory. Our love, crowned
all too soon, will soon live only in our memories. I beg of you to write
to me no more."
Such was my fate. Her refusal, with the still more cruel charge not to
write to her again, made me furious. In it I only saw inconstancy. I
thought she had fallen in love with the merchant. My state of mind may be
judged from the fact that I determined to kill my rival. The most savage
plans, the most cruel designs, ran a race through my bewildered brain. I
was jealous, in love, a different being from my ordinary self; anger,
vanity, and shame had destroyed my powers of reasoning. The charming girl
whom I was forced to admire, whom I should have esteemed all the more for
the course she had taken, whom I had regarded as an angel, became in my
eyes a hateful monster, a meet object for punishment. At last I
determined on a sure method of revenge, which I knew to be both
dishonourable and cowardly, but in my blind passion I did not hesitate
for a moment. I resolved to go to the merchant at M. Corneman's, where he
was staying, to tell him all that had passed between the lady and myself,
and if that did not make him renounce the idea of marrying her I would
tell him that one of us must die, and if he refused my challenge I
determined to assassinate him.
With this terrible plan in my brain, which makes me shudder now when I
think of it, I ate with the appetite of a wild beast, lay down and slept
till day. I was in the same mind when I awoke, and dressed myself hastily
yet carefully, put two good pistols in my pocket and went to M.
Corneman's. My rival was still asleep; I waited for him, and for a
quarter of an hour my thoughts only grew more bitter and my determination
more fixed. All at once he came into the room, in his dressing-gown, and
received me with open arms, telling me in the kindest of voices that he
had been expecting me to call, as he could guess what feelings I, a
friend of his future wife's, could have for him, and saying that his
friendship for me should always be as warm as hers. His honest open face,
his straightforward words, overwhelmed me, and I was silent for a few
minutes--in fact I did not know what to say. Luckily he gave me enough
time to recollect myself, as he talked on for a quarter of an hour
without noticing that I did not open my lips.
M. Corneman then came in; coffee was served, and my speech returned to
me; but I am happy to say I refrained from playing the dishonourable part
I had intended; the crisis was passed.
It may be remarked that the fiercest spirits are like a cord stretched
too tight, which either breaks or relaxes. I have known several persons
of that temperament--the Chevalier L----, amongst others, who in a fit of
passion used to feel his soul escaping by every pore. If at the moment
when his anger burst forth he was able to break something and make a
great noise, he calmed down in a moment; reason resumed her sway, and the
raging lion became as mild as a lamb.
After I had taken a cup of coffee, I felt myself calmed but yet dizzy in
the head, so I bade them good morning and went out. I was astonished but
delighted that I had not carried my detestable scheme into effect. I was
humbled by being forced to confess to myself that chance and chance alone
had saved me from becoming a villain. As I was reflecting on what had
happened I met my brother, and he completed my cure. I took him to dine
at Silvia's and stayed there till midnight. I saw that Mdlle. Baletti
would make me forget the fair inconstant, whom I wisely determined not to
see again before the wedding. To make sure I set out the next day for
Versailles, to look after my interests with the Government.
CHAPTER II
The Abby de la Ville--The Abby Galiani--The Neapolitan
Dialect--I Set Out for Dunkirk on a Secret Mission--
I Succeed--I Return to Paris by Amiens--My Adventure by the
Way--M. de la Bretonniere--My Report Gives Satisfaction--
I Am Paid Five Hundred Louis--Reflections.
A new career was opening before me. Fortune was still my friend, and I
had all the necessary qualities to second the efforts of the blind
goddess on my behalf save one--perseverance. My immoderate life of
pleasure annulled the effect of all my other qualities.
M. de Bernis received me in his usual manner, that is more like a friend
than a minister. He asked me if I had any inclination for a secret
mission.
"Have I the necessary talents?"
"I think so."
"I have an inclination for all honest means of earning a livelihood, and
as for my talents I will take your excellency's opinion for granted."
This last observation made him smile, as I had intended.
After a few words spoken at random on the memories of bygone years which
time had not entirely defaced, the minister told me to go to the Abbe de
la Ville and use his name.
This abbe, the chief permanent official of the foreign office, was a man
of cold temperament, a profound diplomatist, and the soul of the
department, and high in favour with his excellency the minister. He had
served the state well as an agent at The Hague, and his grateful king
rewarded him by giving him a bishopric on the day of his death. It was a
little late, but kings have not always sufficient leisure to remember
things. His heir was a wealthy man named Gamier, who had formerly been
chief cook at M. d'Argenson's, and had become rich by profiting by the
friendship the Abbe de la Ville had always had for him. These two
friends, who were nearly of the same age, had deposited their wills in
the hands of the same attorney, and each had made the other his residuary
legatee.
After the abbe had delivered a brief discourse on the nature of secret
missions and the discretion necessary to those charged with them, he told
me that he would let me know when anything suitable for me presented
itself.
I made the acquaintance of the Abbe Galiani, the secretary of the
Neapolitan Embassy. He was a brother to the Marquis de Galiani, of whom I
shall speak when we come to my Italian travels. The Abbe Galiani was a
man of wit. He had a knack of making the most serious subjects appear
comic; and being a good talker, speaking French with the ineradicable
Neapolitan accent, he was a favourite in every circle he cared to enter.
The Abbe de la Ville told him that Voltaire had complained that his
Henriade had been translated into Neapolitan verse in such sort that it
excited laughter.
"Voltaire is wrong," said Galiani, "for the Neapolitan dialect is of such
a nature that it is impossible to write verses in it that are not
laughable. And why should he be vexed; he who makes people laugh is sure
of being beloved. The Neapolitan dialect is truly a singular one; we have
it in translations of the Bible and of the Iliad, and both are comic."
"I can imagine that the Bible would be, but I should not have thought
that would have been the case with the Iliad."
"It is, nevertheless."
I did not return to Paris till the day before the departure of Mdlle. de
la Meure, now Madame P----. I felt in duty bound to go and see her, to
give her my congratulations, and to wish her a pleasant journey. I found
her in good spirits and quite at her ease, and, far from being vexed at
this, I was pleased, a certain sign that I was cured. We talked without
the slightest constraint, and I thought her husband a perfect gentleman.
He invited us to visit him at Dunkirk, and I promised to go without
intending to do so, but the fates willed otherwise.
Tiretta was now left alone with his darling, who grew more infatuated
with her Strephon every day, so well did he prove his love for her.
With a mind at ease, I now set myself to sentimentalize with Mdlle.
Baletti, who gave me every day some new mark of the progress I was
making.
The friendship and respect I bore her family made the idea of seduction
out of the question, but as I grew more and more in love with her, and
had no thoughts of marriage, I should have been puzzled to say at what
end I was aiming, so I let myself glide along the stream without thinking
where I was going.
In the beginning of May the Abbe de Bernis told me to come and call on
him at Versailles, but first to see the Abbe de la Ville. The first
question the abbe asked me was whether I thought myself capable of paying
a visit to eight or ten men-of-war in the roads at Dunkirk, of making the
acquaintance of the officers, and of completing a minute and
circumstantial report on the victualling, the number of seamen, the guns,
ammunition, discipline, etc., etc.
"I will make the attempt," I said, "and will hand you in my report on my
return, and it will be for you to say if I have succeeded or not."
"As this is a secret mission, I cannot give you a letter of commendation;
I can only give you some money and wish you a pleasant journey."
"I do not wish to be paid in advance--on my return you can give me what
you think fit. I shall want three or four days before setting out, as I
must procure some letters of introduction."
"Very good. Try to come back before the end of the month. I have no
further instructions to give you."
On the same day I had some conversation at the Palais Bourbon with my
patron, who could not admire sufficiently my delicacy in refusing payment
in advance; and taking advantage of my having done so he made me accept a
packet of a hundred Louis. This was the last occasion on which I made use
of his purse; I did not borrow from him at Rome fourteen years
afterwards.
"As you are on a secret mission, my dear Casanova, I cannot give you a
passport. I am sorry for it, but if I did so your object would be
suspected. However, you will easily be able to get one from the first
gentleman of the chamber, on some pretext or other. Silvia will be more
useful to you in that way than anybody else. You quite understand how
discreet your behaviour must be. Above all, do not get into any trouble;
for I suppose you know that, if anything happened to you, it would be of
no use to talk of your mission. We should be obliged to know nothing
about you, for ambassadors are the only avowed spies. Remember that you
must be even more careful and reserved than they, and yet, if you wish to
succeed, all this must be concealed, and you must have an air of freedom
from constraint that you may inspire confidence. If, on your return, you
like to shew me your report before handing it in, I will tell you what
may require to be left out or added."
Full of this affair, the importance of which I exaggerated in proportion
to my inexperience, I told Silvia that I wanted to accompany some English
friends as far as Calais, and that she would oblige me by getting me a
passport from the Duc de Gesvres. Always ready to oblige me, she sat down
directly and wrote the duke a letter, telling me to deliver it myself
since my personal description was necessary. These passports carry legal
weight in the Isle de France only, but they procure one respect in all
the northern parts of the kingdom.
Fortified with Silvia's letter, and accompanied by her husband, I went to
the duke who was at his estate at St. Toro, and he had scarcely read the
letter through before he gave me the passport. Satisfied on this point I
went to Villette, and asked Madame if she had anything I could take to
her niece. "You can take her the box of china statuettes," said she, "if
M. Corneman has not sent them already." I called on the banker who gave
me the box, and in return for a hundred Louis a letter of credit on a
Dunkirk house. I begged him to name me in the letter in a special manner,
as I was going for the sake of pleasure. He seemed glad to oblige me, and
I started the same evening, and three days later I was at the "Hotel de
la Conciergerie," in Dunkirk.
An hour after my arrival I gave the charming Madame P---- an agreeable
surprise by handing her the box, and giving her her aunt's messages. Just
as she was praising her husband, and telling me how happy she was, he
came in, saying he was delighted to see me and asked me to stay in his
house, without enquiring whether my stay in Dunkirk would be a long or
short one. I of course thanked him, and after promising to dine now and
again at his house I begged him to take me to the banker on whom I had a
letter.
The banker read my letter, and gave me the hundred louis, and asked me to
wait for him at my inn where he would come for me with the governor, a M.
de Barail. This gentleman who, like most Frenchmen, was very polite,
after making some ordinary enquiries, asked me to sup with him and his
wife who was still at the play. The lady gave me as kind a reception as I
had received from her husband. After we had partaken of an excellent
supper several persons arrived, and play commenced in which I did not
join, as I wished to study the society of the place, and above all
certain officers of both services who were present. By means of speaking
with an air of authority about naval matters, and by saying that I had
served in the navy of the Venetian Republic, in three days I not only
knew but was intimate with all the captains of the Dunkirk fleet. I
talked at random about naval architecture, on the Venetian system of
manoeuvres, and I noticed that the jolly sailors were better pleased at
my blunders than at my sensible remarks.
Four days after I had been at Dunkirk, one of the captains asked me to
dinner on his ship, and after that all the others did the same; and on
every occasion I stayed in the ship for the rest of the day. I was
curious about everything--and Jack is so trustful! I went into the hold,
I asked questions innumerable, and I found plenty of young officers
delighted to shew their own importance, who gossipped without needing any
encouragement from me. I took care, however, to learn everything which
would be of service to me, and in the evenings I put down on paper all
the mental notes I had made during the day. Four or five hours was all I
allowed myself for sleep, and in fifteen days I had learnt enough.
Pleasure, gaming, and idleness--my usual companions--had no part in this
expedition, and I devoted all my energies to the object of my mission. I
dined once with the banker, once with Madame P----, in the town, and once
in a pretty country house which her husband had, at about a league's
distance from Dunkirk. She took me there herself, and on finding myself
alone with the woman I had loved so well I delighted her by the delicacy
of my behaviour, which was marked only by respect and friendship. As I
still thought her charming, and as our connection had only ended six
weeks ago, I was astonished to see myself so quiet, knowing my
disposition too well to attribute my restraint to virtue. What, then, was
the reason? An Italian proverb, speaking for nature, gives the true
solution of the riddle.
'La Mona non vuol pensieri', and my head was full of thought.
My task was done, and bidding good-bye to all my friends, I set out in my
post-chaise for Paris, going by another way for the sake of the change.
About midnight, on my asking for horses at some stage, the name of which
I forget, they told me that the next stage was the fortified town of
Aire, which we should not be allowed to pass through at midnight.
"Get me the horses," said I, "I will make them open the gates."
I was obeyed, and in due time we reached the gates.
The postillion cracked his whip and the sentry called out, "Who goes
there?"
"Express messenger."
After making me wait for an hour the gate was opened, and I was told that
I must go and speak to the governor. I did so, fretting and fuming on my
way as if I were some great person, and I was taken to a room where a man
in an elegant nightcap was lying beside a very pretty woman.
"Whose messenger are you?"
"Nobody's, but as I am in a hurry."
"That will do. We will talk the matter over tomorrow. In the meanwhile
you will accept the hospitality of the guard-room."
"But, sir . . ."
"But me no buts, if you please; leave the room."
I was taken to the guard-room where I spent the night seated on the
ground. The daylight appeared. I shouted, swore, made all the racket I
could, said I wanted to go on, but nobody took any notice of me.
Ten o'clock struck. More impatient than I can say, I raised my voice and
spoke to the officer, telling him that the governor might assassinate me
if he liked, but had no right to deny me pen and paper, or to deprive me
of the power of sending a messenger to Paris.
"Your name, sir?"
"Here is my passport."
He told me that he would take it to the governor, but I snatched it away
from him.
"Would you like to see the governor?"
"Yes, I should."
We started for the governor's apartments. The officer was the first to
enter, and in two minutes came out again and brought me in. I gave up my
passport in proud silence. The governor read it through, examining me all
the while to see if I was the person described; he then gave it me back,
telling me that I was free to go where I liked.
"Not so fast, sir, I am not in such a hurry now. I shall send a messenger
to Paris and wait his return; for by stopping me on my journey you have
violated all the rights of the subject."
"You violated them yourself in calling yourself a messenger."
"Not at all; I told you that I was not one."
"Yes, but you told your postillion that you were, and that comes to the
same thing."
"The postillion is a liar, I told him nothing of the kind."
"Why didn't you shew your passport?"
"Why didn't you give me time to do so? In the course of the next few
days we shall see who is right."
"Just as you please."
I went out with the officer who took me to the posting-place, and a
minute afterwards my carriage drew up. The posting-place was also an inn,
and I told the landlord to have a special messenger ready to carry out my
orders, to give me a good room and a good bed, and to serve me some rich
soup immediately; and I warned him that I was accustomed to good fare. I
had my portmanteau and all my belongings taken into my room, and having
washed and put on my dressing-gown I sat down to write, to whom I did not
know, for I was quite wrong in my contention. However, I had begun by
playing the great man, and I thought myself bound in honour to sustain
the part, without thinking whether I stood to have to back out of it or
no. All the same I was vexed at having to wait in Aire till the return of
the messenger, whom I was about to send to the-moon! In the meanwhile,
not having closed an eye all night, I determined to take a rest. I was
sitting in my shirt-sleeves and eating the soup which had been served to
me, when the governor came in unaccompanied. I was both surprised and
delighted to see him.
"I am sorry for what has happened, sir, and above all that you think you
have good reason for complaint, inasmuch as I only did my duty, for how
was I to imagine that your postillion had called you a messenger on his
own responsibility."
"That's all very well, sir, but your sense of duty need not have made you
drive me from your room."
"I was in need of sleep."
"I am in the same position at the present moment, but a feeling of
politeness prevents me from imitating your example."
"May I ask if you have ever been in the service?"
"I have served by land and sea, and have left off when most people are
only beginning."
"In that case you will be aware that the gates of a fortified town are
only opened by night to the king's messengers or to military superiors."
"Yes, I know; but since they were opened the thing was done, and you
might as well have been polite."
"Will you not put on your clothes, and walk a short distance with me!"
His invitation pleased me as well as his pride had displeased me. I had
been thinking of a duel as a possible solution of the difficulty, but the
present course took all trouble out of my hands. I answered quietly and
politely that the honour of walking with him would be enough to make me
put off all other calls, and I asked him to be seated while I made haste
to dress myself.
I drew on my breeches, throwing the splendid pistols in my pockets on to
the bed, called up the barber, and in ten minutes was ready. I put on my
sword, and we went out.
We walked silently enough along two or three streets, passed through a
gate, up a court, till we got to a door where my guide stopped short. He
asked me to come in, and I found myself in a fine room full of people. I
did not think of going back, but behaved as if I had been in my own
house.
"Sir-my wife," said the governor; and turning to her without pausing,
"here is M. de Casanova, who has come to dinner with us."
"I am delighted to hear it, sir, as otherwise I should have had no chance
of forgiving you for waking me up the other night."
"I paid dearly for my fault, madam, but after the purgatory I had endured
I am sure you will allow me to be happy in this paradise."
She answered with a charming smile, and after asking me to sit beside her
she continued whatever conversation was possible in the midst of a game
at cards.
I found myself completely outwitted, but the thing was done so pleasantly
that all I could do was to put a good face on it--a feat which I found
sufficiently easy from the relief I felt at no longer being bound to send
a messenger to I did not know whom.
The governor well satisfied with his victory, got all at once into high
spirits, and began to talk about military matters, the Court, and on
general topics, often addressing me with that friendly ease which good
French society knows so well how to reconcile with the rules of
politeness; no one could have guessed that there had ever been the
slightest difference between us. He had made himself the hero of the
piece by the dexterous manner in which he had led up to the situation,
but I had a fair claim to the second place, for I had made an experienced
officer high in command give me the most flattering kind of satisfaction,
which bore witness to the esteem with which I had inspired him.
The dinner was served. The success of my part depended on the manner in
which it was played, and my wit has seldom been keener than during this
meal. The whole conversation was in a pleasant vein, and I took great
care to give the governor's wife opportunities for shining in it. She was
a charming and pretty woman, still quite youthful, for she was at least
thirty years younger than the governor. Nothing was said about my six
hours' stay in the guard-room, but at dessert the governor escaped
speaking plainly by a joke that was not worth the trouble of making.
"You're a nice man," said he, "to think I was going to fight you. Ah! ha!
I have caught you, haven't I?"
"Who told you that I was meditating a duel?"
"Confess that such was the case?"
"I protest; there is a great difference between believing and supposing;
the one is positive, the other merely hypothetical. I must confess,
however, that your invitation to take a walk roused my curiosity as to
what was to come next, and I admire your wit. But you must believe me
that I do not regard myself as caught in a trap--far from that, I am so
well pleased that I feel grateful to you."
In the afternoon we all took a walk, and I gave my arm to the charming
mistress of the house. In the evening I took my leave, and set out early
the next day having made a fair copy of my report.
At five o'clock in the morning I was fast asleep in my carriage, when I
was suddenly awakened. We were at the gate of Amiens. The fellow at the
door was an exciseman--a race everywhere detested and with good cause,
for besides the insolence of their manners nothing makes a man feel more
like a slave than the inquisitorial search they are accustomed to make
through one's clothes and most secret possessions. He asked me if I had
anything contraband; and being in a bad temper at being deprived of my
sleep to answer such a question I replied with an oath that I had nothing
of the sort, and that he would have done better to let me sleep.
"As you talk in that style," said the creature, "we will see what we can
see."
He ordered the postillion to pass on with the carriage. He had my luggage
hauled down, and not being able to hinder him I fumed in silence.
I saw my mistake, but there was nothing to be done; and having no
contraband goods I had nothing to fear, but my bad temper cost me two
weary hours of delay. The joys of vengeance were depicted on the features
of the exciseman. At the time of which I am writing these gaugers were
the dregs of the people, but would become tractable on being treated with
a little politeness. The sum of twenty-four sous given with good grace
would make them as supple as a pair of gloves; they would bow to the
travellers, wish them a pleasant journey, and give no trouble. I knew all
this, but there are times when a man acts mechanically as I had done,
unfortunately.
The scoundrels emptied my boxes and unfolded everything even to my
shirts, between which they said I might have concealed English lace.
After searching everything they gave me back my keys, but they had not
yet done with us; they began to search my carriage. The rascal who was at
the head of them began to shout "victory," he had discovered the
remainder of a pound of snuff which I had bought at St. Omer on my way to
Dunkirk.
With a voice of triumph the chief exciseman gave orders that my carriage
should be seized, and warned me that I would have to pay a fine of twelve
hundred francs.
For the nonce my patience was exhausted, and I leave the names I called
them to the imagination of the reader; but they were proof against words.
I told them to take me to the superintendent's.
"You can go if you like," said they, "we are not your servants."
Surrounded by a curious crowd, whom the noise had drawn together, I began
to walk hurriedly towards the town, and entering the first open shop I
came to, I begged the shopkeeper to take me to the superintendent's. As I
was telling the circumstances of the case, a man of good appearance, who
happened to be in the shop, said that he would be glad to show me the way
himself, though he did not think I should find the superintendent in, as
he would doubtless be warned of my coming.
"Without your paying either the fine or caution money," said he, "you
will find it a hard matter to get yourself out of the difficulty."
I entreated him to shew me the way to the superintendent's, and not to
trouble about anything else. He advised me to give the rabble a louis to
buy drink, and thus to rid myself of them, on which I gave him the louis,
begging him to see to it himself, and the bargain was soon struck. He was
a worthy attorney, and knew his men.
We got to the superintendent's; but, as my guide had warned me, my
gentleman was not to be seen. The porter told us that he had gone out
alone, that he would not be back before night, and that he did not know
where he had gone.
"There's a whole day lost, then," said the attorney.
"Let us go and hunt him up; he must have well-known resorts and friends,
and we will find them out. I will give you a louis for the day's work;
will that be enough?"
"Ample."
We spent in vain four hours in looking for the superintendent in ten or
twelve houses. I spoke to the masters of all of them, exaggerating
considerably the injury that had been done to me. I was listened to,
condoled with, and comforted with the remark that he would certainly be
obliged to return to his house at night, and then he could not help
hearing what I had to say. That would not suit me, so I continued the
chase.
At one o'clock the attorney took me to an old lady, who was thought a
great deal of in the town. She was dining all by herself. After giving
great attention to my story, she said that she did not think she could be
doing wrong in telling a stranger the whereabouts of an individual who,
in virtue of his office, ought never to be inaccessible.
"And so, sir, I may reveal to you what after all is no secret. My
daughter told me yesterday evening that she was going to dine at Madame
N----'s, and that the superintendent was to be there. Do you go after him
now, and you will find him at table in the best society in Amiens, but,"
said she, with a smile, "I advise you not to give your name at the door.
The numerous servants will shew you the way without asking for your name.
You can then speak to him whether he likes it or not, and though you
don't know him he will hear all you say. I am sorry that I cannot be
present at so fine a situation."
I gratefully took leave of the worthy lady, and I set off in all haste to
the house I had been told of, the attorney, who was almost tired out,
accompanying me. Without the least difficulty he and I slipped in between
the crowds of servants till we got to a hall where there were more than
twenty people sitting down to a rich and delicate repast.
"Ladies and gentlemen, you will excuse my troubling your quiet on this
festive occasion with a tale of terror."
At these words, uttered in the voice of Jupiter Tonans, everybody rose.
The surprise of the high-born company of knights and ladies at my
apparition can easily be imagined.
"Since seven o'clock this morning I have been searching from door to door
and from street to street for his honour the superintendent, whom I have
at last been fortunate enough to find here, for I know perfectly well
that he is present, and that if he have ears he hears me now. I am come
to request him to order his scoundrelly myrmidons who have seized my
carriage to give it up, so that I may continue my journey. If the laws
bid me pay twelve hundred francs for seven ounces of snuff for my own
private use, I renounce those laws and declare that I will not pay a
farthing. I shall stay here and send a messenger to my ambassador, who
will complain that the 'jus gentium' has been violated in the
Ile-de-France in my person, and I will have reparation. Louis XV. is
great enough to refuse to become an accomplice in this strange onslaught.
And if that satisfaction which is my lawful right is not granted me, I
will make the thing an affair of state, and my Republic will not revenge
itself by assaulting Frenchmen for a few pinches of snuff, but will expel
them all root and branch. If you want to know whom I am, read this."
Foaming with rage, I threw my passport on the table.
A man picked it up and read it, and I knew him to be the superintendent.
While my papers were being handed round I saw expressed on every face
surprise and indignation, but the superintendent replied haughtily that
he was at Amiens to administer justice, and that I could not leave the
town unless I paid the fine or gave surety.
"If you are here to do justice, you will look upon my passport as a
positive command to speed me on my way, and I bid you yourself be my
surety if you are a gentleman."
"Does high birth go bail for breaches of the law in your country?"
"In my country men of high birth do not condescend to take dishonourable
employments."
"No service under the king can be dishonourable."
"The hangman would say the same thing."
"Take care what you say."
"Take care what you do. Know, sir, that I am a free man who has been
grievously outraged, and know, too, that I fear no one. Throw me out of
the window, if you dare."
"Sir," said a lady to me in the voice of the mistress of the house, "in
my house there is no throwing out of windows."
"Madam, an angry man makes use of terms which his better reason disowns.
I am wronged by a most cruel act of injustice, and I humbly crave your
pardon for having offended you. Please to reflect that for the first time
in my life I have been oppressed and insulted, and that in a kingdom
where I thought myself safe from all but highway robbers. For them I have
my pistols, and for the worthy superintendents I have a passport, but I
find the latter useless. For the sake of seven ounces of snuff which I
bought at St. Omer three weeks ago, this gentleman robs me and interrupts
my journey, though the king's majesty is my surety that no one shall
interfere with me; he calls on me to pay fifty louis, he delivers me to
the rage of his impudent menials and to the derision of the mob, from
whom I had to rid myself by my money and the aid of this worthy man
beside me. I am treated like a scoundrel, and the man who should have
been my defender and deliverer slinks away and hides himself, and adds to
the insults I have received. His myrmidons have turned my clothes upside
down, and pitchforked my linen at the foot of the town gates, to revenge
themselves on me for not giving them twenty, four sous. To-morrow the
manner in which I have been treated will be known to the diplomatic
bodies at Versailles and Paris, and in a few days it will be in all the
newspapers. I will pay not a farthing because I owe not a farthing. Now,
sir, am I to send a courier to the Duc de Gesvres?"
"What you have got to do is to pay, and if you do not care to pay, you
may do whatever you like."
"Then, ladies and gentlemen, good-bye. As for you, sir, we shall meet
again."
As I was rushing out of the room like a madman, I heard somebody calling
out to me in good Italian to wait a minute. I turned round, and saw the
voice had proceeded from a man past middle age, who addressed the
superintendent thus:--
"Let this gentleman proceed on his journey; I will go bail for him. Do
you understand me, superintendent? I will be his surety. You don't know
these Italians. I went through the whole of the last war in Italy, and I
understand the national character. Besides, I think the gentleman is in
the right."
"Very good," said the official, turning to me. "All you have to do is to
pay a matter of thirty or forty francs at the customs' office as the
affair is already booked."
"I thought I told you that I would not pay a single farthing, and I tell
it you again. But who are you, sir," said I, turning to the worthy old
man, "who are good enough to become surety for me without knowing me?"
"I am a commissary of musters, sir, and my name is de la Bretonniere. I
live in Paris at the 'Hotel de Saxe,' Rue Colombien, where I shall be
glad to see you after to-morrow. We will go together to M. Britard, who,
after hearing your case, will discharge my bail."
After I had expressed my gratitude, and told him that I would wait upon
him without fail, I made my excuses to the mistress of the house and the
guests, and left them.
I took my worthy attorney to dinner at the best inn in the place, and I
gave him two louis for his trouble. Without his help and that of the
commissary I should have been in great difficulty; it would have been a
case of the earthen pot and the iron pot over again; for with
jacks-in-office reason is of no use, and though I had plenty of money I
would never have let the wretches rob me of fifty louis.
My carriage was drawn up at the door of the tavern; and just as I was
getting in, one of the excisemen who had searched my luggage came and
told me that I should find everything just as I left it:--
"I wonder at that since it has been left in the hands of men of your
stamp; shall I find the snuff?"
"The snuff has been confiscated, my lord."
"I am sorry for you, then; for if it had been there I would have given
you a louis."
"I will go and look for it directly."
"I have no time to wait for it. Drive on, postillion."
I got to Paris the next day, and four days after I waited on M. de la
Bretonniere, who gave me a hearty welcome, and took me to M. Britard, the
fermier-general, who discharged his bail. This M. Britard was a pleasant
young man. He blushed when he heard all I had gone through.
I took my report to M. de Bernis, at the "Hotel Bourbon," and his
excellence spent two hours over it, making me take out all unnecessary
matter. I spent the time in making a fair copy, and the next day I took
it to M. de la Ville, who read it through in silence, and told me that he
would let me know the result. A month after I received five hundred
louis, and I had the pleasure of hearing that M. de Cremille, the first
lord of the admiralty, had pronounced my report to be not only perfectly
accurate but very suggestive. Certain reasonable apprehensions prevented
me from making myself known to him--an honour which M. de Bernis wished
to procure for me.
When I told him my adventures on the way back, he laughed, but said that
the highest merit of a secret agent was to keep out of difficulties; for
though he might have the tact to extricate himself from them, yet he got
talked of, which it should be his chief care to avoid.
This mission cost the admiralty twelve thousand francs, and the minister
might easily have procured all the information I gave him without
spending a penny. Any intelligent young naval officer would have done it
just as well, and would have acquitted himself with zeal and discretion,
to gain the good opinion of the ministers. But all the French ministers
are the same. They lavished money which came out of other people's
pockets to enrich their creatures, and they were absolute; the
downtrodden people counted for nothing, and of this course the
indebtedness of the state and the confusion of the finances were the
inevitable results. It is quite true that the Revolution was a necessity,
but it should have been marked with patriotism and right feeling, not
with blood. However, the nobility and clergy were not men of sufficient
generosity to make the necessary sacrifices to the king, the state, and
to themselves.
Silvia was much amused at my adventures at Aire and Amiens, and her
charming daughter shewed much pity for the bad night I had passed in the
guard-room. I told her that the hardship would have been much less if I
had had a wife beside me. She replied that a wife, if a good one, would
have been only too happy to alleviate my troubles by sharing in them, but
her mother observed that a woman of parts, after seeing to the safety of
my baggage and my coach, would have busied herself in taking the
necessary steps for setting me at liberty, and I supported this opinion
as best indicating the real duty of a good wife.
CHAPTER III
The Count de la Tour D'Auvergne and Madame D'Urfe--Camille--
My Passion for the Count's Mistress--The Ridiculous Incident
Which Cured Me--The Count de St. Germain
In spite of my love for Mdlle. Baletti, I did not omit to pay my court to
the most noted ladies of the pavement; but I was chiefly interested in
kept women, and those who consider themselves as belonging to the public
only in playing before them night by night, queens or chamber-maids.
In spite of this affection, they enjoy what they call their independence,
either by devoting themselves to Cupid or to Plutus, and more frequently
to both together. As it is not very difficult to make the acquaintance of
these priestesses of pleasure and dissipation, I soon got to know several
of them.
The halls of the theatres are capital places for amateurs to exercise
their talents in intriguing, and I had profited tolerably well by the
lessons I had learnt in this fine school.
I began by becoming the friend of their lovers, and I often succeeded by
pretending to be a man of whom nobody need be afraid.
Camille, an actress and dancer at the Italian play, with whom I had
fallen in love at Fontainebleu seven years ago, was one of those of whom
I was most fond, liking the society at her pretty little house, where she
lived with the Count d'Eigreville, who was a friend of mine, and fond of
my company. He was a brother of the Marquis de Gamache and of the
Countess du Rumain, and was a fine young fellow of an excellent
disposition. He was never so well pleased as when he saw his mistress
surrounded by people--a taste which is rarely found, but which is very
convenient, and the sign of a temperament not afflicted by jealousy.
Camille had no other lovers--an astonishing thing in an actress of the
kind, but being full of tact and wit she drove none of her admirers to
despair. She was neither over sparing nor over generous in the
distribution of her favours, and knew how to make the whole town rave
about her without fearing the results of indiscretion or sorrows of being
abandoned.
The gentleman of whom, after her lover, she took most notice, was the
Count de la Tour d'Auvergne, a nobleman of an old family, who idolized
her, and, not being rich enough to possess her entirely, had to be
content with what she gave him. Camille had given him a young girl, for
whose keep she paid, who lived with Tour d'Auvergne in furnished
apartments in the Rue de Taranne, and whom he said he loved as one loves
a portrait, because she came from Camille. The count often took her with
him to Camille's to supper. She was fifteen, simple in her manners, and
quite devoid of ambition. She told her lover that she would never forgive
him an act of infidelity except with Camille, to whom she felt bound to
yield all since to her she owed all.
I became so much in love with her that I often went to Camille's solely
to see her and to enjoy those artless speeches with which she delighted
the company. I strove as best I could to conceal my flame, but often I
found myself looking quite sad at the thought of the impossibility of my
love being crowned with success. If I had let my passion be suspected I
should have been laughed at, and should have made myself a mark for the
pitiless sarcasms of Camille. However, I got my cure in the following
ridiculous manner:--
Camille lived at the Barriere Blanche, and on leaving her house, one
rainy evening, I sought in vain for a coach to take me home.
"My dear Casanova," said Tour d'Auvergne, "I can drop you at your own
door without giving myself the slightest inconvenience, though my
carriage is only seated for two; however, my sweetheart can sit on our
knees."
I accepted his offer with pleasure, and we seated ourselves in the
carriage, the count on my left hand and Babet on both our knees.
Burning with amorous passion I thought I would take the opportunity, and,
to lose no time, as the coachman was driving fast, I took her hand and
pressed it softly. The pressure was returned. Joy! I carried the hand to
my lips, and covered it with affectionate though noiseless kisses.
Longing to convince her of the ardour of my passion, and thinking that
her hand would not refuse to do me a sweet service, I . . . but just at
critical moment,
"I am really very much obliged to you, my dear fellow," said the Count de
la Tour d'Auvergne, "for a piece of politeness thoroughly Italian, of
which, however, I do not feel worthy; at least, I hope it's meant as
politeness and not as a sign of contempt."
At these dreadful words I stretched out my hand and felt the sleeve of
his coat. Presence of mind was no good in a situation like this, when his
words were followed by a peal of loud laughter which would have
confounded the hardiest spirit. As for me, I could neither join in his
laughter nor deny his accusation; the situation was a fearful one, or
would have been if the friendly shades of night had not covered my
confusion. Babet did her best to find out from the count why he laughed
so much, but he could not tell her for laughing, for which I gave thanks
with all my heart. At last the carriage stopped at my house, and as soon
as my servant had opened the door of my carriage I got down as fast as I
could, and wished them good night--a compliment which Tour d'Auvergne
returned with fresh peals of laughter. I entered my house in a state of
stupefaction, and half an hour elapsed before I, too, began to laugh at
the adventure. What vexed me most was the expectation of having malicious
jests passed upon me, for I had not the least right to reckon on the
count's discretion. However, I had enough sense to determine to join in
the laughter if I could, and if not, to take it well, for this is, and
always will be, the best way to get the laughers on one's own side at
Paris.
For three days I saw nothing of the delightful count, and on the fourth I
resolved to ask him to take breakfast with me, as Camille had sent to my
house to enquire how I was. My adventure would not prevent me visiting
her house, but I was anxious to know how it had been taken.
As soon as Tour d'Auvergne saw me he began to roar with laughter, and I
joined in, and we greeted each other in the friendliest manner possible.
"My dear count," said I, "let us forget this foolish story. You have no
business to attack me, as I do not know how to defend myself."
"Why should you defend yourself, my dear fellow. We like you all the
better for it, and this humorous adventure makes us merry every evening."
"Everybody knows it, then?"
"Of course, why not? It makes Camille choke with laughter. Come this
evening; I will bring Babet, and she will amuse you as she maintains that
you were not mistaken."
"She is right."
"Eh? what? You do me too much honour, and I don't believe you; but have
it as you like."
"I can't do better, but I must confess when all's said that you were not
the person to whom my fevered imagination offered such ardent homage."
At supper I jested, pretended to be astonished at the count's
indiscretion, and boasted of being cured of my passion. Babet called me a
villain, and maintained that I was far from cured; but she was wrong, as
the incident had disgusted me with her, and had attached me to the count,
who, indeed, was a man of the most amiable character. Nevertheless, our
friendship might have been a fatal one, as the reader will see presently.
One evening, when I was at the Italian theatre, Tour d'Auvergne came up
to me and asked me to lend him a hundred louis, promising to repay me
next Saturday.
"I haven't got the money," I said, "but my purse and all it contains is
at your service."
"I want a hundred louis, my dear fellow, and immediately, as I lost them
at play yesterday evening at the Princess of Anhalt's."
"But I haven't got them."
"The receiver of the lottery ought always to be able to put his hand on a
hundred louis."
"Yes, but I can't touch my cash-box; I have to give it up this day week."
"So you can; as I will repay you on Saturday. Take a hundred louis from
the box, and put in my word of honour instead; don't you think that is
worth a hundred Louis?"
"I have nothing to say to that, wait for me a minute."
I ran to my office, took out the money and gave it to him. Saturday came
but no count, and as I had no money I pawned my diamond ring and replaced
the hundred louis I owed the till. Three or four days afterwards, as I
was at the Comedie Francaise, the Count de la Tour d'Auvergne came up to
me and began to apologize. I replied by shewing my hand, and telling him
that I had pawned my ring to save my honour. He said, with a melancholy
air, that a man had failed to keep his word with him, but he would be
sure to give me the hundred louis on the Saturday following, adding, "I
give you my word of honour."
"Your word of honour is in my box, so let's say nothing about that. You
can repay me when you like."
The count grew as pale as death.
"My word of honour, my dear Casanova, is more precious to me than my
life; and I will give you the hundred louis at nine o'clock to-morrow
morning at a hundred paces from the cafe at the end of the
Champs-Elysees. I will give you them in person, and nobody will see us. I
hope you will not fail to be there, and that you will bring your sword. I
shall have mine."
"Faith, count! that's making me pay rather dear for my jest. You
certainly do me a great honour, but I would rather beg your pardon, if
that would prevent this troublesome affair from going any further."
"No, I am more to blame than you, and the blame can only be removed by
the sword's point. Will you meet me?
"I do not see how I can refuse you, although I am very much averse to the
affair."
I left him and went to Silvia's, and took my supper sadly, for I really
liked this amiable nobleman, and in my opinion the game we were going to
play was not worth the candle. I would not have fought if I could have
convinced myself that I was in the wrong, but after turning the matter
well-over, and looking at it from every point of view, I could not help
seeing that the fault lay in the count's excessive touchiness, and I
resolved to give him satisfaction. At all hazards I would not fail to
keep the appointment.
I reached the cafe a moment after him. We took breakfast together and he
payed. We then went out and walked towards the Etoile. When we got to a
sheltered place he drew a bundle of a hundred louis from his pocket, gave
it to me with the greatest courtesy, and said that one stroke of the
sword would be sufficient. I could not reply.
He went off four paces and drew his sword. I did the same without saying
a word, and stepping forward almost as soon as our blades crossed I
thrust and hit him. I drew back my sword and summoned him to keep his
word, feeling sure that I had wounded him in his chest.
He gently kissed his sword, and putting his hand into his breast he drew
it out covered with blood, and said pleasantly to me, "I am satisfied."
I said to him all that I could, and all that it was my duty to say in the
way of compliment, while he was stanching the blood with his
handkerchief, and on looking at the point of my sword I was delighted to
find that the wound was of the slightest. I told him so offering to see
him home. He thanked me and begged me to keep my own counsel, and to
reckon him henceforth amongst my truest friends. After I had embraced
him, mingling my tears with my embraces, I returned home, sad at heart
but having learnt a most useful lesson. No one ever knew of our meeting,
and a week afterwards we supped together at Camille's.
A few days after, I received from M. de la Ville the five hundred louis
for my Dunkirk mission. On my going to see Camille she told me that Tour
d'Auvergne was kept in bed by an attack of sciatica, and that if I liked
we could pay him a visit the next day. I agreed, and we went. After
breakfast was over I told him in a serious voice that if he would give me
a free hand I could cure him, as he was not suffering from sciatica but
from a moist and windy humour which I could disperse my means of the
Talisman of Solomon and five mystic words. He began to laugh, but told me
to do what I liked.
"Very good, then I will go out and buy a brush."
"I will send a servant."
"No, I must get it myself, as I want some drugs as well." I bought some
nitre, mercury, flower of sulphur, and a small brush, and on my return
said, "I must have a little of your----, this liquid is indispensable,
and it must be quite fresh."
Camille and he began to laugh, but I succeeded in keeping the serious
face suitable to my office. I handed him a mug and modestly lowered the
curtains, and he then did what I wanted.
I made a mixture of the various ingredients, and I told Camille that she
must rub his thigh whilst I spoke the charm, but I warned her that if she
laughed while she was about it it would spoil all. This threat only
increased their good humour, and they laughed without cessation; for as
soon as they thought they had got over it, they would look at one
another, and after repressing themselves as long as they could would
burst out afresh, till I began to think that I had bound them to an
impossible condition. At last, after holding their sides for half an
hour, they set themselves to be serious in real earnest, taking my
imperturbable gravity for their example. De la Tour d'Auvergne was the
first to regain a serious face, and he then offered Camille his thigh,
and she, fancying herself on the boards, began to rub the sick man,
whilst I mumbled in an undertone words which they would not have
understood however clearly I had spoken, seeing that I did not understand
them myself.
I was nearly spoiling the efficacy of the operation when I saw the
grimaces they made in trying to keep serious. Nothing could be more
amusing than the expression on Camille's face. At last I told her that
she had rubbed enough, and dipping the brush into the mixture I drew on
his thigh the five-pointed star called Solomon's seal. I then wrapped up
the thigh in three napkins, and I told him that if he would keep quiet
for twenty-four hours without taking off--his napkins, I would guarantee
a cure.
The most amusing part of it all was, that by the time I had done the
count and Camille laughed no more, their faces wore a bewildered look,
and as for me . . . I could have sworn I had performed the most wonderful
work in the world. If one tells a lie a sufficient number of times, one
ends by believing it.
A few minutes after this operation, which I had performed as if by
instinct and on the spur of the moment, Camille and I went away in a
coach, and I told her so many wonderful tales that when she got out at
her door she looked quite mazed.
Four or five days after, when I had almost forgotten the farce, I heard a
carriage stopping at my door, and looking out of my window saw M. de la
Tour d'Auvergne skipping nimbly out of the carriage.
"You were sure of success, then," said he, "as you did not come to see me
the day after your astounding operation."
"Of course I was sure, but if I had not been too busy you would have seen
me, for all that."
"May I take a bath?"
"No, don't bathe till you feel quite well."
"Very good. Everybody is in a state of astonishment at your feat, as I
could not help telling the miracle to all my acquaintances. There are
certainly some sceptics who laugh at me, but I let them talk."
"You should have kept your own counsel; you know what Paris is like.
Everybody will be considering me as a master-quack."
"Not at all, not at all. I have come to ask a favour of you."
"What's that?"
"I have an aunt who enjoys a great reputation for her skill in the occult
sciences, especially in alchemy. She is a woman of wit, very, rich, and
sole mistress of her fortune; in short, knowing her will do you no harm.
She longs to see you, for she pretends to know you, and says that you are
not what you seem. She has entreated me to take you to dine with her, and
I hope you will accept the invitation. Her name is the Marchioness
d'Urfe."
I did not know this lady, but the name of d'Urfe caught my attention
directly, as I knew all about the famous Anne d'Urfe who flourished
towards the end of the seventeenth century. The lady was the widow of his
great-grandson, and on marrying into the family became a believer in the
mystical doctrines of a science in which I was much interested, though I
gave it little credit. I therefore replied that I should be glad to go,
but on the condition that the party should not exceed the count, his
aunt, and myself.
"She has twelve people every day to dinner, and you will find yourself in
the company of the best society in Paris."
"My dear fellow, that's exactly what I don't want; for I hate to be
thought a magician, which must have been the effect of the tales you have
told."
"Oh, no! not at all; your character is well known, and you will find
yourself in the society of people who have the greatest regard for you."
"Are you sure of that?"
"The Duchess de l'Oragnais told me, that, four or five years ago, you
were often to be seen at the Palais Royal, and that you used to spend
whole days with the Duchess d'Orleans; Madame de Bouffers, Madame de
Blots, and Madame de Melfort have also talked to me about you. You are
wrong not to keep up your old acquaintances. I know at least a hundred
people of the first rank who are suffering from the same malady as that
of which you cured me, and would give the half of their goods to be
cured."
De la Tour d'Auvergne had reason on his side, but as I knew his wonderful
cure had been due to a singular coincidence, I had no desire to expose
myself to public ridicule. I therefore told him that I did not wish to
become a public character, and that he must tell Madame d'Urfe that I
would have the honour of calling on her in strict privacy only, and that
she might tell me the day and hour on which I should kneel before her.
The same evening I had a letter from the count making an appointment at
the Tuileries for the morrow; he was to meet me there, and take me to his
aunt's to dinner. No one else was to be present.
The next day we met each other as had been arranged, and went to see
Madame d'Urfe, who lived on the Quai des Theatins, on the same side as
the "Hotel Bouillon."
Madame d'Urfe, a woman advanced in years, but still handsome, received me
with all the courtly grace of the Court of the Regency. We spent an hour
and a half in indifferent conversation, occupied in studying each other's
character. Each was trying to get at the bottom of the other.
I had not much trouble in playing the part of the unenlightened, for
such, in point of fact, was my state of mind, and Madame d'Urfe
unconsciously betrayed the desire of shewing her learning; this put me at
my ease, for I felt sure I could make her pleased with me if I succeeded
in making her pleased with herself.
At two o'clock the same dinner that was prepared every day for twelve was
served for us three. Nothing worthy of note (so far as conversation went)
was done at dinner, as we talked commonplace after the manner of people
of fashion.
After the dessert Tour d'Auvergne left us to go and see the Prince de
Turenne, who was in a high fever, and after he was gone Madame d'Urfe
began to discuss alchemy and magic, and all the other branches of her
beloved science, or rather infatuation. When we got on to the magnum
opus, and I asked her if she knew the nature of the first matter, it was
only her politeness which prevented her from laughing; but controlling
herself, she replied graciously that she already possessed the
philosopher's stone, and that she was acquainted with all the operations
of the work. She then shewed me a collection of books which had belonged
to the great d'Urfe, and Renee of Savoy, his wife; but she had added to
it manuscripts which had cost her more than a hundred thousand francs.
Paracelsus was her favourite author, and according to her he was neither
man, woman, nor hermaphrodite, and had the misfortune to poison himself
with an overdose of his panacea, or universal medicine. She shewed me a
short manuscript in French, where the great work was clearly explained.
She told me that she did not keep it under lock and key, because it was
written in a cypher, the secret of which was known only to herself.
"You do not believe, then, in steganography."
"No, sir, and if you would like it, I will give you this which has been
copied from the original."
"I accept it, madam, with all the more gratitude in that I know its
worth."
From the library we went into the laboratory, at which I was truly
astonished. She shewed me matter that had been in the furnace for fifteen
years, and was to be there for four or five years more. It was a powder
of projection which was to transform instantaneously all metals into the
finest gold. She shewed me a pipe by which the coal descended to the
furnace, keeping it always at the same heat. The lumps of coal were
impelled by their own weight at proper intervals and in equal quantities,
so that she was often three months without looking at the furnace, the
temperature remaining the same the whole time. The cinders were removed
by another pipe, most ingeniously contrived, which also answered the
purpose of a ventilator.
The calcination of mercury was mere child's play to this wonderful woman.
She shewed me the calcined matter, and said that whenever I liked she
would instruct me as to the process. I next saw the Tree of Diana of the
famous Taliamed, whose pupil she was. His real name was Maillot, and
according to Madame d'Urfe he had not, as was supposed, died at
Marseilles, but was still alive; "and," added she, with a slight smile,
"I often get letters from him. If the Regent of France," said she, "had
listened to me he would be alive now. He was my first friend; he gave me
the name of Egeria, and he married me to M. d'Urfe."
She possessed a commentary on Raymond Lully, which cleared up all
difficult points in the comments of Arnold de Villanova on the works of
Roger Bacon and Heber, who, according to her, were still alive. This
precious manuscript was in an ivory casket, the key of which she kept
religiously; indeed her laboratory was a closed room to all but myself. I
saw a small cask full of 'platina del Pinto', which she told me she could
transmute into gold when she pleased. It had been given her by M. Vood
himself in 1743. She shewed me the same metal in four phials. In the
first three the platinum remained intact in sulphuric, nitric, and
muriatic acid, but in the fourth, which contained 'aqua regia', the metal
had not been able to resist the action of the acid. She melted it with
the burning-glass, and said it could be melted in no other way, which
proved, in her opinion, its superiority to gold. She shewed me some
precipitated by sal ammoniac, which would not precipitate gold.
Her athanor had been alight for fifteen years. The top was full of black
coal, which made me conclude that she had been in the laboratory two or
three days before. Stopping before the Tree of Diana, I asked her, in a
respectful voice, if she agreed with those who said it was only fit to
amuse children. She replied, in a dignified manner, that she had made it
to divert herself with the crystallization of the silver, spirit of
nitre, and mercury, and that she looked upon it as a piece of metallic
vegetation, representing in little what nature performed on a larger
scale; but she added, very seriously, that she could make a Tree of Diana
which should be a very Tree of the Sun, which would produce golden fruit,
which might be gathered, and which would continue to be produced till no
more remained of a certain ingredient. I said modestly that I could not
believe the thing possible without the powder of projection, but her only
answer was a pleased smile.
She then pointed out a china basin containing nitre, mercury, and
sulphur, and a fixed salt on a plate.
"You know the ingredients, I suppose?" said she.
"Yes; this fixed salt is a salt of urine."
"You are right."
"I admire your sagacity, madam. You have made an analysis of the mixture
with which I traced the pentacle on your nephew's thigh, but in what way
can you discover the words which give the pentacle its efficacy?"
"In the manuscript of an adept, which I will shew you, and where you will
find the very words you used."
I bowed my head in reply, and we left this curious laboratory.
We had scarcely arrived in her room before Madame d'Urfe drew from a
handsome casket a little book, bound in black, which she put on the table
while she searched for a match. While she was looking about, I opened the
book behind her back, and found it to be full of pentacles, and by good
luck found the pentacle I had traced on the count's thigh. It was
surrounded by the names of the spirits of the planets, with the exception
of those of Saturn and Mars. I shut up the book quickly. The spirits
named were the same as those in the works of Agrippa, with which I was
acquainted. With an unmoved countenance I drew near her, and she soon
found the match, and her appearance surprised me a good deal; but I will
speak of that another time.
The marchioness sat down on her sofa, and making me to do the like she
asked me if I was acquainted with the talismans of the Count de Treves?
"I have never heard of them, madam, but I know those of Poliphilus:"
"It is said they are the same."
"I don't believe it."
"We shall see. If you will write the words you uttered, as you drew the
pentacle on my nephew's thigh, and if I find the same talisman with the
same words around it, the identity will be proved."
"It will, I confess. I will write the words immediately."
I wrote out the names of the spirits. Madame d'Urfe found the pentacle
and read out the names, while I pretending astonishment, gave her the
paper, and much to her delight she found the names to be the same.
"You see," said she, "that Poliphilus and the Count de Treves possessed
the same art."
"I shall be convinced that it is so, if your book contains the manner of
pronouncing the ineffable names. Do you know the theory of the planetary
hours?"
"I think so, but they are not needed in this operation."
"They are indispensable, madam, for without them one cannot work with any
certainty. I drew Solomon's pentacle on the thigh of Count de la Tour
d'Auvergne in the hour of Venus, and if I had not begun with Arael, the
spirit of Venus, the operation would have had no effect."
"I did not know that. And after Arael?"
"Next comes Mercury, then the Moon, then Jupiter, and then the Sun. It
is, you see, the magic cycle of Zoroaster, in which Saturn and Mars are
omitted."
"And how would you have proceeded if you had gone to work in the hour of
the Moon?"
"I should have begun with Jupiter, passed to the Sun, then to Arael or
Venus, and I should have finished at Mercury."
"I see sir, that you are most apt in the calculation of the planetary
hours."
"Without it one can do nothing in magic, as one would have no proper
data; however, it is an easy matter to learn. Anyone could pick it up in
a month's time. The practical use, however, is much more difficult than
the theory; this, indeed, is a complicated affair. I never leave my house
without ascertaining the exact number of minutes in the day, and take
care that my watch is exact to the time, for a minute more or less would
make all the difference in the world."
"Would you have the goodness to explain the theory to me."
"You will find it in Artephius and more clearly in Sandivogius."
"I have both works, but they are in Latin."
"I will make you a translation of them."
"You are very kind; I shall be extremely obliged to you."
"I have seen such things here, madam, that I could not refuse, for
reasons which I may, perhaps, tell you to-morrow."
"Why not to-day?"
"Because I ought to know the name of your familiar spirit before I tell
you."
"You know, then, that I have a familiar? You should have one, if it is
true that you possess the powder of projection."
"I have one."
"Give me the oath of the order."
"I dare not, and you know why."
"Perhaps I shall be able to remove your fears by tomorrow."
This absurd oath was none other than that of the princes of the Rosy
Cross, who never pronounce it without being certain that each party is a
Rosicrucian, so Madame d'Urfe was quite right in her caution, and as for
me I had to pretend to be afraid myself. The fact is I wanted to gain
time, for I knew perfectly well the nature of the oath. It may be given
between men without any indecency, but a woman like Madame d'Urfe would
probably not relish giving it to a man whom she saw for the first time.
"When we find this oath alluded to in the Holy Scriptures," she said, "it
is indicated by the words 'he swore to him by laying his hand on his
thigh.'"
"But the thigh is not really what is meant; and consequently we never
find any notice of a man taking this oath to a woman, as a woman has no
'verbum'."
The Count de la Tour d'Auvergne came back at nine o'clock in the evening,
and he skewed no little astonishment at seeing me still with his aunt. He
told us that his cousin's fever had increased, and that small-pox had
declared itself; "and I am going to take leave of you, my dear aunt, at
least for a month, as I intend to shut myself up with the sick man."
Madame d'Urfe praised his zeal, and gave him a little bag on his
promising to return it to her after the cure of the prince.
"Hang it round his neck and the eruption will come out well, and he will
be perfectly cured."
He promised to do so, and having wished us good evening he went out.
"I do not know, madam, what your bag contains, but if it have aught to do
with magic, I have no confidence in its efficacy, as you have neglected
to observe the planetary hour."
"It is an electrum, and magic and the observance of the hour have nothing
to do with it."
"I beg your pardon."
She then said that she thought my desire for privacy praiseworthy, but
she was sure I should not be ill pleased with her small circle, if I
would but enter it.
"I will introduce you to all my friends," said she, "by asking them one
at a time, and you will then be able to enjoy the company of them all."
I accepted her proposition.
In consequence of this arrangement I dined the next day with M. Grin and
his niece, but neither of them took my fancy. The day after, I dined with
an Irishman named Macartney, a physician of the old school, who bored me
terribly. The next day the guest was a monk who talked literature, and
spoke a thousand follies against Voltaire, whom I then much admired, and
against the "Esprit des Lois," a favourite work of mine, which the cowled
idiot refused to attribute to Montesquieu, maintaining it had been
written by a monk. He might as well have said that a Capuchin created the
heavens and the earth.
On the day following Madame d'Urfe asked me to dine with the Chevalier
d'Arzigny, a man upwards of eighty, vain, foppish, and consequently
ridiculous, known as "The Last of the Beaus." However, as he had moved in
the court of Louis XIV., he was interesting enough, speaking with all the
courtesy of the school, and having a fund of anecdote relating to the
Court of that despotic and luxurious monarch.
His follies amused me greatly. He used rouge, his clothes were cut in the
style which obtained in the days of Madame de Sevigne, he professed
himself still the devoted lover of his mistress, with whom he supped
every night in the company of his lady friends, who were all young and
all delightful, and preferred his society to all others; however, in
spite of these seductions, he remained faithful to his mistress.
The Chevalier d'Arzigny had an amiability of character which gave
whatever he said an appearance of truth, although in his capacity of
courtier truth was probably quite unknown to him. He always wore a
bouquet of the most strongly-smelling flowers, such as tuberoses,
jonquils, and Spanish jasmine; his wig was plastered down with
amber-scented pomade, his teeth were made of ivory, and his eyebrows dyed
and perfumed, and his whole person exhaled an odour to which Madame
d'Urfe did not object, but which I could scarcely bear. If it had not
been for this drawback I should probably have cultivated his society. He
was a professed Epicurean, and carried out the system with an amazing
tranquillity. He said that he would undertake to receive twenty-four
blows with the stick every morning on the condition that he should not
die within the twenty-four hours, and that the older he grew the more
blows he would gladly submit to. This was being in love with life with a
vengeance.
Another day I dined with M. Charon, who was a counsellor, and in charge
of a suit between Madame d'Urfe and her daughter Madame du Chatelet, whom
she disliked heartily. The old counsellor had been the favoured lover of
the marchioness forty years before, and he thought himself bound by the
remembrance of their love-passages to support the cause of his old
sweetheart. In those days French magistrates thought they had a right to
take the side of their friends, or of persons in whom they had an
interest, sometimes for friendship's sake, and sometimes for a monetary
consideration; they thought, in fact, that they were justified in selling
justice.
M. Charon bored me like the others, as was natural, considering we had no
two tastes in common.
The scene was changed the next day when I was amused with the company of
M. de Viarme, a young counsellor, a nephew of Madame d'Urfe's, and his
pretty and charming wife. He was the author of the "Remonstrances to the
King," a work which got him a great reputation, and had been read eagerly
by the whole town. He told me that the business of a counsellor was to
oppose everything done by the crown, good and bad. His reasons for this
theory were those given by all minorities, and I do not think I need
trouble my readers with them.
The most enjoyable dinner I had was with Madame de Gergi, who came with
the famous adventurer, known by the name of the Count de St. Germain.
This individual, instead of eating, talked from the beginning of the meal
to the end, and I followed his example in one respect as I did not eat,
but listened to him with the greatest attention. It may safely be said
that as a conversationalist he was unequalled.
St. Germain gave himself out for a marvel and always aimed at exciting
amazement, which he often succeeded in doing. He was scholar, linguist,
musician, and chemist, good-looking, and a perfect ladies' man. For
awhile he gave them paints and cosmetics; he flattered them, not that he
would make them young again (which he modestly confessed was beyond him)
but that their beauty would be preserved by means of a wash which, he
said, cost him a lot of money, but which he gave away freely.
He had contrived to gain the favour of Madame de Pompadour, who had
spoken about him to the king, for whom he had made a laboratory, in which
the monarch--a martyr to boredom--tried to find a little pleasure or
distraction, at all events, by making dyes. The king had given him a
suite of rooms at Chambord, and a hundred thousand francs for the
construction of a laboratory, and according to St. Germain the dyes
discovered by the king would have a materially beneficial influence on
the quality of French fabrics.
This extraordinary man, intended by nature to be the king of impostors
and quacks, would say in an easy, assured manner that he was three
hundred years old, that he knew the secret of the Universal Medicine,
that he possessed a mastery over nature, that he could melt diamonds,
professing himself capable of forming, out of ten or twelve small
diamonds, one large one of the finest water without any loss of weight.
All this, he said, was a mere trifle to him. Notwithstanding his
boastings, his bare-faced lies, and his manifold eccentricities, I cannot
say I thought him offensive. In spite of my knowledge of what he was and
in spite of my own feelings, I thought him an astonishing man as he was
always astonishing me. I shall have something more to say of this
character further on.
When Madame d'Urfe had introduced me to all her friends, I told her that
I would dine with her whenever she wished, but that with the exception of
her relations and St. Germain, whose wild talk amused me, I should prefer
her to invite no company. St. Germain often dined with the best society
in the capital, but he never ate anything, saying that he was kept alive
by mysterious food known only to himself. One soon got used to his
eccentricities, but not to his wonderful flow of words which made him the
soul of whatever company he was in.
By this time I had fathomed all the depths of Madame d'Urfe's character.
She firmly believed me to be an adept of the first order, making use of
another name for purposes of my own; and five or six weeks later she was
confirmed in this wild idea on her asking me if I had diciphered the
manuscript which pretended to explain the Magnum Opus.
"Yes," said I, "I have deciphered it, and consequently read it, and I now
beg to return it you with my word of honour that I have not made a copy;
in fact, I found nothing in it that I did not know before."
"Without the key you mean, but of course you could never find out that."
"Shall I tell you the key?"
"Pray do so."
I gave her the word, which belonged to no language that I know of, and
the marchioness was quite thunderstruck.
"This is too amazing," said she; "I thought myself the sole possessor of
that mysterious word--for I had never written it down, laying it up in my
memory--and I am sure I have never told anyone of it."
I might have informed her that the calculation which enabled me to
decipher the manuscript furnished me also with the key, but the whim took
me to tell her that a spirit had revealed it to me. This foolish tale
completed my mastery over this truly learned and sensible woman on
everything but her hobby. This false confidence gave me an immense
ascendancy over Madame d'Urfe, and I often abused my power over her. Now
that I am no longer the victim of those illusions which pursued me
throughout my life, I blush at the remembrance of my conduct, and the
penance I impose on myself is to tell the whole truth, and to extenuate
nothing in these Memoirs.
The wildest notion in the good marchioness's brain was a firm belief in
the possibility of communication between mortals and elementary spirits.
She would have given all her goods to attain to such communication, and
she had several times been deceived by impostors who made her believe
that she attained her aim.
"I did not think," said she, sadly, "that your spirit would have been
able to force mine to reveal my secrets."
"There was no need to force your spirit, madam, as mine knows all things
of his own power."
"Does he know the inmost secrets of my soul?"
"Certainly, and if I ask him he is forced to disclose all to me."
"Can you ask him when you like?"
"Oh, yes! provided I have paper and ink. I can even ask him questions
through you by telling you his name."
"And will you tell it me?"
"I can do what I say; and, to convince you, his name is Paralis. Ask him
a simple question in writing, as you would ask a common mortal. Ask him,
for instance, how I deciphered your manuscript, and you shall see I will
compel him to answer you."
Trembling with joy, Madame d'Urfe put her question, expressed it in
numbers, then following my method in pyramid shape; and I made her
extract the answer, which she wrote down in letters. At first she only
obtained consonants, but by a second process which supplied the vowels
she received a clear and sufficient answer. Her every feature expressed
astonishment, for she had drawn from the pyramid the word which was the
key to her manuscript. I left her, carrying with me her heart, her soul,
her mind, and all the common sense which she had left.
CHAPTER IV
Absurd Ideas of Madame D'Urfe on My Supernatural Powers--
Marriage of My Brother--I Conceive a Plan on His Wedding
Day--I Go to Holland on a Financial Mission--The Jew Boaz
Gives Me a Lesson--M. d'Afri--Esther--Another Casanova--I
Find Therese Imer Again
By the time that the Prince du Turenne had recovered from the small-pox
and the Count de la Tour d'Auvergne had left him, the latter, knowing his
aunt's taste for the occult sciences, was not surprised to find me become
her confident and most intimate friend.
I was glad so see him and all the relations of the marchioness at dinner,
as I was delighted with the courtesy with which they treated me. I am
referring more especially to her brothers MM. de Pont-Carre and de Viarme
who had lately been chosen head of the trade companies, and his son. I
have already spoken of Madame du Chatelet, the marchioness's daughter,
but an unlucky lawsuit separated them, and she no longer formed one of
the family circle.
De la Tour d'Auvergne having been obliged to rejoin his regiment which
was in garrison in Brittany, the marchioness and I dined together almost
every day and people looked upon me as her husband, and despite the
improbability of the supposition this was the only way in which they
could account for the long hours we spent together. Madame d'Urfe thought
that I was rich and looked upon my position at the lottery as a mere
device for preserving my incognito.
I was the possessor in her estimation, not only of the philosopher's
stone, but also of the power of speaking with the whole host of
elementary spirits; from which premises she drew the very logical
deduction that I could turn the world upside down if I liked, and be the
blessing or the plague of France; and she thought my object in remaining
incognito was to guard myself from arrest and imprisonment; which
according to her would be the inevitable result of the minister's
discovering my real character. These wild notions were the fruit of the
nocturnal revelations of her genius, that is, of the dreams of her
disordered spirit, which seemed to her realities. She did not seem to
think that if I was endowed as she supposed no one would have been able
to arrest me, in the first place, because I should have had foreknowledge
of the attempt, and in the second place because my power would have been
too strong for all bolts and bars. All this was clear enough, but strong
passion and prejudice cannot reason.
One day, in the course of conversation, she said, with the utmost
seriousness, that her genius had advised her that not even I had power to
give her speech with the spirits, since she was a woman, and the genii
only communicated with men, whose nature is more perfect. Nevertheless,
by a process which was well known to me, I might make her soul pass into
the body of a male child born of the mystic connection between a mortal
and an immortal, or, in other words, between an ordinary man and a woman
of a divine nature.
If I had thought it possible to lead back Madame d'Urfe to the right use
of her senses I would have made the attempt, but I felt sure that her
disease was without remedy, and the only course before me seemed to abet
her in her ravings and to profit by them.
If I had spoken out like an honest man and told her that her theories
were nonsensical, she would not have believed me; she would have thought
me jealous of her knowledge, and I should have lost her favour without
any gain to her or to myself. I thus let things take their course, and to
speak the truth I was flattered to see myself treated as one of the most
profound brothers of the Rosy Cross, as the most powerful of men by so
distinguished a lady, who was in high repute for her learning, who
entertained and was related to the first families of France, and had an
income of eighty thousand francs, a splendid estate, and several
magnificent houses in Paris. I was quite sure that she would refuse me
nothing, and though I had no definite plan of profiting by her wealth I
experienced a certain pleasure at the thought that I could do so if I
would.
In spite of her immense fortune and her belief in her ability to make
gold, Madame d'Urfe was miserly in her habits, for she never spent more
than thirty thousand francs in a year, and she invested her savings in
the exchange, and in this way had nearly doubled them. A brother used to
buy her in Government securities at their lowest rate and sell at their
rise, and in this manner, being able to wait for their rise, and fall,
she had amassed a considerable sum.
She had told me more than once that she would give all she possessed to
become a man, and that she knew I could do this for her if I would. One
day, as she was speaking to me on this subject in a tone of persuasion
almost irresistible, I told her that I must confess I had the power to do
what she wanted, but that I could not make up my mind to perform the
operation upon her as I should have to kill her first. I thought this
would effectually check her wish to go any further, but what was my
surprise to hear her say,
"I know that, and what is more I know the death I shall have to die; but
for all that I am ready."
"What, then, is that death, madam?"
"It is by the same poison which killed Paracelsus."
"Do you think that Paracelsus obtained the hypostasis?"
"No, but I know the reason of his not doing so."
"What is the reason?"
"It is that he was neither man or woman, and a composite nature is
incapable of the hypostasis, to obtain which one must be either the one
or the other."
"Very true, but do you know how to make the poison, and that the thing is
impossible without the aid of a salamander?"
"That may or may not be! I beseech you to enquire of the oracle whether
there be anyone in Paris in possession of this potion."
It was easy to see that she thought herself in possession of it, so I had
no hesitation in extracting her name from the oracular pyramid. I
pretended to be astonished at the answer, but she said boastfully,
"You see that all we want is a male child born of an immortal. This, I am
advised, will be provided by you; and I do not think you will be found
wanting out of a foolish pity for this poor old body of mine."
At these words I rose and went to the window, where I stayed for more
than a quarter of an hour reflecting on her infatuation. When I returned
to the table where she was seated she scanned my features attentively,
and said, with much emotion, "Can it be done, my dear friend? I see that
you have been weeping."
I did not try to undeceive her, and, taking my sword and hat, I took
leave of her sadly. Her carriage, which was always at my disposal, was at
the door, and I drove to the Boulevards, where I walked till the evening,
wondering all the while at the extraordinary fantasies of the
marchioness.
My brother had been made a member of the Academy, on the exhibition of a
battle piece which had taken all the critics by storm. The picture was
purchased by the Academy for five hundred louis.
He had fallen in love with Caroline, and would have married her but for a
piece of infidelity on her part, which so enraged him that in a week
after he married an Italian dancer. M. de Sanci, the ecclesiastical
commissioner, gave the wedding party. He was fond of the girl, and out of
gratitude to my brother for marrying her he got him numerous orders among
his friends, which paved the way to the large fortune and high repute
which my brother afterwards attained.
M. Corneman, the banker, who was at my brother's wedding, spoke to me at
considerable length on the great dearth of money, and asked me to discuss
the matter with the comptroller-general.
He told me that one might dispose of Government securities to an
association of brokers at Amsterdam, and take in exchange the securities
of any other country whose credit was higher than that of France, and
that these securities could easily be realized. I begged him to say no
more about it, and promised to see what I could do.
The plan pleased me, and I turned it over all night; and the next day I
went to the Palais Bourbon to discuss the question with M. de Bernis. He
thought the whole idea an excellent one, and advised me to go to Holland
with a letter from M. de Choiseul for M. d'Afri, the ambassador at the
Hague. He thought that the first person I should consult with M. de
Boulogne, with whom he warned me to appear as if I was sure of my ground.
"As you do not require money in advance," said he, "you will be able to
get as many letters of recommendation as you like."
The same day I went to the comptroller-general, who approved of my plan,
and told me that M. le Duc de Choiseul would be at the Invalides the next
day, and that I should speak to him at once, and take a letter he would
write for me.
"For my part," said he, "I will credit our ambassador with twenty
millions, and if, contrary to my hopes, you do not succeed, the paper can
be sent back to France."
I answered that there would be no question of the paper being returned,
if they would be content with a fair price.
"The margin will be a small one; however, you will hear about that from
the ambassador, who will have full instructions."
I felt so flattered by this mission that I passed the night in thinking
it over. The next day I went to the Invalides, and M. de Choiseul, so
famous for taking decisive action, had no sooner read M. de Boulogne's
letter and spoken a few words to me on the subject, than he got me to
write a letter for M. d'Afri, which he signed, sealed, returned to me,
and wished me a prosperous journey.
I immediately got a passport from M. de Berkenrode, and the same day took
leave of Madame Baletti and all my friends except Madame d'Urfe, with
whom I was to spend the whole of the next day. I gave my clerk at the
lottery office full authority to sign all tickets.
About a month before, a girl from Brussels, as excellent as she was
pretty, had been married under my auspices to an Italian named Gaetan, by
trade a broker. This fellow, in his fit of jealousy, used to ill-treat
her shamefully; I had reconciled them several times already, and they
regarded me as a kind of go-between. They came to see me on the day on
which I was making my preparations for going to Holland. My brother and
Tiretta were with me, and as I was still living in furnished apartments I
took them all to Laudel's, where they gave one an excellent dinner.
Tiretta, drove his coach-and-four; he was ruining his ex-methodist, who
was still desperately in love with him.
In the course of dinner Tiretta, who was always in high spirits and loved
a jest, began to flirt with the girl, whom he saw for the first time.
She, who neither meant nor suspected any ill, was quite at her ease, and
we should have enjoyed the joke, and everything would have gone on
pleasantly, if her husband had possessed some modicum of manners and
common sense, but he began to get into a perfect fury of jealousy. He ate
nothing, changed colour ten times in a minute, and looked daggers at his
wife, as much as to say he did not see the joke. To crown all, Tiretta
began to crack jests at the poor wretch's expense, and I, foreseeing
unpleasantness, endeavoured, though all in vain, to moderate his high
spirits and his sallies. An oyster chanced to fall on Madame Gaetan's
beautiful breast; and Tiretta, who was sitting near her, took it up with
his lips as quick as lightning. Gaetan was mad with rage and gave his
wife such a furious box on the ear that his hand passed on from her cheek
to that of her neighbour. Tiretta now as enraged as Gaetan took him by
his middle and threw him down, where, having no arms, he defended himself
with kicks and fisticuffs, till the waiter came, and we put him out of
the room.
The poor wife in tears, and, like Tiretta, bleeding at the nose, besought
me to take her away somewhere, as she feared her husband would kill her
if she returned to him. So, leaving Tiretta with my brother, I got into a
carriage with her and I took her, according to her request, to her
kinsman, an old attorney who lived in the fourth story of a house in the
Quai de Gevres. He received us politely, and after having heard the tale,
he said,
"I am a poor man, and I can do nothing for this unfortunate girl; while
if I had a hundred crowns I could do everything."
"Don't let that stand in your way," said I, and drawing three hundred
francs from my pockets I gave him the money.
"Now, sir," said he, "I will be the ruin of her husband, who shall never
know where his wife is."
She thanked me and I left her there; the reader shall hear what became of
her when I return from my journey.
On my informing Madame d'Urfe that I was going to Holland for the good of
France, and that I should be coming back at the beginning of February,
she begged me to take charge of some shares of hers and to sell them for
her. They amounted in value to sixty thousand francs, but she could not
dispose of them on the Paris Exchange owing to the tightness in the money
market. In addition, she could not obtain the interest due to her, which
had mounted up considerably, as she had not had a dividend for three
years.
I agreed to sell the shares for her, but it was necessary for me to be
constituted depositary and owner of the property by a deed, which was
executed the same day before a notary, to whose office we both went.
On returning to her house I wished to give her an I O U for the moneys,
but she would not hear of such a thing, and I let her remain satisfied of
my honesty.
I called on M. Corneman who gave me a bill of exchange for three hundred
florins on M. Boaz, a Jewish banker at the Hague, and I then set out on
my journey. I reached Anvers in two days, and finding a yacht ready to
start I got on board and arrived at Rotterdam the next day. I got to the
Hague on the day following, and after depositing my effects at the "Hotel
d'Angleterre" I proceeded to M. d'Afri's, and found him reading M. de
Choiseul's letter, which informed him of my business. He asked me to dine
in his company and in that of the ambassador of the King of Poland, who
encouraged me to proceed in my undertaking though he had not much opinion
of my chances of success.
Leaving the ambassador I went to see Boaz, whom I found at table in the
midst of a numerous and ugly family. He read my letter and told me he had
just received a letter from M. Corneman in which I was highly commended
to him. By way of a joke he said that as it was Christmas Eve he supposed
I should be going to rock the infant Jesus asleep, but I answered that I
was come to keep the Feast of the Maccabees with him--a reply which
gained me the applause of the whole family and an invitation to stay with
them. I accepted the offer without hesitation, and I told my servant to
fetch my baggage from the hotel. Before leaving the banker I asked him to
shew me some way of making twenty thousand florins in the short time I
was going to stay in Holland.
Taking me quite seriously he replied that the thing might easily be done
and that he would think it over.
The next morning after breakfast, Boaz said,
"I have solved your problem, sir; come in here and I will tell you about
it."
He took me into his private office, and, after counting out three
thousand florins in notes and gold, he told me that if I liked I could
undoubtedly make the twenty thousand florins I had spoken of.
Much surprised at the ease with which money may be got in Holland, as I
had been merely jesting in the remarks I had made, I thanked him for his
kindness, and listened to his explanation.
"Look at this note," said he, "which I received this morning from the
Mint. It informs me that an issue of four hundred thousand ducats is
about to be made which will be disposed of at the current rate of gold,
which is fortunately not high just now. Each ducat will fetch five
florins, two stivers and three-fifths. This is the rate of exchange with
Frankfort. Buy in four hundred thousand ducats; take them or send them to
Frankfort, with bills of exchange on Amsterdam, and your business is
done. On every ducat you will make a stiver and one-ninth, which comes to
twenty-two thousand, two hundred and twenty-two of our florins. Get hold
of the gold to-day, and in a week you will have your clear profit. That's
my idea."
"But," said I, "will the clerks of the Mint trust me with such a sum?"
"Certainly not, unless you pay them in current money or in good paper."
"My dear sir, I have neither money nor credit to that amount."
"Then you will certainly never make twenty thousand florins in a week. By
the way you talked yesterday I took you for a millionaire."
"I am very sorry you were so mistaken."
"I shall get one of my sons to transact the business to-day."
After giving me this rather sharp lesson, M. Boaz went into his office,
and I went to dress.
M. d'Afri had paid his call on me at the "Hotel d'Angleterre," and not
finding me there he had written me a letter asking me to come and see
him. I did so, and he kept me to dinner, shewing me a letter he had
received from M. de Boulogne, in which he was instructed not to let me
dispose of the twenty millions at a greater loss than eight per cent., as
peace was imminent. We both of us laughed at this calm confidence of the
Parisian minister, while we who were in a country where people saw deeper
into affairs knew that the truth was quite otherwise.
On M. d'Afri's hearing that I was staying with a Jew, he advised me to
keep my own counsel when with Jews, "because," said he, "in business,
most honest and least knavish mean pretty much the same thing. If you
like," he added, "I will give you a letter of introduction to M. Pels, of
Amsterdam." I accepted his offer with gratitude, and in the hope of being
useful to me in the matter of my foreign shares he introduced me to the
Swedish ambassador, who sent me to M. d'O----.
Wanting to be present at a great festival of Freemasons on St. John's
Day, I remained at the Hague till the day after the celebration. The
Comte de Tot, brother of the baron, who lost all his money at the
seraglio, and whom I had met again at the Hague, introduced me. I was not
sorry to be in company with all the best society in Holland.
M. d'Afri introduced me to the mother of the stadtholder, who was only
twelve, and whom I thought too grave for his years. His mother was a
worthy, patient kind of woman, who fell asleep every minute, even while
she was speaking. She died shortly after, and it was discovered at the
postmortem examination that she had a disease of the brain which caused
her extreme propensity to sleep. Beside her I saw Count Philip de
Zinzendorf, who was looking for twelve millions for the empress--a task
which was not very difficult, as he offered five per cent. interest.
At the play I found myself sitting next to the Turkish minister, and I
thought he would die with laughter before my eyes. It happened thus:
They were playing Iphigenia, that masterpiece of Racine's. The statue of
Diana stood in the midst of the stage, and at the end of one act
Iphigenia and her train of priestesses, while passing before it, all made
a profound bow to the goddess. The candlesnuffer, who perhaps may have
been a bad wit, crossed the stage just after wards, and likewise bowed to
the goddess. This put pit and boxes in a good humour, and peals of
laughter sounded from all parts of the house. All this had to be
explained to the Turk, and he fell into such a fit of laughter that I
thought he would burst. At last he was carried to his inn still laughing
but almost senseless.
To have taken no notice of the Dutchman's heavy wit would have been, I
confess, a mark of stupidity, but no one but a Turk could have laughed
like that. It may be said that a great Greek philosopher died of laughter
at seeing a toothless old woman trying to eat figs. But there is a great
difference between a Turk and a Greek, especially an ancient Greek.
Those who laugh a good deal are more fortunate than those who do not
laugh at all, as laughter is good for the digestion; but there is a just
mean in everything.
When I had gone two leagues from Amsterdam in my posting-chaise on two
wheels, my servant sitting beside me, I met a carriage on four wheels,
drawn like mine by two horses, and containing a fine-looking young man
and his servant. His coachman called out to mine to make way for him. My
coachman answered that if he did he might turn me into the ditch, but the
other insisted on it. I spoke to the master, begging him to tell his
coachman to make way for me.
"I am posting, sir," said I; "and, moreover, I am a foreigner."
"Sir," answered he, "in Holland we take no notice of posting or not
posting; and if you are foreigner, as you say, you must confess that you
have fewer rights than I who am in my own country."
The blood rushed to my face. I flung open the door with one hand and took
my sword with the other; and leaping into the snow, which was up to my
knees, I drew my sword, and summoned the Dutchman to give way or defend
himself. He was cooler than I, and replied, smiling, that he was not
going to fight for so foolish a cause, and that I might get into my
carriage again, as he would make way for me. I was somewhat interested in
his cool but pleasant manner. I got back into my chaise, and the next
night reached Amsterdam.
I put up at the excellent inn "L'Etoile d'Orient," and in the morning I
went on 'Change and found M. Pels. He told me he would think my business
over, and finding M, d'O---- directly afterwards he offered to do me my
sixty bills and give me twelve per cent. M. Pels told me to wait, as he
said he could get me fifteen per cent. He asked me to dinner, and, on my
admiring his Cape wine, he told me with a laugh that he had made it
himself by mixing Bordeaux and Malaga.
M. d'O---- asked me to dinner on the day following; and on calling I found
him with his daughter Esther, a young lady of fourteen, well developed
for her age, and exquisite in all respects except her teeth, which were
somewhat irregular. M. d'O was a widower, and had this only child;
consequently, Esther was heiress to a large fortune. Her excellent father
loved her blindly, and she deserved his love. Her skin was snow white,
delicately tinted with red; her hair was black as ebony, and she had the
most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. She made an impression on me. Her
father had given her an excellent education; she spoke French perfectly,
played the piano admirably, and was passionately fond of reading.
After dinner M. d'O---- shewed me the uninhabited part of the house, for
since the death of his wife, whose memory was dear to him, he lived on
the ground floor only. He shewed me a set of rooms where he kept a
treasure in the way of old pottery. The walls and windows were covered
with plates of marble, each room a different colour, and the floors were
of mosaic, with Persian carpets. The dining-hall was cased in alabaster,
and the table and the cupboards were of cedar wood. The whole house
looked like a block of solid marble, for it was covered with marble
without as well as within, and must have cost immense sums. Every
Saturday half-a-dozen servant girls, perched on ladders, washed down
these splendid walls. These girls wore wide hoops, being obliged to put
on breeches, as otherwise they would have interested the passers by in an
unseemly manner. After looking at the house we went down again, and M.
d'O---- left me alone with Esther in the antechamber, where he worked with
his clerks. As it was New Year's Day there was not business going on.
After playing a sonata, Mdlle. d'O---- asked me if I would go to a
concert. I replied that, being in her company, nothing could make me
stir. "But would you, mademoiselle, like to go?"
"Yes, I should like to go very well, but I cannot go by myself."
"If I might presume to offer to escort you . . . but I dare not think you
would accept."
"I should be delighted, and if you were to ask my father I am sure he
would not refuse his permission."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Quite sure, for otherwise he would be guilty of impoliteness, and my
father would not do such a thing. But I see you don't know the manners of
the country."
"I confess I do not:"
"Young ladies enjoy great liberty here--liberty which they lose only by
marrying. Go and ask, and you will see:"
I went to M. d'O---- and made my request, trembling lest I should meet
with a refusal.
"Have you a carriage?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then I need not give orders to get mine ready. Esther!"
"Yes, father."
"Go and dress, my dear; M. Casanova has been kind enough to offer to take
you to the concert."
"How good of him! Thank you, papa, for letting me go."
She threw her arms around his neck, ran to dress, and reappeared an hour
after, as fair as the joy which was expressed on her every feature. I
could have wished she had used a little powder, but Esther was jealous of
her ebon tresses, which displayed the whiteness of her skin to
admiration. The chief aim of women in making their toilette is to please
men, but how poor is the judgment of most men in such matters compared to
the unerring instinct of the generality of women!
A beautiful lace kerchief veiled her bosom, whose glories made my heart
beat faster.
We went down the stair, I helped her into the carriage, and stopped,
thinking she would be accompanied by one of her women; but seeing nobody
I got in myself. The door was shut, and we were off. I was overwhelmed
with astonishment. A treasure like this in my keeping I could hardly
think. I asked myself whether I was to remember that I was a free-lance
of love, or whether honour bade me forget it. Esther, in the highest
spirits, told me that we were going to hear an Italian singer whose voice
was exquisite, and noticing my confusion she asked what was the matter. I
did not know what to say, and began to stammer out something, but at last
succeeded in saying that she was a treasure of whom I was not worthy to
be the keeper.
"I know that in other countries a young girl would not be trusted alone
with a gentleman, but here they teach us discretion and how to look after
ourselves."
"Happy the man who is charged with your welfare, and happier still he on
whom your choice has fallen!"
"That choice is not for me to make; 'tis my father's business."
"But supposing your father's choice is not pleasing to you, or supposing
you love another?"
"We are not allowed to love a man until we know he is to be our husband."
"Then you are not in love with anyone?"
"No, and I have never felt the desire to love."
"Then I may kiss your hand?"
"Why should you kiss my hand?"
She drew away her hand and offered me her lovely lips. I took a kiss,
which she gave modestly enough, but which went to my heart. My delight
was a little alloyed when she said that she would give me another kiss
before her father whenever I liked.
We reached the concert-room, where Esther found many of her young
friends--all daughters of rich merchants, some pretty, some plain, and
all curious to know who I was. The fair Esther, who knew no more than my
name, could not satisfy them. All at once seeing a fair young girl a
little way off she pointed her out to me and asked me my opinion of her.
Naturally enough I replied that I did not care for fair girls.
"All the same, I must introduce you to her, for she may be a relation of
yours. Her name is the same; that is her father over there:"
"M. Casanova," said she, speaking to a gentleman, "I beg to introduce to
you M. Casanova, a friend of my father's."
"Really? The same name; I wish, sir, you were my friend, as we are,
perhaps, related. I belong to the Naples branch."
"Then we are related, though distantly, as my father came from Parma.
Have you your pedigree?"
"I ought to have such a thing, but to tell you the truth, I don't think
much of such matters. Besants d'or and such heraldic moneys are not
currency in a mercantile republic."
"Pedigree-hunting is certainly a somewhat foolish pursuit; but it may
nevertheless afford us a few minutes' amusement without our making any
parade of our ancestry."
"With all my heart."
"I shall have the honour of calling on you to-morrow, and I will bring my
family-tree with me. Will you be vexed if you find the root of your
family also?"
"Not at all; I shall be delighted. I will call on you myself to-morrow.
May I ask if you are a business man?"
"No, I am a financial agent in the employ of the French ministry. I am
staying with M. Pels."
M. Casanova made a sign to his daughter and introduced me to her. She was
Esther's dearest friend, and I sat down between them, and the concert
began.
After a fine symphony, a concerto for the violin, another for the
hautbois, the Italian singer whose repute was so great and who was styled
Madame Trend made her appearance. What was my surprise when I recognized
in her Therese Imer, wife of the dancer Pompeati, whose name the reader
may remember. I had made her acquaintance eighteen years ago, when the
old senator Malipiero had struck me because we were playing together. I
had seen her again at Venice in 1753, and then our pastime had been of a
more serious nature. She had gone to Bayreuth, where she had been the
margrave's mistress. I had promised to go and see her, but C---- C---- and
my fair nun M---- M---- had left me neither the time nor the wish to do so.
Soon after I was put under the Leads, and then I had other things to
think about. I was sufficiently self-controlled not to shew my
astonishment, and listened to an aria which she was singing, with her
exquisite voice, beginning "Eccoti giunta al fin, donna infelice," words
which seemed made for the case.
The applause seemed as if it would never come to an end. Esther told me
that it was not known who she was, but that she was said to be a woman
with a history, and to be very badly off. "She goes from one town to
another, singing at all the public concerts, and all she receives is what
those present choose to give her on a plate which she takes round."
"Does she find that pay?"
"I should suspect not, as everyone has paid already at coming in. She
cannot get more than thirty or forty florins. The day after to-morrow she
will go to the Hague, then to Rotterdam, then back here again. She had
been performing for six months, and she is always well received."
"Has she a lover?"
"She is said to have lovers in every town, but instead of enriching her
they make her poorer. She always wears black, not only because she is a
widow, but also on account of a great grief she is reported to have gone
through. She will soon be coming round." I took out my purse; and counted
out twelve ducats, which I wrapped in paper; my heart beating all the
while in a ridiculous manner, for I had really nothing to be excited
about.
When Therese was going along the seats in front of me, I glanced at her
for an instant, and I saw that she looked surprised. I turned my head to
speak to Esther, and when she was directly in front of me I put my little
packet on the plate without looking at her, and she passed on. A little
girl, four or five years old, followed her, and when she got to the end
of the bench she came back to kiss my hand. I could not help recognizing
in her a facsimile of myself, but I concealed my emotion. The child stood
still, and gazed at me fixedly, to my no small confusion. "Would you like
some sweets, my dear?" said I, giving her my box, which I should have
been glad to turn into gold. The little girl took it smilingly, made me a
curtsy, and went on.
"Does it strike you, M. Casanova," said Esther, with a laugh, "that you
and that little girl are as like each other as two peas?"
"Yes, indeed," added Mdlle. Casanova, "there is a striking likeness."
"These resemblances are often the work of chance."
"Just so," said Esther, with a wicked smile, "but you admit a likeness,
don't you?"
"I confess I was struck with it, though of course I cannot judge so well
as you."
After the concert M. d'O---- arrived, and giving back his daughter to his
care I betook myself to my lodging. I was just sitting down to a dish of
oysters, before going to bed, when Therese made her appearance, holding
her child by the hand. Although I had not expected her to visit me that
evening, I was nevertheless not much surprised to see her. I, of course,
rose to greet her, when all at once she fell fainting on the sofa, though
whether the fainting fit was real or assumed I cannot say. Thinking that
she might be really ill I played my part properly, and brought her to
herself by sprinkling her with cold water and putting my vinaigrette to
her nose. As soon as she came to herself she began to gaze at me without
saying a word. At last, tired of her silence, I asked her if she would
take any supper; and on her replying in the affirmative, I rang the bell
and ordered a good supper for three, which kept us at the table till
seven o'clock in the morning, talking over our various fortunes and
misfortunes. She was already acquainted with most of my recent
adventures, but I knew nothing at all about hers, and she entertained me
with a recital of them for five or six hours.
Sophie, the little girl, slept in my bed till day, and her mother,
keeping the best of her tale to the last, told me that she was my
daughter, and shewed me her baptismal certificate. The birth of the child
fell in with the period at which I had been intimate with Therese, and
her perfect likeness to myself left no room for doubt. I therefore raised
no objections, but told the mother that I was persuaded of my paternity,
and that, being in a position to give the child a good education, I was
ready to be a father to her.
"She is too precious a treasure in my sight; if we were separated I
should die."
"You are wrong; for if I took charge of the little girl I should see that
she was well provided for."
"I have a son of twelve to whom I cannot give a proper education; take
charge of him instead of Sophie."
"Where is he?"
"He is boarding, or rather in pawn, at Rotterdam."
"What do you mean by in pawn?"
"I mean that he will not be returned to me until I pay the person who has
got him all my debts."
"How much do you owe?"
"Eighty florins. You have already given me sixty-two, give me four ducats
more; you can then take my son, and I shall be the happiest of mothers. I
will send my son to you at the Hague next week, as I think you will be
there."
"Yes, my dear Therese; and instead of four ducats, here are twenty."
"We shall see each other again at the Hague."
She was grateful to excess, but I only felt pity for her and a sort of
friendly interest, and kept quite cool, despite the ardour of her
embraces. Seeing that her trouble was of no avail, she sighed, shed some
tears, and, taking her daughter, she bid me adieu, promising once more to
send me her son.
Therese was two years older than I. She was still pretty, and even
handsome, but her charms no longer retained their first beauty, and my
passion for her, having been a merely physical one, it was no wonder that
she had no longer any attraction for me. Her adventures during the six
years in which I had lost her would certainly interest my readers, and
form a pleasing episode in my book, and I would tell the tale if it were
a true one; but not being a romance writer, I am anxious that this work
shall contain the truth and nothing but the truth. Convicted by her
amorous and jealous margarve of infidelity, she had been sent about her
business. She was separated from her husband Pompeati, had followed a new
lover to Brussels, and there had caught the fancy of Prince Charles de
Lorraine, who had obtained her the direction of all the theatres in the
Austrian Low Countries. She had then undertaken this vast responsibility,
entailing heavy expenditure, till at last, after selling all her diamonds
and lace, she had fled to Holland to avoid arrest. Her husband killed
himself at Vienna in a paroxysm caused by internal pain--he had cut open
his stomach with a razor, and died tearing at his entrails.
My business left me no time for sleep. M. Casanova came and asked me to
dinner, telling me to meet him on the Exchange--a place well worth
seeing. Millionaires are as plentiful as blackberries, and anyone who is
not worth more than a hundred thousand florins is considered a poor man.
I found M. d'O---- there, and was asked by him to dinner the following day
at a small house he had on the Amstel. M. Casanova treated me with the
greatest courtesy. After reading my pedigree he went for his own, and
found it exactly the same; but he merely laughed, and seemed to care
little about it, differing in that respect from Don Antonio of Naples,
who set such store by my pedigree, and treated me with such politeness on
that account. Nevertheless, he bade me make use of him in anything
relating to business if I did anything in that way. I thought his
daughter pretty, but neither her charms nor her wit made any impression
on me. My thoughts were taken up with Esther, and I talked so much about
her at dinner that at last my cousin declared that she did not consider
her pretty. Oh, you women! beauty is the only unpardonable offence in
your eyes. Mdlle. Casanova was Esther's friend, and yet she could not
bear to hear her praised.
On my seeing M. d'O---- again after dinner, he told me that if I cared to
take fifteen per cent. on my shares, he would take them from me and save
broker's expenses. I thought the offer a good one, and I accepted it,
taking a bill of exchange on Tourton & Baur. At the rate of exchange at
Hamburg I found I should have seventy-two thousand francs, although at
five per cent. I had only expected sixty-nine thousand. This transaction
won me high favour with Madame d'Urfe, who, perhaps, had not expected me
to be so honest.
In the evening I went with M. Pels to Zaandam, in a boat placed on a
sleigh and impelled by a sail. It was an extraordinary, but at the same
time an amusing and agreeable, mode of travelling. The wind was strong,
and we did fifteen miles an hour; we seemed to pass through the air as
swiftly as an arrow. A safer and more convenient method of travelling
cannot be imagined; it would be an ideal way of journeying round the
world if there were such a thing as a frozen sea all round. The wind,
however, must be behind, as one cannot sail on a side wind, there being
no rudder. I was pleased and astonished at the skill of our two sailors
in lowering sail exactly at the proper time; for the sleigh ran a good
way, from the impetus it had already received, and we stopped just at the
bank of the river, whereas if the sail had been lowered a moment later
the sleigh might have been broken to pieces. We had some excellent perch
for dinner, but the strength of the wind prevented us from walking about.
I went there again, but as Zaandam is well known as the haunt of the
millionaire merchants who retire and enjoy life there in their own way, I
will say no more about it. We returned in a fine sleigh drawn by two
horses, belonging to M. Pels, and he kept me to supper. This worthy man,
whose face bore witness to his entire honesty, told me that as I was now
the friend of M. d'O---- and himself, I should have nothing whatever to do
with the Jews, but should address myself to them alone. I was pleased
with this proposal, which made a good many of my difficulties disappear,
and the reader will see the results of this course.
Next day snow fell in large flakes, and I went early to M. d'O----'s,
where I found Esther in the highest of spirits. She gave me a warm
welcome, and began to rally me on having spent the whole night with
Madame Trenti.
I might possibly have shewn some slight confusion, but her father said an
honest man had nothing to be ashamed of in admiring talent. Then, turning
to me, he said,
"Tell me, M. Casanova, who this woman is?"
"She is a Venetian whose husband died recently; I knew her when I was a
lad, and it was six years since I had seen her last."
"You were agreeably surprised, then, to see your daughter?" said Esther.
"Why do you think the child is my daughter? Madame Trenti was married
then."
"The likeness is really too strong. And how about your falling asleep
yesterday when you were supping with M. Pels?"
"It was no wonder that I went asleep, as I had not closed an eye the
night before."
"I am envious of anyone who possesses the secret of getting a good sleep,
for I have always to wait long hours before sleep comes to me, and when I
awake, instead of being refreshed, I feel heavy and languid from
fatigue."
"Try passing the night in listening to one in whom you take an interest,
telling the story of her life, and I promise you that you will sleep well
the night after."
"There is no such person for me."
"No, because you have as yet only seen fourteen summers; but afterwards
there will be someone."
"Maybe, but what I want just now is books, and the help of someone who
will guide my reading."
"That would be an easy matter for anyone who knew your tastes."
"I like history and travels, but for a book to please me it must be all
true, as I lay it down at the slightest suspicion of its veracity."
"Now I think I may venture to offer my services, and if you will accept
them I believe I shall be able to give satisfaction."
"I accept your offer, and shall keep you to your word."
"You need not be afraid of my breaking it, and before I leave for the
Hague I will prove that I am reliable."
She then began to rally me on the pleasure I should have at the Hague,
where I should see Madame Trenti again. Her freedom, mirth, and extreme
beauty set my blood on fire, and M. d'O---- laughed heartily at the war
his charming daughter waged on me. At eleven o'clock we got into a
well-appointed sleigh and we set out for his small house, where she told
me I should find Mdlle. Casanova and her betrothed.
"Nevertheless," said I, "you will continue to be my only attraction."
She made no answer, but it was easy to perceive that my avowal had not
displeased her.
When we had gone some distance we saw the lovers, who had come out, in
spite of the snow, to meet us. We got down, and after taking off our furs
we entered the house. I gazed at the young gentleman, who looked at me a
moment in return and then whispered in Mdlle. Casanova's ear. She smiled
and whispered something to Esther. Esther stepped up to her father and
said a few words to him in a low voice, and everybody began to laugh at
once. They all looked at me and I felt certain that I was somehow the
point of the joke, but I put on an indifferent air.
"There may be a mistake," said M. d'O----; "at any rate we should
ascertain the truth of the matter."
"M. Casanova, had you any adventures on your journey from the Hague to
Amsterdam?"
At this I looked again at the young gentleman, and I guessed what they
were talking about.
"No adventure to speak of," I answered, "except a meeting with a fine
fellow who desired to see my carriage turn upside down into the ditch,
and who I think is present now."
At these words the laughter broke out afresh, and the gentleman and I
embraced each other; but after he had given the true account of the
adventure his mistress pretended to be angry, and told him that he ought
to have fought. Esther observed that he had shewn more true courage in
listening to reason, and M. d'O---- said he was strongly of his daughter's
opinion; however, Mdlle. Casanova, after airing her high-flown ideas,
began to sulk with her lover.
To restore the general mirth, Esther said, gaily, "Come, come, let us put
on our skates, and try the Amstel, for I am afraid that unless we go
forthwith the ice will have melted." I was ashamed to ask her to let me
off, though I would gladly have done so! but what will not love do! M.
d'O---- left us to our own devices. Mdlle. Casanova's intended put on my
skates, and the ladies put on their short petticoats with black velvet
drawers to guard against certain accidents. We reached the river, and as
I was a perfect neophyte in this sport the figure I cut may be imagined.
However, I resolutely determined to conquer my awkwardness, and twenty
times, to the peril of my spine, did I fall down upon the ice. I should
have been wiser to have left off, but I was ashamed to do so, and I did
not stop till, to my huge delight, we were summoned in to dinner. But I
paid dear for my obstinacy, for when I tried to rise from the table I
felt as if I had lost the use of my limbs. Esther pitied me, and said she
would cure me. There was a good deal of laughter at my expense, and I let
them laugh, as I felt certain that the whole thing had been contrived to
turn me into derision, and wishing to make Esther love me I thought it
best to stimulate a good temper. I passed the afternoon with M. d'O----,
letting the young people go by themselves on the Amstel, where they
stopped till dusk.
Next morning when I awoke I thought I was a lost man. I suffered a
martyrdom of pain. The last of my vertebral bones, called by doctors the
os sacrum, felt as if it had been crushed to atoms, although I had used
almost the whole of a pot of ointment which Esther had given me for that
purpose. In spite of my torments I did not forget my promise, and I had
myself taken to a bookseller's where I bought all the books I thought
likely to interest her. She was very grateful, and told me to come and
embrace her before I started if I wanted a pretty present.
It was not likely that I was going to refuse such an invitation as that,
so I went early in the morning, leaving my post-chaise at the door Her
governess took me to her bed, where she was lying as fair and gay as
Venus herself.
"I am quite sure," said she, "that you would not have come at all unless
I had asked you to come and embrace me."
At this my lips were fastened on her mouth, her eyes, and on every spot
of her lovely face. But seeing my eyes straying towards her bosom, and
guessing that I should make myself master of it, she stopped laughing and
put herself on the defensive.
"Go away," said she, slyly, "go away and enjoy yourself at the Hague with
the fair Trenti, who possesses so pretty a token of your love."
"My dear Esther, I am going to the Hague to talk business with the
ambassador, and for no other reason, and in six days at latest you will
see me back again, as much your lover as before, and desiring nothing
better than to please you."
"I rely upon your word of honour, but mind you do not deceive me."
With these words she put up her mouth and gave me so tender and
passionate a kiss that I went away feeling certain of my bliss being
crowned on my return. That evening, at supper-time, I reached Boaz's
house.
EPISODE 12 -- RETURN TO PARIS
CHAPTER V
My Fortune in Holland--My Return to Paris with Young
Pompeati
[Illustration: Chapter 5]
Amongst the letters which were waiting for me was one from the
comptroller-general, which advised me that twenty millions in Government
securities had been placed in the hands of M. d'Afri, who was not to go
beyond a loss of eight per cent.; and another letter from my good patron,
M. de Bernis, telling me to do the best I could, and to be assured that
the ambassador would be instructed to consent to whatever bargain might
be made, provided the rate was not more disadvantageous than that of the
exchange at Paris. Boaz, who was astonished at the bargain I had made
with my shares, wanted to discount the Government securities for me, and
I should very likely have agreed to his terms if he had not required me
to give him three months, and the promise that the agreement should hold
even in the case of peace being concluded in the meanwhile. It was not
long before I saw that I should do well to get back to Amsterdam, but I
did not care to break my word to Therese, whom I had promised to meet at
the Hague. I received a letter from her while I was at the play, and the
servant who brought it told me he was waiting to conduct me to her. I
sent my own servant home, and set out on my quest.
My guide made me climb to the fourth floor of a somewhat wretched house,
and there I found this strange woman in a small room, attended by her son
and daughter. The table stood in the midst of the room, and was covered
with a black cloth, and the two candles standing upon it made it look
like some sort of sepulchral altar. The Hague was a Court town. I was
richly dressed; my elaborate attire made the saddest possible contrast
with the gloom of my surroundings. Therese, dressed in black and seated
between her children at that black table, reminded me of Medea. To see
these two fair young creatures vowed to a lot of misery and disgrace was
a sad and touching sight. I took the boy between my arms, and pressing
him to my breast called him my son. His mother told him to look upon me
as his father from henceforth. The lad recognized me; he remembered, much
to my delight, seeing me in the May of 1753, in Venice, at Madame
Manzoni's. He was slight but strong; his limbs were well proportioned,
and his features intellectual. He was thirteen years old.
His sister sat perfectly still, apparently waiting for her turn to come.
I took her on my knee, and as I embraced her, nature herself seemed to
tell me that she was my daughter. She took my kisses in silence, but it
was easy to see that she thought herself preferred to her brother, and
was charmed with the idea. All her clothing was a slight frock, and I was
able to feel every limb and to kiss her pretty little body all over,
delighted that so sweet a being owed her existence to me.
"Mamma, dear," said she, "is not this fine gentleman the same we saw at
Amsterdam, and who was taken for my papa because I am like him? But that
cannot be, for my papa is dead."
"So he is, sweetheart; but I may be your dear friend, mayn't I? Would you
like to have me for a friend?"
"Yes, yes!" she cried, and throwing her arms about my neck gave me a
thousand kisses, which I returned with delight.
After we had talked and laughed together we sat down at table, and the
heroine Therese gave me a delicate supper accompanied by exquisite wines.
"I have never given the margrave better fare," said she, "at those nice
little suppers we used to take together."
Wishing to probe the disposition of her son, whom I had engaged to take
away with me, I addressed several remarks to him, and soon discovered
that he was of a false and deceitful nature, always on his guard, taking
care of what he said, and consequently speaking only from his head and
not from his heart. Every word was delivered with a quiet politeness
which, no doubt, was intended to please me.
I told him that this sort of thing was all very well on occasion; but
that there were times when a man's happiness depended on his freedom from
constraint; then and only then was his amiability, if he had any,
displayed. His mother, thinking to praise him, told me that reserve was
his chief characteristic, that she had trained him to keep his counsel at
all times and places, and that she was thus used to his being reserved
with her as with everyone else.
"All I can say is," said I, "your system is an abominable one. You may
have strangled in their infancy all the finer qualities with which nature
has endowed your son, and have fairly set him on the way to become a
monster instead of an angel. I don't see how the most devoted father can
possibly have any affection for a son who keeps all his emotions under
lock and key."
This outburst, which proceeded from the tenderness I would fain have felt
for the boy, seemed to strike his mother dumb.
"Tell me, my dear, if you feel yourself capable of shewing me that
confidence which a father has a right to expect of a good son, and if you
can promise to be perfectly open and unreserved towards me?"
"I promise that I will die rather than tell you a falsehood."
"That's just like him," said the mother. "I have succeeded in inspiring
him with the utmost horror of untruthfulness."
"That's all very well, my dear madam, but you might have pursued a still
better course, and one which would have been still more conducive to his
happiness."
"What is that?"
"I will tell you. It was necessary to make him detest a lie; you should
have rather endeavoured to make him a lover of the truth by displaying it
to him in all its native beauty. This is the only way to make him
lovable, and love is the sole bestower of happiness in this world."
"But isn't it the same thing not to lie and to tell the truth," said the
boy, with a smile which charmed his mother and displeased me.
"Certainly not; there is a great difference--for to avoid lying you have
only to hold your tongue; and do you think that comes to the same thing
as speaking the truth? You must open your mind to me, my son, and tell
me all your thoughts, even if you blush in the recital. I will teach you
how to blush, and soon you will have nothing to fear in laying open all
your thoughts and deeds. When we know each other a little longer we shall
see how we agree together. You must understand that I cannot look upon
you as my son until I see cause to love you, and I cannot have you call
me father till you treat me as the best friend you have. You may be quite
sure that I shall find a way to discover your thoughts, however cleverly
you try to hide them. If I find you deceitful and suspicious I shall
certainly entertain no regard for you. As soon as I have finished my
business at Amsterdam we will set out for Paris. I am leaving the Hague
to-morrow, and on my return I hope to find you instructed by your mother
in a system of morality more consonant with my views, and more likely to
lead to your happiness."
On glancing at my little daughter, who had been listening to me with the
greatest attention, I saw that her eyes were swimming with tears, which
she could hardly retain.
"Why are you crying?" said the mother; "it is silly to cry." And with
that the child ran to her mother and threw her arms round her neck.
"Would you like to come to Paris, too?" said I to her.
"Oh, yes! But mamma must come too, as she would die without me."
"What would you do if I told you to go?" said the mother.
"I would obey you, mamma, but how could I exist away from you?"
Thereupon my little daughter pretended to cry. I say pretended, as it was
quite evident that the child did not mean what she said, and I am sure
that her mother knew it as well as I.
It was really a melancholy thing to see the effects of a bad education on
this young child, to whom nature had given intelligence and feeling. I
took the mother on one side, and said that if she had intended to make
actors of her children she had succeeded to admiration; but if she wished
them to become useful members of society her system had failed
lamentably, as they were in a fair way to become monsters of deceit. I
continued making her the most pointed remonstrances until, in spite of
her efforts to control herself, she burst into tears. However, she soon
recovered her composure, and begged me to stay at the Hague a day longer,
but I told her it was out of the question, and left the room. I came in
again a few minutes after, and Sophie came up to me and said, in a loving
little voice,
"If you are really my friend, you will give me some proof of your
friendship."
"And what proof do you want, my dear?"
"I want you to come and sup with me to-morrow."
"I can't, Sophie dear, for I have just said no to your mother, and she
would be offended if I granted you what I had refused her."
"Oh, no! she wouldn't; it was she who told me to ask you just now."
I naturally began to laugh, but on her mother calling the girl a little
fool, and the brother adding that he had never committed such an
indiscretion, the poor child began to tremble all over, and looked
abashed. I reassured her as best I could, not caring whether what I said
displeased her mother or not, and I endeavoured to instill into her
principles of a very different nature to those in which she had been
reared, while she listened with an eagerness which proved that her heart
was still ready to learn the right way. Little by little her face
cleared, and I saw that I had made an impression, and though I could not
flatter myself that any good I might do her would be lasting in its
effects as long as she remained under the bad influence of her mother, I
promised to come and sup with her next evening, "but on the condition," I
said, "that you give me a plain meal, and one bottle of chambertin only,
for you are not too well off."
"I know that, but mamma says that you pay for everything."
This reply made me go off into a roar of laughter; and in spite of her
vexation the mother was obliged to follow my example. The poor woman,
hardened by the life she led, took the child's simplicity for stupidity,
but I saw in her a rough diamond which only wanted polishing.
Therese told me that the wine did not cost her anything, as the son of
the Rotterdam burgomaster furnished her with it, and that he would sup
with us the next day if I would allow him to be present. I answered
smilingly that I should be delighted to see him, and I went away after
giving my daughter, of whom I felt fond, a tender embrace. I would have
done anything to be entrusted with her, but I saw it would be no good
trying to get possession of her, as the mother was evidently keeping her
as a resource for her old age. This is a common way for adventuresses to
look upon their daughters, and Therese was an adventuress in the widest
acceptation of the term. I gave her twenty ducats to get clothes for my
adopted son and Sophie, who, with spontaneous gratitude, and her eyes
filled with tears, came and gave me a kiss. Joseph was going to kiss my
hand, but I told him that it was degrading for one man to kiss another's
hand, and that for the future he was to shew his gratitude by embracing
me as a son embraces his father.
Just as I was leaving, Therese took me to the closet where the two
children were sleeping. I knew what she was thinking of; but all that was
over long ago; I could think of no one but Esther.
The next day I found the burgomaster's son at my actress's house. He was
a fine young fellow of twenty or twenty-one, but totally devoid of
manner. He was Therese's lover, but he should have regulated his
behaviour in my presence. Therese, seeing that he was posing as master of
the field, and that his manners disgusted me, began to snub him, much to
his displeasure, and after sneering at the poorness of the dishes, and
praising the wine which he had supplied, he went out leaving us to finish
our dessert by ourselves. I left myself at eleven, telling Therese that I
should see her again before I went away. The Princesse de Galitzin, a
Cantimir by birth, had asked me to dinner, and this made me lose another
day.
Next day I heard from Madame d'Urfe, who enclosed a bill of exchange on
Boaz for twelve thousand francs. She said that she had bought her shares
for sixty thousand, that she did not wish to make anything of them, and
that she hoped I would accept the overplus as my broker's fee. She worded
her offer with too much courtesy for me to refuse it. The remainder of
the letter was devoted to the wildest fancies. She said that her genius
had revealed to her that I should bring back to Paris a boy born of the
Mystical Marriage, and she hoped I would take pity on her. It was a
strange coincidence, and seemed likely to attach the woman still more
closely to her visionary theories. I laughed when I though how she would
be impressed by Therese's son, who was certainly not born of the Mystical
Marriage.
Boaz paid me my twelve thousand francs in ducats, and I made him my
friend, as he thanked me for receiving the moneys in ducats, and he
doubtless made a profit on the transaction, gold being a commodity in
Holland, and all payments being made in silver or paper money.
At that time gold was at a low rate, and nobody would take ducats.
After having an excellent dinner with the Princesse de Galitzin, I put on
my cloak and went to the cafe. I found there the burgomaster's son, who
was just beginning a game of billiards. He whispered to me that I might
back him with advantage, and thinking he was sure of his stroke I thanked
him and followed his advice. However, after losing three games one after
the other, I took his measure and began to lay against him without his
knowledge. After playing for three hours and losing all the time, he
stopped play and came to condole with me on my heavy loss. It is
impossible to describe his amazed expression when I shewed him a handful
of ducats, and assured him that I had spent a very profitable evening in
laying against him. Everybody in the room began to laugh at him, but he
was the sort of young man who doesn't understand a joke, and he went out
in a rage. Soon after I left the billiard-room myself, and, according to
my promise went to see Therese, as I was leaving for Amsterdam the next
day.
Therese was waiting for her young wine merchant, but on my recounting his
adventures she expected him no longer. I took my little daughter on my
knee and lavished my caresses on her, and so left them, telling them that
we should see each other again in the course of three weeks or a month at
latest.
As I was going home in the moonlight by myself, my sword under my arm, I
was encountered all of a sudden by the poor dupe of a burgomaster's son.
"I want to know," said he, "if your sword has as sharp a point as your
tongue."
I tried to quiet him by speaking common sense, and I kept my sword
wrapped in my cloak, though his was bared and directed against me.
"You are wrong to take my jests in such bad part," said I; "however, I
apologize to you."
"No apologies; look to yourself."
"Wait till to-morrow, you will be cooler then, but if you still wish it I
will give you satisfaction in the midst of the billiard-room."
"The only satisfaction you can give me is to fight; I want to kill you."
As evidence of his determination, and to provoke me beyond recall, he
struck me with the flat of his sword, the first and last time in my life
in which I have received such and insult. I drew my sword, but still
hoping to bring him to his senses I kept strictly on the defensive and
endeavoured to make him leave off. This conduct the Dutchman mistook for
fear, and pushed hard on me, lunging in a manner that made me look to
myself. His sword passed through my necktie; a quarter of an inch farther
in would have done my business.
I leapt to one side, and, my danger no longer admitting of my fighting on
the defensive, I lunged out and wounded him in the chest. I thought this
would have been enough for him, so I proposed we should terminate our
engagement.
"I'm not dead yet," said he; "I want to kill you."
This was his watchword; and, as he leapt on me in a paroxysm of rage,
more like a madman than a sensible being, I hit him four times. At the
fourth wound he stepped back, and, saying he had had enough, begged me to
leave him.
I went off as fast as I could, and was very glad to see from the look of
my sword that his wounds were slight. I found Boaz still up, and on
hearing what had taken place he advised me to go to Amsterdam at once,
though I assured him that the wounds were not mortal. I gave in to his
advice, and as my carriage was at the saddler's he lent me his, and I set
out, bidding my servant to come on the next day with my luggage, and to
rejoin me at the "Old Bible," in Amsterdam. I reached Amsterdam at noon
and my man arrived in the evening.
I was curious to hear if my duel had made any noise, but as my servant
had left at an early hour he had heard nothing about it. Fortunately for
me nothing whatever was known about it at Amsterdam for a week after;
otherwise, things might not have gone well with me, as the reputation of
being a duellist is not a recommendation to financiers with whom one is
about to transact business of importance.
The reader will not be surprised when I tell him that my first call was
on M. d'O, or rather on his charming daughter Esther, for she it was on
whom I waited. It will be remembered that the way in which we parted did
a good deal towards augmenting the warmth of my affection for her. On
entering the room I found Esther writing at a table.
"What are you doing Esther, dear?"
"An arithmetical problem."
"Do you like problems?"
"I am passionately fond of anything which contains difficulties and
offers curious results."
"I will give you something which will please you."
I made her, by way of jest, two magic squares, which delighted her. In
return, she spewed me some trifles with which I was well acquainted, but
which I pretended to think very astonishing. My good genius then inspired
me with the idea of trying divination by the cabala. I told her to ask a
question in writing, and assured her that by a certain kind of
calculation a satisfactory answer would be obtained. She smiled, and
asked why I had returned to Amsterdam so soon. I shewed her how to make
the pyramid with the proper numbers and the other ceremonies, then I made
her extract the answer in numbers, translating it into French, and
greatly was she surprised to find that the cause which had made me return
to Amsterdam so soon was--love.
Quite confounded, she said it was very wonderful, even though the answer
might not be true, and she wished to know what masters could teach this
mode of calculation.
"Those who know it cannot teach it to anyone."
"How did you learn it, then?"
"From a precious manuscript I inherited from my father."
"Sell it me."
"I have burnt it; and I am not empowered to communicate the secret to
anyone before I reach the age of fifty."
"Why fifty?"
"I don't know; but I do know that if I communicated it to anyone before
that age I should run the risk of losing it myself. The elementary spirit
who is attached to the oracle would leave it."
"How do you know that?"
"I saw it so stated in the manuscript I have spoken of."
"Then you are able to discover all secrets?"
"Yes, or I should be if the replies were not sometimes too obscure to be
understood."
"As it does not take much time, will you be kind enough to get me an
answer to another question?"
"With pleasure; you can command me in anything not forbidden by my
familiar spirit."
She asked what her destiny would be, and the oracle replied that she had
not yet taken the first step towards it. Esther was astonished and called
her governess to see the two answers, but the good woman saw nothing
wonderful in them whatever. Esther impatiently called her a blockhead,
and entreated me to let her ask another question. I begged her to do so,
and she asked,
"Who loves me most in Amsterdam?" The oracle replied that no one loved
her as well as he who had given her being: Poor Esther then told me that
I had made her miserable, and that she would die of grief if she could
not succeed in learning the method of calculation. I gave no answer, and
pretended to feel sad at heart. She began to write down another question,
putting her hand in front so as to screen the paper. I rose as if to get
out of her way, but while she was arranging the pyramid I cast my eyes on
the paper whilst walking up and down the room, and read her question.
After she had gone as far as I had taught her, she asked me to extract
the answer, saying that I could do so without reading the question. I
agreed to do so on the condition that she would not ask a second time.
As I had seen her question, it was easy for me to answer it. She had
asked the oracle if she might shew the questions she had propounded to
her father, and the answer was that she would be happy as long as she had
no secrets from her father.
When she read these words she gave a cry of surprise, and could find no
words wherewith to express her gratitude to me. I left her for the
Exchange, where I had a long business conversation with M. Pels.
Next morning a handsome and gentlemanly man came with a letter of
introduction from Therese, who told me that he would be useful in case I
wanted any assistance in business. His name was Rigerboos. She informed
me that the burgomaster's son was only slightly wounded, and that I had
nothing to fear as the matter was not generally known, and that if I had
business at the Hague I might return there in perfect safety. She said
that my little Sophie talked of me all day, and that I should find my son
much improved on my return. I asked M. Rigerboos to give me his address,
assuring him that at the proper time I should rely on his services.
A moment after Rigerboos had gone, I got a short note from Esther, who
begged me, in her father's name, to spend the day with her--at least, if
I had no important engagement. I answered that, excepting a certain
matter of which her father knew, I had no chiefer aim than to convince
her that I desired a place in her heart, and that she might be quite sure
that I would not refuse her invitation.
I went to M. d'O---- at dinner time. I found Esther and her father
puzzling over the method which drew reasonable answers out of a pyramid
of numbers. As soon as her father saw me, he embraced me, saying how
happy he was to possess a daughter capable of attracting me.
"She will attract any man who has sufficient sense to appreciate her."
"You appreciate her, then?"
"I worship her."
"Then embrace her."
Esther opened her arms, and with a cry of delight threw them round my
neck, and gave the back all my caresses, kiss for kiss.
"I have got through all my business," said M. d'O----, "and the rest of
my day is at your disposal. I have known from my childhood that there is
such a science as the one you profess, and I was acquainted with a Jew
who by its aid made an immense fortune. He, like you, said that, under
pain of losing the secret, it could only be communicated to one person,
but he put off doing so so long that at last it was too late, for a high
fever carried him off in a few days. I hope you will not do as the Jew
did; but in the meanwhile allow me to say that if You do not draw a
profit from this treasure, you do not know what it really is."
"You call this knowledge of mine a treasure, and yet you possess one far
more excellent," looking at Esther as I spoke.
"We will discuss that again. Yes, sir, I call your science a treasure."
"But the answers of the oracle are often very obscure."
"Obscure! The answers my daughter received are as clear as day."
"Apparently, she is fortunate in the way she frames her questions; for on
this the reply depends."
"After dinner we will try if I am so fortunate--at least, if you will be
so kind as to help me."
"I can refuse you nothing, as I consider father and daughter as one
being."
At table we discussed other subjects, as the chief clerks were
present--notably the manager, a vulgar-looking fellow, who had very
evident aspirations in the direction of my fair Esther. After dinner we
went into M. d'O 's private closet, and thereupon he drew two long
questions out of his pocket. In the first he desired to know how to
obtain a favourable decision from the States-General in an important
matter, the details of which he explained. I replied in terms, the
obscurity of which would have done credit to a professed Pythoness, and I
left Esther to translate the answer into common sense, and find a meaning
in it.
With regard to the second answer I acted in a different manner; I was
impelled to answer clearly, and did so. M. d'O asked what had become of a
vessel belonging to the India Company of which nothing had been heard. It
was known to have started on the return voyage, and should have arrived
two months ago, and this delay gave rise to the supposition that it had
gone down. M. d'O---- wished to know if it were still above water, or
whether it were lost, etc. As no tidings of it had come to hand, the
company were on the look-out for someone to insure it, and offered ten
per cent., but nobody cared to run so great a risk, especially as a
letter had been received from an English sea captain who said he had seen
her sink.
I may confess to my readers, though I did not do so to M. d'O----. that
with inexplicable folly I composed an answer that left no doubt as to the
safety of the vessel, pronouncing it safe and sound, and that we should
hear of it in a few days. No doubt I felt the need of exalting my oracle,
but this method was likely to destroy its credit for ever. In truth, if I
had guessed M. d'O----'s design, I would have curbed my vanity, for I had
no wish to make him lose a large sum without profiting myself.
The answer made him turn pale, and tremble with joy. He told us that
secrecy in the matter was of the last importance, as he had determined to
insure the vessel and drive a good bargain. At this, dreading the
consequences, I hastened to tell him that for all I knew there might not
be a word of truth in the oracle's reply, and that I should die of grief
if I were the involuntary cause of his losing an enormous sum of money
through relying on an oracle, the hidden sense of which might be
completely opposed to the literal translation.
"Have you ever been deceived by it?"
"Often."
Seeing my distress, Esther begged her father to take no further steps in
the matter. For some moments nobody spoke.
M. d'O---- looked thoughtful and full of the project which his fancy had
painted in such gay colours. He said a good deal about it, dwelling on
the mystic virtues of numbers, and told his daughter to read out all the
questions she had addressed to the oracle with the answers she had
received. There were six or seven of them, all briefly worded, some
direct and some equivocal. Esther, who had constructed the pyramids, had
shone, with my potent assistance, in extracting the answers, which I had
really invented, and her father, in the joy of his heart, seeing her so
clever, imagined that she would become an adept in the science by the
force of intelligence. The lovely Esther, who was much taken with the
trifle; was quite ready to be of the same opinion.
After passing several hours in the discussion of the answers, which my
host thought divine, we had supper, and at parting M. d'O---- said that as
Sunday was a day for pleasure and not business he hoped I would honour
them by passing the day at their pretty house on the Amstel, and they
were delighted at my accepting their invitation.
I could not help pondering over the mysteries of the commercial mind,
which narrows itself down to considerations of profit and loss. M.
d'O---- was decidedly an honest man; but although he was rich, he was by
no means devoid of the greed incident to his profession. I asked myself
the question, how a man, who would consider it dishonourable to steal a
ducat, or to pick one up in the street and keep it, knowing to whom it
belonged, could reconcile it with his conscience to make an enormous
profit by insuring a vessel of the safety of which he was perfectly
certain, as he believed the oracle infallible. Such a transaction was
certainly fraudulent, as it is dishonest to play when one is certain of
winning.
As I was going home I passed a tea-garden, and seeing a good many people
going in and coming out I went in curious to know how these places were
managed in Holland. Great heavens! I found myself the witness of an orgy,
the scene a sort of cellar, a perfect cesspool of vice and debauchery.
The discordant noise of the two or three instruments which formed the
orchestra struck gloom to the soul and added to the horrors of the
cavern. The air was dense with the fumes of bad tobacco, and vapours
reeking of beer and garlic issued from every mouth. The company consisted
of sailors, men of the lowest-class, and a number of vile women. The
sailors and the dregs of the people thought this den a garden of delight,
and considered its pleasures compensation for the toils of the sea and
the miseries of daily labour. There was not a single woman there whose
aspect had anything redeeming about it. I was looking at the repulsive
sight in silence, when a great hulking fellow, whose appearance suggested
the blacksmith, and his voice the blackguard, came up to me and asked me
in bad Italian if I would like to dance. I answered in the negative, but
before leaving me he pointed out a Venetian woman who, he said, would
oblige me if I gave her some drink.
Wishing to discover if she was anyone I knew I looked at her attentively,
and seemed to recollect her features, although I could not decide who she
could be. Feeling rather curious on the subject I sat down next to her,
and asked if she came from Venice, and if she had left that country some
time ago.
"Nearly eighteen years," she replied.
I ordered a bottle of wine, and asked if she would take any; she said
yes, and added, if I liked, she would oblige me.
"I haven't time," I said; and I gave the poor wretch the change I
received from the waiter. She was full of gratitude, and would have
embraced me if I had allowed her.
"Do you like being at Amsterdam better than Venice?" I asked.
"Alas, no! for if I were in my own country I should not be following this
dreadful trade."
"How old were you when you left Venice."
"I was only fourteen and lived happily with my father and mother, who now
may have died of grief."
"Who seduced you?"
"A rascally footman."
"In what part of Venice did you live?"
"I did not live in Venice, but at Friuli, not far off."
Friuli . . . eighteen years ago . . . a footman . . . I felt moved, and
looking at the wretched woman more closely I soon recognized in her Lucie
of Pasean. I cannot describe my sorrow, which I concealed as best I
could, and tried hard to keep up my indifferent air. A life of debauchery
rather than the flight of time had tarnished her beauty, and ruined the
once exquisite outlines of her form. Lucie, that innocent and pretty
maiden, grown ugly, vile, a common prostitute! It was a dreadful thought.
She drank like a sailor, without looking at me, and without caring who I
was. I took a few ducats from my purse, and slipped them into her hand,
and without waiting for her to find out how much I had given her I left
that horrible den.
I went to bed full of saddening thoughts. Not even under the Leads did I
pass so wretched a day. I thought I must have risen under some unhappy
star! I loathed myself. With regard to Lucie I felt the sting of remorse,
but at the thought of M. d'O---- I hated myself. I considered that I
should cause him a loss of three or four hundred thousand florins; and
the thought was a bitter drop in the cup of my affection for Esther. I
fancied, she, as well as her father, would become my implacable foe; and
love that is not returned is no love at all.
I spent a dreadful night. Lucie, Esther, her father, their hatred of me,
and my hatred of myself, were the groundwork of my dreams. I saw Esther
and her father, if not ruined, at all events impoverished by my fault,
and Lucie only thirty-two years old, and already deep in the abyss of
vice, with an infinite prospect of misery and shame before her. The dawn
was welcome indeed, for with its appearance a calm came to my spirit; it
is, the darkness which is terrible to a heart full of remorse.
I got up and dressed myself in my best, and went in a coach to do my suit
to the Princesse de Galitzin, who, was staying at the "Etoile d'Orient."
I found her out; she had gone to the Admiralty. I went there, and found
her accompanied by M. de Reissak and the Count de Tot, who had just
received news of my friend Pesselier, at whose house I made his
acquaintance, and who was dangerously ill when I left Paris.
I sent away my coach and began to walk towards M. d'O----'s house on the
Amsel. The extreme elegance of my costume was displeasing in the eyes of
the Dutch populace, and they hissed and hooted me, after the manner of
the mob all the world over, Esther saw me coming from the window, drew
the rope, and opened the door. I ran in, shut the door behind me, and as
I was going up the wooden staircase, on the fourth or fifth step my foot
struck against some yielding substance. I looked down and saw a green
pocket-book. I stooped down to pick it up, but was awkward enough to send
it through an opening in the stairs, which had been doubtless made for
the purpose of giving light to a stair below. I did not stop, but went up
the steps and was received with the usual hospitality, and on their
expressing some wonder as to the unusual brilliance of my attire I
explained the circumstances of the case. Esther smiled and said I looked
quite another person, but I saw that both father and daughter were sad at
heart. Esther's governess came in and said something to her in Dutch, at
which, in evident distress, she ran and embraced her father.
"I see, my friends, that something has happened to you. If my presence is
a restraint, treat me without ceremony, and bid me go."
"It's not so great an ill-hap after all; I have enough money left to bear
the loss patiently."
"If I may ask the question, what is the nature of your loss?"
"I have lost a green pocket-book containing a good deal of money, which
if I had been wise I would have left behind, as I did not require it till
to-morrow."
"And you don't know where you lost it?"
"It must have been in the street, but I can't imagine how it can have
happened. It contained bills of exchange for large amounts, and of course
they don't matter, as I can stop payment of them, but there were also
notes of the Bank of England for heavy sums, and they are gone, as they
are payable to the bearer. Let us give thanks to God, my dear child, that
it is no worse, and pray to Him to preserve to us what remains, and above
all to keep us in good health. I have had much heavier losses than this,
and I have been enabled not only to bear the misfortune but to make up
the loss. Let us say no more about the matter."
While he was speaking my heart was full of joy, but I kept up the sadness
befitting the scene. I had not the slightest doubt that the pocket-book
in question was the one I had unluckily sent through the staircase, but
which could not be lost irretrievably. My first point was how to make
capital of my grand discovery in the interests of my cabalistic science.
It was too fine an opportunity to be lost, especially as I still felt the
sting of having been the cause of an enormous loss to the worthy man. I
would give them a grand proof of the infallibility of my oracle: how many
miracles are done in the same way! The thought put me into a good humour.
I began to crack jokes, and my jests drew peals of laughter from Esther.
We had an excellent dinner and choice wine. After we had taken coffee I
said that if they liked we would have a game of cards, but Esther said
that this would be a waste of time, as she would much prefer making the
oracular pyramids. This was exactly what I wanted.
"With all my heart," I said.
"We will do as you suggest."
"Shall I ask where my father lost his pocket-book?"
"Why not? It's a plain question: write it down."
She made the pyramid, and the reply was that the pocket-book had not been
found by anyone. She leapt up from her seat, danced for joy, and threw
her arms round her father's neck, saying,
"We shall find it, we shall find it, papa!"
"I hope so, too, my dear, that answer is really very consoling."
Wherewith Esther gave her father one kiss after another.
"Yes," said I, "there is certainly ground for hope, but the oracle will
be dumb to all questions."
"Dumb! Why?"
"I was going to say it will be dumb if you do not give me as many kisses
as you have given your father."
"Oh, then I will soon make it speak!" said she, laughing; and throwing
her arms about my neck she began to kiss me, and I to give her kisses in
return.
Ah! what happy days they seem when I recall them; and still I like
dwelling on these days despite my sad old age, the foe of love. When I
recall these events I grow young again and feel once more the delights of
youth, despite the long years which separate me from that happy time.
At last Esther sat down again, and asked, "Where is the pocket-book?" And
the pyramid told her that the pocket-book had fallen through the opening
in the fifth step of the staircase.
M. d'O---- said to his daughter,
"Come, my dear Esther, let us go and test the truth of the oracle." And
full of joy and hope they went to the staircase, I following them, and M.
d'O shewed her the hole through which the pocket-book must have fallen.
He lighted a candle and we went down to the cellar, and before long he
picked up the book, which had fallen into some water. We went up again in
high spirits, and there we talked for over an hour as seriously as you
please on the divine powers of the oracle, which, according to them,
should render its possessor the happiest of mortals.
He opened the pocket-book and shewed us the four thousand pound notes. He
gave two to his daughter, and made me take the two remaining; but I took
them with one hand and with the other gave them to Esther begging her to
keep them for me; but before she would agree to do so I had to threaten
her with the stoppage of the famous cabalistic oracle. I told M. d'O that
all I asked was his friendship, and thereon he embraced me, and swore to
be my friend to the death.
By making the fair Esther the depositary of my two thousand pounds, I was
sure of winning her affection by an appeal, not to her interest, but to
her truthfulness. This charming girl had about her so powerful an
attraction that I felt as if my life was wound up with hers.
I told M. d'O that my chief object was to negotiate the twenty millions
at a small loss.
"I hope to be of service to you in the matter," he said, "but as I. shall
often want to speak to you, you must come and live in our house, which
you must look upon as your own."
"My presence will be a restraint on you. I shall be a trouble."
"Ask Esther."
Esther joined her entreaties to her father's and I gave in, taking good
care not to let them see how pleased I was. I contented myself with
expressing my gratitude, to which they answered that it was I who
conferred a favour.
M. d'O went into his closet, and as soon as I found myself alone with
Esther I kissed her tenderly, saying that I should not be happy till I
had won her heart.
"Do you love me?"
"Dearly, and I will do all in my power to shew how well I love you, if
you will love me in return."
She gave me her hand, which I covered with kisses, and she went on to
say, "As soon as you come and live with us, you must look out for a good
opportunity for asking my hand of my father. You need not be afraid he
will refuse you, but the first thing for you to do is to move into our
house."
"My dear little wife! I will come to-morrow."
We said many sweet things to one another, talked about the future, and
told each other our inmost thoughts; and I was undoubtedly truly in love,
for not a single improper fancy rose in my mind in the presence of my
dear who loved me so well.
The first thing that M. d'O said on his return was, that there would be a
piece of news on the Exchange the next day.
"What is that, papa dear?"
"I have decided to take the whole risk--amounting to three hundred
thousand florins-of the ship which is thought to have gone down. They
will call me mad, but they themselves will be the madmen; which is what I
should be if, after the proof we have had, I doubted the oracle any
more."
"My dear sir, you make me frightened. I have told you that I have been
often deceived by the oracle."
"That must have been, my dear fellow, when the reply was obscure, and you
did not get at the real sense of it; but in the present case there is no
room, for doubt. I shall make three million florins, or, if the worst
comes to the worse, my loss won't ruin me."
Esther, whom the finding of the pocket-book had made enthusiastic, told
her father to lose no time. As for me, I could not recall what I had
done, but I was again overwhelmed with sadness. M. d'O---- saw it, and
taking my hand said, "If the oracle does lie this time, I shall be none
the less your friend."
"I am glad to hear it," I answered; "but as this is a matter of the
utmost importance, let me consult the oracle a second time before you
risk your three hundred thousand florins." This proposition pleased the
father and daughter highly; they could not express their gratitude to me
for being so careful of their interests.
What followed was truly surprising--enough to make one believe in
fatality. My readers probably will not believe it; but as these Memoirs
will not be published till I have left this world, it would be of no use
for me to disguise the truth in any way, especially as the writing of
them is only the amusement of my leisure hours. Well, let him who will
believe it; this is absolutely what happened. I wrote down the question
myself, erected the pyramid, and carried out all the magical ceremonies
without letting Esther have a hand in it. I was delighted to be able to
check an act of extreme imprudence, and I was determined to do so. A
double meaning, which I knew how to get, would abate M. d'O----'s courage
and annihilate his plans. I had thought over what I wanted to say, and I
thought I had expressed it properly in the numbers. With that idea, as
Esther knew the alphabet perfectly well, I let her extract the answer,
and transfer it into letters. What was my surprise when I heard her read
these words:
"In a matter of this kind neither fear nor hesitate. Your repentance
would be too hard for you to bear."
That was enough. Father and daughter ran to embrace me, and M. d'O-said
that when the vessel was sighted a tithe of the profits should be mine.
My surprise prevented me giving any answer; I had intended to write trust
and hazard, and I had written fear and hesitate. But thanks to his
prejudice, M. d'O---- only saw in my silence confirmation of the
infallibility of the oracle. In short, I could do nothing more, and I
took my leave leaving everything to the care of chance, who sometimes is
kind to us in spite of ourselves.
The next morning I took up my abode in a splendid suite of rooms in
Esther's house, and the day after I took her to a concert, where she
joked with me on the grief I should endure on account of the absence of
Madame Trend and my daughter. Esther was the only mistress of my soul. I
lived but to adore her, and I should have satisfied my love had not
Esther been a girl of good principles. I could not gain possession of
her, and was full of longing and desire.
Four or five days after my installation in my new quarters, M.
d'O---communicated to me the result of a conference which he had had with
M. Pels and six other bankers on the twenty millions. They offered ten
millions in hard cash and seven millions in paper money, bearing interest
at five or six per cent. with a deduction of one per cent. brokerage.
Furthermore, they would forgive a sum of twelve hundred thousand florins
owed by the French India Company to the Dutch Company.
With such conditions I could not venture to decide on my own
responsibility, although, personally, I thought them reasonable enough,
the impoverished state of the French treasury being taken into
consideration. I sent copies of the proposal to M. de Boulogne and M.
d'Afri, begging from them an immediate reply. At the end of a week I
received an answer in the writing of M. de Courteil, acting for M. de
Boulogne, instructing me to refuse absolutely any such proposal, and to
report myself at Paris if I saw no chance of making a better bargain. I
was again informed that peace was imminent, though the Dutch were quite
of another opinion.
In all probability I should have immediately left for Paris, but for a
circumstance which astonished nobody but myself in the family of which I
had become a member. The confidence of M. d'O---- increased every day, and
as if chance was determined to make me a prophet in spite of myself, news
was received of the ship which was believed to be lost, and which, on the
faith of my oracle, M. d'O had bought for three hundred thousand florins.
The vessel was at Madeira. The joy of Esther, and still more my own, may
be imagined when we saw the worthy man enter the house triumphantly with
confirmation of the good news.
"I have insured the vessel from Madeira to the mouth of the Texel for a
trifle," said he, "and so," turning to me, "you may count from this
moment on the tenth part of the profit, which I owe entirely to you."
The reader may imagine my delight; but there is one thing he will not
imagine, unless he knows my character better than I do myself, the
confusion into which I was thrown by the following remarks:
"You are now rich enough," said M. d'O----, "to set up for yourself
amongst us, and you are positively certain to make an enormous fortune in
a short time merely by making use of your cabala. I will be your agent;
let us live together, and if you like my daughter as she likes you, you
can call yourself my son as soon as you please."
In Esther's face shone forth joy and happiness, and in mine, though I
adored her, there was to be seen, alas! nothing but surprise. I was
stupid with happiness and the constraint in which I held myself. I did
not analyze my feelings, but, though I knew it not, there can be no doubt
that my insuperable objection to the marriage tie was working within my
soul. A long silence followed; and last, recovering my powers of speech,
I succeeded, with an effort, in speaking to them of my gratitude, my
happiness, my love, and I ended by saying that, in spite of my affection
for Esther, I must, before settling in Holland, return to Paris, and
discharge the confidential and responsible duty which the Government had
placed in my hands. I would then return to Amsterdam perfectly
independent.
This long peroration won their approval. Esther was quite pleased, and we
spent the rest of the day in good spirits. Next day M. d'O---gave a
splendid dinner to several of his friends, who congratulated him on his
good fortune, being persuaded that his courageous action was to be
explained by his having had secret information of the safety of the
vessel, though none of them could see from what source he, and he only,
had obtained it.
A week after this lucky event he gave me an ultimatum on the matter of
the twenty millions, in which he guaranteed that France should not lose
more than nine per cent. in the transaction.
I immediately sent a copy of his proposal to M. d'Afri, begging him to be
as prompt as possible, and another copy to the comptroller-general, with
a letter in which I warned him that the thing would certainly fall
through if he delayed a single day in sending full powers to M. d'Afri to
give me the necessary authority to act.
I wrote to the same effect to M. de Courteil and the Duc de Choiseul,
telling them that I was to receive no brokerage; but that I should all
the same accept a proposal which I thought a profitable one, and saying
that I had no doubt of obtaining my expenses from the French Government.
As it was a time of rejoicing with us, M. d'O---- thought it would be a
good plan to give a ball. All the most distinguished people in Amsterdam
were invited to it. The ball and supper were of the most splendid
description, and Esther, who was a blaze of diamonds, danced all the
quadrilles with me, and charmed every beholder by her grace and beauty.
I spent all my time with Esther, and every day we grew more and more in
love, and more unhappy, for we were tormented by abstinence, which
irritated while it increased our desires.
Esther was an affectionate mistress, but discreet rather by training than
disposition the favours she accorded me were of the most insignificant
description. She was lavish of nothing but her kisses, but kisses are
rather irritating than soothing. I used to be nearly wild with love. She
told me, like other virtuous women, that if she agreed to make me happy
she was sure I would not marry her, and that as soon as I made her my
wife she would be mine and mine only. She did not think I was married,
for I had given her too many assurances to the contrary, but she thought
I had a strong attachment to someone in Paris. I confessed that she was
right, and said that I was going there to put an end to it that I might
be bound to her alone. Alas! I lied when I said so, for Esther was
inseparable from her father, a man of forty, and I could not make up my
mind to pass the remainder of my days in Holland.
Ten or twelve days after sending the ultimatum, I received a letter from
M. de Boulogne informing me that M. d'Afri had all necessary instructions
for effecting the exchange of the twenty millions, and another letter
from the ambassador was to the same effect. He warned me to take care
that everything was right, as he should not part with the securities
before receiving 18,200,000 francs in current money.
The sad time of parting at last drew near, amid many regrets and tears
from all of us. Esther gave me the two thousand pounds I had won so
easily, and her father at my request gave me bills of exchange to the
amount of a hundred thousand florins, with a note of two hundred thousand
florins authorizing me to draw upon him till the whole sum was exhausted.
Just as I was going, Esther gave me fifty shirts and fifty handkerchiefs
of the finest quality.
It was not my love for Manon Baletti, but a foolish vanity and a desire
to cut a figure in the luxurious city of Paris, which made me leave
Holland. But such was the disposition that Mother Nature had given me
that fifteen months under The Leads had not been enough to cure this
mental malady of mine. But when I reflect upon after events of my life I
am not astonished that The Leads proved ineffectual, for the numberless
vicissitudes which I have gone through since have not cured me--my
disorder, indeed, being of the incurable kind. There is no such thing as
destiny. We ourselves shape our lives, notwithstanding that saying of the
Stoics, 'Volentem ducit, nolentem trahit'.
After promising Esther to return before the end of the year, I set out
with a clerk of the company who had brought the French securities, and I
reached the Hague, where Boaz received me with a mingled air of wonder
and admiration. He told me that I had worked a miracle; "but," he added,
"to succeed thus you must have persuaded them that peace was on the point
of being concluded."
"By no means," I answered; "so far from my persuading them, they are of
the opposite opinion; but all the same I may tell you that peace is
really imminent."
"If you like to give me that assurance in writing," said he, "I will make
you a present of fifty thousand florins' worth of diamonds."
"Well," I answered, "the French ambassador is of the same opinion as
myself; but I don't think the certainty is sufficiently great as yet for
you to risk your diamonds upon it."
Next day I finished my business with the ambassador, and the clerk
returned to Amsterdam.
I went to supper at Therese's, and found her children very well dressed.
I told her to go on to Rotterdam the next day and wait for me there with
her son, as I had no wish to give scandal at the Hague.
At Rotterdam, Therese told me that she knew I had won half a million at
Amsterdam, and that her fortune would be made if she could leave Holland
for London. She had instructed Sophie to tell me that my good luck was
the effect of the prayers she had addressed to Heaven on my behalf. I saw
where the land lay, and I enjoyed a good laugh at the mother's craft and
the child's piety, and gave her a hundred ducats, telling her that she
should have another hundred when she wrote to me from London. It was very
evident that she thought the sum a very moderate one, but I would not
give her any more. She waited for the moment when I was getting into my
carriage to beg me to give her another hundred ducats, and I said, in a
low tone, that she should have a thousand if she would give me her
daughter. She thought it over for a minute, and then said that she could
not part with her.
"I know very well why," I answered; and drawing a watch from my fob I
gave it to Sophie, embraced her, and went on my way. I arrived at Paris
on February 10th, and took sumptuous apartments near the Rue Montorgueil.
CHAPTER VI
I Meet With a Flattering Reception From My Patron--Madame
D'Urfe's Infatuation--Madame X. C. V. And Her Family--Madame
du Rumain
[Illustration: Chapter 6]
During my journey from the Hague to Paris, short as it was, I had plenty
of opportunities for seeing that the mental qualities of my adopted son
were by no means equal to his physical ones.
As I had said, the chief point which his mother had impressed on him was
reserve, which she had instilled into him out of regard for her own
interests. My readers will understand what I mean, but the child, in
following his mother's instructions, had gone beyond the bounds of
moderation; he possessed reserve, it is true, but he was also full of
dissimulation, suspicion, and hypocrisy--a fine trio of deceit in one who
was still a boy. He not only concealed what he knew, but he pretended to
know that which he did not. His idea of the one quality necessary to
success in life was an impenetrable reserve, and to obtain this he had
accustomed himself to silence the dictates of his heart, and to say no
word that had not been carefully weighed. Giving other people wrong
impressions passed with him for discretion, and his soul being incapable
of a generous thought, he seemed likely to pass through life without
knowing what friendship meant.
Knowing that Madame d'Urfe counted on the boy for the accomplishment of
her absurd hypostasis, and that the more mystery I made of his birth the
more extravagant would be her fancies about it, I told the lad that if I
introduced him to a lady who questioned him by himself about his birth,
he was to be perfectly open with her.
On my arrival at Paris my first visit was to my patron, whom I found in
grand company amongst whom I recognized the Venetian ambassador, who
pretended not to know me.
"How long have you been in Paris?" said the minister, taking me by the
hand.
"I have only just stepped out of my chaise."
"Then go to Versailles. You will find the Duc de Choiseul and the
comptroller-general there. You have been wonderfully successful, go and
get your meed of praise and come and see me afterwards. Tell the duke
that Voltaire's appointment to be a gentleman-in-ordinary to the king is
ready."
I was not going to start for Versailles at midday, but ministers in Paris
are always talking in this style, as if Versailles were at the end of the
street. Instead of going there, I went to see Madame d'Urfe.
She received me with the words that her genius had informed her that I
should come to-day, and that she was delighted with the fulfilment of the
prophecy.
"Corneman tells me that you have been doing wonders in Holland; but I see
more in the matter than he does, as I am quite certain that you have
taken over the twenty millions yourself. The funds have risen, and a
hundred millions at least will be in circulation in the course of the
next week. You must not be offended at my shabby present, for, of course,
twelve thousand francs are nothing to you. You must look upon them as a
little token of friendship."
"I am going to tell my servants to close all the doors, for I am too glad
to see you not to want to have you all to myself."
A profound bow was the only reply I made to this flattering speech, and I
saw her tremble with joy when I told her that I had brought a lad of
twelve with me, whom I intended to place in the best school I could find
that he might have a good education.
"I will send him myself to Viar, where my nephews are. What is his name?
Where is he? I know well what this boy is, I long to see him. Why did
you not alight from your journey at my house?"
Her questions and replies followed one another in rapid succession. I
should have found it impossible to get in a word edgeways, even if I had
wanted to, but I was very glad to let her expend her enthusiasm, and took
good care not to interrupt her. On the first opportunity, I told her that
I should have the pleasure of presenting the young gentleman to her the
day after tomorrow, as on the morrow I had an engagement at Versailles.
"Does the dear lad speak French? While I am arranging for his going to
school you must really let him come and live with me."
"We will discuss that question on the day after tomorrow, madam."
"Oh, how I wish the day after to-morrow was here!"
On leaving Madame d'Urfe I went to my lottery office and found everything
in perfect order. I then went to the Italian play, and found Silvia and
her daughter in their dressing-room.
"My dear friend," said she when she saw me, "I know that you have
achieved a wonderful success in Holland, and I congratulate you."
I gave her an agreeable surprise by saying that I had been working for
her daughter, and Marion herself blushed, and lowered her eyes in a very
suggestive manner. "I will be with you at supper," I added, "and then we
can talk at our ease." On leaving them I went to the amphitheatre, and
what was my surprise to see in one of the first boxes Madame
X---- C---- V----, with all her family. My readers will be glad to hear
their history.
Madame X---- C---- V----, by birth a Greek, was the widow of an Englishman,
by whom she had six children, four of whom were girls. On his death-bed
he became a Catholic out of deference to the tears of his wife; but as
his children could not inherit his forty thousand pounds invested in
England, without conforming to the Church of England, the family returned
to London, where the widow complied with all the obligations of the law
of England. What will people not do when their interests are at stake!
though in a case like this there is no need to blame a person for
yielding, to prejudices which had the sanction of the law.
It was now the beginning of the year 1758, and five years before, when I
was at Padua, I fell in love with the eldest daughter, but a few months
after, when we were at Venice, Madame X. C. V. thought good to exclude me
from her family circle. The insult which the mother put upon me was
softened by the daughter, who wrote me a charming letter, which I love to
read even now. I may as well confess that my grief was the easier to bear
as my time was taken up by my fair nun, M---- M----, and my dear
C---- C----. Nevertheless, Mdlle. X. C. V., though only fifteen, was of a
perfect beauty, and was all the more charming in that to her physical
advantages she joined those of a cultured mind.
Count Algarotti, the King of Prussia's chamberlain, gave her lessons, and
several young nobles were among her suitors, her preference apparently
being given to the heir of the family of Memmo de St. Marcuola. He died a
year afterwards, while he was procurator.
My surprise at seeing this family at such a time and place may be
imagined. Mdlle. X. C. V. saw me directly, and pointed me out to her
mother, who made a sign to me with her fan to come to their box.
She received me in the friendliest manner possible, telling me that we
were not at Venice now, and that she hoped I would often come and see
them at the "Hotel de Bretagne," in the Rue St. Andre des Arts. I told
them that I did not wish to recall any events which might have happened
at Venice, and her daughter having joined her entreaties to those of her
mother, I promised to accept their invitation.
Mdlle. X. C. V. struck me as prettier than ever; and my love, after
sleeping for five years, awoke to fresh strength and vigour. They told me
that they were going to pass six months at Paris before returning to
Venice. In return I informed them that I intended making Paris my home,
that I had just left Holland, that I was going to Versailles the next
day, so that I could not pay my respects to them till the day after. I
also begged them to accept my services, in a manner which let them know I
was a person of some importance.
Mdlle. X. C. V. said that she was aware that the results of my Dutch
mission should render me dear to France, that she had always lived in
hopes of seeing me once more, that my famous flight from The Leads had
delighted them; "for," she added, "we have always been fond of you."
"I fancy your mother has kept her fondness for me very much to herself,"
I whispered to her.
"We won't say anything about that," said she in the same tone. "We learnt
all the circumstances of your wonderful flight from a letter of sixteen
pages you wrote to M. Memmo. We trembled with joy and shuddered with fear
as we read it."
"How did you know I have been in Holland?"
"M. de la Popeliniere told us about it yesterday."
M. de la Popeliniere, the fermier-general, whom I had known seven years
ago at Passi, came into the box just as his name was spoken. After
complimenting me he said that if I could carry through the same operation
for the India Company my fortune would be made.
"My advice to you is," he said, "to get yourself naturalized before it
becomes generally known that you have made half a million of money."
"Half a million! I only wish I had!"
"You must have made that at the lowest calculation."
"On the contrary, I give you my assurance, that if my claim for brokerage
is not allowed, the transaction will prove absolutely ruinous to me."
"Ah! no doubt you are right to take that tone. Meanwhile, everyone wants
to make your acquaintance, for France is deeply indebted to you. You have
caused the funds to recover in a very marked degree."
After the play was over I went to Silvia's, where I was received as if I
had been the favourite child of the family; but on the other hand I gave
them certain proofs that I wished to be regarded in that light. I was
impressed with the idea that to their unshaken friendship I owed all my
good luck, and I made the father, mother, the daughter, and the two sons,
receive the presents I had got for them. The best was for the mother, who
handed it on to her daughter. It was a pair of diamond ear-rings of great
beauty, for which I had given fifteen thousand francs. Three days after I
sent her a box containing fine linen from Holland, and choice Mechlin and
Alencon lace. Mario, who liked smoking, got a gold pipe; the father a
choice gold and enamelled snuff-box, and I gave a repeater to the younger
son, of whom I was very fond. I shall have occasion later on to speak of
this lad, whose natural qualities were far superior to his position in
life. But, you will ask, was I rich enough to make such presents? No, I
was not, and I knew it perfectly well; but I gave these presents because
I was afraid of not being able to do so if I waited.
I set out for Versailles at day-break, and M. de Choiseul received me as
before, his hair was being dressed, but for a moment he laid down his
pen, which shewed that I had become a person of greater importance in his
eyes. After a slight but grateful compliment, he told me that if I
thought myself capable of negotiating a loan of a hundred millions to
bear interest at four per cent., he would do all in his power to help me.
My answer was that I would think it over when I heard how much I was to
have for what I had done already.
"But everybody says that you have made two hundred thousand florins by
it."
"That would not be so bad; half a million of francs would be a fair
foundation on which to build a fortune; but I can assure your excellence
that there is not a word of truth in the report. I defy anyone to prove
it; and till some substantial proof is offered, I think I can lay claim
to brokerage."
"True, true. Go to the comptroller-general and state your views to him."
M. de Boulogne stopped the occupation on which he was engaged to give me
a most friendly greeting, but when I said that he owed me a hundred
thousand florins he smiled sardonically.
"I happen to know," he said, "that you have bills of exchange to the
amount of a hundred thousand crowns payable to yourself."
"Certainly, but that money has no connection with my mission, as I can
prove to you by referring you to M. d'Afri. I have in my head an
infallible project for increasing the revenue by twenty millions, in a
manner which will cause no irritation."
"You don't say so! Communicate your plan, and I promise to get you a
pension of a hundred thousand francs, and letters of nobility as well, if
you like to become a Frenchman."
"I will think it over."
On leaving M. de Boulogne I went to the Palace, where a ballet was going
on before the Marquise de Pompadour.
She bowed to me as soon as she saw me, and on my approaching her she told
me that I was an able financier, and that the "gentlemen below" could not
appreciate my merits. She had not forgotten what I had said to her eight
years before in the theatre at Fontainebleau. I replied that all good
gifts were from above, whither, with her help, I hoped to attain.
On my return to Paris I went to the "Hotel Bourbon" to inform my patron
of the result of my journey. His advice to me was to continue to serve
the Government well, as its good fortune would come to be mine. On my
telling him of my meeting with the X. C. V.'s, he said that M. de la
Popeliniere was going to marry the elder daughter.
When I got to my house my son was nowhere to be found. My landlady told
me that a great lady had come to call on my lord, and that she had taken
him away with her. Guessing that this was Madame d'Urfe, I went to bed
without troubling myself any further. Early next morning my clerk brought
me a letter. It came from the old attorney, uncle to Gaetan's wife, whom
I had helped to escape from the jealous fury of her brutal husband. The
attorney begged me to come and speak to him at the courts, or to make an
appointment at some place where he could see me. I went to the courts and
found him there.
"My niece," he began, "found herself obliged to go into a convent; and
from this vantage ground she is pleading against her husband, with the
aid of a barrister, who will be responsible for the costs. However, to
win our case, we require the evidence of yourself, Count Tiretta, and
other servants who witnessed the scene at the inn."
I did all I could, and four months afterwards Gaetan simplified matters
by a fraudulent bankruptcy, which obliged him to leave France: in due
time and place, I shall have something more to say about him. As for his
wife, who was young and pretty, she paid her counsel in love's money, and
was very happy with him, and may be happy still for all I know, but I
have entirely lost sight of her.
After my interview with the old attorney I went to Madame---- to see
Tiretta, who was out. Madame was still in love with him, and he continued
to make a virtue of necessity. I left my address, and went to the "Hotel
de Bretagne" to pay my first call on Madame X. C. V. The lady, though she
was not over fond of me, received me with great politeness. I possibly
cut a better figure in her eyes when rich, and at Paris, then when we
were in Venice. We all know that diamonds have the strange power of
fascination, and that they form an excellent substitute for virtue!
Madame X. C. V. had with her an old Greek named Zandiri, brother to M. de
Bragadin's major-domo, who was just dead. I uttered some expressions of
sympathy, and the boor did not take the trouble to answer me, but I was
avenged for his foolish stiffness by the enthusiasm with which I was
welcomed by everyone else. The eldest girl, her sisters, and the two
sons, almost overwhelmed me with friendliness. The eldest son was only
fourteen, and was a young fellow of charming manners, but evidently
extremely independent, and sighed for the time when he would be able to
devote himself to a career of profligacy for which he was well fitted.
Mdlle. X. C. V. was both beautiful and charming in her manner, and had
received an excellent education of which, however, she made no parade.
One could not stay in her presence without loving her, but she was no
flirt, and I soon saw that she held out no vain hopes to those who had
the misfortune not to please her. Without being rude she knew how to be
cold, and it was all the worse for those whom her coldness did not shew
that their quest was useless.
The first hour I passed in her company chained me a captive to her
triumphant car. I told her as much, and she replied that she was glad to
have such a captive. She took the place in my heart where Esther had
reigned a week before, but I freely confess that Esther yielded only
because she was away. As to my attachment to Sylvia's daughter, it was of
such a nature as not to hinder me falling in love with any other woman
who chanced to take my fancy. In the libertine's heart love cannot exist
without substantial food, and women who have had some experience of the
world are well aware of this fact. The youthful Baletti was a beginner,
and so knew nothing of these things.
M. Farsetti, a Venetian of noble birth, a knight of Malta, a great
student of the occult sciences, and a good Latin versifier, came in at
one o'clock. Dinner was just ready and Madame X. C. V. begged him to
stay. She asked me also to dine with them, but wishing to dine with
Madame d'Urfe I refused the invitation for the nonce.
M. Farsetti, who had known me very well at Venice, only noticed me by a
side-glance, and without shewing any vexation I paid him back in the same
coin. He smiled at Mdlle. X. C. V.'s praise of my courage. She noticed
his expression, and as if to punish him for it went on to say that I had
now the admiration of every Venetian, and that the French were anxious to
have the honour of calling me a fellow-citizen. M. Farsetti asked me if
my post at the lottery paid well. I replied, coolly,
"Oh, yes, well enough for me to pay my clerks' salaries."
He understood the drift of my reply, and Mdlle. X. C. V. smiled.
I found my supposed son with Madame d'Urfe, or rather in that amiable
visionary's arms. She hastened to apologize for carrying him off, and I
turned it off with a jest, having no other course to take.
"I made him sleep with me," she said, "but I shall be obliged to deprive
myself of this privilege for the future, unless he promises to be more
discreet."
I thought the idea a grand one, and the little fellow, in spite of his
blushes, begged her to say how he had offended.
"We shall have the Comte de St. Germain," said Madame d'Urfe, "to dinner.
I know he amuses you, and I like you to enjoy yourself in my house."
"For that, madam, your presence is all I need; nevertheless, I thank you
for considering me."
In due course St. Germain arrived, and in his usual manner sat himself
down, not to eat but to talk. With a face of imperturbable gravity he
told the most incredible stories, which one had to pretend to believe, as
he was always either the hero of the tale or an eye witness of the event.
All the same, I could not help bursting into laughter when he told us of
something that happened as he was dining with the Fathers of the Council
of Trent.
Madame d'Urfe wore on her neck a large magnet. She said that it would one
day happen that this magnet would attract the lightning, and that she
would consequently soar into the sun. I longed to tell her that when, she
got there she could be no higher up than on the earth, but I restrained
myself; and the great charlatan hastened to say that there could be no
doubt about it, and that he, and he only, could increase the force of the
magnet a thousand times. I said, dryly, that I would wager twenty
thousand crowns he would not so much as double its force, but Madame
d'Urfe would not let us bet, and after dinner she told me in private that
I should have lost, as St. Germain was a magician. Of course I agreed
with her.
A few days later, the magician set out for Chambord, where the king had
given him a suite of rooms and a hundred thousand francs, that he might
be at liberty to work on the dyes which were to assure the superiority of
French materials over those of any other country. St. Germain had got
over the king by arranging a laboratory where he occasionally tried to
amuse himself, though he knew little about chemistry, but the king was
the victim of an almost universal weariness. To enjoy a harem recruited
from amongst the most ravishing beauties, and often from the ranks of
neophytes, with whom pleasure had its difficulties, one would have needed
to be a god, and Louis XV. was only a man after all.
It was the famous marquise who had introduced the adept to the king in
the hope of his distracting the monarch's weariness, by giving him a
taste for chemistry. Indeed Madame de Pompadour was under the impression
that St. Germain had given her the water of perpetual youth, and
therefore felt obliged to make the chemist a good return. This wondrous
water, taken according to the charlatan's directions, could not indeed
make old age retire and give way to youth, but according to the marquise
it would preserve one in statu quo for several centuries.
As a matter of fact, the water, or the giver of it, had worked wonders,
if not on her body, at least on her mind; she assured the king that she
was not getting older. The king was as much deluded by this grand
impostor as she was, for one day he shewed the Duc des Deux-Ponts a
diamond of the first water, weighing twelve carats, which he fancied he
had made himself. "I melted down," said Louis XV., "small diamonds
weighing twenty-four carats, and obtained this one large one weighing
twelve." Thus it came to pass that the infatuated monarch gave the
impostor the suite formerly occupied by Marshal Saxe. The Duc des
Deux-Ponts told me this story with his own lips, one evening, when I was
supping with him and a Swede, the Comte de Levenhoop, at Metz.
Before I left Madame d'Urfe, I told her that the lad might be he who
should make her to be born again, but that she would spoil all if she did
not wait for him to attain the age of puberty. After what she had said
about his misbehavior, the reader will guess what made me say this. She
sent him to board with Viar, gave him masters on everything, and
disguised him under the name of the Comte d'Aranda, although he was born
at Bayreuth, and though his mother never had anything to do with a
Spaniard of that name. It was three or four months before I went to see
him, as I was afraid of being insulted on account of the name which the
visionary Madame d'Urfe had given him.
One day Tiretta came to see me in a fine coach. He told me that his
elderly mistress wanted to become his wife, but that he would not hear of
it, though she offered to endow him with all her worldly goods. I told
him that if he gave in he might pay his debts, return to Trevisa, and
live pleasantly there; but his destiny would not allow him to take my
advice.
I had resolved on taking a country house, and fixed on one called "Little
Poland," which pleased me better than all the others I had seen. It was
well furnished, and was a hundred paces distant from the Madeleine Gate.
It was situated on slightly elevated ground near the royal park, behind
the Duc de Grammont's garden, and its owner had given it the name of
"Pleasant Warsaw." It had two gardens, one of which was on a level with
the first floor, three reception rooms, large stables, coach houses,
baths, a good cellar, and a splendid kitchen. The master was called "The
Butter King," and always wrote himself down so; the name had been given
to him by Louis XV. on the monarch's stopping at the house and liking the
butter. The "Butter King" let me his house for a hundred Louis per annum,
and he gave me an excellent cook called "The Pearl," a true blue-ribbon
of the order of cooks, and to her he gave charge of all his furniture and
the plate I should want for a dinner of six persons, engaging to get me
as much plate as I wanted at the hire of a sous an ounce. He also
promised to let me have what wine I wanted, and said all he had was of
the best, and, moreover, cheaper than I could get it at Paris, as he had
no gate-money to pay on it.
Matters having been arranged on these terms, in the course of a week I
got a good coachman, two fine carriages, five horses, a groom, and two
footmen. Madame d'Urfe, who was my first guest, was delighted with my new
abode, and as she imagined that I had done it all for her, I left her in
that flattering opinion. I never could believe in the morality of
snatching from poor mortal man the delusions which make them happy. I
also let her retain the notion that young d'Aranda, the count of her own
making, was a scion of the nobility, that he was born for a mysterious
operation unknown to the rest of mankind, that I was only his caretaker
(here I spoke the truth), and that he must die and yet not cease to live.
All these whimsical ideas were the products of her brain, which was only
occupied with the impossible, and I thought the best thing I could do was
to agree with everything. If I had tried to undeceive her, she would have
accused me of want of trust in her, for she was convinced that all her
knowledge was revealed to her by her genius, who spoke to her only by
night. After she had dined with me I took her back to her house, full of
happiness.
Camille sent me a lottery ticket, which she had invested in at my office,
and which proved to be a winning one, I think, for a thousand crowns or
thereabouts. She asked me to come and sup with her, and bring the money
with me. I accepted her invitation, and found her surrounded by all the
girls she knew and their lovers. After supper I was asked to go to the
opera with them, but we had scarcely got there when I lost my party in
the crowd. I had no mask on, and I soon found myself attacked by a black
domino, whom I knew to be a woman, and as she told me a hundred truths
about myself in a falsetto voice, I was interested, and determined on
finding out who she was. At last I succeeded in persuading her to come
with me into a box, and as soon as we were in and I had taken off her
mask I was astonished to find she was Mdlle. X. C. V.
"I have come to the ball," said she, "with one of my sisters, my elder
brother, and M. Farsetti. I left them to go into a box and change my
domino:
"They must feel very uneasy."
"I dare say they do, but I am not going to take pity on them till the end
of the ball."
Finding myself alone with her, and certain of having her in my company
for the rest of the night, I began to talk of our old love-making; and I
took care to say that I was more in love with her than ever. She listened
to me kindly, did not oppose my embraces, and by the few obstacles she
placed in my way I judged that the happy moment was not far off.
Nevertheless I felt that I must practice restraint that evening, and she
let me see that she was obliged to me.
"I heard at Versailles, my dear mademoiselle, that you are going to marry
M. de la Popeliniere."
"So they say. My mother wishes me to do so, and the old financier fancies
he has got me in his talons already; but he makes a mistake, as I will
never consent to such a thing."
"He is old, but he is very rich."
"He is very rich and very generous, for he promises me a dowry of a
million if I become a widow without children; and if I had a son he would
leave me all his property."
"You wouldn't have much difficulty in complying with the second
alternative."
"I shall never have anything to do with his money, for I should never
make my life miserable by a marriage with a man whom I do not love, while
I do love another."
"Another! Who is the fortunate mortal to whom you have given your heart's
treasure?"
"I do not know if my loved one is fortunate. My lover is a Venetian, and
my mother knows of it; but she says that I should not be happy, that he
is not worthy of me."
"Your mother is a strange woman, always crossing your affections."
"I cannot be angry with her. She may possibly be wrong, but she certainly
loves me. She would rather that I should marry M. Farsetti, who would be
very glad to have me, but I detest him."
"Has he made a declaration in terms?"
"He has, and all the marks of contempt I have given him seem to have no
effect."
"He clings hard to hope; but the truth is you have fascinated him."
"Possibly, but I do not think him susceptible of any tender or generous
feeling. He is a visionary; surly, jealous, and envious in his
disposition. When he heard me expressing myself about you in the manner
you deserve, he had the impudence to say to my mother before my face that
she ought not to receive you."
"He deserves that I should give him a lesson in manners, but there are
other ways in which he may be punished. I shall be delighted to serve you
in any way I can."
"Alas! if I could only count on your friendship I should be happy."
The sigh with which she uttered these words sent fire through my veins,
and I told her that I was her devoted slave; that I had fifty thousand
crowns which were at her service, and that I would risk my life to win
her favours. She replied that she was truly grateful to me, and as she
threw her arms about my neck our lips met, but I saw that she was
weeping, so I took care that the fire which her kisses raised should be
kept within bounds. She begged me to come and see her often, promising
that as often as she could manage it we should be alone. I could ask no
more, and after I had promised to come and dine with them on the morrow,
we parted.
I passed an hour in walking behind her, enjoying my new position of
intimate friend, and I then returned to my Little Poland. It was a short
distance, for though I lived in the country I could get to any part of
Paris in a quarter of an hour. I had a clever coachman, and capital
horses not used to being spared. I got them from the royal stables, and
as soon as I lost one I got another from the same place, having to pay
two hundred francs. This happened to me several times, for, to my mind,
going fast is one of the greatest pleasures which Paris offers.
Having accepted an invitation to dinner at the X. C. V.'s, I did not give
myself much time for sleep, and I went out on foot with a cloak on. The
snow was falling in large flakes, and when I got to madame's I was as
white as a sheet from head to foot. She gave me a hearty welcome,
laughing, and saying that her daughter had been telling her how she had
puzzled me, and that she was delighted to see me come to dinner without
ceremony. "But," added she, "it's Friday today, and you will have to
fast, though, after all, the fish is very good. Dinner is not ready yet.
You had better go and see my daughter, who is still a-bed."
As may be imagined, this invitation had not to be repeated, for a pretty
woman looks better in bed than anywhere else. I found Mdlle. X. C. V.
sitting up in bed writing, but she stopped as soon as she saw me.
"How is this, sweet lie-a-bed, not up yet?"
"Yes, I am staying in bed partly because I feel lazy, and partly because
I am freer here."
"I was afraid you were not quite well."
"Nor am I. However, we will say no more about that now. I am just going
to take some soup, as those who foolishly establish the institution of
fasting were not polite enough to ask my opinion on the subject. It does
not agree with my health, and I don't like it, so I am not going to get
up even to sit at table, though I shall thus deprive myself of your
society."
I naturally told her that in her absence dinner would have no savour; and
I spoke the truth.
As the presence of her sister did not disturb us, she took out of her
pocket-book an epistle in verse which I had addressed to her when her
mother had forbidden me the house. "This fatal letter," said she, "which
you called 'The Phoenix,' has shaped my life and may prove the cause of
my death."
I had called it the Phoenix because, after bewailing my unhappy lot, I
proceeded to predict how she would afterwards give her heart to a mortal
whose qualities would make him deserve the name of Phoenix. A hundred
lines were taken up in the description of these imaginary mental and
moral characteristics, and certainly the being who should have them all
would be right worthy of worship, for he would be rather a god than a
man.
"Alas!" said Mdlle. X. C. V., "I fell in love with this imaginary being,
and feeling certain that such an one must exist I set myself to look for
him. After six months I thought I had found him. I gave him my heart, I
received his, we loved each other fondly. But for the last four months we
have been separated, and during the whole time I have only had one letter
from him. Yet I must not blame him, for I know he cannot help it. Such,
is my sorry fate: I can neither hear from him nor write to him:"
This story was a confirmation of a theory of mine namely, that the most
important events in our lives proceed often from the most trifling
causes. My epistle was nothing better than a number of lines of poetry
more or less well written, and the being I had delineated was certainly
not to be found, as he surpassed by far all human perfections, but a
woman's heart travels so quickly and so far! Mdlle. X. C. V. took the
thing literally, and fell in love with a chimera of goodness, and then
was fain to turn this into a real lover, not thinking of the vast
difference between the ideal and the real. For all that, when she thought
that she had found the original of my fancy portrait, she had no
difficulty in endowing him with all the good qualities I had pictured. Of
course Mdlle. X. C. V. would have fallen in love if I had never written
her a letter in verse, but she would have done so in a different manner,
and probably with different results.
As soon as dinner was served we were summoned to do justice to the choice
fish which M. de la Popeliniere had provided. Madame X. C. V. a
narrowminded Greek, was naturally bigoted and superstitious. In the mind
of a silly woman the idea of an alliance between the most opposite of
beings, God and the Devil, seems quite natural. A priest had told her
that, since she had converted her husband, her salvation was secure, for
the Scriptures solemnly promised a soul for a soul to every one who would
lead a heretic or a heathen within the fold of the church. And as Madame
X. C. V. had converted her husband, she felt no anxiety about the life of
the world to come, as she had done all that was necessary. However, she
ate fish on the days appointed; the reason being that she preferred it to
flesh.
Dinner over, I returned to the lady's bedside, and there stayed till
nearly nine o'clock, keeping my passions well under control all the time.
I was foppish enough to think that her feelings were as lively as mine,
and I did not care to shew myself less self-restrained than she, though I
knew then, as I know now, that this was a false line of argument. It is
the same with opportunity as with fortune; one must seize them when they
come to us, or else they go by, often to return no more.
Not seeing Farsetti at the table, I suspected there had been a quarrel,
and I asked my sweetheart about it; but she told me I was mistaken in
supposing they had quarreled with him, and that the reason of his absence
was that he would never leave his house on a Friday. The deluded man had
had his horoscope drawn, and learning by it that he would be assassinated
on a Friday he resolved always to shut himself up on that day. He was
laughed at, but persisted in the same course till he died four years ago
at the age of seventy. He thought to prove by the success of his
precautions that a man's destiny depends on his discretion, and on the
precautions he takes to avoid the misfortunes of which he has had
warning. The line of argument holds good in all cases except when the
misfortunes are predicted in a horoscope; for either the ills predicted
are avoidable, in which case the horoscope is a useless piece of folly,
or else the horoscope is the interpreter of destiny, in which case all
the precautions in the world are of no avail. The Chevalier Farsetti was
therefore a fool to imagine he had proved anything at all. He would have
proved a good deal for many people if he had gone out on a Friday, and
had chanced to have been assassinated. Picas de la Mirandola, who
believed in astrology, says, "I have no doubt truly, 'Astra influunt, non
cogunt.'" But would it have been a real proof of the truth of astrology,
if Farsetti had been assassinated on a Friday? In my opinion, certainly
not.
The Comte d'Eigreville had introduced me to his sister, the Comtesse du
Remain, who had been wanting to make my acquaintance ever since she had
heard of my oracle. It was not long before I made friends with her
husband and her two daughters, the elder of whom, nicknamed "Cotenfau,"
married M. de Polignac later on. Madame du Remain was handsome rather
than pretty, but she won the love of all by her kindness, her frank
courtesy, and her eagerness to be of service to her friends. She had a
magnificent figure, and would have awed the whole bench of judges if she
had pleaded before them.
At her house I got to know Mesdames de Valbelle and de Rancerolles, the
Princess de Chimai, and many others who were then in the best society of
Paris. Although Madame du Remain was not a proficient in the occult
sciences, she had nevertheless consulted my oracle more frequently than
Madame d'Urfe. She was of the utmost service to me in connection with an
unhappy circumstance of which I shall speak presently.
The day after my long conversation with Mdlle. X. C. V., my servant told
me that there was a young man waiting who wanted to give me a letter with
his own hands. I had him in, and on my asking him from whom the letter
came, he replied that I should find all particulars in the letter, and
that he had orders to wait for an answer. The epistle ran as follows:
"I am writing this at two o'clock in the morning. I am weary and in need
of rest, but a burden on my soul deprives me of sleep. The secret I am
about to tell you will no longer be so grievous when I have confided in
you; I shall feel eased by placing it in your breast. I am with child,
and my situation drives me to despair. I was obliged to write to you
because I felt I could not say it. Give me a word in reply."
My feelings on reading the above may be guessed. I was petrified with
astonishment and could only write, "I will be with you at eleven
o'clock."
No one should say that he has passed through great misfortunes unless
they have proved too great for his mind to bear. The confidence of Mdlle.
X. C. V. shewed me that she was in need of support. I congratulated
myself on having the preference, and I vowed to do my best for her did it
cost me my life. These were the thoughts of a lover, but for all that I
could not conceal from myself the imprudence of the step she had taken.
In such cases as these there is always the choice between speaking or
writing, and the only feeling which can give the preference to writing is
false shame, at bottom mere cowardice. If I had not been in love with
her, I should have found it easier to have refused my aid in writing than
if she had spoken to me, but I loved her to distraction.
"Yes," said I to myself, "she can count on me. Her mishap makes her all
the dearer to me."
And below this there was another voice, a voice which whispered to me
that if I succeeded in saving her my reward was sure. I am well aware
that more than one grave moralist will fling stones at me for this
avowal, but my answer is that such men cannot be in love as I was.
I was punctual to my appointment, and found the fair unfortunate at the
door of the hotel.
"You are going out, are you? Where are you going?"
"I am going to mass at the Church of the Augustinians."
"Is this a saint's day?"
"No; but my mother makes me go every day."
"I will come with you."
"Yes do, give me your arm; we will go into the cloisters and talk there."
Mdlle. X. C. V. was accompanied by her maid, but she knew better than to
be in the way, so we left her in the cloisters. As soon as we were alone
she said to me,
"Have you read my letter?"
"Yes, of course; here it is, burn it yourself."
"No, keep it, and do so with your own hands."
"I see you trust in me, and I assure you I will not abuse your trust."
"I am sure you will not. I am four months with child; I can doubt it no
longer, and the thought maddens me!"
"Comfort yourself, we will find some way to get over it."
"Yes; I leave all to you. You must procure an abortion."
"Never, dearest! that is a crime!"
"Alas! I know that well; but it is not a greater crime than suicide, and
there lies my choice: either to destroy the wretched witness of my shame,
or to poison myself. For the latter alternative I have everything ready.
You are my only friend, and it is for you to decide which it shall be.
Speak to me! Are you angry that I have not gone to the Chevalier Farsetti
before you?"
She saw my astonishment, and stopped short, and tried to wipe away the
tears which escaped from her eyes. My heart bled for her.
"Laying the question of crime on one side," said I, "abortion is out of
our power. If the means employed are not violent they are uncertain, and
if they are violent they are dangerous to the mother. I will never risk
becoming your executioner; but reckon on me, I will not forsake you. Your
honour is as dear to me as your life. Becalm, and henceforth think that
the peril is mine, not yours. Make up your mind that I shall find some
way of escape, and that there will be no need to cut short that life, to
preserve which I would gladly die. And allow me to say that when I read
your note I felt glad, I could not help it, that at such an emergency you
chose me before all others to be your helper. You will find that your
trust was not given in vain, for no one loves you as well as I, and no
one is so fain to help you. Later you shall begin to take the remedies I
will get for you, but I warn you to be on your guard, for this is a
serious matter--one of life and death. Possibly you have already told
somebody about it--your maid or one of your sisters?"
"I have not told anybody but you, not even the author of my shame. I
tremble when I think what my mother would do and say if she found out my
situation. I am afraid she will draw her conclusions from my shape."
"So far there is nothing to be observed in that direction, the beauty of
the outline still remains intact."
"But every day increases its size, and for that reason we must be quick
in what we do. You must find a surgeon who does not know my name and take
me to him to be bled."
"I will not run the risk, it might lead to the discovery of the whole
affair. I will bleed you myself; it is a simple operation."
"How grateful I am to you! I feel as if you had already brought me from
death to life. What I should like you to do would be to take me to a
midwife's. We can easily go without attracting any notice at the first
ball at the opera."
"Yes, sweetheart, but that step is not necessary, and it might lead to
our betrayal."
"No, no, in this great town there are midwives in every quarter, and we
should never be known; we might keep our masks on all the time. Do me
this kindness. A midwife's opinion is certainly worth having."
I could not refuse her request, but I made her agree to wait till the
last ball, as the crowd was always greater, and we had a better chance of
going out free from observation. I promised to be there in a black domino
with a white mask in the Venetian fashion, and a rose painted beside the
left eye. As soon as she saw me go out she was to follow me into a
carriage. All this was carried out, but more of it anon.
I returned with her, and dined with them without taking any notice of
Farsetti, who was also at the table, and had seen me come back from mass
with her. We did not speak a word to one another; he did not like me and
I despised him.
I must here relate a grievous mistake of which I was guilty, and which I
have not yet forgiven myself.
I had promised to take Mdlle. X. C. V. to a midwife, but I certainly
ought to have taken her to a respectable woman's, for all we wanted to
know was how a pregnant woman should regulate her diet and manner of
living. But my evil genius took me by the Rue St. Louis, and there I saw
the Montigni entering her house with a pretty girl whom I did not know,
and so out of curiosity I went in after them. After amusing myself there,
with Mdlle. X. C. V. running in my head all the time, I asked the woman
to give me the address of a midwife, as I wanted to consult one. She told
me of a house in the Marais, where according to her dwelt the pearl of
midwives, and began telling me some stories of her exploits, which all
went to prove that the woman was an infamous character. I took her
address, however, and as I should have to go there by night, I went the
next day to see where the house was.
Mdlle. X. C. V. began to take the remedies which I brought her, which
ought to have weakened and destroyed the result of love, but as she did
not experience any benefit, she was impatient to consult a midwife. On
the night of the last ball she recognized me as we had agreed, and
followed me out into the coach she saw me enter, and in less than a
quarter of an hour we reached the house of shame.
A woman of about fifty received us with great politeness, and asked what
she could do.
Mdlle. X. C. V. told her that she believed herself pregnant, and that she
desired some means of concealing her misfortune. The wretch answered with
a smile that she might as well tell her plainly that it would be easy to
procure abortion. "I will do your business," said she, "for fifty Louis,
half to be paid in advance on account of drugs, and the rest when it's
all over. I will trust in your honesty, and you will have to trust in
mine. Give me the twenty-five Louis down, and come or send to-morrow for
the drugs, and instructions for using them."
So saying she turned up her clothes without any ceremony, and as I, at
Mdlle. X. C. V.'s request, looked away, she felt her and pronounced, as
she let down her dress, that she was not beyond the fourth month.
"If my drugs," said she, "contrary to my expectation, do not do any good,
we will try some other ways, and, in any case, if I do not succeed in
obliging you I will return you your money."
"I don't doubt it for a moment," said I, "but would you tell me what are
those other ways!"
"I should tell the lady how to destroy the foetus."
I might have told her that to kill the child meant giving a mortal wound
to the mother, but I did not feel inclined to enter into a argument with
this vile creature.
"If madame decides on taking your advice," said I, "I will bring you the
money for drugs to-morrow."
I gave her two Louis and left. Mdlle. X. C. V. told me that she had no
doubt of the infamy of this woman, as she was sure it was impossible to
destroy the offspring without the risk of killing the mother also. "My
only trust," said she, "is in you." I encouraged her in this idea,
dissuading her from any criminal attempts, and assured her over and over
again that she should not find her trust in me misplaced. All at once she
complained of feeling cold, and asked if we had not time to warm
ourselves in Little Poland, saying that she longed to see my pretty
house. I was surprised and delighted with the idea. The night was too
dark for her to see the exterior charms of my abode, she would have to
satisfy herself with the inside, and leave the rest to her imagination. I
thought my hour had come. I made the coach stop and we got down and
walked some way, and then took another at the corner of the Rue de la
Ferannerie. I promised the coachman six francs beyond his fare, and in a
quarter of an hour he put us down at my door.
I rang with the touch of the master, the Pearl opened the door, and told
me that there was nobody within, as I very well knew, but it was her
habit to do so.
"Quick!" said I, "light us a fire, and bring some glasses and a bottle of
champagne."
"Would you like an omelette?"
"Very well."
"Oh, I should like an omelette so much!" said Mdlle. X. C. V. She was
ravishing, and her laughing air seemed to promise me a moment of bliss. I
sat down before the blazing fire and made her sit on my knee, covering
her with kisses which she gave me back as lovingly. I had almost won what
I wanted when she asked me in a sweet voice to stop. I obeyed, thinking
it would please her, feeling sure that she only delayed my victory to
make it more complete, and that she would surrender after the champagne.
I saw love, kindness, trust, and gratitude shining in her face, and I
should have been sorry for her to think that I claimed her as a mere
reward. No, I wanted her love, and nothing but her love.
At last we got to our last glass of champagne, we rose from the table,
and sentimentally but with gentle force I laid her on a couch and held
her amorously in my arms. But instead of giving herself up to my embraces
she resisted them, at first by those prayers which usually make lovers
more enterprising, then by serious remonstrances, and at last by force.
This was too much, the mere idea of using violence has always shocked me,
and I am still of opinion that the only pleasure in the amorous embrace
springs from perfect union and agreement. I pleaded my cause in every
way, I painted myself as the lover flattered, deceived, despised! At last
I told her that I had had a cruel awakening, and I saw that the shaft
went home. I fell on my knees and begged her to forgive me. "Alas!" said
she, in a voice full of sadness, "I am no longer mistress of my heart,
and have far greater cause for grief than you." The tears flowed fast
down her cheeks, her head rested on my shoulder, and our lips met; but
for all that the piece was over. The idea of renewing the attack never
came into my head, and if it had I should have scornfully rejected it.
After a long silence, of which we both stood in need, she to conquer her
shame, and I to repress my anger, we put on our masks and returned to the
opera. On our way she dared to tell me that she should be obliged to
decline my friendship if she had to pay for it so dearly.
"The emotions of love," I replied, "should yield to those of honour, and
your honour as well as mine require us to continue friends. What I would
have done for love I will now do for devoted friendship, and for the
future I will die rather than make another attempt to gain those favours
of which I thought you deemed me worthy."
We separated at the opera, and the vast crowd made me lose sight of her
in an instant. Next day she told me that she had danced all night. She
possibly hoped to find in that exercise the cure which no medicine seemed
likely to give her.
I returned to my house in a bad humour, trying in vain to justify a
refusal which seemed humiliating and almost incredible. My good sense
shewed me, in spite of all sophisms, that I had been grievously insulted.
I recollected the witty saying of Populia, who was never unfaithful to
her husband except when she was with child; "Non tollo vectorem," said
she, "nisi navi plena."
I felt certain that I was not loved, and the thought grieved me; and I
considered that it would be unworthy of me to love one whom I could no
longer hope to possess. I resolved to avenge myself by leaving her to her
fate, feeling that I could not allow myself to be duped as I had been.
The night brought wisdom with it, and when I awoke in the morning my mind
was calm and I was still in love. I determined to act generously by the
unfortunate girl. Without my aid she would be ruined; my course, then,
would be to continue my services and to shew myself indifferent to her
favours. The part was no easy one, but I played it right well, and at
last my reward came of itself.
CHAPTER VII
I Continue My Relations With Mdlle. X. C. V.--Vain Attempts
to Procure Abortion--The Aroph--She Flies From Home and
Takes Refuge in a Convent
The difficulties I encountered only served to increase my love for my
charming Englishwoman. I went to see her every morning, and as my
interest in her condition was genuine, she could have no suspicion that I
was acting a part, or attribute my care of her to anything but the most
delicate feelings. For her part she seemed well pleased in the alteration
of my behaviour, though her satisfaction may very probably have been
assumed. I understood women well enough to know that though she did not
love me she was probably annoyed at seeing my new character sit upon me
so easily.
One morning in the midst of an unimportant and disconnected conversation,
she complimented me upon my strength of mind in subduing my passion,
adding, with a smile, that my desire could not have pricked me very
sharply, seeing that I had cured myself so well in the course of a week.
I quietly replied that I owed my cure not to the weakness of my passion
but to my self-respect.
"I know my own character," I said, "and without undue presumption, I
think I may say that I am worthy of a woman's love. Naturally, after your
convincing me that you think differently, I feel humiliated and
indignant. Do you know what effect such feelings have on the heart?"
"Alas!" said she, "I know too well. Their effect is to inspire one with
contempt for her who gave rise to them."
"That is going too far, at least in my case. My indignation was merely
succeeded by a renewed confidence in myself, and a determination to be
revenged."
"To be revenged! In what way?"
"I wish to compel you to esteem me, by proving to you that I am lord of
myself, and can pass by with indifference what I once so ardently
desired. I do not know whether I have succeeded yet, but I may say that I
can now contemplate your charms without desiring to possess them."
"You are making a mistake, for I never ceased to esteem you, and I
esteemed you as much a week ago as I do to-day. Nor for a moment I did
think you capable of leaving me to my fate as a punishment for having
refused to give way to your transports, and I am glad that I read your
character rightly."
We went on to speak of the opiate I made her take, and as she saw no
change in her condition she wanted me to increase the dose--a request I
took care not to grant, as I knew that more than half a drachm might kill
her. I also forbade her to bleed herself again, as she might do herself a
serious injury without gaining anything by it. Her maid, of whom she had
been obliged to make a confidante, had had her bled by a student, her
lover. I told Mdlle. X. C. V. that if she wanted these people to keep her
counsel she must be liberal with them, and she replied that she had no
money. I offered her money and she accepted fifty louis, assuring me that
she would repay me that sum which she needed for her brother Richard. I
had not as much money about me, but I sent her the same day a packet of
twelve hundred francs with a note in which I begged her to have recourse
to me in all her necessities. Her brother got the money, and thought
himself authorized to apply to me for aid in a much more important
matter.
He was a young man and a profligate, and had got into a house of
ill-fame, from which he came out in sorry plight. He complained bitterly
that M. Farsetti had refused to lend him four louis, and he asked me to
speak to his mother that she might pay for his cure. I consented, but
when his mother heard what was the matter with him, she said it would be
much better to leave him as he was, as this was the third time he had
been in this condition, and that to have him cured was a waste of money,
as no sooner was he well than he began his dissipated life afresh. She
was quite right, for I had him cured at my expense by an able surgeon,
and he was in the same way a month after. This young man seemed intended
by nature for shameful excesses, for at the age of fourteen he was an
accomplished profligate.
His sister was now six months with child, and as her figure grew great so
did her despair. She resolved not to leave her bed, and it grieved me to
see her thus cast down. Thinking me perfectly cured of my passion for
her, she treated me purely as a friend, making me touch her all over to
convince me that she dare not shew herself any longer. I played in short
the part of a midwife, but with what a struggle! I had to pretend to be
calm and unconcerned when I was consumed with passion. She spoke of
killing herself in a manner that made me shudder, as I saw that she had
reflected on what she was saying. I was in a difficult position when
fortune came to my assistance in a strange and amusing manner.
One day, as I was dining with Madame d'Urfe, I asked her if she knew of
any way by which a girl, who had allowed her lover to go too far, might
be protected from shame. "I know of an infallible method," she replied,
"the aroph of Paracelsus to wit, and it is easy of application. Do you
wish to know more about it?" she added; and without waiting for me to
answer she brought a manuscript, and put it in my hands. This powerful
emmenagogue was a kind of unguent composed of several drugs, such as
saffron, myrrh, etc., compounded with virgin honey. To obtain the
necessary result one had to employ a cylindrical machine covered with
extremely soft skin, thick enough to fill the opening of the vagina, and
long enough to reach the opening of the reservoir or case containing the
foetus. The end of this apparatus was to be well anointed with aroph, and
as it only acted at a moment of uterine excitement it was necessary to
apply it with the same movement as that of coition. The dose had to be
repeated five or six times a day for a whole week.
This nostrum, and the manner of administering it, struck me in so
laughable a light that I could not keep my countenance. I laughed with
all my heart, but for all that I spent the next two hours in reading the
dreams of Paracelsus, in which Madame d'Urfe put more trust than in the
truths of the Gospel; I afterwards referred to Boerhaave, who speaks of
the aroph in more reasonable terms.
Seeing, as I have remarked, the charming X. C. V. several hours a day
without any kind of constraint, feeling in love with her all the time,
and always restraining my feelings, it is no wonder if the hidden fire
threatened at every moment to leap up from the ashes of its concealment.
Her image pursued me unceasingly, of her I always thought, and every day
made it more evident that I should know rest no more till I succeeded in
extinguishing my passion by obtaining possession of all her charms.
As I was thinking of her by myself I resolved to tell her of my
discovery, hoping she would need my help in the introduction of the
cylinder. I went to see her at ten o'clock, and found her, as usual, in
bed; she was weeping because the opiate I gave her did not take effect. I
thought the time a good one for introducing the aroph of Paracelsus,
which I assured her was an infallible means of attaining the end she
desired; but whilst I was singing the praises of this application the
idea came into my head to say that, to be absolutely certain, it was
necessary for the aroph to be mingled with semen which had not lost its
natural heat.
"This mixture," said I, "moistening several times a day the opening of
the womb, weakens it to such a degree that the foetus is expelled by its
own weight:"
To these details I added lengthy arguments to persuade her of the
efficacy of this cure, and then, seeing that she was absorbed in thought,
I said that as her lover was away she would want a sure friend to live in
the same house with her, and give her the dose according to the
directions of Paracelsus.
All at once she burst into a peal of laughter, and asked me if I had been
jesting all the time.
I thought the game was up. The remedy was an absurd one, on the face of
it; and if her common sense told her as much it would also make her guess
my motive. But what limits are there to the credulity of a woman in her
condition?
"If you wish," said I, persuasively, "I will give you the manuscript
where all that I have said is set down plainly. I will also shew you what
Boerhaeve thinks about it."
I saw that these words convinced her; they had acted on her as if by
magic, and I went on while the iron was hot.
"The aroph," said I, "is the most powerful agent for bringing on
menstruation."
"And that is incompatible with the state I am now in; so the aroph should
procure me a secret deliverance. Do you know its composition?"
"Certainly; it is quite a simple preparation composed of certain
ingredients which are well known to me, and which have to be made into a
paste with butter or virgin honey. But this composition must touch the
orifice of the uterus at a moment of extreme excitement."
"But in that case it seems to me that the person who gives the dose must
be in love."
"Certainly, unless he is a mere animal requiring only physical
incentives."
She was silent for some time, for though she was quick-witted enough, a
woman's natural modesty and her own frankness, prevented her from
guessing at my artifice. I, too, astonished at my success in making her
believe this fable, remained silent.
At last, breaking the silence, she said, sadly,
"The method seems to me an excellent one, but I do not think I ought to
make use of it."
Then she asked me if the aroph took much time to make.
"Two hours at most," I answered, "if I succeed in procuring English
saffron, which Paracelsus prefers to the Oriental saffron."
At that moment her mother and the Chevalier Farsetti came in, and after
some talk of no consequence she asked me to stay to dinner. I was going
to decline, when Mdlle. X. C. V. said she would sit at table, on which I
accepted; and we all left the room to give her time to dress. She was not
long in dressing, and when she appeared her figure seemed to me quite
nymph-like. I was astonished, and could scarcely believe my eyes, and I
was on the point of thinking that I had been imposed on, for I could not
imagine how she could manage to conceal the fulness I had felt with my
own hands.
M. Farsetti sat by her, and I by the mother. Mdlle. X. C. V., whose head
was full of the aroph, asked her neighbour, who gave himself out for a
great chemist, if he knew it.
"I fancy I know it better than anyone," answered Farsetti, in a
self-satisfied manner.
"What is it good for?"
"That is too vague a question."
"What does the word mean?"
"It is an Arabic word, of which I do not know the meaning; but no doubt
Paracelsus would tell us."
"The word," said I, "is neither Arabic nor Hebrew, nor, indeed, of any
language at all. It is a contraction which conceals two other words."
"Can you tell us what they are?" said the chevalier.
"Certainly; aro comes from aroma, and ph is the initial of
philosophorum:"
"Did you get that out of Paracelsus?" said Farsetti, evidently annoyed.
"No, sir; I saw it in Boerhaave."
"That's good," said he, sarcastically; "Boerhaave says nothing of the
sort, but I like a man who quotes readily."
"Laugh, sir, if you like," said I, proudly, "but here is the test of what
I say; accept the wager if you dare. I don't quote falsely, like persons
who talk of words being Arabic."
So saying I flung a purse of gold on the table, but Farsetti, who was by
no means sure of what he was saying, answered disdainfully that he never
betted.
However, Mdlle. X. C. V., enjoying his confusion, told him that was the
best way never to lose, and began to joke him on his Arabic derivation.
But, for my part, I replaced my purse in my pocket, and on some trifling
pretext went out and sent my servant to Madame d'Urfe's to get me
Boerhaave.
On my return to the room I sat down again at table, and joined gaily in
the conversation till the return of my messenger with the book. I opened
it, and as I had been reading it the evening before I soon found the
place I wanted, and giving it to him begged him to satisfy himself that I
had quoted not readily but exactly. Instead of taking the book, he got up
and went out without saying a word.
"He has gone away in a rage," said the mother; "and I would wager
anything that he will not come back again."
"I wager he will," said the daughter, "he will honour us with his
agreeable company before to-morrow's sun has set."
She was right. From that day Farsetti became my determined enemy, and let
no opportunity slip of convincing me of his hatred.
After dinner we all went to Passy to be present at a concert given by M.
de la Popeliniere, who made us stay to supper. I found there Silvia and
her charming daughter, who pouted at me and not without cause, as I had
neglected her. The famous adept, St. Germain, enlivened the table with
his wild tirades so finely delivered. I have never seen a more
intellectual or amusing charlatan than he.
Next day I shut myself up to answer a host of questions that Esther had
sent me. I took care to answer all those bearing on business matters as
obscurely as possible, not only for the credit of the oracle, but also
for fear of misleading the father and making him lose money. The worthy
man was the most honest of Dutch millionaires, but he might easily make a
large hole in his fortune, if he did not absolutely ruin himself, by
putting an implicit trust in my infallibility. As for Esther, I confess
that she was now no more to me than a pleasant memory.
In spite of my pretence of indifference, my whole heart was given to
Mdlle. X. C. V., and I dreaded the moment when she would be no longer
able to hide her condition from her family. I was sorry for having spoken
about the aroph, as three days had gone by without her mentioning it, and
I could not very well reopen the question myself. I was afraid that she
suspected my motives, and that the esteem she professed for me had been
replaced by a much less friendly sentiment. I felt that her scorn would
be too much for me to bear. So humiliated was I that I could not visit
her, and I doubt if I should have seen her again if she had not
intervened. She wrote me a note, in which she said I was her only friend,
and that the only mark of friendship she wanted was that I should come
and see her every day, if it were but for a moment. I hasted to take her
my reply in my own person, and promised not to neglect her, assuring her
that at all hazards she might rely on me. I flattered myself that she
would mention the aroph, but she did not do so. I concluded that, after
thinking it over, she had resolved to think no more about it.
"Would you like me," I said, "to invite your mother and the rest of you
to dine with me?"
"I shall be delighted," she replied. "It will be a forbidden pleasure to
me before long."
I gave them a dinner both sumptuous and delicate. I had spared no expense
to have everything of the best. I had asked Silvia, her charming
daughter, an Italian musician named Magali, with whom a sister of Mdlle.
X. C. V.'s was taken, and the famous bass La Garde. Mdlle. X. C. V. was
in the highest spirits all the time. Sallies of wit, jests, good stories
and enjoyment, were the soul of the banquet. We did not separate till
midnight, and before leaving Mdlle. X. C. V. found a moment to whisper to
me to come and see her early next morning, as she wanted to speak to me
on matters of importance.
It will be guessed that I accepted the invitation. I waited on her before
eight o'clock. She was very melancholy, and told me that she was in
despair, that la Popeliniere pressed on the marriage, and that her mother
persecuted her.
"She tells me that I must sign the contract, and that the dressmaker will
soon be coming to take my measure for my wedding dress. To that I cannot
consent, for a dressmaker would certainly see my situation. I will die
rather than confide in my mother, or marry before I am delivered."
"There is always time enough to talk about dying," said I, "when all
other means have failed. I think you could easily get rid of la
Popeliniere, who is a man of honour. Tell him how you are situated, and
he will act without compromising you, as his own interest is sufficiently
involved to make him keep the secret."
"But should I be much better off then? And how about my mother?"
"Your mother? Oh! I will make her listen to reason."
"You know not what she is like. The honour of the family would oblige her
to get me out of the way, but before that she would make me suffer
torments to which death is preferable by far. But why have you said no
more about the aroph? Is it not all a jest? It would be a very cruel
one."
"On the contrary, I believe it to be infallible, though I have never been
a witness of its effects; but what good is it for me to speak to you?
You can guess that a delicacy of feeling has made me keep silence.
Confide in your lover, who is at Venice; write him a letter, and I will
take care that it is given into his hands, in five or six days, by a sure
messenger. If he is not well off I will give you whatever money may be
needed for him to come without delay, and save your honour and life by
giving you the aroph."
"This idea is a good one and the offer generous on your part, but it is
not feasible, as you would see if you knew more about my circumstances.
Do not think any more of my lover; but supposing I made up my mind to
receive the aroph from another, tell me how it could be done. Even if my
lover were in Paris, how could he spend an entire week with me, as he
would have to? And how could he give me the dose five or six times a day
for a week? You see yourself that this remedy is out of the question."
"So you would give yourself to another, if you thought that would save
your honour?"
"Certainly, if I were sure that the thing would be kept secret. But where
shall I find such a person? Do you think he would be easy to find, or
that I can go and look for him?"
I did not know what to make of this speech; for she knew I loved her, and
I did not see why she should put herself to the trouble of going far when
what she wanted was to her hand. I was inclined to think that she wanted
me to ask her to make choice of myself as the administrator of the
remedy, either to spare her modesty, or to have the merit of yielding to
my love and thus obliging me to be grateful; but I might be wrong, and I
did not care to expose myself to the humiliation of a refusal. On the
other hand I could hardly think she wanted to insult me. Not knowing what
to say or which way to turn, and wanting to draw an explanation from her,
I sighed profoundly, took up my hat, and made as if I were going,
exclaiming, "Cruel girl, my lot is more wretched than yours."
She raised herself in the bed and begged me with tears in her eyes to
remain, and asked me how I could call myself more wretched than her.
Pretending to be annoyed and yet full of love for her, I told her that
the contempt in which she held me had affected me deeply, since in her
necessity she preferred the offices of one who was unknown to her rather
than make use of me.
"You are cruel and unjust," she said, weeping. "I see, for my part, that
you love me no longer since you wish to take advantage of my cruel
necessity to gain a triumph over me. This is an act of revenge not worthy
of a man of feeling."
Her tears softened me, and I fell on my knees before her.
"Since you know, dearest, that I worship you, how can you think me
capable of revenging myself on you? Do you think that I can bear to hear
you say that since your lover cannot help you you do not know where to
look for help?"
"But after refusing you my favours, could I ask this office of you with
any decency? Have I not good reason to be afraid that as I refused to
take pity on your love so you would refuse to take pity on my necessity?"
"Do you think that a passionate lover ceases to love on account of a
refusal which may be dictated by virtue? Let me tell you all I think. I
confess I once thought you did not love me, but now I am sure of the
contrary; and that your heart would have led you to satisfy my love, even
if you had not been thus situated. I may add that you no doubt feel vexed
at my having any doubts of your love."
"You have interpreted my feelings admirably. But how we are to be
together with the necessary freedom from observation remains to be seen."
"Do not be afraid. Now I am sure of your consent, it will not be long
before I contrive some plan. In the meanwhile I will go and make the
aroph."
I had resolved that if ever I succeeded in persuading Mdlle. X. C. V. to
make use of my specific I would use nothing but honey, so the composition
of the aroph would not be a very complicated process. But if one point
was then plain and simple, another remained to be solved, and its
solution gave me some difficulty. I should have to pass several nights in
continual toils. I feared I had promised more than I could perform, and I
should not be able to make any abatement without hazarding, not the
success of the aroph, but the bliss I had taken such pains to win. Again,
as her younger sister slept in the same room with her and close to her,
the operation could not be performed there. At last chance--a divinity
which often helps lovers--came to my aid.
I was obliged to climb up to the fourth floor and met the scullion on my
way, who guessed where I was going, and begged me not to go any farther
as the place was taken.
"But," said I, "you have just come out of it."
"Yes, but I only went in and came out again."
"Then I will wait till the coast is clear."
"For goodness' sake, sir, do not wait!"
"Ah, you rascal! I see what is going on. Well I will say nothing about
it, but I must see her."
"She won't come out, for she heard your steps and shut herself in."
"She knows me, does she?"
"Yes, and you know her."
"All right, get along with you! I won't say anything about it."
He went down, and the idea immediately struck me that the adventure might
be useful to me. I went up to the top, and through a chink I saw
Madelaine, Mdlle. X. C. V.'s maid. I reassured her, and promised to keep
the secret, whereon she opened the door, and after I had given her a
louis, fled in some confusion. Soon after, I came down, and the scullion
who was waiting for me on the landing begged me to make Madelaine give
him half the louis.
"I will give you one all to yourself," said I, "if you will tell me the
story"--an offer which pleased the rogue well enough. He told me the tale
of his loves, and said he always spent the night with her in the garret,
but that for three days they had been deprived of their pleasures, as
madam had locked the door and taken away the key. I made him shew me the
place, and looking through the keyhole I saw that there was plenty of
room for a mattress. I gave the scullion a Louis, and went away to ripen
my plans.
It seemed to me that there was no reason why the mistress should not
sleep in the garret as well as the maid. I got a picklock and several
skeleton keys, I put in a tin box several doses of the aroph-that is,
some honey mixed with pounded stag's horn to make it thick enough, and
the next morning I went to the "Hotel de Bretagne," and immediately tried
my picklock. I could have done without it, as the first skeleton key I
tried opened the wornout lock.
Proud of my idea, I went down to see Mdlle. X. C. V., and in a few words
told her the plan.
"But," said she, "I should have to go through Madelaine's room to get to
the garret."
"In that case, dearest, we must win the girl over."
"Tell her my secret?"
"Just so."
"Oh, I couldn't!"
"I will see to it; the golden key opens all doors."
The girl consented to all I asked her, but the scullion troubled me, for
if he found us out he might be dangerous. I thought, however, that I
might trust to Madelaine, who was a girl of wit, to look after him.
Before going I told the girl that I wanted to discuss some important
matters with her, and I told her to meet me in the cloisters of the
Augustinian Church. She came at the appointed time and I explained to her
the whole plan in all its details. She soon understood me, and after
telling me that she would take care to put her own bed in the new kind of
boudoir, she added that, to be quite safe, we must make sure of the
scullion.
"He is a sharp lad," said Madelaine, "and I think I can answer for him.
However, you may leave that to me."
I gave her the key and six louis, bidding her inform her mistress of what
we had agreed upon, and get the garret ready to receive us. She went away
quite merry. A maid who is in love is never so happy as when she can make
her mistress protect her intrigues.
Next morning the scullion called on me at my house. The first thing I
told him was to take care not to betray himself to my servants, and never
to come and see me except in a case of necessity. He promised discretion,
and assured me of his devotion to my service. He gave me the key of the
garret and told me that he had got another. I admired his forethought,
and gave him a present of six louis, which had more effect on him than
the finest words.
Next morning I only saw Mdlle. X. C. V. for a moment to warn her that I
should be at the appointed place at ten that evening. I went there early
without being seen by anybody. I was in a cloak, and carried in my pocket
the aroph, flint and steel, and a candle. I found a good bed, pillows,
and a thick coverlet--a very useful provision, as the nights were cold,
and we should require some sleep in the intervals of the operation.
At eleven a slight noise made my heart begin to beat--always a good sign.
I went out, and found my mistress by feeling for her, and reassured her
by a tender kiss. I brought her in, barricaded the door, and took care to
cover up the keyhole to baffle the curious, and, if the worse happened,
to avoid a surprise.
On my lighting the candle she seemed uneasy, and said that the light
might discover us if anybody came up to the fourth floor.
"That's not likely," I said; "and besides, we can't do without it, for
how am I to give you the aroph in the dark?"
"Very good," she replied, "we can put it out afterwards."
Without staying for those preliminary dallyings which are so sweet when
one is at ease, we undressed ourselves, and began with all seriousness to
play our part, which we did to perfection. We looked like a medical
student about to perform an operation, and she like a patient, with this
difference that it was the patient who arranged the dressing. When she
was ready--that is, when she had placed the aroph as neatly as a
skull-cap fits a parson--she put herself in the proper position for the
preparation to mix with the semen.
The most laughable part of it all was that we were both as serious as two
doctors of divinity.
When the introduction of the aroph was perfect the timid lady put out the
candle, but a few minutes after it had to be lighted again. I told her
politely that I was delighted to begin again, and the voice in which I
paid her this compliment made us both burst into laughter.
I didn't take so short a time over my second operation as my first, and
my sweetheart, who had been a little put out, was now quite at her ease.
Her modesty had now been replaced by confidence, and as she was looking
at the aroph fitted in its place, she shewed me with her pretty finger
very evident signs of her co-operation in the work. Then with an
affectionate air, she asked me if I would not like to rest, as we had
still a good deal to do before our work was at an end.
"You see," said I, "that I do not need rest, and I think we had better
set to again."
No doubt she found my reason a good one, for, without saying anything,
she put herself ready to begin again, and afterwards we took a good long
sleep. When I woke up, feeling as fresh as ever, I asked her to try
another operation; and after carrying this through successfully, I
determined to be guided by her and take care of myself, for we had to
reserve our energies for the following nights. So, about four o'clock in
the morning she left me, and softly made her way to her room, and at
daybreak I left the hotel under the protection of the scullion, who took
me by a private door I did not know of.
About noon, after taking an aromatic bath, I went to call on Mdlle. X. C.
V., whom I found sitting up in bed as usual, elegantly attired, and with
a happy smile on her lips. She spoke at such length on her gratitude, and
thanked me so often, that, believing myself, and with good cause, to be
her debtor, I began to get impatient.
"Is it possible," I said, "that you do not see how degrading your thanks
are to me? They prove that you do not love me, or that if you love me,
you think my love less strong than yours."
Our conversation then took a tender turn, and we were about to seal our
mutual ardours without troubling about the aroph, when prudence bade us
beware. It would not have been safe, and we had plenty of time before us.
We contented ourselves with a tender embrace till the night should come.
My situation was a peculiar one, for though I was in love with this
charming girl I did not feel in the least ashamed of having deceived her,
especially as what I did could have no effect, the place being taken. It
was my self-esteem which made me congratulate myself on the sharp
practice which had procured me such pleasures. She told me that she was
sorry she had denied me when I had asked her before, and said that she
felt now that I had good reason to suspect the reality of her love. I did
my best to reassure her, and indeed all suspicions on my part would have
been but idle thoughts, as I had succeeded beyond all expectation.
However, there is one point upon which I congratulate myself to this
day--namely, that during those nightly toils of mine, which did so little
towards the object of her desires, I succeeded in inspiring her with such
a feeling of resignation that she promised, of her own accord, not to
despair any more, but to trust in and be guided by me. She often told me
during our nocturnal conversations that she was happy and would continue
to be so, even though the aroph had no effect. Not that she had ceased to
believe in it, for she continued the application of the harmless
preparation till our last assaults, in which we wanted in those sweet
combats to exhaust all the gifts of pleasure.
"Sweetheart," said she, just before we parted finally, "it seems to me
that what we have been about is much more likely to create than to
destroy, and if the aperture had not been hermetically closed we should
doubtless have given the little prisoner a companion."
A doctor of the Sorbonne could not have reasoned better.
Three or four days afterwards I found her thoughtful but quiet. She told
me that she had lost all hope of getting rid of her burden before the
proper time. All the while, however, her mother persecuted her, and she
would have to choose in a few days between making a declaration as to her
state and signing the marriage contract. She would accept neither of
these alternatives, and had decided on escaping from her home, and asked
me to help her in doing so.
I had determined to help her, but I desired to save my reputation, for it
might have been troublesome if it had been absolutely known that I had
carried her off or furnished her with the means to escape. And as for any
other alternative, neither of us had any idea of matrimony.
I left her and went to the Tuileries, where a sacred concert was being
given. The piece was a motet composed by Moudonville, the words by the
Abbe de Voisenon, whom I had furnished with the idea, "The Israelites on
Mount Horeb."
As I was getting out of my carriage, I saw Madame du Remain descending
alone from hers. I ran up to her, and received a hearty welcome. "I am
delighted," said she, "to find you here, it is quite a piece of luck. I
am going to hear this novel composition, and have two reserved seats.
Will you do me the honour of accepting one?"
Although I had my ticket in my pocket I could not refuse so honourable an
offer, so, giving her my arm, we walked up to two of the best places in
the house.
At Paris no talking is allowed during the performance of sacred music,
especially when the piece is heard for the first time; so Madame du
Remain could draw no conclusions from my silence throughout the
performance, but she guessed that something was the matter from the
troubled and absent expression of my face, which was by no means natural
to me.
"M. Casanova," said she, "be good enough to give me your company for an
hour. I want to ask you-two or three questions which can only be solved
by your cabala. I hope you will oblige me, as I am, very anxious to know
the answers, but we must be quick as I have an engagement to sup in
Paris."
It may be imagined that I did not wait to be asked twice, and as soon as
we got to her house I went to work on the questions, and solved them all
in less than half an hour.
When I had finished, "M. Casanova;" said she, in the kindest manner
possible, "what is the matter with you? You are not in your usual state
of equanimity, and if I am not mistaken you are dreading some dire event.
Or perhaps you are on the eve of taking some important resolution? I am
not inquisitive, but if I can be of any service to you at Court, make use
of me, and be sure that I will do my best. If necessary, I will go to
Versailles to-morrow morning. I know all the ministers. Confide in me
your troubles, if I cannot lighten them I can at least share them, and be
sure I will keep your counsel."
Her words seemed to me a voice from heaven, a warning from my good genius
to open my heart to this lady, who had almost read my thoughts, and had
so plainly expressed her interest in my welfare.
After gazing at her for some seconds without speaking, but with a manner
that shewed her how grateful I was, "Yes madam," I said, "I am indeed
critically situated, may be on the serge of ruin, but your kindness has
calmed my soul and made me once more acquainted with hope. You shall hear
how I am placed. I am going to trust you with a secret of the most
delicate description, but I can rely on your being as discreet as you are
good. And if after hearing my story you deign to give me your advice, I
promise to follow it and never to divulge its author."
After this beginning, which gained her close attention, I told her all
the circumstances of the case, neither concealing the young lady's name
nor any of the circumstances which made it my duty to watch over her
welfare. All the same I said nothing about the aroph or the share I had
taken in its exhibition. The incident appeared to me too farcical for a
serious drama, but I confessed that I had procured the girl drugs in the
hope of relieving her of her burden.
After this weighty communication I stopped, and Madame du Rumain remained
silent, as if lost in thought, for nearly a quarter of an hour. At last
she rose, saying,
"I am expected at Madame de la Marque's, and I must go, as I am to meet
the Bishop of Montrouge, to whom I want to speak, but I hope I shall
eventually be able to help you. Come here the day after tomorrow, you
will find me alone; above all, do nothing before you see me. Farewell."
I left her full of hope, and resolved to follow her advice and hers only
in the troublesome affair in which I was involved.
The Bishop of Montrouge whom she was going to address on an important
matter, the nature of which was well known to me, was the Abbe de
Voisenon, who was thus named because he often went there. Montrouge is an
estate near Paris, belonging to the Duc de la Valiere.
I saw Mdlle. X. C. V. the following day, and contented myself with
telling her that in a couple of days I hope to give her some good news. I
was pleased with her manner, which was full of resignation and trust in
my endeavours.
The day after, I went to Madame du Rumain's punctually at eight. The
porter told me that I should find the doctor with my lady, but I went
upstairs all the same, and as soon as the doctor saw me he took his
leave. His name was Herrenschwand, and all the ladies in Paris ran after
him. Poor Poinsinet put him in a little one-act play called Le Cercle,
which, though of very ordinary merit, was a great success.
"My dear sir," said Madame du Rumain, as soon as we were alone, "I have
succeeded in my endeavours on your behalf, and it is now for you to keep
secret my share in the matter. After I had pondered over the case of
conscience you submitted to me, I went to the convent of C---where the
abbess is a friend of mine, and I entrusted her with the secret, relying
on her discretion. We agreed that she should receive the young lady in
her convent, and give her a good lay-sister to nurse her through her
confinement. Now you will not deny," said she, with a smile, "that the
cloisters are of some use. Your young friend must go by herself to the
convent with a letter for the abbess, which I will give her, and which
she must deliver to the porter. She will then be admitted and lodged in a
suitable chamber. She will receive no visitors nor any letters that have
not passed through my hands. The abbess will bring her answers to me, and
I will pass them on to you. You must see that her only correspondent must
be yourself, and you must receive news of her welfare only through me. On
your hand in writing to her you must leave the address to be filled in by
me. I had to tell the abbess the lady's name, but not yours as she did
not require it.
"Tell your young friend all about our plans, and when she is ready come
and tell me, and I will give you the letter to the abbess. Tell her to
bring nothing but what is strictly necessary, above all no diamonds or
trinkets of any value. You may assure her that the abbess will be
friendly, will come and see her every now and then, will give her proper
books--in a word, that she will be well looked after. Warn her not to
confide in the laysister who will attend on her. I have no doubt she is
an excellent woman, but she is a nun, and the secret might leak out.
After she is safely delivered, she must go to confession and perform her
Easter duties, and the abbess will give her a certificate of good
behaviour; and she can then return to her mother, who will be too happy
to see her to say anything more about the marriage, which, of course, she
ought to give as her reason of her leaving home."
After many expressions of my gratitude to her, and of my admiration of
her plan, I begged her to give me the letter on the spot, as there was no
time to be lost. She was good enough to go at once to her desk, where she
wrote as follows:
"My dear abbess--The young lady who will give you this letter is the same
of whom we have spoken. She wishes to spend three of four months under
your protection, to recover her peace of mind, to perform her devotions,
and to make sure that when she returns to her mother nothing more will be
said about the marriage, which is partly the cause of her temporary
separation from her family."
After reading it to me, she put it into my hands unsealed that Mdlle. X.
C. V. might be able to read it. The abbess in question was a princess,
and her convent was consequently a place above all suspicion. As Madame
du Rumain gave me the letter, I felt such an impulse of gratitude that I
fell on my knees before her. This generous woman was useful to me on
another occasion, of which I shall speak later on.
After leaving Madame du Rumain I went straight to the "Hotel de
Bretagne," where I saw Mdlle. X. C. V., who had only time to tell me that
she was engaged for the rest of the day, but that she would come to the
garret at eleven o'clock that night, and that then we could talk matters
over. I was overjoyed at this arrangement, as I foresaw that after this
would come the awakening from a happy dream, and that I should be alone
with her no more.
Before leaving the hotel I gave the word to Madelaine, who in turn got
the scullion to have everything in readiness.
I kept the appointment, and had not long to wait for my mistress. After
making her read the letter written by Madame du Rumain (whose name I
withheld from her without her taking offence thereat) I put out the
candle, and without troubling about the aroph, we set ourselves to the
pleasant task of proving that we truly loved each other.
In the morning, before we separated, I gave her all the instructions I
had received from Madame du Rumain; and we agreed that she should leave
the house at eight o'clock with such things as she absolutely required,
that she should take a coach to the Place Maubert, then send it away, and
take another to the Place Antoine, and again, farther on, a third coach,
in which she was to go to the convent named. I begged her not to forget
to burn all the letters she had received from me, and to write to me from
the convent as often as she could, to seal her letters but to leave the
address blank. She promised to carry out my instructions, and I then made
her accept a packet of two hundred louis, of which she might chance to be
in need. She wept, more for my situation than her own, but I consoled her
by saying that I had plenty of money and powerful patrons.
"I will set out," said she, "the day after to-morrow, at the hour agreed
on." And thereupon, I having promised to come to the house the day after
her departure, as if I knew nothing about it, and to let her know what
passed, we embraced each other tenderly, and I left her.
I was troubled in thinking about her fate. She had wit and courage, but
when experience is wanting wit often leads men to commit acts of great
folly.
The day after the morrow I took a coach, and posted myself in a corner of
the street by which she had to pass. I saw her come, get out of the
coach, pay the coachman, go down a narrow street, and a few minutes after
reappear again, veiled and hooded, carrying a small parcel in her hand.
She then took another conveyance which went off in the direction we had
agreed upon.
The day following being Low Sunday, I felt that I must present myself at
the "Hotel de Bretagne," for as I went there every day before the
daughter's flight I could not stop going there without strengthening any
suspicions which might be entertained about me. But it was a painful
task. I had to appear at my ease and cheerful in a place where I was
quite sure all would be sadness and confusion. I must say that it was an
affair requiring higher powers of impudence than fall to the lot of most
men.
I chose a time when all the family would be together at table, and I
walked straight into the dining-room. I entered with my usual cheerful
manner, and sat down by madame, a little behind her, pretending not to
see her surprise, which, however, was plainly to be seen, her whole face
being flushed with rage and astonishment. I had not been long in the room
before I asked where her daughter was. She turned round, looked me
through and through, and said not a word.
"Is she ill?" said I.
"I know nothing about her."
This remark, which was pronounced in a dry manner, put me at my ease, as
I now felt at liberty to look concerned. I sat there for a quarter of an
hour, playing the part of grave and astonished silence, and then, rising,
I asked if I could do anything, for which all my reward was a cold
expression of thanks. I then left the room and went to Mdlle. X. C. V.'s
chamber as if I had thought she was there, but found only Madelaine. I
asked her with a meaning look where her mistress was. She replied by
begging me to tell her, if I knew.
"Has she gone by herself?"
"I know nothing at all about it, sir, but they say you know all. I beg of
you to leave me."
Pretending to be in the greatest astonishment, I slowly walked away and
took a coach, glad to have accomplished this painful duty. After the
reception I had met with I could without affectation pose as offended,
and visit the family no more, for whether I were guilty or innocent,
Madame X. C. V. must see that her manner had been plain enough for me to
know what it meant.
I was looking out of my window at an early hour two or three days
afterwards, when a coach stopped before my door, and Madame X C V-,
escorted by M. Farsetti got out. I made haste to meet them on the stair,
and welcomed them, saying I was glad they had done me the honour to come
and take breakfast with me, pretending not to know of any other reason. I
asked them to sit down before the fire, and enquired after the lady's
health; but without noticing my question she said that she had not come
to take breakfast, but to have some serious conversation.
"Madam," said I, "I am your humble servant; but first of all pray be
seated."
She sat down, while Farsetti continued standing. I did not press him, but
turning towards the lady begged her to command me.
"I am come here," she said, "to ask you to give me my daughter if she be
in your power, or to tell me where she is."
"Your daughter, madam? I know nothing about her! Do you think me capable
of a crime?"
"I do not accuse you of abducting her; I have not come here to reproach
you nor to utter threats, I have only come to ask you to shew yourself my
friend. Help me to get my daughter again this very day; you will give me
my life. I am certain that you know all. You were her only confidant and
her only friend; you passed hours with her every day; she must have told
you of her secret. Pity a bereaved mother! So far no one knows of the
facts; give her back to me and all shall be forgotten, and her honour
saved."
"Madam, I feel for you acutely, but I repeat that I know nothing of your
daughter."
The poor woman, whose grief touched me, fell at my feet and burst into
tears. I was going to lift her from the ground, when Farsetti told her,
in a voice full of indignation, that she should blush to humble herself
in such a manner before a man of my description. I drew myself up, and
looking at him scornfully said,
"You insolent scoundrel! What do you mean by talking of me like that?"
"Everybody is certain that you know all about it."
"Then they are impudent fools, like you. Get out of my house this instant
and wait for me, I will be with you in a quarter of an hour."
So saying, I took the poor chevalier by the shoulders, and giving him
sundry shakes I turned him out of the room. He came back and called to
the lady to come, too, but she rose and tried to quiet me.
"You ought to be more considerate towards a lover," said she, "for he
would marry my daughter now, even after what she has done."
"I am aware of the fact, madam, and I have no doubt that his courtship
was one of the chief reasons which made your daughter resolve to leave
her home, for she hated him even more than she hated the
fermier-general."
"She has behaved very badly, but I promise not to say anything more about
marrying her. But I am sure you know all about it, as you gave her fifty
louis, without which she could not have done anything."
"Nay, not so."
"Do not deny it, sir; here is the evidence--a small piece of your letter
to her."
She gave me a scrap of the letter I had sent the daughter, with the fifty
louis for her brother. It contained the following lines,
"I hope that these wretched louis will convince you that I am ready to
sacrifice everything, my life if need be, to assure you of my affection."
"I am far from disavowing this evidence of my esteem for your daughter,
but to justify myself I am obliged to tell you a fact which I should have
otherwise kept secret--namely, that I furnished your daughter with this
sum to enable her to pay your son's debts, for which he thanked me in a
letter which I can shew you."
"My son?"
"Your son, madam."
"I will make you an ample atonement for my suspicions."
Before I had time to make any objection, she ran down to fetch Farsetti,
who was waiting in the courtyard, and made him come up and hear what I
had just told her.
"That's not a likely tale," said the insolent fellow.
I looked at him contemptuously, and told him he was not worth convincing,
but that I would beg the lady to ask her son and see whether I told the
truth.
"I assure you," I added, "that I always urged your daughter to marry M.
de la Popeliniere."
"How can you have the face to say that," said Farsetti, "when you talk in
the letter of your affection?"
"I do not deny it," said I. "I loved her, and I was proud of my affection
for her. This affection, of whatever sort it may have been (and that is
not this gentleman's business), was the ordinary topic of conversation
between us. If she had told me that she was going to leave her home, I
should either have dissuaded her or gone with her, for I loved her as I
do at this moment; but I would never have given her money to go alone."
"My dear Casanova," said the mother, "if you will help me to find her I
shall believe in your innocence."
"I shall be delighted to aid you, and I promise to commence the quest
to-day."
"As soon as you have any news, come and tell me."
"You may trust me to do so," said I, and we parted.
I had to play my part carefully; especially it was essential that I
should behave in public in a manner consistent with my professions.
Accordingly, the next day I went to M. Chaban, first commissary of
police, requesting him to institute enquiries respecting the flight of
Mdlle. X. C. V. I was sure that in this way the real part I had taken in
the matter would be the better concealed; but the commissary, who had the
true spirit of his profession, and had liked me when he first saw me six
years before, began to laugh when he heard what I wanted him to do.
"Do you really want the police to discover," said he, "where the pretty
Englishwoman is to be found?"
"Certainly."
It then struck me that he was trying to make me talk and to catch me
tripping, and I had no doubt of it when I met Farsetti going in as I was
coming out.
Next day I went to acquaint Madame X. C. V. with the steps I had taken,
though as yet my efforts had not been crowned with success.
"I have been more fortunate than you," said she, "and if you will come
with me to the place where my daughter has gone, and will join me in
persuading her to return, all will be well."
"Certainly," said I, "I shall be most happy to accompany you."
Taking me at my word, she put on her cloak, and leaning on my arm walked
along till we came to a coach. She then gave me a slip of paper, begging
me to tell the coachman to drive us to the address thereon.
I was on thorns, and my heart beat fast, for I thought I should have to
read out the address of the convent. I do not know what I should have
done if my fears had been well grounded, but I should certainly not have
gone to the convent. At last I read what was written; it was "Place
Maubert," and I grew calm once more.
I told the coachman to drive us to the Place Maubert. We set off, and in
a short time stopped at the opening of an obscure back street before a
dirty-looking house, which did not give one a high idea of the character
of its occupants. I gave Madame X. C. V. my arm, and she had the
satisfaction of looking into every room in the five floors of the house,
but what she sought for was not there, and I expected to see her
overwhelmed with grief. I was mistaken, however. She looked distressed
but satisfied, and her eyes seemed to ask pardon of me. She had found out
from the coachman, who had taken her daughter on the first stage of her
journey, that she had alighted in front of the house in question, and had
gone down the back street. She told me that the scullion had confessed
that he had taken me letters twice from his young mistress, and that
Madelaine said all the time that she was sure her mistress and I were in
love with each other. They played their parts well.
As soon as I had seen Madame X. C. V. safely home, I went to Madame du
Rumain to tell her what had happened; and I then wrote to my fair
recluse, telling her what had gone on in the world since her
disappearance.
Three or four days after this date, Madame du Rumain gave me the first
letter I received from Mdlle. X. C. V. She spoke in it of the quiet life
she was leading, and her gratitude to me, praised the abbess and the
lay-sister, and gave me the titles of the books they lent her, which she
liked reading. She also informed me what money she had spent, and said
she was happy in everything, almost in being forbidden to leave her room.
I was delighted with her letter, but much more with the abbess's epistle
to Madame du Rumain. She was evidently fond of the girl, and could not
say too much in her praise, saying how sweet-tempered, clever, and
lady-like she was; winding up by assuring her friend that she went to see
her every day.
I was charmed to see the pleasure this letter afforded Madame du
Rumain--pleasure which was increased by the perusal of the letter I had
received. The only persons who were displeased were the poor mother, the
frightful Farsetti, and the old fermier, whose misfortune was talked
about in the clubs, the Palais-Royal, and the coffee-houses. Everybody
put me down for some share in the business, but I laughed at their
gossip, believing that I was quite safe.
All the same, la Popeliniere took the adventure philosophically and made
a one-act play out of it, which he had acted at his little theatre in
Paris. Three months afterwards he got married to a very pretty girl, the
daughter of a Bordeaux alderman. He died in the course of two years,
leaving his widow pregnant with a son, who came into the world six months
after the father's death. The unworthy heir to the rich man had the face
to accuse the widow of adultery, and got the child declared illegitimate
to the eternal shame of the court which gave this iniquitous judgment and
to the grief of every honest Frenchman. The iniquitous nature of the
judgment was afterwards more clearly demonstrated--putting aside the fact
that nothing could be said against the mother's character--by the same
court having the face to declare a child born eleven months after the
father's death legitimate.
I continued for ten days to call upon Madame X. C. V., but finding myself
coldly welcomed, decided to go there no more.
CHAPTER VIII
Fresh Adventures--J. J. Rousseau--I set Up A Business--
Castel--Bajac--A Lawsuit is Commenced Against Me--M. de
Sartin
Mdlle. X. C. V. had now been in the convent for a month, and her affair
had ceased to be a common topic of conversation. I thought I should hear
no more of it, but I was mistaken. I continued, however, to amuse myself,
and my pleasure in spending freely quite prevented me from thinking about
the future. The Abbe de Bernis, whom I went to see regularly once a week,
told me one day that the comptroller-general often enquired how I was
getting on. "You are wrong," said the abbe, "to neglect him." He advised
me to say no more about my claims, but to communicate to him the means I
had spoken of for increasing the revenues of the state. I laid too great
store by the advice of the man who had made my fortune not to follow it.
I went to the comptroller, and trusting in his probity I explained my
scheme to him. This was to pass a law by which every estate, except that
left by father to son, should furnish the treasury with one year's
income; every deed of gift formally drawn up being subject to the same
provision. It seemed to me that the law could not give offence to anyone;
the heir had only to imagine that he had inherited a year later than was
actually the case. The minister was of the same opinion as myself, told
me that there would not be the slightest difficulty involved, and assured
me that my fortune was made. In a week afterwards his place was taken by
M. de Silhouette, and when I called on the new minister he told me coldly
that when my scheme became law he would tell me. It became law two years
afterwards, and when, as the originator of the scheme, I attempted to get
my just reward, they laughed in my face.
Shortly after, the Pope died, and he was succeeded by the Venetian
Rezzonico, who created my patron, the Abby de Bernis, a cardinal.
However, he had to go into exile by order of the king two days after his
gracious majesty had presented him with the red cap: so good a thing it
is to be the friend of kings!
The disgrace of my delightful abbe left me without a patron, but I had
plenty of money, and so was enabled to bear this misfortune with
resignation.
For having undone all the work of Cardinal Richelieu, for having changed
the old enmity between France and Austria into friendship, for delivering
Italy from the horrors of war which befell her whenever these countries
had a bone to pick, although he was the first cardinal made by a pope who
had had plenty of opportunities for discovering his character, merely
because, on being asked, he had given it as his opinion that the Prince
de Soubise was not a fit person to command the French armies, this great
ecclesiastic was driven into exile. The moment the Pompadour heard of
this opinion of his, she decreed his banishment--a sentence which was
unpopular with all classes of society; but they consoled themselves with
epigrams, and the new cardinal was soon forgotten. Such is the character
of the French people; it cares neither for its own misfortunes nor for
those of others, if only it can extract laughter from them.
In my time epigrammatists and poetasters who assailed ministers or even
the king's mistresses were sent to the Bastille, but the wits still
persisted in being amusing, and there were some who considered a jest
incomplete that was not followed by a prosecution. A man whose name I
have forgotten--a great lover of notoriety--appropriated the following
verses by the younger Crebellon and went to the Bastille rather than
disown them.
"All the world's upside down!
Jupiter has donned the gown--the King.
Venus mounts the council stair--the Pompadour.
Plutus trifles with the fair--M. de Boulogne.
Mercury in mail is drest--Marechal de Richelieu.
Mighty Mars has turned a priest--the Duc de Clermont, abbe of
St. Germain-des-pres."
Crebillon, who was not the sort of man to conceal his writings, told the
Duc de Choiseul that he had written some verses exactly like these, but
that it was possible the prisoner had been inspired with precisely the
same ideas. This jest was applauded, and the author of "The Sofa" was let
alone.
Cardinal de Bernis passed ten years in exile, 'procul negotiis', but he
was not happy, as he told me himself when I knew him in Rome fifteen
years afterwards. It is said that it is better to be a minister than a
king--an opinion which seems ridiculous when it is analyzed. The
question is, which is the better, independence or its contrary. The axiom
may possibly be verified in a despotic government under an absurd, weak,
or careless king who serves as a mere mask for his master the minister;
but in all other cases it is an absurdity.
Cardinal de Bernis was never recalled; there is no instance of Louis XV.
having ever recalled a minister whom he had disgraced; but on the death
of Rezzonico he had to go to Rome to be present at the conclave, and
there he remained as French ambassador.
About this time Madame d'Urfe conceived a wish to make the acquaintance
of J. J. Rousseau, and we went to call upon him at Montmorenci, on the
pretext of giving him music to copy--an occupation in which he was very
skilled. He was paid twice the sum given to any other copyist, but he
guaranteed that the work should be faultlessly done. At that period of
his life copying music was the great writer's sole means of subsistence.
We found him to be a man of a simple and modest demeanour, who talked
well, but who was not otherwise distinguished either intellectually or
physically. We did not think him what would be called a good-natured man,
and as he was far from having the manners of good society Madame d'Urfe
did not hesitate to pronounce him vulgar. We saw the woman with whom he
lived, and of whom we had heard, but she scarcely looked at us. On our
way home we amused ourselves by talking about Rousseau's eccentric
habits.
I will here note down the visit of the Prince of Conti (father of the
gentleman who is now known as the Comte de la March) to Rousseau.
The prince--a good-natured man-went by himself to Montmorenci, on purpose
to spend a day in conversation with the philosopher, who was even then
famous. He found him in the park, accosted him, and said that he had come
to dine with him and to talk without restraint.
"Your highness will fare but badly," said Rousseau: "however, I will tell
them to lay another knife and fork."
The philosopher gave his instructions, and came out and rejoined the
prince, with whom he walked up and down for two or three hours. When it
was dinner-time he took the prince into his dining-room, where the table
was laid for three.
"Who is going to dine with us?" said the prince. "I thought we were to be
alone."
"The third party," said Rousseau, "is my other self--a being who is
neither my wife, nor my mistress, nor my servant-maid, nor my mother, nor
my daughter, but yet personates all these characters at once."
"I daresay, my dear fellow, I daresay; but as I came to dine with you
alone, I will not dine with your--other self, but will leave you with all
the rest of you to keep your company."
So saying the prince bade him farewell and went out. Rousseau did not try
to keep him.
About this time I witnessed the failure of a play called 'Aristides'
Daughter', written by the ingenious Madame de Graffini, who died of
vexation five days after her play was damned. The Abbe de Voisenon was
horrified, as he had advised the lady to produce it, and was thought to
have had some hand in its composition, as well as in that of the 'Lettres
Peruviennes' and 'Cenie'. By a curious coincidence, just about the same
date, Rezzonico's mother died of joy because her son had become pope.
Grief and joy kill many more women than men, which proves that if women
have mere feeling than men they have also less strength.
When Madame d'Urfe thought that my adopted son was comfortably settled in
Viar's house, she made me go with her and pay him a visit. I found him
lodged like a prince, well dressed, made much of, and almost looked up
to. I was astonished, for this was more than I had bargained for. Madame
d'Urfe had given him masters of all sorts, and a pretty little pony for
him to learn riding on. He was styled M. le Comte d'Aranda. A girl of
sixteen, Viar's daughter, a fine-looking young woman, was appointed to
look after him, and she was quite proud to call herself my lord's
governess. She assured Madame d'Urfe that she took special care of him;
that as soon as he woke she brought him his breakfast in bed; that she
then dressed him, and did not leave his side the whole day. Madame d'Urfe
approved of everything, told the girl to take even greater care of the
count, and promised that she should not go unrewarded. As for the young
gentleman, he was evidently quite happy, as he told me himself again and
again, but I suspected a mystery somewhere, and determined that I would
go and see him by myself another time and solve it.
On our journey home I told Madame d'Urfe how grateful I was for all her
goodness to the boy, and that I approved of all the arrangements that had
been made with the exception of the name Aranda, "which," said I, "may
some day prove a thorn in his side." She answered that the lad had said
enough to convince her that he had a right to bear that name. "I had,"
she said, "in my desk a seal with the arms of the house of Aranda, and
happening to take it up I shewed it him as we shew trinkets to children
to amuse them, but as soon as he saw it he burst out,
"'How came you to have my arms?'
"Your arms!" I answered. "I got this seal from the Comte d'Aranda; how
can you prove that you are a scion of that race?"
"'Do not ask me, madam; my birth is a secret I can reveal to no one.'"
The imposition and above all the impudence of the young knave astounded
me. I should not have thought him capable of it, and a week after I went
to see him by myself to get at the bottom of all this mystery.
I found my young count with Viar, who, judging by the awe the child
shewed of me, must have thought he belonged to me. He was unsparing in
his praises of his pupil, saying that he played the flute capitally,
danced and fenced admirably, rode well, and wrote a good hand. He shewed
me the pens he had cut himself with three, five, and even nine points,
and begged to be examined on heraldry, which, as the master observed, was
so necessary a science for a young nobleman.
The young gentleman then commenced in the jargon of heraldry to blazon
his own pretended arms, and I felt much inclined to burst into laughter,
partly because I did not understand a word he said, and partly because he
seemed to think the matter as important as would a country squire with
his thirty-two quarters. However, I was delighted to see his dexterity in
penmanship, which was undoubtedly very great, and I expressed my
satisfaction to Viar, who soon left us to ourselves. We proceeded into
the garden.
"Will you kindly inform me," I said, "how you can be so foolish as to
call yourself the Comte d'Aranda?"
He replied, with the utmost calmness, "I know it is foolish, but leave me
my title; it is of service to me here and gains me respect."
"It is an imposition I cannot wink at, as it may be fraught with serious
results, and may do harm to both of us. I should not have thought that at
your age you would be capable of such a knavish trick. I know you did it
out of stupidity, but after a certain limit stupidity becomes criminal;
and I cannot see how I am to remedy your fault without disgracing you in
the eyes of Madame d'Urfe."
I kept on scolding him till he burst into tears, saying,
"I had rather the shame of being sent back to my mother than the shame of
confessing to Madame d'Urfe that I had imposed on her; and I could not
bear to stay here if I had to give up my name."
Seeing that I could do nothing with him, unless, indeed, I sent him to
some place far removed from Paris under his proper name, I told him to
take comfort as I would try and do the best I could for both of us.
"And now tell me--and take care to tell the truth--what sort of feelings
does Viar's daughter entertain for you?"
"I think, papa, that this is a case in which the reserve commended by
yourself, as well as by mother, would be appropriate."
"Yes, that sort of answer tells me a good deal, but I think you are
rather too knowing for your age. And you may as well observe that when
you are called upon for a confession, reserve is out of place, and it's a
confession I require from you."
"Well, papa, Viar's daughter is very fond of me, and she shews her love
in all sorts of ways."
"And do you love her?"
"Oh, yes!"
"Is she much with you in the morning?"
"She is with me the whole day."
"She is present when you go to bed?"
"Yes, she helps me to undress."
"Nothing else?"
"I do not care to tell you."
I was astonished at the measured way in which he answered me, and as I
had heard enough to guess that the boy and girl were very good friends
indeed, I contented myself with warning him to take care of his health,
and with this I left him.
Some time after, my thoughts were occupied with a business speculation
which all my calculations assured me would be extremely profitable. The
plan was to produce on silks, by means of printing, the exquisite designs
which are produced at Lyons by the tedious process of weaving, and thus
to give customers excellent value at much lower prices. I had the
requisite knowledge of chemistry, and enough capital to make the thing a
success. I obtained the assistance of a man with the necessary technical
skill and knowledge, intending to make him my manager.
I told my plan to the Prince de Conti, who encouraged me to persevere,
promising me his patronage, and all the privileges I could wish for. That
decided me to begin.
I rented a very large house near the Temple for a thousand crowns per
annum. The house contained a spacious hall, in which I meant to put my
workmen; another hall which was to be the shop; numerous rooms for my
workpeople to live in; and a nice room for myself in case I cared to live
on the premises.
I made the scheme into a company with thirty shares, of which I gave five
to my designer, keeping the remaining twenty-five to distribute to those
who were inclined to join the company. I gave one to a doctor who, on
giving surety, became the storekeeper, and came to live in the house with
his whole family; and I engaged four servants, a waiting-maid, and a
porter. I had to give another share to an accountant, who furnished me
with two clerks, who also took up their abode in the house. The
carpenters, blacksmiths, and painters worked hard from morning to night,
and in less than three weeks the place was ready. I told the manager to
engage twenty girls to paint, who were to be paid every Saturday. I
stocked the warehouse with three hundred pieces of sarcenet and camlet of
different shades and colours to receive the designs, and I paid for
everything in ready money.
I had made an approximate calculation with my manager that I should have
to spend three hundred thousand francs, and that would not break me. If
the worst happened I could fall back on my shares, which produced a good
income, but I hoped I should not be compelled to do so, as I wanted to
have an income of two hundred thousand francs a year.
All the while I did not conceal from myself that the speculation might be
my ruin, if custom did not come in, but on looking at my beautiful
materials these fears were dispelled, especially as I heard everybody
saying that I sold them much too cheap.
To set up the business I spent in the course of a month about sixty
thousand francs, and my weekly expenses amounted to twelve hundred
francs.
As for Madame d'Urfe she laughed every time she saw me, for she was quite
certain that this business was only meant to put the curious off the
scent and to preserve my incognito: so persuaded was she of my
omnipotence.
The sight of twenty girls, all more or less pretty, the eldest of whom
was not twenty-five, far from making me tremble as it ought, delighted
me. I fancied myself in the midst of a seraglio, and I amused myself by
watching their meek and modest looks as they did their work under the
direction of the foreman. The best paid did not get more than twenty-four
sous a day, and all of them had excellent reputations, for they had been
selected at her own request by the manager's wife, a devout woman of ripe
age, whom I hoped to find obliging if the fancy seized me to test her
choice. Manon Baletti did not share my satisfaction in them. She trembled
to see me the owner of a harem, well knowing that sooner or later the
barque of my virtue would run on the rocks. She scolded me well about
these girls, though I assured her that none of them slept in the house.
This business increased my own ideas of my importance; partly from the
thought that I was on the high road to fortune, and partly because I
furnished so many people with the means of subsistence. Alas! I was too
fortunate; and my evil genius soon crossed my career.
It was now three months since Mdlle. X. C. V. had gone into the convent,
and the time of her delivery drew near. We wrote to each other twice a
week, and I considered the matter happily settled; M. de la Popeliniere
had married, and when Mdlle. X. C. V. returned to her mother there would
be nothing more to be said But just at this period, when my happiness
seemed assured, the hidden fire leapt forth and threatened to consume me;
how, the reader will see.
One day after leaving Madame d'Urfe's I went to walk in the Tuileries. I
had taken a couple of turns in the chief walk when I saw that an old
woman, accompanied by a man dressed in black, was looking at me closely
and communicating her observations to her companion. There was nothing
very astonishing in this in a public place, and I continued my walk, and
on turning again saw the same couple still watching me. In my turn I
looked at them, and remembered seeing the man in a gaming-house, where he
was known by the name of Castel-Bajac. On scrutinizing the features of
the hag, I at last succeeded in recollecting who she was; she was the
woman to whom I had taken Mdlle. X. C. V. I felt certain that she had
recognized me, but not troubling myself about the matter I left the
gardens to walk elsewhere. The day after next, just as I was going to get
into my carriage, a man of evil aspect gave me a paper and asked me to
read it. I opened it, but finding it covered with an illegible scrawl I
gave it him back, telling him to read it himself. He did so, and I found
myself summoned to appear before the commissary of police to answer to
the plea which the midwife (whose name I forget) brought against me.
Although I could guess what the charge would be, and was certain that the
midwife could furnish no proofs of her accusation, I went to an attorney
I knew and told him to appear for me. I instructed him that I did not
know any midwife in Paris whatsoever. The attorney waited on the
commissary, and on the day after brought me a copy of the pleas.
The midwife said that I came to her one night, accompanied by a young
lady about five months with child, and that, holding a pistol in one hand
and a packet of fifty Louis in the other, I made her promise to procure
abortion. We both of us (so she said) had masks on, thus shewing that we
had been at the opera ball. Fear, said she, had prevented her from flatly
refusing to grant my request; but she had enough presence of mind to say
that the necessary drugs were not ready, that she would have all in order
by the next night; whereupon we left, promising to return. In the belief
that we would not fail to keep the appointment, she went in to M.
Castel-Bajac to ask him to hide in the next room that she might be
protected from my fury, and that he might be a witness of what I said,
but she had not seen me again. She added that she would have given
information the day after the event if she had known who I was, but since
M. Castel-Bajac had told her my name on her recognizing me in the
Tuileries, she had thought it her bounden duty to deliver me to the law
that she might be compensated for the violence I had used to her. And
this document was signed by the said Castel-Bajac as a witness.
"This is an evident case of libel," said my attorney, "at least, if she
can't prove the truth of her allegations. My advice to you is to take the
matter before the criminal lieutenant, who will be able to give you the
satisfaction you require."
I authorized him to do what he thought advisable, and three or four days
after he told me that the lieutenant wished to speak to me in private,
and would expect me the same day at three o'clock in the afternoon.
As will be expected, I was punctual to the appointment. I found the
magistrate to be a polite and good-hearted gentleman. He was, in fact,
the well-known M. de Sartine, who was the chief of police two years
later. His office of criminal lieutenant was saleable, and M. de Sartine
sold it when he was appointed head of the police.
As soon as I had made my bow, he asked me to sit down by him, and
addressed me as follows:
"I have asked you to call upon me in the interests of both of us, as in
your position our interests are inseparable. If you are innocent of the
charge which has been brought against you, you are quite right to appeal
to me; but before proceedings begin, you should tell me the whole truth.
I am ready to forget my position as judge, and to give you my help, but
you must see yourself that to prove the other side guilty of slander, you
must prove yourself innocent. What I want from you is an informal and
strictly confidential declaration, for the case against you is a serious
one, and of such a kind as to require all your efforts to wipe off this
blot upon your honour. Your enemies will not respect your delicacy of
feeling. They will press you so hard that you will either be obliged to
submit to a shameful sentence, or to wound your feelings of honour in
proving your innocence. You see I am confiding in you, for in certain
cases honour seems so precious a thing to me that I am ready to defend it
with all the power of the law. Pay me back, then, in the same coin, trust
in me entirely, tell me the whole story without any reserves, and you may
rely upon my good offices. All will be well if you are innocent, for I
shall not be the less a judge because I am your friend; but if you are
guilty I am sorry for you, for I warn you that I shall be just."
After doing my best to express my gratitude to him, I said that my
position did not oblige me to make any reservations on account of honour,
and that I had, consequently, no informal statement to make him.
"The midwife," I added, "is absolutely unknown to me. She is most likely
an abandoned woman, who with her worthy companion wants to cheat me of my
money."
"I should be delighted to think so," he answered, "but admitting the
fact, see how chance favours her, and makes it a most difficult thing for
you to prove your innocence.
"The young lady disappeared three months ago. She was known to be your
intimate friend, you called upon her at all hours; you spent a
considerable time with her the day before she disappeared, and no one
knows what has become of her; but everyone's suspicions point at you, and
paid spies are continually dogging your steps. The midwife sent me a
requisition yesterday by her counsel, Vauversin. She says that the
pregnant lady you brought to her house is the same whom Madame X. C. V.
is searching for. She also says that you both wore black dominoes, and
the police have ascertained that you were both at the ball in black
dominoes on the same night as that on which the midwife says you came to
her house; you are also known to have left the ball-room together. All
this, it is true, does not constitute full proof of your guilt, but it
makes one tremble for your innocence."
"What cause have I to tremble?"
"What cause! Why a false witness, easily enough hired for a little money,
might swear with impunity that he saw you come from the opera together;
and a coachman in the same way might swear he had taken you to the
midwife's. In that case I should be compelled to order your arrest and
examination, with a view to ascertain the name of the person whom you
took with you. Do you realize that you are accused of procuring abortion;
that three months have gone by without the lady's retreat having been
discovered; that she is said to be dead. Do you realize, in short, what a
very serious charge murder is?"
"Certainly; but if I die innocent, you will have condemned me wrongly,
and will be more to be pitied than I."
"Yes, yes, but that wouldn't make your case any better. You may be sure,
however, that I will not condemn an innocent man; but I am afraid that
you will be a long time in prison before you succeed in proving your
innocence. To be brief, you see that in twenty-four hours the case looks
very bad, and in the course of a week it might look very much worse. My
interest was aroused in your favour by the evident absurdity of the
accusations, but it is the other circumstances about the case which make
it a serious one for you. I can partly understand the circumstances, and
the feelings of love and honour which bid you be silent. I have spoken to
you, and I hope you will have no reserves with me. I will spare you all
the unpleasant circumstances which threaten you, believing, as I do, that
you are innocent. Tell me all, and be sure that the lady's honour will
not suffer; but if, on the other hand, you are unfortunately guilty of
the crimes laid to your charge, I advise you to be prudent, and to take
steps which it is not my business to suggest. I warn you that in three or
four days I shall cite you to the bar of the court, and that you will
then find in me only the judge--just, certainly, but severe and
impartial."
I was petrified; for these words shewed me my danger in all its
nakedness. I saw how I should esteem this worthy man's good offices, and
said to him in quite another tone, that innocent as I was, I saw that my
best course was to throw myself on his kindness respecting Mdlle. X. C.
V., who had committed no crime, but would lose her reputation by this
unhappy business.
"I know where she is," I added, "and I may tell you that she would never
have left her mother if she had not endeavoured to force her into a
marriage she abhorred."
"Well, but the man is now married; let her return to her mother's house,
and you will be safe, unless the midwife persists in maintaining that you
incited her to procure abortion."
"There is no abortion in the matter; but other reasons prevent her
returning to her family. I can tell you no more without obtaining the
consent of another party. If I succeed in doing so I shall be able to
throw the desired light on the question. Be kind enough to give me a
second hearing on the day after to-morrow."
"I understand. I shall be delighted to hear what you have to say. I thank
and congratulate you. Farewell!"
I was on the brink of the precipice, but I was determined to leave the
kingdom rather than betray the honour of my poor dear sweetheart. If it
had been possible, I would gladly have put an end to the case with money;
but it was too late. I was sure that Farsetti had the chief hand in all
this trouble, that he was continually on my track, and that he paid the
spies mentioned by M. de Sartine. He it was who had set Vauversin, the
barrister, after me, and I had no doubt that he would do all in his power
to ruin me.
I felt that my only course was to tell the whole story to M. de Sartine,
but to do that I required Madame du Rumain's permission.
CHAPTER IX
My Examination I Give the Clerk Three Hundred Louis--The
Midwife and Cartel-Bajac Imprisoned--Mdlle. X. C. V. Is
Brought to Bed of a Son and Obliges Her Mother to Make Me
Amends--The Suit Against Me Is Quashed--Mdlle. X. C. V. Goes
With Her Mother to Brussels and From Thence to Venice, Where
She Becomes a Great Lady--My Work-girls--Madame Baret--I Am
Robbed, Put in Prison, and Set at Liberty Again--I Go to
Holland--Helvetius' "Esprit"--Piccolomini
The day after my interview with M. de Sartine I waited on Madame du
Rumain at an early hour. Considering the urgency of the case I took the
liberty of rousing her from her slumbers, and as soon as she was ready to
receive me I told her all.
"There can be no hesitation in the matter," said this delightful woman.
"We must make a confidant of M. de Sartine, and I will speak to him
myself to-day without fail."
Forthwith she went to her desk and wrote to the criminal lieutenant
asking him to see her at three o'clock in the afternoon. In less than an
hour the servant returned with a note in which he said he would expect
her. We agreed that I should come again in the evening, when she would
tell me the result of her interview.
I went to the house at five o'clock, and had only a few minutes to wait.
"I have concealed nothing," said she; "he knows that she is on the eve of
her confinement, and that you are not the father, which speaks highly for
your generosity. I told him that as soon as the confinement was over, and
the young lady had recovered her health, she would return to her mother,
though she would make no confession, and that the child should be well
looked after. You have now nothing to fear, and can calm yourself; but as
the case must go on you will be cited before the court the day after
to-morrow. I advise you to see the clerk of the court on some pretext or
other, and to make him accept a sum of money."
I was summoned to appear, and I appeared. I saw M. de Sartine, 'sedentem
pro tribunali'. At the end of the sitting he told me that he was obliged
to remand me, and that during my remand I must not leave Paris or get
married, as all my civil rights were in suspense pending the decision. I
promised to follow his commands.
I acknowledged in my examination that I was at the ball in a black domino
on the night named in my accusation, but I denied everything else. As for
Mdlle. X. C. V., I said that neither I nor anyone of her family had any
suspicion that she was with child.
Recollecting that I was an alien, and that this circumstance might make
Vauversin call for my arrest, on the plea that I might fly the kingdom, I
thought the moment opportune for making interest with the clerk of the
court, and I accordingly paid him a visit. After telling him of my fears,
I slipped into his hand a packet of three hundred louis, for which I did
not ask for a receipt, saying that they were to defray expenses if I were
mulcted in costs. He advised me to require the midwife to give bail for
her appearance, and I told my attorney to do so; but, four days after,
the following incident took place:
I was walking in the Temple Gardens, when I was accosted by a Savoyard,
who gave me a note in which I was informed that somebody in an alley,
fifty paces off, wanted to speak to me. "Either a love affair or a
challenge," I said to myself, "let's see." I stopped my carriage, which
was following me, and went to the place.
I cannot say how surprised I was to see the wretched Cartel-Bajac
standing before me. "I have only a word to say," said he, when he saw me.
"We will not be overheard here. The midwife is quite sure that you are
the man who brought a pregnant lady to her, but she is vexed that you are
accused of making away with her. Give her a hundred louis; she will then
declare to the court that she has been mistaken, and your trouble will be
ended. You need not pay the money till she has made her declaration; we
will take your word for it. Come with me and talk it over with Vauversin.
I am sure he will persuade you to do as I suggest. I know where to find
him, follow me at some distance."
I had listened to him in silence, and I was delighted to see that the
rascals were betraying themselves. "Very good," said I to the fellow,
"you go on, and I will follow." I went after him to the third floor of a
house in the Rue aux Ours, where I found Vauversin the barrister. No
sooner had I arrived than he went to business without any prefatory
remarks.
"The midwife," he said, "will call on you with a witness apparently with
the intention of maintaining to your face that you are her man; but she
won't be able to recognize you. She will then proceed with the witness to
the court, and will declare that she has made a mistake, and the criminal
lieutenant will forthwith put an end to the proceedings. You will thus be
certain of gaining your case against the lady's mother."
I thought the plan well conceived, and said that they would find me at
the Temple any day up to noon.
"But the midwife wants a hundred louis badly."
"You mean that the worthy woman rates her perjury at that price. Well,
never mind, I will pay the money, and you may trust to my word; but I
can't do so before she has taken oath to her mistake before the court."
"Very good, but you must first give me twenty-five louis to reimburse me
for my costs and fees."
"Certainly, if you will give me a formal receipt for the money."
He hesitated at first, but after talking it over the money proved too
strong a bait, and he wrote out the receipt and I gave him the
twenty-five louis. He thanked me, and said that though Madame X. C. V.
was his client, he would let me know confidentially how best to put a
stop to the proceedings. I thanked him with as much gratitude as if I had
really intended to make use of his services, and I left to write and tell
M. de Sartine what had taken place.
Three days afterwards I was told that a man and woman wanted to see me. I
went down and asked the woman what she wanted.
"I want to speak to M. Casanova."
"I am he."
"Then I have made a mistake, for which I hope you will forgive me."
Her companion smiled, and they went off.
The same day Madame du Rumain had a letter from the abbess telling her
that her young friend had given birth to a fine boy, who had been sent
away to a place where he would be well looked after. She stated that the
young lady could not leave the convent for the next six weeks, at the end
of which time she could return to her mother with a certificate which
would protect her from all annoyance.
Soon after the midwife was put in solitary confinement, Castel-Bajac was
sent to The Bicetre, and Vauversin's name was struck off the rolls. The
suit instituted against me by Madame X. C. V. went on till her daughter
reappeared, but I knew that I had nothing to fear. The girl returned to
her mother about the end of August armed with a certificate from the
abbess, who said she had been under her protection for four months,
during which time she had never left the convent or seen any persons from
outside. This was perfectly true, but the abbess added that her only
reason for her going back to her family was that she had nothing more to
dread from the attentions of M. de la Popeliniere, and in this the abbess
lied.
Mdlle. X. C. V. profited by the delight of her mother in seeing her again
safe and sound, and made her wait on M. de Sartine with the abbess's
certificate, stop all proceedings against me, and withdraw all the
charges she had made. Her daughter told her that if I liked I might claim
damages for libel, and that if she did not wish to injure her reputation
she would say nothing more about what had happened.
The mother wrote me a letter of the most satisfactory character, which I
had registered in court, thus putting an end to the prosecution. In my
turn I wrote to congratulate her on the recovery of her daughter, but I
never set foot in her house again, to avoid any disagreeable scenes with
Farsetti.
Mdlle. X. C. V. could not stay any longer in Paris, where her tale was
known to everyone, and Farsetti took her to Brussels with her sister
Madelaine. Some time after, her mother followed her, and they then went
on to Venice, and there in three years' time she became a great lady.
Fifteen years afterwards I saw her again, and she was a widow, happy
enough apparently, and enjoying a great reputation on account of her
rank, wit, and social qualities, but our connection was never renewed.
In four years the reader will hear more of Castel-Bajac. Towards the end
of the same year (1759), before I went to Holland, I spent several
hundred francs to obtain the release of the midwife.
I lived like a prince, and men might have thought me happy, but I was
not. The enormous expenses I incurred, my love of spending money, and
magnificent pleasures, warned me, in spite of myself, that there were
rocks ahead. My business would have kept me going for a long time, if
custom had not been paralyzed by the war; but as it was, I, like
everybody else, experienced the effect of bad times. My warehouse
contained four hundred pieces of stuffs with designs on them, but as I
could not hope to dispose of them before the peace, and as peace seemed a
long way off, I was threatened with ruin.
With this fear I wrote to Esther to get her father to give me the
remainder of my money, to send me a sharp clerk, and to join in my
speculation. M. d'O---- said that if I would set up in Holland he would
become responsible for everything and give me half profits, but I liked
Paris too well to agree to so good an offer. I was sorry for it
afterwards.
I spent a good deal of money at my private house, but the chief expense
of my life, which was unknown to others but which was ruining me, was
incurred in connection with the girls who worked in my establishment.
With my complexion and my pronounced liking for variety, a score of
girls, nearly all of them pretty and seductive, as most Paris girls are,
was a reef on which my virtue made shipwreck every day. Curiosity had a
good deal to do with it, and they profited by my impatience to take
possession by selling their favours dearly. They all followed the example
of the first favourite, and everyone claimed in turn an establishment,
furniture, money, and jewels; and I knew too little of the value of money
to care how much they asked. My fancy never lasted longer than a week,
and often waned in three or four days, and the last comer always appeared
the most worthy of my attentions.
As soon as I had made a new choice I saw no more of my old loves, but I
continued to provide for them, and that with a good deal of money. Madame
d'Urfe, who thought I was rich, gave me no trouble. I made her happy by
using my oracle to second the magical ceremonies of which she grew fonder
every day, although she never attained her aim. Manon Baletti, however,
grieved me sorely by her jealousy and her well-founded reproaches. She
would not understand--and I did not wonder at it--how I could put off
marrying her if I really loved her. She accused me of deceiving her. Her
mother died of consumption in our arms. Silvia had won my true
friendship. I looked upon her as a most worthy woman, whose kindness of
heart and purity of life deserved the esteem of all. I stayed in the
family for three days after her death, sincerely sympathizing with them
in their affliction.
A few days afterwards, my friend Tiretta lost his mistress through a
grievous illness. Four days before her death, perceiving that she was
near her end, she willed to consecrate to God that which man could have
no longer, and dismissed her lover with the gift of a valuable jewel and
a purse of two hundred louis. Tiretta marched off and came and told me
the sad news. I got him a lodging near the Temple, and a month after,
approving his idea to try his fortune in India, I gave him a letter of
introduction to M. d'O----, of Amsterdam; and in the course of a week
this gentleman got him a post as clerk, and shipped him aboard one of the
company's ships which was bound for Batavia. If he had behaved well he
might have become a rich man, but he got involved in some conspiracy and
had to fly, and afterwards experienced many vicissitudes of fortune. I
heard from one of his relations that he was in Bengal in 1788, in good
circumstances, but unable to realize his property and so return to his
native country. I do not know what became of him eventually.
In the beginning of November an official belonging to the Duc d'Elbeuf's
household came to my establishment to buy a wedding dress for his
daughter. I was dazzled with her beauty. She chose a fine satin, and her
pretty face lighted up when she heard her father say he did not think it
was too much; but she looked quite piteous when she heard the clerk tell
her father that he would have to buy the whole piece, as they could not
cut it. I felt that I must give in, and to avoid making an exception in
her favour I beat a hasty retreat into my private room. I wish I had gone
out of the house, as I should have saved a good deal of money; but what
pleasure should I have also lost! In her despair the charming girl begged
the manager to take her to me, and he dared not refuse to do so. She came
in; two big tears falling down her cheeks and dimming the ardour of her
gaze.
"Oh, sir!" she began, "you are rich, do you buy the piece and let me have
enough for a dress, which will make me happy."
I looked at her father and saw he wore an apologetic air, as if
deprecating the boldness of his child.
"I like your simplicity," I said to her, "and since it will make you
happy, you shall have the dress."
She ran up to me, threw her arms round my neck and kissed me, while her
worthy father was dying with laughter. Her kisses put the last stroke to
my bewitchment. After he had paid for the dress, her father said,
"I am going to get this little madcap married next Sunday; there will be
a supper and a ball, and we shall be delighted if you will honour us with
your presence. My name is Gilbert. I am comptroller of the Duc d'Elbeuf's
household."
I promised to be at the wedding, and the young lady gave a skip of joy
which made me think her prettier than ever.
On Sunday I repaired to the house, but I could neither eat nor drink. The
fair Mdlle. Gilbert kept me in a kind of enchantment which lasted while I
was in company with her friends, for whom I did not care. They were all
officials in noblemen's houses, with their wives and daughters, who all
aped the manners of their betters in the most ridiculous way; nobody knew
me and I was known to nobody, and I cut a sorry figure amongst them all,
for in a company of this sort the wittiest man is the greatest fool.
Everybody cracked his joke to the bride, she answered everybody, and
people laughed at nothing.
Her husband, a thin and melancholy man, with a rather foolish expression,
was delighted at his wife's keeping everybody amused. Although I was in
love with her, I pitied rather than envied him. I guessed that he had
married for monetary considerations, and I knew pretty well what kind of
a head-dress his handsome, fiery wife would give her husband, who was
plain-featured, and seemed not to be aware of his wife's beauty. I was
seized with the desire of asking her some questions, and she gave me the
opportunity by coming to sit next to me after a quadrille. She thanked me
again for my kindness, and said that the beautiful dress I had supplied
had won her many compliments.
"All the same," I said, "I know you are longing to take it off. I know
what love is and how impatient it makes one."
"It's very funny that everyone persists in thinking that I am in love,
though I saw M. Baret for the first time only a week ago. Before then I
was absolutely unconscious of his existence."
"But why are you getting married in such a hurry without waiting till you
know him better?"
"Because my father does everything in a hurry."
"I suppose your husband is a very rich man?"
"No, but he may become rich. We are going to open a shop for silk
stockings at the corner of the Rue St. Honore and the Rue des Prouveres,
and I hope that you will deal with us, as we would serve you with the
best."
"I shall certainly do so--nay, I will be your first customer, if I have
to wait at the door."
"You are kind! M. Baret," said she to her husband, who was standing close
by, "this gentleman promises to be our first customer."
"The gentleman is very good," said the husband, "and I am sure he will be
satisfied, as my stockings are genuine silk."
Next Tuesday at day-break I began to dance attendance at the corner of
the Rue des Prouveres, and waited there till the servant came out to take
down the shutters. I went in and the girl asked me my business.
"I want to buy some stockings," was my answer.
"Master and mistress are still in bed, so you had better come later on."
"No, I will wait here. Stop a minute," said I, giving her six francs, "go
and get me some coffee; I will drink it in the shop."
"I might go and get you some coffee, but I am not so silly as to leave
you in the shop by yourself."
"You are afraid I might steal something!"
"Well, one does hear of such things being done, and I don't know you from
Adam."
"Very good; but I shall stay here all the same."
Before long Baret came down and scolded the poor girl for not having told
him of my presence. "Go and tell my wife to come," said he, as he began
opening packets of stockings for me to choose from. He kept stockings,
vests, and silk drawers, and I turned one packet over after another,
looking at them all and not fixing on anything till I saw his wife coming
down as fresh as a rose and as bright as a lily. She smiled at me in the
most seductive manner, apologized for the disorder of her dress, and
thanked me for keeping my word.
"I never break my word," I said, "especially when such a charming lady is
concerned!"
Madame Baret was seventeen, of a moderate height, and an exquisite
figure; without being classically beautiful, a Raphael could not wish to
depict a more enticing face. Her eyes were large and brilliant. Her
drooping eyelids, which gave her so modest and yet so voluptuous an
appearance, the ever-smiling mouth, her splendid teeth, the dazzling
whiteness of her complexion, the pleasing air with which she listened to
what was being said, her silvery voice, the sweetness and sparkling
vivacity of her manner, her lack of conceit, or rather her
unconsciousness of the power of her charms-in fine, everything about this
masterpiece of nature made me wonder and admire; while she, by chance or
vile monetary considerations, was in the power of Baret, who, pale and
sickly, thought a good deal more of his stockings than of the treasure
marriage had given him--a treasure of which he was all unworthy, since he
could not see its beauty nor taste its sweetness.
I chose stockings and vests to the amount of twenty-five louis, and I
paid the price without trying to cheapen them. I saw the face of the fair
shopwoman light up, and I augured well for my success, though I could not
expect to do much while the honeymoon lasted. I told the servant that I
would give her six francs if she would bring the packet to my house, and
so I left them.
Next Sunday Baret came himself with my purchases. I gave him six francs
to hand over to his servant, but he hinted that he was not too proud to
keep them himself. I was disgusted at this petty greed, and at his
meanness in depriving his maid of the six francs after having made a good
profit in what he had sold me; but I wanted to stand well with him, and I
was not sorry to find so simple a way of throwing dust into his eyes. So
while I resolved that the servant should not be a loser I gave the
husband a good reception that I might the better mould him to my purpose.
I had breakfast brought to him, asking why he had not brought his wife.
"She wanted me to take her," said he, "but I was afraid you might be
offended."
"Not at all, I should have been delighted. I think your wife a charming
woman."
"You are very kind to say so; but she's young, she's young."
"I don't think that's any objection; and if she cares for the walk, bring
her with you another time." He said he should be very pleased to do so.
When I passed by the shop in my carriage I blew kisses to her with my
hand, but I did not stop as I did not want any more stockings. Indeed, I
should have been bored with the crowd of fops with which the shop was
always full. She began to be a topic of conversation in the town; the
Palais Royal was full of her; and I was glad to hear that she kept to
herself as if she had richer prey in view. That told me that no one
possessed her so far, and I hoped that I might be the prey myself; I was
quite willing to be captured.
Some days after, she saw my carriage coming, and beckoned to me as I
passed. I got out, and her husband with many apologies told me that he
wanted me to be the first to see a new fashion in breeches he had just
got in. The breeches were parti-coloured, and no man of fashion would be
seen without them. They were odd-looking things, but became a well-made
young man. As they had to fit exactly, I told him to measure me for six
pairs, offering to pay in advance. "We have them in all sizes," said he,
"go up to my wife's room and try some on."
It was a good opportunity and I accepted, especially when I heard him
tell his wife to go and help me. I went upstairs, she following, and I
began to undress, apologizing for doing so before her.
"I will fancy I am your valet," said she, "and I will help you."
I did not make any difficulties, and after taking off my shoes I gave her
my breeches, taking care, however, to keep on my drawers, lest her
modesty should receive too severe a shock. This done she took a pair of
breeches, drew them on me, took them off, and tried on others, and all
this without any impropriety on either side; for I had determined to
behave with discretion till the opportunity came to be indiscreet. She
decided that four pairs fitted me admirably, and, not wishing to
contradict her, I gave her the sixteen louis she asked, and told her I
should be delighted if she would bring them herself at any time when she
was at leisure. She came downstairs quite proud of her knowledge of
business, and Baret said that next Sunday he and his wife would have the
honour of bringing me my purchase.
"I shall be charmed, M. Baret," said I, "especially if you will stay to
dinner."
He answered that having an important engagement for two o'clock he could
only accept on the condition that I would let him go at that time, and he
would return at about five to fetch his wife. I found the plan vastly to
my taste, but I knew how to conceal my joy; and I quietly said that
though I should lose the pleasure of his society, he was free to go when
he liked, especially as I had not to go out myself before six.
I looked forward to the Sunday, and the tradesman and his wife did not
fail me. As soon as they arrived, I told my servant to say "Not at home"
for the rest of the day, and as I was impatient to know what would happen
in the afternoon I had dinner served at an early hour. The dishes were
exquisite, and the wines delicious. The good man ate much and drank
deeply, indeed to such an extent that in common politeness I was obliged
to remind him that he had an important appointment at two. His wits being
sharpened with champagne, the happy thought occurred to him to tell his
wife to go home by herself, if he were kept later than five; and I
hastened to add that I would take her home myself in my carriage. He
thanked me, and I soothed his uneasiness about being punctual to his
appointment by telling him that a coach was waiting, and that the fare
had been paid. He went off, and I found myself alone with my jewel, whom
I was certain of possessing till six o'clock.
As soon as I heard the hall door shut on the kind husband, I said to his
wife,
"You are to be congratulated on having such a kind husband; with a man
like that your happiness is assured."
"It is easy to say happiness, but enjoying it is a different thing. My
husband's health is so delicate that I can only consider myself as his
nurse; and then he contracted heavy debts to set up in business which
oblige us to observe the strictest economy. We came here on foot to save
the twenty-four sons. We could live on the profits of the business, if
there were no debts, but as it is everything goes to pay the interest,
and our sales are not large enough to cover everything."
"But you have plenty of customers, for whenever I pass I see the shop
full of people."
"These customers you see are idlers, crackers of bad jokes, and
profligates, who come and make my head ache with their jests. They have
not a penny to bless themselves with, and we dare not let them out of our
sight for fear of their hands wandering. If we had cared to give them
credit, our shop would have been emptied long ago. I am rude to them, in
the hopes that they may leave me alone, but it's of no use. Their
impudence is astonishing. When my husband is in I retreat to my room, but
he is often away, and then I am obliged to put up with them. And the
scarcity of money prevents us from doing much business, but we are
obliged to pay our workmen all the same. As far as I can see, we shall be
obliged to dismiss them, as we shall soon have to meet several bills.
Next Saturday we have got to pay six hundred francs, and we have only got
two hundred."
"I am surprised at your having all this worry in these early days of your
marriage. I suppose your father knew about your husband's circumstances;
how about your dowry?"
"My dowry of six thousand francs has served, most of it, to stock the
shop and to pay our debts. We have goods which would pay our debts three
times over; but in bad times capital sunk is capital dead."
"I am sorry to hear all this, as if peace is not made your situation will
become worse, for as you go on your needs will become greater."
"Yes, for when my husband is better we may have children."
"What! Do you mean to say his health prevents him from making you a
mother? I can't believe it."
"I don't see how I can be a mother who am still a maid; not that I care
much about the matter."
"I shouldn't have believed it! How can a man not in the agony of death
feel ill beside you? He must be dead."
"Well, he is not exactly dead, but he doesn't shew many signs of life."
This piece of wit made me laugh, and under cover of my applause I
embraced her without experiencing much resistance. The first kiss was
like an electric spark; it fired my imagination and I increased my
attentions till she became as submissive as a lamb.
"I will help you, dearest, to meet the bill on Saturday;" and so saying I
drew her gently into a closet where a soft divan formed a suitable altar
for the completion of an amorous sacrifice.
I was enchanted to find her submissive to my caresses and my
inquisitiveness, but she surprised me greatly when, as I placed myself in
readiness for the consummation of the act, and was already in the proper
posture between the two columns, she moved in such a way as to hinder my
advance. I thought at first that it was only one of those devices
intended to make the final victory more sweet by putting difficulties in
the way; but, finding that her resistance was genuine, I exclaimed,
"How was I to expect a refusal like this at a moment when I thought I saw
my ardours reflected in your eyes?"
"Your eyes did not deceive you; but what would my husband say if he found
me otherwise than as God has made me?"
"He can't have left you untouched!"
"He really has done so. You can see for yourself if you like. Can I,
then, give to you what appertains to the genius of the marriage-bed."
"You are right, my angel; this fruit must be kept for a mouth unworthy to
taste it. I pity and adore you. Come to my arms, abandon yourself to my
love, and fear nothing. The fruit shall not be damaged; I will but taste
the outer surface and leave no trace behind."
We passed three hours in trifling together in a manner calculated to
inflame our passions despite the libations which we now and again poured
forth. I was consoled by her swearing to be mine as soon as Baret had
good grounds for thinking that she was his, and, after taking her on the
Boulevards, I left her at her door, with a present of twenty-five Louis.
I was in love with her as I had never been before, and I passed the shop
three or four times a day, going round and round, to the wrath of my
coachman, who got sick of telling me that I was ruining my horses. I was
happy to see her watch for the moment that I passed, and waft me a kiss
by putting her pretty fingers to her mouth.
We had agreed that she should not make me a sign to leave my coach till
her husband had forced a passage. At last this day, so ardently desired
and so long waited for, arrived. The sign was given, and I stopped the
coach and she came out and, standing on the step, told me to go and wait
for her at the church door of St. Germain l'Auxerrois.
I was curious to know what the results would be, and had not been at the
place appointed more than a quarter of an hour when she came towards me,
her head muffled in a hood. She got into the carriage and, saying that
she wanted to make some purchases, begged me to take her to the shops.
I had business of my own, and pressing business too, but who can refuse
the Beloved Object anything? I told the coachman to drive to the Place
Dauphine, and I prepared to loosen my purse-strings, as I had a feeling
she was going to treat me as a friend. In point of fact she left few
shops unvisited, going from jewels to pretty trifles and toys of
different kinds, and from these to dresses of the latest fashion, which
they displayed before her, addressing her as princess, and saying that
this would become her admirably. She looked at me, and said it must be
confessed that it was very pretty and that she would like it if it were
not so dear. I was a willing dupe, and assured her that if she liked it
it could not be too dear, and that I would pay.
While my sweetheart was thus choosing one trifle after another my
ill-luck brought about an incident which placed me in a fearful situation
four years afterwards. The chain of events is endless.
I perceived at my left hand a pretty girl of twelve or thirteen, with an
old and ugly woman who was disparaging a pair of ear-rings which the girl
had in her hands, and on which she had evidently set her heart: she
looked sad at not being able to buy them. I heard her say to the old
woman that they would make her happy, but she snatched them from the
girl's hands and told her to, come away.
"I can let you have a cheaper pair and almost as fine," said the
shopwoman, but the young lady said she did not; care about it, and was
getting ready to go, making a profound reverence to my princess Baret.
She, no doubt flattered by this sign of respect went up to her, called
her little queen, told her she was as fair as a May morning, and asked
the old woman her name,
"She is Mdlle. de Boulainvilier, my niece."
"How can you be so hard-hearted," said I to the aunt, "as to refuse your
charming niece a toy which would make her happy? Allow me to make her a
present of them."
So saying I put the ear-rings in the girl's hands, while she blushed and
looked at her aunt as if to ask her permission.
"You may have the ear-rings," said she, "as this gentleman has been kind
enough to give you such a present, and you should give him a kiss by way
of thanks."
"The ear-rings," said the shopwoman, "will be only three louis."
Hereupon the affair took a comic turn; the old woman got into a rage and
said,
"How can you be such a cheat? You told me they were only two louis."
"Nay, madam, I asked three."
"That's a lie, and I shall not allow you to rob this gentleman. Niece,
put those ear-rings down; let the shopwoman keep them."
So far all was well enough; but the old aunt spoilt everything by saying
that if I liked to give her niece the three louis she could get her a
pair twice as good at another shop. It was all the same to me, so I
smilingly put the three louis in front of the young lady, who still had
the ear-rings in her hands. The shop-woman, who was on the look-out,
pocketed the money, saying that the bargain was made, that the three
louis belonged to her and the ear-rings to the young lady.
"You are a cheat," cried out the enraged old woman.
"And you are an old b----d," answered the shop-woman, "I know you well."
A crowd began to gather in front of the shop, hearing the cries of the
two harpies. Foreseeing a good deal of unpleasantness, I took the aunt by
the arm and led her gently away. The niece, who was quite content with
the ear-rings, and did not care whether they cost three louis or two,
followed her. We shall hear of them again in due course.
My dear Baret having made me waste a score of louis, which her poor
husband would have regretted much more than myself, we got into the
carriage again, and I took her to the church door from which we had
started. On the way she told me she was coming to stop a few days with me
at Little Poland, and that it was her husband who would ask me for the
invitation.
"When will he do that?"
"To-morrow, if you go by the shop. Come and buy some stockings; I shall
have a bad headache, and Baret will speak to you."
It may be imagined that I took care to call the next day, and as I did
not see his wife in the shop I asked in a friendly way after her health.
"She is ill in bed," he replied; "she wants a little country air."
"If you have not fixed for any place, I shall be happy to put you up at
Little Poland."
He replied by a smile of delight.
"I will go and urge her to come myself; in the meanwhile, M. Baret, will
you pack me up a dozen pairs of stockings?"
I went upstairs and found the invalid in bed, and laughing in spite of
her imaginary headache. "The business is done," said I, "you will soon
hear of it." As I had said, the husband came upstairs with my stockings
and told her that I had been good enough to give her a room in my house.
The crafty little creature thanked me, assuring her husband that the
fresh air would soon cure her.
"You shall be well looked after," said I, "but you must excuse me if I do
not keep you company--I have to attend to my business. M. Baret will be
able to come and sleep with you every night, and start early enough in
the morning to be in time for the opening of his shop."
After many compliments had been interchanged, Baret decided on having his
sister stay in the house while his wife was away, and as I took leave I
said that, I should give orders for their reception that very evening, in
case I was out when they came.
Next day I stayed out till after midnight, and the cook told me that the
wedded couple had made a good supper and had gone to bed. I warned her
that I should be dining at home every day, and that I should not see my
company.
The following day I was up betimes, and on enquiring if the husband had
risen I learnt that he had got up at day-break and would not be back till
supper-time. The wife was still asleep. I thought with reason she was not
asleep for me, and I went to pay her my first visit. In point of fact she
was awake, and I took a foretaste of greater joys by a thousand kisses,
which she returned with interest. We jested at the expense of the worthy
man who had trusted me with a jewel of which I was about to make such
good use, and we congratulated each other on the prospect of a week's
mutual pleasures.
"Come, my dear," said I, "get up and put on a few clothes and we will
take breakfast in my room."
She did not make an elaborate toilette; a cotton dressing gown, a pretty
lace cap, a lawn kerchief, that was all, but how the simple dress was
lighted by the roses of her cheeks! We were quick over our breakfast, we
were in a hurry, and when we had done I shut the door and we gave
ourselves over to the enjoyment of our bliss.
Surprised to find her in the same condition in which I had left her, I
told her I had hoped . . . but she, without giving me time to finish the
phrase, said,
"My jewel, Baret thinks, or pretends to think, that he has done his duty
as a husband; but he is no hand at the business, and I am disposed to put
myself in your hands, and then there will be no doubt of my condition."
"We shall thus, my sweet, be doing him a service, and the service shall
be well done."
As I said these words I was on the threshold of the temple, and I opened
the door in a manner that overthrew all obstacles. A little scream and
then several sighs announced the completion of the sacrifice, and, to
tell the truth, the altar of love was covered with the blood of the
victim. After the necessary ablutions the priest once more began his
pious work, while the victim growing bolder so provoked his rage that it
was not till the fourth mactation that we rested and put off our joust to
another season. We swore a thousand times to love each other and to
remain constant, and we may possibly have been sincere, as we were in our
ecstasy of pleasure.
We only separated to dress; then after taking a turn in the garden we
dined together, sure that in a sumptuous repast, washed down by the
choicest wines, we should find strength to reanimate our desires and to
lull them to sleep in bliss.
At dessert, as I was pouring champagne into her glass, I asked her how
with such a fiery temperament she had managed to preserve her virtue?
"Cupid," said I, "might have gathered the fruit that Hymen could not
taste. You are seventeen, and the pear has been ripe for two years at
least."
"Very true, but I have never had a lover."
"Never?"
"I have been courted, but to no effect. My heart was ever silent.
Possibly my father thought otherwise when I begged him, a month ago, to
get me married soon."
"Very likely, but as you were not in love, why were you in such a hurry?"
"I knew that the Duc d'Elbeuf would soon be coming to town, and that if
he found me still single he would oblige me to become the wife of a man I
detest, who would have me at any price."
"Who is this man for whom you have such an aversion?"
"He is one of the duke's pets, a monster who sleeps with his master."
"Really! I did not know the duke had such tastes."
"Oh yes; he is eighty-four, and he thinks himself a woman; he says he
must have a husband."
"That is very funny. And is this aspirant to your hand a handsome man?"
"I think him horrible; but everybody else thinks he is a fine man."
The charming Baret spent a week with me, and each day we renewed the
combat in which we were always conquerors and always conquered. I have
seen few women as pretty and seductive, and none whose skin was more
exquisitely soft and fair. Her breath was aromatic, and this made her
kisses most sweet. Her neck was exquisitely shaped, and the two globes,
tipped with coral, were as hard as marble. The exquisite curves of her
figure would have defied the skill of the ablest painter. I experienced
an ineffable joy in contemplating her, and in the midst of my happiness I
called myself unhappy because I could not satisfy all the desires which
her charms aroused in me. The frieze which crowned her columns was
composed of links of pale gold of the utmost fineness, and my fingers
strove in vain to give them another direction to that which nature had
given them. She could easily have been taught those lively yet graceful
movements which double the pleasure; nature had done her part in that
direction, and I do not think a more expert mistress in the art of love
could be found.
Each of us looked forward to the day of her departure with equal grief,
and our only consolation lay in the hope of meeting again, and often.
Three days after she went away, I went to see her, more in love than
ever, and I gave her two notes of five thousand francs apiece. Her
husband might have his suspicions, but he was too happy at being enabled
to pay his debts and to keep his shop open to say anything unpleasant.
Many husbands besides himself think themselves lucky to have such
productive wives.
In the beginning of November I sold shares for fifty thousand francs to a
man named Gamier, living in the Rue du Mail, giving up to him a third
part of the materials in my warehouse, and accepting a manager chosen by
him and paid by the company. Three days after signing the deed I received
the money; but in the night the doctor, my warehouseman, emptied the till
and absconded. I have always thought that this robbery could not have
been effected without the connivance of the painter. This loss was a
serious blow to me, as my affairs were getting into an embroiled
condition; and, for a finishing touch to my misfortunes, Gamier had me
served with a summons to repay him the fifty thousand francs. My answer
was that I was not liable, that his manager had been appointed, the
agreement and sale of the shares was valid, and that he being one of the
company would have to share in the loss. As he persisted in his claim, I
was advised to go to law, but Gamier declared the agreement null and
void, accusing me in an indirect manner of having appropriated the money
which I had said was stolen. I would willingly have given him a good
thrashing, but he was an old man, and that course would not have mended
matters, so I kept my temper. The merchant who had given surety for the
doctor was not to be found; he had become bankrupt. Garnier had all my
stock seized, and sequestrated my horses, carriages, and all my private
property.
While these troubles were harassing me, I dismissed all my work-girls,
who had always been a great expense, and replaced them with workmen and
some of my servants. The painter still retained his position, which was
an assured one, as he always paid himself out of the sales.
My attorney was an honest man--a rare bird amongst lawyers--but my
counsel, who kept telling me that the case would soon be decided, was a
rascal. While the decision was pending, Garnier served me with a writ to
pay the sum claimed. I took it to my counsel, who promised to appeal the
same day, which he did not do, while he appropriated to his own use the
money assigned by me for the costs of an action which, if there had been
justice in France, I should certainly have gained. Two other summonses
were issued against me, and before I knew what was going on a warrant was
issued for my arrest. I was seized at eight o'clock in the morning, as I
was driving along the Rue St. Denis. The sergeant of police sat beside
me, a second got up beside the coachman, and a third stationed himself at
the back of the coach, and in this state we drove to Fort l'Eveque.
As soon as the police had handed me over to the gaoler, he informed me
that by payment of the fifty thousand francs, or by giving good bail, I
might instantly regain my freedom.
"For the moment," said I, "I can neither command money nor bail."
"Very good, then you will stay in prison."
The gaoler took me to a decent-looking room, and I told him I had only
been served with one writ.
"Very likely," answered he, "it often happens like that; but it is rather
difficult to prove."
"Bring me writing materials, and have a trusty messenger at my disposal."
I wrote to my counsel, my attorney, to Madame d'Urfe, and to all my
friends, including my brother, who was just married. The attorney called
immediately, but the barrister contented himself with writing to the
effect that as he had put in an appeal my seizure was illegal, and that
damages might be recovered. He ended by begging me to give him a free
hand, and to have patience for a few days.
Manon Baletti sent her brother with her diamond earrings. Madame du
Rumain dispatched her barrister--a man of rare honesty--to me, and wrote
a friendly note in which she said that if I wanted five hundred louis I
should have them to-morrow. My brother neither wrote nor came to see me.
As to dear Madame d'Urfe she sent to say that she would expect me at
dinner. I thought she had gone mad, as I could not think she was making
fun of me.
At eleven o'clock my room was full of people. Poor Baret had come
weeping, and offering me all his shop held. I was touched by the worthy
man's kindness. At last I was told that a lady in a coach wanted to see
me. I waited, but nobody came. In my impatience I called the turnkey, who
told me that, after questioning the clerk of the prison, she had gone
away again. From the description I was given I had no difficulty in
identifying the lady with Madame d'Urfe.
To find myself deprived of my liberty was a disagreeable shock to me. I
thought of The Leads, and though my present situation was not to be
compared with that, I cursed my fate as I foresaw that my imprisonment
would damage my reputation. I had thirty thousand francs in hard cash and
jewels to more than double that amount, but I could not decide on making
such a sacrifice, in spite of the advice given by Madame du Rumain's
barrister, who would have me got out of prison at any cost.
"All you have to do," said the barrister, "is to deposit half the sum
demanded which I will give to the clerk of the court, and in a short time
I can promise a decision in your favour and the restoration of your
money."
We were discussing the matter, when the gaoler entered, and said, very
politely,
"Sir, you are a free man again, and a lady is waiting for you at the door
in her carriage."
I called Le Duc, my man, and told him to go and see who the lady was. He
returned with the information that it was Madame d'Urfe. I made my bow to
everybody, and after four very disagreeable hours of imprisonment, I
found myself free again and sitting in a splendid coach.
Madame d'Urfe received me with dignified kindness, and a judge who was in
the carriage apologized for his country, where strangers were exposed to
such insults. I thanked Madame d'Urfe in a few words, telling her that I
was glad to become her debtor, but that it was Garnier who benefited by
her generosity. She replied with a pleasant smile that she was not so
sure of that, and that we would talk it over at dinner. She wanted me to
go and walk in the Tuileries and the Palais Royal, to convince people
that the report of my imprisonment had been false. I thought the advice
excellent, and as I set out I promised to be with her at two o'clock.
After skewing myself at the two principal walks of Paris, amusing myself
by the astonishment depicted on certain faces well known to me, I went
and returned the ear-rings to my dear Manon, who gave an astonished but a
happy cry when she saw me. I thanked her tenderly for the proof she had
given me of her attachment, and said that I had been arrested by a plot
for which I would make the plotters pay dear. After promising to spend
the evening with them I went to Madame d'Urfe's.
This good lady, whose foible is well known to my readers, made me laugh
when she said that her genius had told her that I had got myself arrested
to be talked about, for reasons which were known only to myself.
"As soon as I was informed of your arrest," said she, "I went to the Fort
l'Eveque, and on learning from the clerk what the affair was about, I
deposited bonds to bail you out. If you are not in a position to have
justice done you, Gamier will have to reckon with me before he takes the
money I have deposited. But your first step should be to commence a
criminal prosecution against your counsel, who has not only failed to put
in your appeal but has robbed and deceived you."
I left her in the evening, assuring her that in a few days her bail
should be returned to her; and went to the French and Italian plays in
succession, taking care to render myself conspicuous that my reappearance
might be complete. Afterwards I went to sup with Manon Baletti, who was
too happy to have had an opportunity of spewing her affection for me; and
her joy was full when I told her that I was going to give up business,
for she thought that my seraglio was the only obstacle to my marriage
with her.
The next day was passed with Madame du Rumain. I felt that my obligations
to her were great, while she, in the goodness of her heart, was persuaded
that she could make no adequate return to me for the oracles with which I
furnished her, and by following which she was safely guided through the
perplexities of life. I cannot understand how she, whose wit was keen,
and whose judgment on other subjects was of the soundest kind, could be
liable to such folly. I was sorry when I reflected that I could not
undeceive her, and glad when I reflected that to this deceit of mine the
kindness she had shewn me was chiefly due.
My imprisonment disgusted me with Paris, and made me conceive a hatred of
the law, which I feel now. I found myself entangled in a double maze of
knavery--Garnier was my foe, and so was my own counsel. Every time I went
to plead, to spend my money amongst lawyers, and to waste the time better
given to pleasure, I felt as if I was going to execution. In this
perturbed kind of life, so contrary to my inclinations, I resolved to set
to work in earnest to make my fortune, so that I might become independent
and free to enjoy life according to my tastes. I decided in the first
place that I would cut myself free of all that bound me to Paris, make a
second journey into Holland to replenish my purse and invest my money in
a yearly income for two lives, and from thenceforth live free from care.
The two lives were those of my wife and myself; my wife would be Manon
Baletti, and when I told her my plans she would have thought them
delightful if I had begun by marrying her.
The first thing I did was to give up Little Poland. I then drew the
twenty-four thousand francs which were my surety for keeping a lottery
office in the Rue St. Denis. Thus I got rid of my ridiculous office of
lottery receiver, and after getting my clerk married I handed over the
office to him; in short, I made his fortune. A friend of his wife's was
his surety; such things often happen.
I did not like to leave Madame d'Urfe involved in a troublesome suit with
Gamier, so I went to Versailles to see the Abbe de la Ville, a great
friend of his, and begged him to induce Gamier to make a composition.
The abbe saw that his friend was in the wrong, and so was all the more
willing to help me; and a few days afterwards he wrote to me to go and
see him, assuring me that I should find him inclined to arrange matters
in a friendly manner.
Gamier was at Ruelle, where he had a house which cost him four hundred
thousand francs--a fine estate for a man who had made his money as an
army contractor during the last war. He was rich, but he was so
unfortunate as to be still fond of women at the age of seventy, while his
impotence debarred him from the proper enjoyment of their society. I
found him in company with three young ladies, all of whom were pretty,
and (as I heard afterwards) of good families; but they were poor, and
their necessities forced them to submit to a disgusting intercourse with
the old profligate. I stayed to dinner and admired the propriety and
modesty of their behaviour in spite of the humiliation which accompanies
poverty. After dinner, Gamier went to sleep, and left me to entertain
these girls whom I would willingly have rescued from their unfortunate
situation if I had been able. After Gamier woke, we went into his study
to talk over our business.
At first he maintained his claim tenaciously, and seemed unwilling to
yield an inch; but when I told him that I was leaving Paris in a few
days, he saw that as he could not keep me, Madame d'Urfe might take the
suit over and carry it on to infinity, and that he might lose it at last.
That made him think it over, and he asked me to stay in his house for the
night. The next day, after breakfast, he said,--
"I have made up my mind: I will have twenty-five thousand francs, or keep
the matter before the courts till my dying day."
I answered that he would find the sum in the hands of Madame d'Urfe's
solicitor, and that he could receive it as soon as he had given replevy
on the bail at the Fort l'Eveque.
I could not persuade Madame d'Urfe that I had acted wisely in coming to
an arrangement till I had told her that my genius had commanded me not to
leave Paris before my affairs were settled, so that no one might be able
to accuse me of having gone away to avoid creditors whose claims I could
not satisfy.
Three or four days afterwards I went to take leave of M. de Choiseul, who
promised to instruct M. d'Afri to aid me in negotiating a loan at five
per cent. either with the States-General or a private company.
"You can tell everyone," said he, "that peace is certain to be made in
the course of the winter, and I will take care that you shall have what
is due to you on your return to France."
M. de Choiseul deceived me, for he knew very well that peace would not be
made; but I had no definite project, and I repented of having given M. de
Boulogne my confidence, and also of having done anything for the
Government, the reward of which was not immediate and certain.
I sold my horses, my carriages, my furniture; I went bail for my brother
who had contracted debts he was sure of paying, as he had several
pictures on the easel which he had been ordered to paint by some of his
rich and noble patrons. I took leave of Manon, whom I left in floods of
tears, though I swore with the utmost sincerity to come back soon and
marry her.
At last all my preparations were finished, and I left Paris with a
hundred thousand francs in bills of exchange and jewels to the same
amount. I was alone in my post-chaise, Le Duc preceding me on horseback,
which the rascal preferred to being shut up in a carriage.
This Le Duc of mine was a Spaniard, aged eighteen, a sharp fellow, whom I
valued highly, especially because he did my hair better than anyone else.
I never refused him a pleasure which a little money would buy. Besides
him I had a good Swiss servant, who served as my courier.
It was the 1st of December, 1759, and the air was frosty, but I was
fortified against the inclemency of the season. I was able to read
comfortably, and I took Helvetius's "Esprit," which I had never had time
to read before. After perusing it I was equally astonished at the
sensation it created and at the stupidity of the High Court which
condemned it. Of course that exalted body was largely influenced by the
king and the clergy, and between them all no effort was spared to ruin
Helvetius, a good-hearted man with more wit than his book. I saw nothing
novel either in the historical part relating to the morals of nations (in
which Helvetius dismisses us as triflers), or in the position that
morality is dependent on the reason. All that he says has been said over
and over again, and Blaise Pascal went much farther, but he wrote more
skilfully and better in every way than Helvetius, who, wishing to remain
in France, was obliged to retract. He preferred a quiet life to his
honour and his philosophy. His wife had a nobler soul than he, as she
wanted to sell all they had, and to take refuge in Holland rather than
submit to the shame of a recantation. Perhaps Helvetius would have
followed the noble advice of his wife if he had foreseen that this
monstrous recantation would make his book into a fraud; for he had to
confess that he had written without due reflection, that he was more in
jest than earnest, and that his arguments were mere sophisms. But many
men of keen intellects had not waited for him to recant before exposing
this wretched system of his. And admitting that whatever man does is done
for his own interest, does it follow that gratitude is a folly, and
virtue and vice identical? Are a villain and a man of honour to be
weighed in the same balance? If such a dreadful system were not absurd,
virtue would be mere hypocrisy; and if by any possibility it were true,
it ought to be proscribed by general consent, since it would lead to
general ruin and corruption.
It might have been proved to Helvetius that the propositions that the
first motive is always self-interest, and that we should always consult
our own interest first, are fallacious. It is a strange thing that so
virtuous a man would not admit the existence of virtue. It is an amusing
suggestion that he only published his book out of modesty, but that would
have contradicted his own system. But if it were so, was it well done to
render himself contemptible to escape the imputation of pride? Modesty
is only a virtue when it is natural; if it is put on, or merely the
result of training, it is detestable. The great d'Alembert was the most
truly modest man I have ever seen.
When I got to Brussels, where I spent two days, I went to the "Hotel de
l'Imperatrice," and chance sent Mdlle. X. C. V. and Farsetti in my way,
but I pretended not to see them. From Brussels I went straight to the
Hague, and got out at the "Prince of Orange." On my asking the host who
sat down at his table, he told me his company consisted of general
officers of the Hanoverian army, same English ladies, and a Prince
Piccolomini and his wife; and this made me make up my mind to join this
illustrious assemblage.
I was unknown to all, and keeping my eyes about me I gave my chief
attention to the observation of the supposed Italian princess, who was
pretty enough, and more especially of her husband whom I seemed to
recognize. In the course of conversation I heard some talk of the
celebrated St. Germain, and it seemed that he was stopping in the same
hotel.
I had returned to my room, and was thinking of going to bed, when Prince
Piccolomini entered, and embraced me as an old friend.
"A look in your face," said he, "tells me that the recognition has been
mutual. I knew you directly in spite of the sixteen years that have
passed since we saw each other at Vicenza. To-morrow you can tell
everybody that we are friends, and that though I am not a prince I am
really a count; here is my passport from the King of Naples, pray read
it."
During this rapid monologue I could not get in a single word, and on
attentively scanning his features I could only recollect that I had seen
him before, but when or where or how I knew not. I opened the passport
and read the name of Ruggero di Rocco, Count Piccolomini. That was
enough; I remembered an individual of that name who was a fencing-master
in Vicenza, and on looking at him again his aspect, though much changed
left no doubt as to the identity of the swordsman and the count.
"I congratulate you," said I, "on your change of employment, your new
business is doubtless much better than the old."
"I taught fencing," he replied, "to save myself from dying of hunger, for
my father was so hard a man that he would not give me the wherewithal to
live, and I disguised my name so as not to disgrace it. On my father's
death I succeeded to the property, and at Rome I married the lady you
have seen."
"You had good taste, for she's a pretty woman."
"She is generally thought so, and it was a love match on my side."
He ended by asking me to come and see him in his room the next day, after
dinner, telling me that I should find good company and a bank at faro,
which he kept himself. He added, without ceremony, that if I liked we
could go half shares, and that I should find it profitable. I thanked
him, and promised to pay him a visit.
I went abroad at an early hour next morning, and after having spent some
time with the Jew, Boaz, and having given a polite refusal to his offer
of a bed, I went to pay my respects to M. d'Afri, who since the death of
the Princess of Orange, the Regent of the Low Countries, was generally
known as His Most Christian Majesty's ambassador. He gave me an excellent
reception, but he said that if I had returned to Holland hoping to do
business on behalf of the Government I should waste my time, since the
action of the comptroller-general had lowered the credit of the nation,
which was thought to be on the verge of bankruptcy.
"This M. Silhouette," said he, "has served the king very badly. It is all
very well to say that payments are only suspended for a year, but it is
not believed."
He then asked me if I knew a certain Comte de St. Germain, who had lately
arrived at the Hague.
"He has not called on me," said the ambassador, "though he says he is
commissioned by the king to negotiate a loan of a hundred millions. When
I am asked about him, I am obliged to say that I know nothing about him,
for fear of compromising myself. Such a reply, as you can understand, is
not likely to increase his chance of success, but that is his fault and
not mine. Why has he not brought me a letter from the Duc de Choiseul or
the Marquise de Pompadour? I take him to be an impostor, but I shall
know something more about him in the course of ten days."
I told him, in my turn, all I knew of this truly eccentric individual. He
was not a little surprised to hear that the king had given him an
apartment at Chambord, but when I told him that the count professed to be
able to make diamonds he laughed and said that in that case he would no
doubt make the hundred millions. Just as I was leaving, M. d'Afri asked
me to dine with him on the following day.
On returning to the hotel I called on the Comte de St. Germain.
"You have anticipated me," said he, on seeing me enter, "I intended to
have called on you. I suppose, my dear Casanova, that you have come to
try what you can do for our Court, but you will find your task a
difficult one, as the Exchange is highly offended at the late doings of
that fool Silhouette. All the same I hope I shall be able to get my
hundred millions. I have passed my word to my friend, Louis XV. (I may
call him so), and I can't disappoint him; the business will be done in
the next three or four weeks."
"I should think M. d'Afri might assist you."
"I do not require his assistance. Probably I shall not even call upon
him, as he might say he helped me. No, I shall have all the trouble, and
I mean to have all the glory, too."
"I presume you will be going to Court, where the Duke of Brunswick may be
of service to you?"
"Why should I go to Court? As for the Duke of Brunswick, I do not care to
know him. All I have got to do is to go to Amsterdam, where my credit is
sufficiently good for anything. I am fond of the King of France; there's
not a better man in the kingdom."
"Well, come and dine at the high table, the company is of the best and
will please you."
"You know I never eat; moreover, I never sit down at a table where I may
meet persons who are unknown to me."
"Then, my lord, farewell; we shall see each other again at Amsterdam."
I went down to the dining-roam, where, while dinner was being served, I
conversed with some officers. They asked me if I knew Prince Piccolomini,
to which I answered that he was not a prince but a count, and that it was
many years since I had seen him.
When the count and his fair wife (who only spoke Italian) came down, I
shewed them some polite attentions, and we then sat down to dinner.
EPISODE 13 -- HOLLAND AND GERMANY
CHAPTER X
Portrait of the Pretended Countess Piccolomini--Quarrel and
Duel--Esther and Her Father, M. D'O.--Esther Still Taken
with the Cabala--Piccolomini Forges a Bill of Exchange:
Results I Am Fleeced, and in Danger of Being Assassinated--
Debauch with the Two Paduan Girls--I Reveal A Great Secret
To Esther--I Bate the Rascally St. Germain; His Flight--
Manon Baletti Proves Faithless to Me; Her Letter Announcing
Her Marriage: My Despair--Esther Spends a Day With Me--
My Portrait and My Letters to Manon Get Into Esther's Hands--
I Pass a Day with Her--We Talk of Marrying Each Other
The so-called Countess Piccolomini was a fine example of the adventurers.
She was young, tall, well-made, had eyes full of fire, and skin of a
dazzling whiteness; not, however, that natural whiteness which delights
those who know the value of a satin skin and rose petals, but rather that
artificial fairness which is commonly to be seen at Rome on the faces of
courtezans, and which disgusts those who know how it is produced. She had
also splendid teeth, glorious hair as black as jet, and arched eyebrows
like ebony. To these advantages she added attractive manners, and there
was something intelligent about the way she spoke; but through all I saw
the adventuress peeping out, which made me detest her.
As she did not speak anything but Italian the countess had to play the
part of a mute at table, except where an English officer named Walpole
was concerned, who, finding her to his taste, set himself to amuse her. I
felt friendly disposed towards this Englishman, though my feelings were
certainly not the result of sympathy. If I had been blind or deaf Sir
James Walpole would have been totally indifferent to me, as what I felt
for him was the result of my observation.
Although I did not care for the countess, for all that I went up to her
room after dinner with the greater part of the guests. The count arranged
a game of whist, and Walpole played at primero with the countess, who
cheated him in a masterly manner; but though he saw it he laughed and
paid, because it suited his purpose to do so. When he had lost fifty
Louis he called quarter, and the countess asked him to take her to the
theatre. This was what the good-natured Englishman wanted; and he and the
countess went off, leaving the husband playing whist.
I, too, went to the play, and as chance would have it my neighbour in the
pit was Count Tot, brother to the count famous for his stay in
Constantinople.
We had some conversation together, and he told me he had been obliged to
leave France on account of a duel which he had had with a man who had
jested with him for not being present at the battle of Minden, saying
that he had absented himself in view of the battle. The count had proved
his courage with the sword on the other's body--a rough kind of argument
which was fashionable then as now. He told me he had no money, and I
immediately put my purse at his service; but, as the saying goes, a
kindness is never thrown away, and five years later he did the same by me
at St. Petersburg. Between the acts he happened to notice the Countess
Piccolomini, and asked me if I knew her husband. "I know him very
slightly," I answered, "but we happen to be staying at the same hotel."
"He's a regular black sheep," said the count, "and his wife's no better
than he."
It seemed that they had already won a reputation in the town.
After the play I went back to the hotel by myself, and the head-waiter
told me that Piccolomini had set out hot-foot with his servant, his only
luggage being a light portmanteau. He did not know the reason of this
sudden departure, but a minute afterwards the countess came in, and her
maid having whispered something to her she told me that the count had
gone away because he had fought a duel but that often happened. She asked
me to sup with her and Walpole, and her appetite did not seem to suffer
from the absence of her spouse.
Just as we were finishing supper, an Englishman, who had been of the
whist party, came up and told Walpole that the Italian had been caught
cheating and had given the lie to their fellow Englishman, who had
detected him, and that they had gone out together. An hour afterwards the
Englishman returned with two wounds, one on the fore-arm and one on the
shoulder. It was a trifling affair altogether.
Next day, after I had had dinner with the Comte d'Afri, I found a letter
from Piccolomini, with an enclosure addressed to the countess, waiting
for me at the inn. He begged me to give his wife the letter, which would
inform her of his plans, and then to bring her to the Ville de Lyon at
Amsterdam, where he was staying. He wanted to know how the Englishman
whom he had wounded was getting on.
The duty struck me as an amusing one, and I should have laughed with all
my heart if I had felt the least desire to profit by the confidence he
was pleased to place in me. Nevertheless I went up to the countess, whom
I found sitting up in bed playing with Walpole. She read the letter, told
me that she could not start till the day following, and informed me what
time she would go, as if it had been all settled; but I smiled
sardonically, and told her that my business kept me at the Hague, and
that I could not possibly escort her. When Walpole heard me say this he
offered to be my substitute, to which she agreed. They set out the day
following, intending to lie at Leyden.
Two days after their departure, I was sitting down to dinner with the
usual company, increased by two Frenchmen who had just come. After the
soup one of them said, coolly,
"The famous Casanova is now in Holland."
"Is he?" said the other, "I shall be glad to see him, and ask for an
explanation which he will not like."
I looked at the man, and feeling certain that I had never seen him before
I began to get enraged; but I merely asked the fellow if he knew
Casanova.
"I'll ought to know him," said he, in that self-satisfied tone which is
always so unpleasant.
"Nay, sir, you are mistaken; I am Casanova."
Without losing his self-possession, he replied, insolently,
"You are really very much mistaken if you think you are the only Casanova
in the world."
It was a sharp answer, and put me in the wrong. I bit my lips and held my
tongue, but I was grievously offended, and determined to make him find
the Casanova who was in Holland, and from whom he was going to extract an
unpleasant explanation, in myself. In the meanwhile I bore as well as I
could the poor figure he must be cutting before the officers at table,
who, after hearing the insolence of this young blockhead, might take me
for a coward. He, the insolent fellow, had no scruple in abusing the
triumph his answer had given him, and talked away in the random fashion.
At last he forgot himself so far as to ask from what country I came.
"I am a Venetian, sir," I replied.
"Ah! then you are a good friend to France, as your republic is under
French protection."
At these words my ill-temper boiled aver, and, in the tone of voice one
uses to put down a puppy, I replied that the Republic of Venice was
strong enough to do without the protection of France or of any other
power, and that during the thirteen centuries of its existence it had had
many friends and allies but no protectors. "Perhaps," I ended, "you will
reply by begging my pardon for not knowing that these was only one Venice
in the world."
I had no sooner said this than a burst of laughter from the whole table
set me right again. The young blockhead seemed taken aback and in his
turn bit his lips, but his evil genius made him, strike in again at
dessert. As usual the conversation went from one subject to another, and
we began to talk about the Duke of Albermarle. The Englishmen spoke in
his favour, and said that if he had been alive there would have been no
war between England and France; they were probably right, but even if the
duke had lived war might have broken out, as the two nations in question
have never yet succeeded in understanding that it is for both their
interests to live at peace together. Another Englishman praised Lolotte,
his mistress. I said I had seen that charming woman at the Duchess of
Fulvi's, and that no one deserved better to become the Countess of
Eronville. The Count of Eronville, a lieutenant-general and a man of
letters, had just married her.
I had scarcely finished what I had to say when Master Blockhead said,
with a laugh, that he knew Lolotte to be a good sort of girl, as he had
slept with her at Paris. I could restrain myself no longer; my
indignation and rage consumed me. I took up my plate, and made as if I
would throw it at his head, saying at the same time, "You infernal liar!"
He got up, and stood with his back to the fire, but I could see by his
sword-knot that he was a soldier.
Everybody pretended not to hear anything of this, and the conversation
went on for some time on indifferent subjects; and at last they all rose
from their seats and left the room.
My enemy said to his companion that they would see one another again
after the play, and remained by the fire, with his elbow resting on the
chimney-piece. I remained at table till the company had all left the
room, and when we were alone together I got up and looked him straight in
the face, and went out, walking towards Sheveningue, sure that he would
follow me if he were a man of any mettle. When I had got to some distance
from the hotel I looked round, and saw that he was following me at a
distance of fifty paces.
When I got to the wood I stopped at a suitable place, and stood awaiting
my antagonist. He was ten paces off when he drew his sword, and I had
plenty of time to draw mine though he came on fast. The fight did not
last long, for as soon as he was near enough I gave him a thrust which
has never failed me, and sent him back quicker than he came. He was
wounded in the chest above the right breast, but as my sword was flat and
the opening large enough the wound bled easily. I lowered my sword and
ran up to him, but I could do nothing; he said that we should meet again
at Amsterdam, if I was going there, and that he would have his revenge. I
saw him again five or six years afterwards at Warsaw, and then I did him
a kindness. I heard afterwards that his name was Varnier, but I do not
know whether he was identical with the president of the National
Convention under the infamous Robespierre.
I did not return to the hotel till after the play, and I then heard that
the Frenchman, after having the surgeon with him for an hour, had set out
for Rotterdam with his friend. We had a pleasant supper and talked
cheerfully together without a word being said about the duel, with the
exception that an English lady said, I forget in what connection, that a
man of honour should never risk sitting down to dinner at an hotel unless
he felt inclined, if necessary, to fight. The remark was very true at
that time, when one had to draw the sword for an idle word, and to expose
one's self to the consequences of a duel, or else be pointed at, even by
the ladies, with the finger of scorn.
I had nothing more to keep me at the Hague, and I set out next morning
before day-break for Amsterdam. On the way I stopped for dinner and
recognized Sir James Walpole, who told me that he had started from
Amsterdam the evening before, an hour after giving the countess into her
husband's charge. He said that he had got very tired of her, as he had
nothing more to get from a woman who gave more than one asked, if one's
purse-strings were opened wide enough. I got to Amsterdam about midnight
and took up my abode at "The Old Bible." The neighbourhood of Esther had
awakened my love for that charming girl, and I was so impatient to see
her that I could not sleep.
I went out about ten o'clock and called on M. d'O, who welcomed me in the
friendliest manner and reproached me for not having alighted at his
house. When he heard that I had given up business he congratulated me on
not having removed it into Holland, as I should have been ruined. I did
not tell him that I had nearly come to that in France, as I considered
such a piece of information would not assist my designs. He complained
bitterly of the bad faith of the French Government, which had involved
him in considerable losses; and then he asked me to come and see Esther.
I was too impatient to embrace her to stay to be asked twice; I ran to
greet her. As soon as she saw me she gave a cry of surprise and delight,
and threw herself in my arms, where I received her with fondness equal to
her own. I found her grown and improved; she looked lovely. We had
scarcely sat down when she told me that she had become as skilled in the
cabala as myself.
"It makes my life happy," said she, "for it gives me a power over my
father, and assures me that he will never marry me to anyone but the man
of my choice."
"I am delighted that you extract the only good that can proceed from this
idle science, namely, the power to guide persons devoid of strength of
will. But your father must think that I taught you the secret?"
"Yes, he does; and he said, one day, that he would forgive me any
sacrifices I might have made to obtain this precious secret from you."
"He goes a little further than we did, my dearest Esther."
"Yes, and I told him that I had gained it from you without any sacrifice,
and that now I was a true Pythoness without having to endure the torments
of the tripod; and I am sure that the replies you gave were invented by
yourself."
"But if that were so how could I have known where the pocket-book was, or
whether the ship was safe?"
"You saw the portfolio yourself and threw it where it was discovered, and
as for the vessel you spoke at random; but as you are an honest man,
confess that you were afraid of the results. I am never so bold as that,
and when my father asks me questions of that kind, my replies are more
obscure than a sibyl's. I don't wish him to lose confidence in my oracle,
nor do I wish him to be able to reproach me with a loss that would injure
my own interests."
"If your mistake makes you happy I shall leave you in it. You are really
a woman of extraordinary talents--, you are quite unique."
"I don't want your compliments," said she, in a rather vexed manner, "I
want a sincere avowal of the truth."
"I don't think I can go as far as that."
At these words, which I pronounced in a serious way, Esther went into a
reverie, but I was not going to lose the superiority I had over her, and
racked my brains to find some convincing prediction the oracle might make
to her, and while I was doing so dinner was announced.
There were four of us at table, and I concluded that the fourth of the
party must be in love with Esther, as he kept his eyes on her the whole
time. He was her father's favourite clerk, and no doubt her father would
have been glad if she had fallen in love with him, but I soon saw that
she was not likely to do so. Esther was silent all through dinner, and we
did not mention the cabala till the clerk was gone.
"Is it possible," said M. d'O, "for my daughter to obtain the answers of
the oracle without your having taught her?"
"I always thought such a thing impossible till to-day," I answered, "but
Esther has convinced me that I was mistaken. I can teach the secret to no
one without losing it myself, for the oath I swore to the sage who taught
me forbids me to impart it to another under pain of forfeiture. But as
your daughter has taken no such oath, having acquired it herself, she may
be for all I know at perfect liberty to communicate the secret to
anyone."
Esther, who was as keen as a razor, took care to say that the same oath
that I had taken had been imposed on her by the oracle, and that she
could not communicate the cabalistic secret to anyone without the
permission of her genius, under pain of losing it herself.
I read her inmost thoughts, and was rejoiced to see that her mind was
calmed. She had reason to be grateful to me, whether I had lied or not,
for I had given her a power over her father which a father's kindness
could not have assured; but she perceived that what I had said about her
oracular abilities had been dictated merely by politeness, and she waited
till we were alone to make me confess as much.
Her worthy father, who believed entirely in the infallibility of our
oracles, had the curiosity to put the same question to both of us, to see
if we should agree in the answer. Esther was delighted with the idea, as
she suspected that the one answer would flatly contradict the other, and
M. d'O having written his question on two sheets of paper gave them to
us. Esther went up to her own room for the operation, and I questioned
the oracle on the table at which we had had dinner, in the presence of
the father. Esther was quick, as she came down before I had extracted
from the pyramid the letters which were to compose my reply, but as I
knew what to say as soon as I saw her father read the answer she gave him
I was not long in finishing what I had to do.
M. d'O---- asked if he should try to get rid of the French securities he
held in spite of the loss he would incur by selling out.
Esther's oracle replied,
"You must sow plentifully before you reap. Pluck not up the vine before
the season of the vintage, for your vine is planted in a fruitful soil."
Mine ran as follows:--
"If you sell out you will repent, for there will be a new
comptroller-general, who will pay all claims before another year has
elapsed."
Esther's answer was conceived in the sibylline style, and I admired the
readiness of her wit; but mine went right to the point, and the worthy
man embraced us joyfully, and, taking his hat and stick, said that since
our replies agreed he would run the risk of losing three million francs
and make a profit of five or six hundred thousand in the course of the
year. His daughter began to recant, and would have warned him against the
danger, but he, who was as firm as a Mussulman, kissed her again, saying,
"The oracle is not wont to lie, and even if it does deceive me this time
it will only be a fourth part of my fortune that I shall lose."
When Esther and I were alone I began to compliment her, much to her
delight, on the cleverness of her answer, the elegance of her style, and
her boldness, for she could not be as well acquainted with French affairs
as I was.
"I am much obliged to you," said she, "for having confirmed my reply, but
confess that you lied to please me."
"I confess, since that will please you, and I will even tell you that you
have nothing more to learn."
"You are a cruel man! But how could you reply that there would be another
comptroller-general in a year's time, and run the risk of compromising
the oracle? I never dare to say things like that; I love the oracle too
well to expose it to shame and confusion."
"That shews that I do not invent the answers; but since the oracle has
pronounced it I am willing to bet that Silhouette will be dismissed."
"Your obstinacy drives me to despair, for I shall not rest till I know
that I am as much a master of the cabala as you are, and yet you will not
confess that you invent the answers yourself. For charity's sake do
something to convince me of the contrary."
"I will think it over."
I passed the whole day with this delightful girl, whose amiable
disposition and great wealth would have made me a happy man if it were
not for my master-passion, the love of independence, and my aversion to
make up my mind to live for the rest of my days in Holland.
In the course of my life I have often observed that the happiest hours
are often the heralds of misfortune. The very next day my evil genius
took me to the Ville de Lyon. This was the inn where Piccolomini and his
wife were staying, and I found them there in the midst of a horde of
cheats and sharpers, like themselves. As soon as the good people heard my
name they rushed forward, some to greet me, and others to have a closer
look at me, as if I were some strange wild beast. Amongst those present
were a Chevalier de Sabi, who wore the uniform of a Polish major, and
protested he had known me at Dresden; a Baron de Wiedan, claiming Bohemia
as his fatherland, who greeted me by saying that his friend the Comte St.
Germain had arrived at the Etoile d'Orient, and had been enquiring after
me; an attenuated-looking bravo who was introduced to me as the Chevalier
de la Perine, whom I recognized at the first glance as the fellow called
Talvis, who had robbed the Prince-Bishop of Presburg, who had lent me a
hundred Louis the same day, and with whom I had fought a duel at Paris.
Finally, there was an Italian named Neri, who looked like a blacksmith
minus his honesty, and said that he remembered seeing me one evening at
the casino. I recollected having seen him at the place where I met the
wretched Lucie.
In the midst of this band of cut-purses I saw the so-called wife of the
pretended Chevalier de Sabi, a pretty woman from Saxony, who, speaking
Italian indifferently well, was paying her addresses to the Countess
Piccolomini.
I bit my lips with anger to find myself in such honourable company, but
putting a good face on a bad game I greeted everybody politely, and then
drawing a roll of a hundred Louis from my pocket I presented them to
Master Perine Talvis, telling him I was glad to be able to return them to
him with my best thanks.
My politeness did not meet with much of a reception, for the impudent
scoundrel answered me, as he pocketed the money, that he remembered
having lent it me at Presburg, but he also remembered a more important
matter.
"And pray what is that?" said I, in a dry and half-disdainful tone.
"You owe me a revenge at the sword's point, as you know right well. Here
is the mark of the gash you gave me seven years ago."
So saying, the wretched little man opened his shirt and shewed the small
round scar. This scene, which belonged more to farce than comedy, seemed
to have struck all tongues with paralysis.
"Anywhere else than in Holland, where important and delicate business
debars me from fighting, I shall be glad to meet you and mark you again,
if you still desire to cross swords with me; but while I am here I must
beg you not to disturb me. All the same, you may as well know that I
never go out without a couple of friends in my pockets, and that if you
attack me I shall blow your brains out in self-defence."
"My revenge must be with crossed swords," said he. "However, I will let
you finish your business."
"You will do wisely."
Piccolomini, who had been casting a hungry eye upon my hundred louis,
proposed immediately afterwards a bank at faro, and began to deal.
Prudence would have restrained me from playing in such company, but the
dictates of prudence were overcome by my desire to get back the hundred
louis which I had given Talvis, so I cut in. I had a run of bad luck and
lost a hundred ducats, but, as usual, my loss only excited me. I wished
to regain what I had lost, so I stayed to supper, and afterwards, with
better luck, won back my money. I was content to stop at this, and to let
the money I had paid to Talvis go, so I asked Piccolomini to pay me,
which he did with a bill of exchange on an Amsterdam bank drawn by a firm
in Middlesburg. At first I made some difficulty in taking it, on the
pretext that it would be difficult to negotiate, but he promised to let
me have the money next day, and I had to give in.
I made haste to leave this cut-throat place, after refusing to lend
Talvis a hundred Louis, which he wanted to borrow of me on the strength
of the revenge I owed him. He was in a bad humour, both on this account
and because he had lost the hundred Louis I had paid him, and he allowed
himself to use abusive language, which I treated with contempt. I went to
bed, promising myself never to set foot in such a place again.
The next morning, however, I went out with the intention of calling on
Piccolomini to get the bill of exchange cashed, but on my way I happened
to go into a coffee-house and to meet Rigerboos, Therese's friend, whose
acquaintance the reader has already made. After greeting each other, and
talking about Therese, who was now in London and doing well, I skewed him
my bill, telling him the circumstances under which I had it. He looked at
it closely, and said,
"It's a forgery, and the original from which it was copied was honoured
yesterday."
He saw that I could scarcely believe it, and told me to come with him to
be convinced of the truth of what he said.
He took me to a merchant of his acquaintance, who skewed me the genuine
bill, which he had cashed the day before for an individual who was
unknown to him. In my indignation I begged Rigerboos to come with me to
Piccolomini, telling him that he might cash it without remark, and that
otherwise he would witness what happened.
We arrived at the count's and were politely received, the count asking me
to give him the bill and he would send it to the bank to be cashed, but
Rigerboos broke in by saying that it would be dishonoured, as it was a
mere copy of a bill which had been cashed the evening before.
Piccolomini pretended to be greatly astonished, and said that, "though he
could not believe it, he would look into the matter."
"You may look into it when you please," said I, "but in the mean time I
should be obliged by your giving me five hundred florins."
"You know me, sir," said he, raising his voice, "I guarantee to pay you,
and that ought to be enough."
"No doubt it would be enough, if I chose; but I want my money."
At this his wife came in and began to take her part in the dispute, and
on the arrival of the count's man, a very cut-threat, Rigerboos took hold
of me by the arm and drew me forcibly away. "Follow me," said he, when we
were outside, "and let me see to this business myself." He took me to a
fine-looking man, who turned out to be the lieutenant of police, and
after he had heard the case he told me to give him the bill of exchange
and to say where I was going to dine. I told him I should be at M. d'O
's, and saying that would do he went off. I thanked Rigerboos, and went
to Esther, who reproached me tenderly for not having been to see her the
evening before. That flattered me, and I thought her a really charming
girl.
"I must take care," said I, "not to see you every day, for your eyes have
a sway over me that I shall not be able to resist much longer."
"I shall believe as much of that as I choose, but, by-the-by, have you
thought of any way of convincing me?"
"What do you want to be convinced about?"
"If it be true that there is in your cabala an intelligence distinct from
your own you ought to be able to find some way of proving it to me."
"That is a happy thought; I will think it over."
At that moment her father came in from the Exchange, and we sat dawn to
dinner.
We were at dessert when a police official brought me five hundred
florins, for which I gave him a receipt.
When he had gone I told my entertainers what had happened the evening
before and in the morning, and the fair Esther reproached me for
preferring such bad company to her. "By way of punishment," said she, "I
hope you will come with me to the theatre this evening, though they are
going to give a Dutch play, of which you will not understand a word."
"I shall be near you, and that is enough for me:"
In fact, I did not comprehend a word of the actors' gibberish, and was
terribly bored, as Esther preserved a solemn and serious silence the
whole time.
As we were coming from the theatre she told me all about the piece with
charming grace and wonderful memory; she seemed to wish to give me some
pleasure in return for the tedium to which she had condemned me. When we
got home we had supper, and that evening, Heaven be thanked! I heard
nothing more about the cabala. Before we parted, Esther and her father
made me promise to dine with them every day, and to let them know if
anything prevented my coming.
Next morning, about eight o'clock, while I was still dressing, I suddenly
saw Piccolomini standing before me, and as he had not sent in his name I
began to feel suspicious. I rang the bell for my faithful Spaniard, who
came in directly.
"I want to speak to you privately," said he, "tell that fellow to go
out."
"He can stay," I answered, "he does not know a word of Italian." Le Duc,
of course, knew Italian perfectly well.
"Yesterday, about noon," he began, "two men came into my room. They were
accompanied by the innkeeper, who served as interpreter. One of the men
asked me if I felt inclined to cash there and then a forged bill of
exchange, which I had given the night before, and which he held in his
hands. As I gave no reply, he told me that there was no time for
consideration or argument; I must say yes or no there and then, for such
were their instructions from the chief of police. I had no choice in the
matter, so I paid the five hundred florins, but I did not get back the
bill, and the man told me I could not have it unless I told the police
the name of the person from whom I got it, as, in the interests of
commerce, the forger must be prosecuted. My reply was that I could not
possibly tell them what they wanted, as I had got it of a stranger who
had come into my room while I was holding a small bank of faro, to pass
the time.
"I told him that after this person (who I had thought introduced by
someone in the company) had gone, I found to my surprise that nobody knew
him; and I added that if I had been aware of this I would not only have
refused the bill but would not have allowed him to play. Thereupon the
second policeman said that I had better find out who this person was, or
else I should be considered as the forger and prosecuted accordingly;
after this threat they went out.
"In the afternoon my wife called on the chief of police and was politely
received, but after hearing what she had to say he informed her that she
must find out the forger, since M. Casanova's honour might be endangered
by the banker taking proceedings against him, in which case he would have
to prosecute me.
"You see in what a difficult position we are placed, and I think you
ought to try to help us. You have got your money and you are not without
friends. Get their influence exerted in the matter, and we shall hear no
more about it. Your interests as well as mine are concerned."
"Except as a witness of the fact," I answered, "I can have nothing to do
with this affair. You agree that I received the bill from you, since you
cashed it; that is enough for me. I should be glad to be of service to
you, but I really don't see what I can do. The best advice I can give you
is to make a sacrifice of the rascally sharper who gave you the forged
bill, and if you can't do that I would counsel you to disappear, and the
sooner the better, or else you may come to the galleys, or worse."
He got into a rage at this, and turning his back on me went out, saying I
should be sorry for what I had said.
My Spaniard followed him down the stair and came back to tell me that the
signor had gone off threatening vengeance, and that, in his opinion, I
would do well to be on my guard.
"All right," said I, "say no more about it."
All the same I was really very grateful for his advice, and I gave the
matter a good deal of thought.
I dressed myself and went to see Esther, whom I had to convince of the
divinity of my oracle, a different task with one whose own wits had told
her so much concerning my methods. This was the problem she gave me to
solve,
"Your oracle must tell me something which I, and only I, know."
Feeling that it would be impossible to fulfil these conditions, I told
her that the oracle might reveal some secret she might not care to have
disclosed.
"That is impossible," she answered, "as the secret will be known only to
myself."
"But, if the oracle replies I shall know the answer as well as you, and
it may be something you would not like me to know."
"There is no such thing, and, even if there were, if the oracle is not
your own brain you can always find out anything you want to know."
"But there is some limit to the powers of the oracle."
"You are making idle excuses; either prove that I am mistaken in my ideas
or acknowledge that my oracle is as good as yours."
This was pushing me hard, and I was on the point of declaring myself
conquered when a bright idea struck me.
In the midst of the dimple which added such a charm to her chin Esther
had a little dark mole, garnished with three or four extremely fine
hairs. These moles, which we call in Italian 'neo, nei', and which are
usually an improvement to the prettiest face, when they occur on the
face, the neck, the arms, or the hands, are duplicated on the
corresponding parts of the body. I concluded, therefore, that Esther had
a mole like that on her chin in a certain place which a virtuous girl
does not shew; and innocent as she was I suspected that she herself did
not know of this second mole's existence. "I shall astonish her," I said
to myself, "and establish my superiority in a manner which will put the
idea of having equal skill to mine out of her head for good." Then with
the solemn and far-away look of a seer I made my pyramid and extracted
these words from it,
"Fair and discreet Esther, no one knows that at the entrance of the
temple of love you have a mole precisely like that which appears on your
chin."
While I was working at my calculations, Esther was leaning over me and
following every movement. As she really knew as much about the cabala as
I did she did not want it to be explained to her, but translated the
numbers into letters as I wrote them down. As soon as I had extracted all
the combinations of numbers from the pyramid she said, quietly, that as I
did not want to know the answer, she would be much obliged if I would let
her translate the cypher.
"With pleasure," I replied. "And I shall do so all the more willingly as
I shall thereby save your delicacy from sharing with me a secret which
may or may not be agreeable. I promise you not to try to find it out. It
is enough for me to see you convinced."
"I shall be convinced when I have verified the truth of the reply."
"Are you persuaded, dearest Esther, that I have had nothing to do with
framing this answer?"
"I shall be quite sure of it if it has spoken the truth, and if so the
oracle will have conquered, for the matter is so secret a one that even I
do not know of it. You need not know yourself, as it is only a trifle
which would not interest you; but it will be enough to convince me that
the answers of your oracle are dictated by an intelligence which has
nothing in common with yours."
There was so much candour and frankness in what she said that a feeling
of shame replaced the desire of deceiving her, and I shed some tears,
which Esther could only interpret favourably to me. Nevertheless, they
were tears of remorse, and now, as I write after such a lapse of years, I
still regret having deceived one so worthy of my esteem and love. Even
then I reproached myself, but a pitiable feeling of shame would not let
me tell the truth; but I hated myself for thus leading astray one whose
esteem I desired to gain.
In the mean time I was not absolutely sure that I had hit the mark, for
in nature, like everything else, every law has its exceptions, and I
might possibly have dug a pitfall for myself. On the other hand, if I
were right, Esther would no doubt be convinced for the moment, but her
belief would speedily disappear if she chanced to discover that the
correspondence of moles on the human body was a necessary law of nature.
In that case I could only anticipate her scorn. But however I might
tremble I had carried the deception too far, and could not draw back.
I left Esther to call on Rigerboos, whom I thanked for his offices on my
behalf with the chief of the police. He told me that I had nothing to
fear from Piccolomini in Holland, but all the same he advised me not to
go about without pistols. "I am on the eve of embarking for Batavia,"
said he, "in a vessel which I have laden with the ruins of my fortune. In
the state my affairs are in I thought this the best plan. I have not
insured the cargo, so as not diminish my profits, which will be
considerable if I succeed. If the ship is taken or wrecked I shall take
care not to survive its loss; and after all I shall not lose much."
Poor Riberboos said all this as if he were jesting, but despair had no
doubt a good deal to do with his resolve, since it is only in great
misery that we despise both life and fortune. The charming Therese
Trenti, whom Rigerboos always spoke of as Our Lady, had contributed to
his ruin in no small degree. She was then in London, where, by her own
account, she was doing well. She had exchanged the name of Trenti for
that of Cornelis, or Cornely, which, as I found out afterwards, was
Rigerboo's real name. We spent an hour in writing to this curious woman,
as we desired to take advantage of the circumstance that a man whom
Rigerboos desired to commend to her was shortly going to England. When we
had finished we went sleighing on the Amstel, which had been frozen over
for several days. This diversion, of which the Dutch are very fond, is,
to my thinking, the dullest imaginable, for an objectless journey is no
pleasure to me. After we were well frozen we went to eat oysters, with
Sillery, to warm ourselves again, and after that we went from one casino
to another, not intending to commit any debauchery, but for want of
something better to do; but it seemed decreed that whenever I preferred
any amusement of this kind to the charms of Esther's society I should
come to grief.
I do not know how it happened, but as we were going into one of these
casinos Rigerboos called me loudly by my name, and at that instant a
woman, such as one usually finds in these places, came forward and began
to gaze at me. Although the room was ill enough lighted I saw it was the
wretched Lucie, whom I had met a year before without her recognizing me.
I turned away, pretending not to know her, for the sight of her was
disagreeable to me, but in a sad voice she called me by my name,
congratulating me on my prosperity and bewailing her own wretchedness. I
saw that I could neither avoid her nor repulse her without inhumanity, so
I called to Rigerboos to come upstairs and the girl would divert us by
recounting the history of her life.
Strictly speaking, Lucie had not become ugly; one could still see that
she had been a beautiful woman; but for all that her appearance inspired
me with terror and disgust. Since the days when I had known her at
Pasean, nineteen years of misery, profligacy, and shame had made her the
most debased, the vilest creature that can be imagined. She told us her
story at great length; the pith of it might be expressed in six lines.
The footman who had seduced her had taken her to Trieste to lie in, and
the scoundrel lived on the sale of her charms for five or six months, and
then a sea captain, who had taken a fancy to her, took her to Zante with
the footman, who passed for her husband.
At Zante the footman turned soldier, and deserted the army four years
after. She was left alone and continued living on the wages of
prostitution for six years; but the goods she had to offer lowering in
value, and her customers being of the inferior kind, she set out for
England with a young Greek girl, whom an English officer of marines
treated as his wife, and whom he abandoned in the streets of London when
he got tired of her. After living for two or three years in the vilest
haunts in London, Lucie came to Holland, where, not being able to sell
her own person any longer, she became a procuress--a natural ending to
her career. Lucie was only thirty-three, but she was the wreck of a
woman, and women are always as old as they look.
While she told her history she emptied two bottles of Burgundy I had
ordered, and which neither I nor my friend touched. Finally, she told us
she was now supported by two pretty girls whom she kept, and who had to
give her the half of what they got.
Rigerboos asked her, jokingly, if the girls were at the casino.
"No," said she, "they are not here, and shall never come here, for they
are ladies of high birth, and their uncle, who looks after their
interests, is a Venetian gentleman."
At this I could not keep back my laughter, but Lucie, without losing
countenance, told me that she could only repeat the account they had
given of themselves, that if we wanted to be convinced we had only to go
and see them at a house she rented fifty paces off, and that we need not
be afraid of being disturbed if we went, as their uncle lived in a
different part of the town.
"Oh, indeed!" said I, "he does not live with his highborn nieces, then?"
"No, he only comes to dinner to hear how business has been going, and to
take all the money from them."
"Come along," said Rigerboos, "we will go and see them."
As I was desirous of seeing and addressing the noble Venetian ladies of
so honourable a profession, I told Lucie to take us to the house. I knew
very well that the girls were impostors, and their gentleman-uncle a
blackguard; but the die was cast.
We found them to be young and pretty. Lucie introduced me as a Venetian,
and they were beside themselves with joy to have someone to whom they
could talk. I found out directly that they came from Padua, not Venice,
as they spoke the Paduan dialect, which I knew very well. I told them so,
and they confessed it was the truth. I asked the name of their uncle, but
they said they could not tell me.
"We can get on without knowing," said Rigerboos, catching hold of the one
he liked best. Lucie brought in some ham, oysters, a pie, and a good many
bottles of wine, and then left us.
I was not in the humour for wantonness, but Rigerboos was disposed to be
merry; his sweetheart was at first inclined to be prudish on his taking
liberties with her, but as I began to follow his example the ladies
relaxed their severity; we went first to one and then the other, and
before long they were both in the state of Eve before she used the
fig-leaf.
After passing an hour in these lascivious combats we gave each of the
girls four ducats, paid for the provisions we had consumed, and sent six
Louis to Lucie. We then left them, I going to bed cross with myself for
having engaged in such brutal pleasures.
Next morning I awoke late and in a bad humour, partly from the debauch of
the night before (for profligacy depresses as well as degrades the mind)
and partly from the thought that I had neglected Esther, who had
unquestionably been grieved by my absence. I felt that I must hasten to
reassure her, feeling certain that I should find some excuses to make,
and that they would be well received. I rang for Le Duc, put on my
dressing-gown, and sent him for my coffee. He had scarcely left the room
when the door opened and I saw Perine and the fellow named Wiedan, whom I
had seen at Piccolomini's, and who styled himself a friend of St.
Germain. I was sitting on my bed, putting on my stockings. My apartments
consisted of three fine rooms, but they were at the back of the house,
and all the noise I could have made would not have been heard. The bell
was on the other side of the room; Le Duc would be gone fully ten
minutes, and I was in imminent danger of being assassinated without the
possibility of self-defence.
The above thoughts flashed through my head with lightning speed, and all
that I could do was to keep calm and say,
"Well, gentlemen, what can I do for you?" Wiedan took upon himself to
answer me.
"Count Piccolomini has found himself forced to declare that he received
the forged bill from us, in order that he may escape from the difficult
position in which your denunciation placed him. He has warned us that he
is going to do so, and we must escape forthwith if we want to avoid
prosecution. We have not a penny; we are desperate men."
"Well, gentlemen, what have I to do with that?"
"Give us four hundred florins immediately; we do not want more, but we
must have that much, and now. If you refuse we will take to flight with
everything of yours that we can lay our hands on; and our arguments are
these."
With this, each man drew a pistol from his pocket and aimed it at my
head.
"You need not have recourse to violence," said I, "it can only be fatal
to you. Stay, here are a hundred ducats more than you asked. Begone, and
I wish you a pleasant journey, but I would not be here when my servant
comes back if I were you."
Wiedan took the roll of money with a trembling hand and put it in his
pocket without examining it; but Perine came up, and praising my noble
generosity, would have put his arms around my neck and kissed me. I
repulsed him, but without rudeness, and they went their ways, leaving me
very glad to have rid myself of them at so cheap a rate.
As soon as I was out of this snare I rang my bell, not to have them
followed but that I might get dressed as quickly as possible. I did not
say a word to Le Duc about what had happened, I was silent even to my
landlord; and, after I had sent my Spaniard to M. d'O to excuse my dining
there that day, I went to the chief of police, but had to wait two hours
before I could see him. As soon as the worthy man had heard my account of
my misfortune he said he would do his best to catch the two rascals, but
he did not conceal from me his fears that it was already too late.
I took the opportunity of telling him of Piccolomini's visit to me, his
claims and threats. He thanked me for doing so, and promised to see to
it; but he advised me for the future to be on my guard and ready to
defend myself in case I was attacked before he could place my enemies in
a place where they could do me no harm.
I hastened home again, as I felt ill. An acid taste in my mouth skewed me
how all these shocks had upset me; but I knew what to do. I took a strong
glass of lemonade, which made me bring up a good deal of bile, and I then
felt much better.
Towards evening I went to see Esther, and found her looking serious and
rather vexed; but as soon as she saw how pale I was her face lighted up,
and she asked me, in a voice of tenderest interest, if I had been ill. I
told her I had been out of sorts, that I had taken some medicine, and
that I now felt better.
"You will see my appetite at supper," added I, to calm her fears, "I have
had nothing to eat since dinner yesterday."
This was really the truth, as I had only eaten a few oysters with the
Paduan girls.
She could scarcely contain her joy at my recovery, and bade me kiss her,
with which request I complied gladly, all unworthy though I felt of so
great a favour.
"I am going to tell you an important piece of news," said she, "and that
is that I am sure that you do not invent the answers to your oracle, or
at least that you only do so when you choose. The reply you procured me
was wonderful-nay, divine, for it told me of a secret unknown to all,
even to myself. You may imagine my surprise when I convinced myself, with
no little trouble of the truth of the answer.
"You possess a treasure, your oracle is infallible; but surely it can
never lie, and my oracle tells me that you love me. It makes me glad to
know that, for you are the man of my heart. But I want you to give me an
exemplary proof of your love, and if you do love me you will not hesitate
to do so. Stay, read the reply you got me; I am sure you do not know what
it says; then I will tell you how you can make me quite happy."
I pretended to read, and kissed the words which declared I loved her. "I
am delighted," said I, "that the oracle has convinced you so easily, but
I must be excused if I say that I believe you knew as much long ago." She
replied, blushing, that if it were possible to chew me the object in
question I should not wonder at her ignorance. Then, coming to the proof
of my love, she told me that she wanted me to communicate the secret to
her. "You love me," said she, "and you ought to make no difficulty in
assuring the bliss of a girl who will be your wife, and in your power. My
father will agree to our marriage, and when I become your wife I will do
whatever you please. We will even go and live in another country if that
would add to your happiness. But you must teach me how to obtain the
answer to any question without inventing it myself."
I took Esther's hands in mine; she inspired me with the tenderest
feelings, and I kissed her hands with respectful fervour, saying, "You
know, Esther, dear, that my word is passed at Paris. Certainly, Manon is
not to be compared to you; but for all that I gave my promise to her poor
mother, and I must keep it."
A sigh escaped from Esther, and her head fell upon her breast: but what
could I do? I could not teach her any other way of consulting the oracle
than the method she understood as well as I: my superiority over her only
consisting in my greater craft and more extensive experience.
Early one morning, two or three days later, a man was announced as
wanting to see me. He called himself an officer, but his name was
perfectly unknown to me. I sent down to say that I could not see him, and
as soon as my Spaniard went out I locked my door. What had happened
already had made me suspicious, and I did not care to see any more
gentlemen alone. The two scoundrels who had robbed me had eluded all the
snares of the police, and Piccolomini was not to be found; but I knew a
good many of the gang were still in Amsterdam, and I thought it well to
be on my guard.
Some time after, Le Duc came in with a letter written in bad Italian,
saying that it had been given him by an officer who was waiting for an
answer. I opened it, and recognized the name I had heard a short while
ago. The writer said we knew each other, but that he could only give his
true name with his own lips, and that he had important information to
give me.
I told Le Duc to shew him in, and to stay by the door. I saw enter a
well-made man of about forty, dressed in the uniform of an officer of I
do not know what army, and bearing on his countenance all the marks of an
escaped gallows'-bird.
"What can I do for you, sir?" said I, as soon as he entered.
"Sir, we knew each other at Cerigo, sixteen or seventeen years ago, and I
am delighted to have an opportunity of renewing the acquaintance."
I knew that I had spent but a few minutes at Cerigo, on my way to
Constantinople, and concluded that my visitor must be one of the
unfortunate wretches to whom I gave alms.
"Are you the man," I said, "who told me that you were the son of a Count
Peccini, of Padua, although there is no such count in Padua at all?"
"I congratulate you on your excellent memory," said he, coolly, "I am
that very individual."
"Well, what do you want with me now?"
"I can't divulge my business in the presence of your servant."
"My servant does not understand Italian, so you can speak out; however,
if you like, I will send him away."
I ordered Le Duc to stay in the ante-chamber, and when he had left the
room my Paduan count told me that I had been with his nieces, and had
treated them as if they were courtezans, and that he was come to demand
satisfaction.
I was tired of being cheated, and I took hold of my pistols and pointed
them at him, bidding him be gone instantly. Le Duc came in and the third
robber took himself off, muttering that "a time would come."
I was placed in a disagreeable position; if I wanted to prosecute, I
should have to tell the whole story to the police. I thought of my honour
and determined to be silent, and the only person to whom I mentioned the
matter was Rigerboos, who not being in the same position as myself took
his measures, the result of which was that Lucie had to send her
high-born dames about their business. But the wretched woman came to me
to say that this misfortune had plunged her into the deepest distress, so
I made her a present of a few ducats, and she went away somewhat
consoled. I begged her not to call on me again.
Everything I did when I was away from Esther seemed to turn out ill, and
I felt that if I wanted to be happy I should do well to keep near her;
but my destiny, or rather my inconstancy, drew me away.
Three days afterwards, the villainous Major Sabi called on me to warn me
to be on my guard, as, according to his account, a Venetian officer I had
insulted and refused to give satisfaction to had vowed vengeance against
me.
"Then," said I, "I shall have him arrested as an escaped galley slave, in
which character I have given him alms, and for wearing without the right
to do so the uniform of an officer, thereby disgracing the whole army.
And pray what outrage can I have committed against girls who live in a
brothel, and whom I have paid according to their deserts?"
"If what you say is true you are quite right, but this poor devil is in a
desperate situation; he wants to leave the country, and does not possess
a single florin. I advise you to give him an alms once more, and you will
have done with him. Two score florins will not make you any the poorer,
and will rid you of a villainous enemy."
"A most villainous one, I think." At last I agreed to give him the forty
florins, and I handed them to him in a coffee-house where the major told
me I should find him. The reader will see how I met this blackguard four
months later.
Now, when all these troubles have been long over and I can think over
them calmly, reflecting on the annoyances I experienced at Amsterdam,
where I might have been so happy, I am forced to admit that we ourselves
are the authors of almost all our woes and griefs, of which we so
unreasonably complain. If I could live my life over again, should I be
wiser? Perhaps; but then I should not be myself.
M. d'O---- asked me to sup with him at the Burgomasters' Lodge, and this
was a great distinction, for, contrary to the rules of Freemasonry, no
one but the twenty-four members who compose the lodge is admitted, and
these twenty-four masons were the richest men on the Exchange.
"I have told them that you are coming," said M. d'O----, "and to welcome
you more honourably the lodge will be opened in French." In short, these
gentlemen gave me the most distinguished reception, and I had the fortune
to make myself so agreeable to them that I was unanimously chosen an
honorary member during the time I should stay at Amsterdam. As we were
going away, M. d'O---- told me that I had supped with a company which
represented a capital of three hundred millions.
Next day the worthy Dutchman begged me to oblige him by answering a
question to which his daughter's oracle had replied in a very obscure
manner. Esther encouraged me, and I asked what the question was. It ran
as follows:
"I wish to know whether the individual who desires me and my company to
transact a matter of the greatest importance is really a friend of the
King of France?"
It was not difficult for me to divine that the Comte de St. Germain was
meant. M. d'O was not aware that I knew him, and I had not forgotten what
M. d'Afri had told me.
"Here's a fine opportunity," thought I, "for covering my oracle with
glory, and giving my fair Esther something to think about."
I set to work, and after erecting my pyramid and placing above the four
keys the letters O, S, A, D, the better to impose on Esther, I extracted
the reply, beginning with the fourth key, D. The oracle ran as follows:
"The friend disavows. The order is signed. They grant. They refuse. All
vanishes. Delay."
I pretended to think the reply a very obscure one, but Esther gave a cry
of astonishment and declared that it gave a lot of information in an
extraordinary style. M. d'O----, in an ecstasy of delight, exclaimed,
"The reply is clear enough for me. The oracle is divine; the word 'delay'
is addressed to me. You and my daughter are clever enough in making the
oracle speak, but I am more skilled than you in the interpretation
thereof. I shall prevent the thing going any further. The project is no
less a one than to lend a hundred millions, taking in pledge the diamonds
of the French crown. The king wishes the loan to be concluded without the
interference of his ministers and without their even knowing anything
about it. I entreat you not to mention the matter to anyone."
He then went out.
"Now," said Esther, when we were by ourselves, "I am quite sure that that
reply came from another intelligence than yours. In the name of all you
hold sacred, tell me the meaning of those four letters, and why you
usually omit them."
"I omit them, dearest Esther, because experience has taught me that in
ordinary cases they are unnecessary; but while I was making the pyramid
the command came to me to set them down, and I thought it well to obey."
"What do they mean?"
"They are the initial letters of the holy names of the cardinal
intelligences of the four quarters of the world."
"I may not tell you, but whoever deals with the oracle should know them."
"Ah! do not deceive me; I trust in you, and it would be worse than murder
to abuse so simple a faith as mine."
"I am not deceiving you, dearest Esther."
"But if you were to teach me the cabala, you would impart to me these
holy names?"
"Certainly, but I cannot reveal them except to my successor. If I violate
this command I should lose my knowledge; and this condition is well
calculated to insure secrecy, is it not?"
"It is, indeed. Unhappy that I am, your successor will be, of course,
Manon."
"No, Manon is not fitted intellectually for such knowledge as this."
"But you should fix on someone, for you are mortal after all. If you
like, my father would give you the half of his immense fortune without
your marrying me."
"Esther! what is it that you have said? Do you think that to possess you
would be a disagreeable condition in my eyes?"
After a happy day--I think I may call it the happiest of my life--I left
the too charming Esther, and went home towards the evening.
Three or four days after, M. d'O---- came into Esther's room, where he
found us both calculating pyramids. I was teaching her to double, to
triple, and to quadruple the cabalistic combinations. M. d'O---- strode
into the room in a great hurry, striking his breast in a sort of ecstasy.
We were surprised and almost frightened to see him so strangely excited,
and rose to meet him, but he running up to us almost forced us to embrace
him, which we did willingly.
"But what is the matter, papa dear?" said Esther, "you surprise me more
than I can say."
"Sit down beside me, my dear children, and listen to your father and your
best friend. I have just received a letter from one of the secretaries of
their high mightinesses informing me that the French ambassador has
demanded, in the name of the king his master, that the Comte St. Germain
should be delivered over, and that the Dutch authorities have answered
that His Most Christian Majesty's requests shall be carried out as soon
as the person of the count can be secured. In consequence of this the
police, knowing that the Comte St. Germain was staying at the Etoile
d'Orient, sent to arrest him at midnight, but the bird had flown. The
landlord declared that the count had posted off at nightfall, taking the
way to Nimeguen. He has been followed, but there are small hopes of
catching him up.
"It is not known how he can have discovered that a warrant existed
against him, or how he continued to evade arrest."
"It is not known;" went an M. d'O----, laughing, "but everyone guesses
that M. Calcoen, the same that wrote to me, let this friend of the French
king's know that he would be wanted at midnight, and that if he did not
get the key of the fields he would be arrested. He is not so foolish as
to despise a piece of advice like that. The Dutch Government has
expressed its sorrow to M. d'Afri that his excellence did not demand the
arrest of St. Germain sooner, and the ambassador will not be astonished
at this reply, as it is like many others given on similar occasions.
"The wisdom of the oracle has been verified, and I congratulate myself on
having seized its meaning, for we were on the point of giving him a
hundred thousand florins on account, which he said he must have
immediately. He gave us in pledge the finest of the crown diamonds, and
this we still retain. But we will return it to him an demand, unless it
is claimed by the ambassador. I have never seen a finer stone.
"And now, my children, you see what I owe to the oracle. On the Exchange
the whole company can do nothing but express their gratitude to me. I am
regarded as the most prudent and most farseeing man in Holland. To you,
my dear children, I owe this honour, but I wear my peacock's feathers
without scruple.
"My dear Casanova, you will dine with us, I hope. After dinner I shall
beg you to enquire of your inscrutable intelligence whether we ought to
declare ourselves in possession of the splendid diamond, or to observe
secrecy till it is reclaimed."
After this discourse papa embraced us once more and left us.
"Sweetheart," said Esther, throwing her arms round my neck, "you have an
opportunity for giving me a strong proof of your friendship. It will cost
you nothing, but it will cover me with honour and happiness."
"Command me, and it shall be done. You cannot think that I would refuse
you a favour which is to cost me nothing, when I should deem myself happy
to shed my blood for your sake."
"My father wishes you to tell him after dinner whether it will be better
to declare that they have the diamond or to keep silence till it is
claimed. When he asks you a second time, tell him to seek the answer of
me, and offer to consult the oracle also, in case my answer may be too
obscure. Then perform the operation, and I will make my father love me
all the better, when he sees that my knowledge is equal to yours."
"Dearest one, would I not do for thee a task a thousand times more
difficult than this to prove my love and my devotion? Let us set to work.
Do you write the question, set up the pyramids, and inscribe with your
own hand the all-powerful initials. Good. Now begin to extract the answer
by means of the divine key. Never was a cleverer pupil!"
When all this had been done, I suggested the additions and subtractions I
wanted made, and she was quite astonished to read the following reply:
"Silence necessary. Without silence, general derision. Diamond valueless;
mere paste."
I thought she would have gone wild with delight. She laughed and laughed
again.
"What an amazing reply!" said she. "The diamond is false, and it is I who
am about to reveal their folly to them. I shall inform my father of this
important secret. It is too much, it overwhelms me; I can scarcely
contain myself for joy! How much I owe you, you wonderful and delightful
man! They will verify the truth of the oracle immediately, and when it is
found that the famous diamond is but glittering paste the company will
adore my father, for it will feel that but for him it would have been
covered with shame, by avowing itself the dupe of a sharper. Will you
leave the pyramid with me?"
"Certainly; but it will not teach you anything you do not know." The
father came in again and we had dinner, and after the dessert, when the
worthy d 'O---- learnt from his daughter's oracle that the stone was
false, the scene became a truly comical one. He burst into exclamations
of astonishment, declared the thing impossible, incredible, and at last
begged me to ask the same question, as he was quite sure that his
daughter was mistaken, or rather that the oracle was deluding her.
I set to work, and was not long in obtaining my answer. When he saw that
it was to the same effect as Esther's, though differently expressed, he
had no longer any doubts as to his daughter's skill, and hastened to go
and test the pretended diamond, and to advise his associates to say
nothing about the matter after they had received proofs of the
worthlessness of the stone. This advice was, as it happened, useless; for
though the persons concerned said nothing, everybody knew about it, and
people said, with their usual malice, that the dupes had been duped most
thoroughly, and that St. Germain had pocketed the hundred thousand
florins; but this was not the case.
Esther was very proud of her success, but instead of being satisfied with
what she had done, she desired more fervently every day to possess the
science in its entirety, as she supposed I possessed it.
It soon became known that St. Germain had gone by Emden and had embarked
for England, where he had arrived in safety. In due time we shall hear
some further details concerning this celebrated impostor; and in the
meanwhile I must relate a catastrophe of another kind, which was near to
have made me die the death of a fool.
It was Christmas Day. I had got up early in the morning in better spirits
than usual. The old women tell you that always presages misfortune, but I
was as far then as I am now from making my happiness into an omen of
grief. But this time chance made the foolish belief of good effect. I
received a letter and a large packet from Paris; they came from Manon. I
opened the letter and I thought I should have died of grief when I
read,--
"Be wise, and receive the news I give you calmly. The packet contains
your portrait and all the letters you have written to me. Return me my
portrait, and if you have kept my letters be kind enough to burn them. I
rely on your honour. Think of me no more. Duty bids me do all I can to
forget you, for at this hour to-morrow I shall become the wife of M.
Blondel of the Royal Academy, architect to the king. Please do not seem
as if you knew me if we chance to meet on your return to Paris."
This letter struck me dumb with astonishment, and for more than two hours
after I read it I was, as it were, bereft of my senses. I sent word to M.
d'O---- that, not feeling well, I was going to keep my room all day. When
I felt a little better I opened the packet. The first thing to fall out
was my portrait. I looked at it, and such was the perturbation of my
mind, that, though the miniature really represented me as of a cheerful
and animated expression, I thought I beheld a dreadful and a threatening
visage. I went to my desk and wrote and tore up a score of letters in
which I overwhelmed the faithless one with threats and reproaches.
I could bear no more; the forces of nature were exhausted, and I was
obliged to lie down and take a little broth, and court that sleep which
refused to come. A thousand designs came to my disordered imagination. I
rejected them one by one, only to devise new ones. I would slay this
Blondel, who had carried off a woman who was mine and mine only; who was
all but my wife. Her treachery should be punished by her losing the
object for whom she had deserted me. I accused her father, I cursed her
brother for having left me in ignorance of the insult which had so
traitorously been put upon me.
I spent the day and night in these delirious thoughts, and in the
morning, feeling worse than ever, I sent to M. d'O---- to say that I could
not possibly leave my room. Then I began to read and re-read the letters
I had written to Manon, calling upon her name in a sort of frenzy; and
again set myself to write to her without finishing a single letter. The
emptiness of my stomach and the shock I had undergone began to stupefy
me, and for a few moments I forgot my anguish only to re-awaken to acuter
pains soon after.
About three o'clock, the worthy M. d'O---- came to invite me to go with
him to the Hague, where the chief masons of Holland met on the day
following to keep the Feast of St. John, but when he saw my condition he
did not press me to come.
"What is the matter with you, my dear Casanova?" said he.
"I have had a great grief, but let us say no more about it."
He begged me to come and see Esther, and left me looking almost as
downcast as I was. However, the next morning Esther anticipated my visit,
for at nine o'clock she and her governess came into the room. The sight
of her did me good. She was astonished to see me so undone and cast down,
and asked me what was the grief of which I had spoken to her father, and
which had proved too strong for my philosophy.
"Sit down beside me, Esther dear, and allow me to make a mystery of what
has affected me so grievously. Time, the mighty healer, and still more
your company, will effect a cure which I should in vain seek by appealing
to my reason. Whilst we talk of other things I shall not feel the
misfortune which gnaws at my heart."
"Well, get up, dress yourself, and come and spend the day with me, and I
will do my best to make you forget your sorrow."
"I feel very weak; for the last three days I have only taken a little
broth and chocolate."
At these words her face fell, and she began to weep.
After a moment's silence she went to my desk, took a pen, and wrote a few
lines, which she brought to me. They were,--
"Dear, if a large sum of money, beyond what my father owes you, can
remove or even soothe your grief I can be your doctor, and you ought to
know that your accepting my treatment would make me happy."
I took her hands and kissed them affectionately, saying,--
"No, dear Esther, generous Esther, it is not money I want, for if I did I
would ask you and your father as a friend: what I want, and what no one
can give me, is a resolute mind, and determination to act for the best."
"Ask advice of your oracle."
I could not help laughing.
"Why do you laugh?" said she, "if I am not mistaken, the oracle must know
a remedy for your woes."
"I laughed, dearest, because I felt inclined to tell you to consult the
oracle this time. As for me I will have nothing to do with it, lest the
cure be worse than the disease."
"But you need not follow your advice unless you like it."
"No, one is free to act as one thinks fit; but not to follow the advice
of the oracle would be a contempt of the intelligence which directs it."
Esther could say no more, and stood silent for several minutes, and then
said that if I like she would stay with me for the rest of the day. The
joy which illumined my countenance was manifest, and I said that if she
would stay to dinner I would get up, and no doubt her presence would give
me an appetite. "Ah!" said she, "I will make you the dish you are so fond
of." She ordered the sedan-chairs to be sent back, and went to my
landlady to order an appetising repast, and to procure the chafing-dish
and the spirits of wine she required for her own cooking.
Esther was an angel, a treasure, who consented to become mine if I would
communicate to her a science which did not exist. I felt that I was
looking forward to spending a happy day; this shewed me that I could
forget Manon, and I was delighted with the idea. I got out of bed, and
when Esther came back and found me on my feet she gave a skip of
pleasure. "Now," said she, "you must oblige me by dressing, and doing
your hair as if you were going to a ball."
"That," I answered, "is a funny idea, but as it pleases you it pleases
me."
I rang for Le Duc, and told him I wanted to have my hair done, and to be
dressed as if I were going to a ball. "Choose the dress that suits me
best."
"No," said Esther, "I will choose it myself."
Le Duc opened my trunk, and leaving her to rummage in it he came to shave
me, and to do my hair. Esther, delighted with her task, called in the
assistance of her governess. She put on my bed a lace shirt, and the suit
she found most to her taste. Then coming close, as if to see whether Le
Duc was dressing my hair properly, she said,
"A little broth would do you good; send for a dish, it will give you an
appetite for dinner."
I thought her advice dictated by the tenderest care, and I determined to
benefit by it. So great was the influence of this charming girl over me,
that, little by little, instead of loving Manon, I hated her. That gave
me courage, and completed my cure. At the present time I can see that
Manon was very wise in accepting Blondel's offer, and that my love for
self and not my love for her was wounded.
I was in my servant's hands, my face turned away towards the fire, so
that I could not see Esther, but only divert myself with the idea that
she was inspecting my belongings, when all at once she presented herself
with a melancholy air, holding Mamon's fatal letter in her hand.
"Am I to blame," said she, timidly, "for having discovered the cause of
your sorrow?"
I felt rather taken aback, but looking kindly at her, I said,
"No, no, my dear Esther; pity your friend, and say no more about it."
"Then I may read all the letters?"
"Yes, dearest, if it will amuse you."
All the letters of the faithless Manon Baletti to me, with mine to her,
were together on my table. I pointed them out to Esther, who begun to
read them quite eagerly.
When I was dressed, as if for some Court holiday, Le Duc went out and
left us by ourselves, for the worthy governess, who was working at her
lace by the window, looked at her lace, and nothing else. Esther said
that nothing had ever amused her so much as those letters.
"Those cursed epistles, which please you so well, will be the death of
me."
"Death? Oh, no! I will cure you, I hope."
"I hope so, too; but after dinner you must help me to burn them all from
first to last."
"Burn them! No; make me a present of them. I promise to keep them
carefully all my days."
"They are yours, Esther. I will send them to you to-morrow."
These letters were more than two hundred in number, and the shortest were
four pages in length. She was enchanted to find herself the possessor of
the letters, and she said she would make them into a parcel and take them
away herself.
"Shall you send back the portrait to your faithless mistress?" said she.
"I don't know what to do with it."
"Send it back to her; she is not worthy of your honouring her by keeping
it. I am sure that your oracle would give you the same advice. Where is
the portrait? Will you shew it me?"
I had the portrait in the interior of a gold snuff-box, but I had never
shewn it to Esther for fear she should think Manon handsomer than
herself, and conclude that I only shewd it her out of vanity; but as she
now asked to see it I opened the box where it was and gave it her.
Any other woman besides Esther would have pronounced Manon downright
ugly, or have endeavored at the least to find some fault with her, but
Esther pronounced her to be very beautiful, and only said it was a great
pity so fair a body contained so vile a soul.
The sight of Manon's portrait made Esther ask to see all the other
portraits which Madame Manzoni had sent me from Venice. There were naked
figures amongst them, but Esther was too pure a spirit to put on the
hateful affectations of the prude, to whom everything natural is an
abomination. O-Murphy pleased her very much, and her history, which I
related, struck her as very curious. The portrait of the fair nun,
M---- M----, first in the habit of her order and afterwards naked, made
her laugh, but I would not tell Esther her story, in spite of the lively
desire she displayed to hear it.
At dinner-time a delicate repast was brought to us, and we spent two
delightful hours in the pleasures of a conversation and the table. I
seemed to have passed from death to life, and Esther was delighted to
have been my physician. Before we rose from table I had declared my
intention of sending Manon's portrait to her husband on the day
following, but her good nature found a way of dissuading me from doing so
without much difficulty.
Some time after, while we were talking in front of the fire, she took a
piece of paper, set up the pyramids, and inscribed the four keys O, S, A,
D. She asked if I should send the portrait to the husband, or whether it
would not be more generous to return it to the faithless Manon. Whilst
she was calculating she said over and over again, with a smile, "I have
not made up the answer." I pretend to believe her, and we laughed like
two augurs meeting each other alone. At last the reply came that I ought
to return the portrait, but to the giver, since to send it to the husband
would be an act unworthy of a man of honour.
I praised the wisdom of the oracle, and kissed the Pythoness a score of
times, promising that the cabala should be obeyed implicitly, adding that
she had no need of being taught the science since she knew it as well as
the inventor.
I spoke the truth, but Esther laughed, and, fearing lest I should really
think so, took pains to assure me of the contrary.
It is thus that love takes his pleasure, thus his growth increases, and
thus that he so soon becomes a giant in strength.
"Shall I be impertinent," said Esther, "if I ask you where your portrait
is? Manon says in her letter that she is sending it back; but I don't
see it anywhere."
"In my first paroxysm of rage, I threw it down; I don't know in what
direction. What was thus despised by her cannot be of much value to me."
"Let us look for it; I should like to see it."
We soon found it on my table, in the midst of a of books; Esther said it
was a speaking likeness.
"I would give it you if such a present were worthy of you."
"Ah! you could not give me anything I would value more."
"Will you deign to accept it, Esther, though it has been possessed by
another?"
"It will be all the dearer to me."
At last she had to leave me, after a day which might be called delightful
if happiness consists of calm and mutual joys without the tumultuous
raptures of passion. She went away at ten, after I had promised to spend
the whole of the next day with her.
After an unbroken sleep of nine hours' duration I got up refreshed and
feeling once more in perfect health, and I went to see Esther
immediately. I found she was still abed and asleep, but her governess
went and roused her in spite of my request that her repose should be
respected.
She received me with a sweet smile as she sat up in bed, and shewd me my
voluminous correspondence with Manon on her night-table, saying that she
had been reading it till two o'clock in the morning.
Her appearance was ravishing. A pretty cambric night-cap, tied with a
light-blue ribbon and ornamented with lace, set off the beauties of her
face; and a light shawl of Indian muslin, which she had hastily thrown
on, veiled rather than concealed her snowy breast, which would have
shamed the works of Praxiteles. She allowed me to take a hundred kisses
on her rosy lips--ardent kisses which the sight of such charms made yet
more ardent; but her hands forbade my approach to those two spheres I so
longed to touch.
I sat down by her and told her that her charms of body and mind would
make a man forget all the Manons that ever were.
"Is your Marion fair to see all over?" said she.
"I really can't say, for, not being her husband, I never had an
opportunity of investigating the matter."
"Your discretion is worthy of all praise," she said, with a smile, "such
conduct becomes a man of delicate feeling."
"I was told by her nurse that she was perfect in all respects, and that
no mote or blemish relieved the pure whiteness of her skin."
"You must have a different notion of me?"
"Yes, Esther, as the oracle revealed to me the great secret you desired
to know. Nevertheless, I should find you perfect in all your parts."
Hereupon I was guilty of a stupidity which turned to my confusion. I
said,
"If I became your husband, I could easily refrain from touching you
there."
"I suppose you think," said she, blushing, and evidently a little vexed,
"that if you touched it your desires might be lessened?"
This question probed me to the core and covered me with shame. I burst
into tears, and begged her pardon in so truly repentant a voice that
sympathy made her mingle her tears with mine. The incident only increased
our intimacy, for, as I kissed her tears away, the same desires consumed
us, and if the voice of prudence had not intervened, doubtless all would
have been over. As it was, we had but a foretaste and an earnest of that
bliss which it was in our power to procure. Three hours seemed to us as
many minutes. She begged me to go into her sitting-room while she
dressed, and we then went down and dined with the wretched secretary, who
adored her, whom she did not love, and who must have borne small love to
me, seeing how high I stood in her graces.
We passed the rest of the day together in that confidential talk which is
usual when the foundations of the most intimate friendship have been laid
between two persons of opposite sex, who believe themselves created for
each other. Our flames burnt as brightly, but with more restraint, in the
dining-room as in the bedroom. In the very air of the bedroom of a woman
one loves there is something so balmy and voluptuous that the lover,
asked to choose between this garden of delights and Paradise, would not
for one moment hesitate in his choice.
We parted with hearts full of happiness, saying to each other, "Till
to-morrow."
I was truly in love with Esther, for my sentiment for her was composed of
sweeter, calmer, and more lively feelings than mere sensual love, which
is ever stormy and violent. I felt sure I could persuade her to marry me
without my first teaching her what could not be taught. I was sorry I had
not let her think herself as clever as myself in the cabala, and I feared
it would be impossible to undeceive her without exciting her to anger,
which would cast out love. Nevertheless, Esther was the only woman who
would make me forget Manon, whom I began to think unworthy of all I had
proposed doing for her.
M. d'O---- came back and I went to dine with him. He was pleased to hear
that his daughter had effected a complete cure by spending a day with me.
When we were alone he told me that he had heard at the Hague that the
Comte St. Germain had the art of making diamonds which only differed from
the real ones in weight, and which, according to him, would make his
fortune. M. d'O---- would have been amused if I had told him all I knew
about this charlatan.
Next day I took Esther to the concert, and while we were there she told
me that on the day following she would not leave her room, so that we
could talk about getting married without fear of interruption. This was
the last day of the year 1759.
CHAPTER XI
I Undeceive Esther--I set out for Germany--Adventure Near
Cologne--The Burgomaster's Wife; My Conquest of Her--Ball at
Bonn--Welcome From the Elector of Cologne--Breakfast at
Bruhl--First Intimacy--I sup Without Being Asked at General
Kettler's I am Happy--I Leave Cologne--The Toscani --
The Jewel--My Arrival at Stuttgart
[Illustration: Chapter 11]
The appointment which Esther had made with me would probably have serious
results; and I felt it due to my honour not to deceive her any longer,
even were it to cost me my happiness; however, I had some hope that all
would turn out well.
I found her in bed, and she told me that she intended to stop there
throughout the day. I approved, for in bed I thought her ravishing.
"We will set to work," said she; and her governess set a little table by
her bed, and she gave me a piece of paper covered with questions tending
to convince me that before I married her I should communicate to her my
supposed science. All these questions were artfully conceived, all were
so worded as to force the oracle to order me to satisfy her, or to
definitely forbid my doing so. I saw the snare, and all my thoughts were
how to avoid it, though I pretended to be merely considering the
questions. I could not make the oracle speak to please Esther, and I
could still less make it pronounce a positive prohibition, as I feared
that she would resent such an answer bitterly and revenge herself on me.
Nevertheless, I had to assume an indifferent air, and I got myself out of
the difficulty by equivocal answers, till the good-humoured papa came to
summon me to dinner.
He allowed his daughter to stay in bed on the condition that she was to
do no more work, as he was afraid that by applying herself so intently
she would increase her headache. She promised, much to my delight, that
he should be obeyed, but on my return from dinner I found her asleep, and
sitting at her bedside I let her sleep on.
When she awoke she said she would like to read a little; and as if by
inspiration, I chanced to take up Coiardeau's 'Heroides', and we inflamed
each other by reading the letters of Heloise and Abelard. The ardours
thus aroused passed into our talk and we began to discuss the secret
which the oracle had revealed.
"But, Esther dear," said I, "did not the oracle reveal a circumstance of
which you knew perfectly well before?"
"No, sweetheart, the secret was perfectly unknown to me and would have
continued unknown."
"Then you have never been curious enough to inspect your own person?"
"However curious I may have been, nature placed that mole in such a
position as to escape any but the most minute search."
"You have never felt it, then?"
"It is too small to be felt."
"I don't believe it."
She allowed my hand to wander indiscreetly, and my happy fingers felt all
the precincts of the temple of love. This was enough to fire the chastest
disposition. I could not find the object of my research, and, not wishing
to stop short at so vain an enjoyment, I was allowed to convince myself
with my eyes that it actually existed. There, however, her concessions
stopped short, and I had to content myself by kissing again and again all
those parts which modesty no longer denied to my gaze.
Satiated with bliss, though I had not attained to the utmost of
enjoyment, which she wisely denied me, after two hours had been devoted
to those pastimes which lead to nothing, I resolved to tell her the whole
truth and to shew her how I had abused her trust in me, though I feared
that her anger would be roused.
Esther, who had a large share of intelligence (indeed if she had had less
I could not have deceived her so well), listened to me without
interrupting me and without any signs of anger or astonishment. At last,
when I had brought my long and sincere confession to an end, she said,
"I know your love for me is as great as mine for you; and if I am certain
that what you have just said cannot possibly be true, I am forced to
conclude that if you do not communicate to me all the secrets of your
science it is because to do so is not in your power. Let us love one
another till death, and say no more about this matter."
After a moment's silence, she went on,--
"If love has taken away from you the courage of sincerity I forgive you,
but I am sorry for you. You have given me too positive proof of the
reality of your science to be able to shake my belief. You could never
have found out a thing of which I myself was ignorant, and of which no
mortal man could know."
"And if I shew you, Esther dear, that I knew you had this mole, that I
had good reasons for supposing you to be ignorant of it, will your belief
be shaken then?"
"You knew it? How could you have seen it? It's incredible!"
"I will tell you all."
I then explained to her the theory of the correspondence of moles on the
various parts of the human body, and to convince her I ended by saying
that her governess who had a large mark on her right cheek ought to have
one very like it on her left thigh. At this she burst into laughter, and
said, "I will find out, but after all you have told me I can only admire
you the more for knowing what no one else does."
"Do you really think, Esther, that I am the sole possessor of this
science? Undeceive yourself. All who have studied anatomy, physiology,
and astrology, know of it."
"Then I beg you to get me, by to-morrow--yes, tomorrow--all the books
which will teach me secrets of that nature. I long to be able to astonish
the ignorant with my cabala, which I see requires a mixture of knowledge
and imposition. I wish to devote myself entirely to this study. We can
love each other to the death, but we can do that without getting
married."
I re-entered my lodging in a peaceful and happy frame of mind; an
enormous weight seemed taken off my spirits. Next morning I purchased
such volumes as I judged would instruct and amuse her at the same time,
and went to present them to her. She was most pleased with my Conis, as
she found in it the character of truth. As she wished to shine by her
answers through the oracle it was necessary for her to have an extensive
knowledge of science, and I put her on the way.
About that time I conceived the idea of making a short tour in Germany
before returning to Paris, and Esther encouraged me to do so, after I had
promised that she should see me again before the end of the year. This
promise was sincerely, given; and though from that day to this I have not
beheld the face of that charming and remarkable woman, I cannot reproach
myself with having deceived her wilfully, for subsequent events prevented
me from keeping my word.
I wrote to M. d'Afri requesting him to procure me a passport through the
empire, where the French and other belligerent powers were then
campaigning. He answered very politely that I had no need of a passport,
but that if I wished to have one he would send it me forthwith. I was
content with this letter and put it among my papers, and at Cologne it
got me a better reception than all the passports in the world.
I made M. d'O---- the depositary of the various moneys I had in different
banking houses, and the worthy man, who was a true friend to me, gave me
a bill of exchange on a dozen of the chief houses in Germany.
When my affairs were all in order I started in my post-chaise, with the
sum of nearly a hundred thousand Dutch florins to my credit, some
valuable jewels, and a well-stocked wardrobe. I sent my Swiss servant
back to Paris, keeping only my faithful Spaniard, who on this occasion
travelled with me, seated behind my chaise.
Thus ends the history of my second visit to Holland, where I did nothing
to augment my fortune. I had some unpleasant experiences there for which
I had my own imprudence to thank, but after the lapse of so many years I
feel that these mishaps were more than compensated by the charms of
Esther's society.
I only stopped one day at Utrecht, and two days after I reached Cologne
at noon, without accident, but not without danger, for at a distance of
half a league from the town five deserters, three on the right hand and
two on the left, levelled their pistols at me, with the words, "Your
money or your life." However, I covered the postillion with my own
pistol, threatening to fire if he did not drive on, and the robbers
discharged their weapons at the carriage, not having enough spirit to
shoot the postillion.
If I had been like the English, who carry a light purse for the benefit
of the highwaymen, I would have thrown it to these poor wretches; but, as
it was, I risked my life rather than be robbed. My Spaniard was quite
astonished not to have been struck by any of the balls which whistled
past his ears.
The French were in winter quarters at Cologne, and I put up at the
"Soleil d'Or." As I was going in, the first person I met was the Comte de
Lastic, Madame d'Urfe's nephew, who greeted me with the utmost
politeness, and offered to take me to M. de Torci, who was in command. I
accepted, and this gentleman was quite satisfied with the letter M.
d'Afri had written me. I told him what had happened to me as I was coming
into Cologne, and he congratulated me on the happy issue of the affair,
but with a soldier's freedom blamed the use I had made of my courage.
"You played high," said he, "to save your money, but you might have lost
a limb, and nothing would have made up for that."
I answered that to make light of a danger often diminished it. We laughed
at this, and he said that if I was going to make any stay in Cologne I
should probably have the pleasure of seeing the highwaymen hanged.
"I intend to go to-morrow," said I, "and if anything could keep me at
Cologne it would certainly not be the prospect of being present at an
execution, as such sights are not at all to my taste."
I had to accept M. de Lastic's invitation to dinner, and he persuaded me
to go with himself and his friend, M. de Flavacour, an officer of high
rank, and an agreeable man, to the theatre. As I felt sure that I should
be introduced to ladies, and wished to make something of a figure, I
spent an hour in dressing.
I found myself in a box opposite to a pretty woman, who looked at me
again and again through her opera-glass. That was enough to rouse my
curiosity, and I begged M. de Lastic to introduce me; which he did with
the best grace imaginable. He first presented me to Count Kettler,
lieutenant-general in the Austrian army, and on the general staff of the
French army--just as the French General Montacet was on the staff of the
Austrian army. I was then presented to the lady whose beauty had
attracted my attention the moment I entered my box. She greeted me
graciously, and asked me questions about Paris and Brussels, where she
had been educated, without appearing to pay any attention to my replies,
but gazing at my lace and jewellery.
While we were talking of indifferent matters, like new acquaintances, she
suddenly but politely asked me if I intended to make a long stay in
Cologne.
"I think of crossing the Rhine to-morrow," I answered, "and shall
probably dine at Bonn."
This reply, which was given as indifferently as her question, appeared to
vex her; and I thought her vexation a good omen. General Kettler then
rose, saying,--
"I am sure, sir, that this lady will persuade you to delay your
departure--at least, I hope so, that I may bane the pleasure of seeing
more of your company."
I bowed and he went out with Lastic, leaving me alone with this ravishing
beauty. She was the burgomaster's wife, and the general was nearly always
with her.
"Is the count right," said she, pleasantly, "in attributing such power to
me?"
"I think so, indeed," I answered, "but he may possibly be wrong in
thinking you care to exercise it."
"Very good! We must catch him, then, if only as the punishment of his
indiscretion. Stay."
I was so astonished at this speech that I looked quite foolish and had to
collect my senses. I thought the word indiscretion sublime, punishment
exquisite, and catching admirable; and still more the idea of catching
him by means of me. I thought it would be a mistake to enquire any
further, and putting on an expression of resignation and gratitude I
lowered my lips and kissed her hand with a mixture of respect and
sentiment, which, without exactly imparting my feelings for her, let her
know that they might be softened without much difficulty.
"Then you will stay, sir! It is really very kind of you, for if you went
off to-morrow people might say that you only came here to shew your
disdain for us. Tomorrow the general gives a ball, and I hope you will be
one of the party."
"Can I hope to dance with you all the evening?"
"I promise to dance with nobody but you, till you get tired of me."
"Then we shall dance together through all the ball."
"Where did you get that pomade which perfumes the air? I smelt it as
soon as you came into the box."
"It came from Florence, and if you do not like it you shall not be
troubled with it any more."
"Oh! but I do like it. I should like some of it myself."
"And I shall be only too happy if you will permit me to send you a little
to-morrow."
Just then the door of the box opened and the entrance of the general
prevented her from replying. I was just going, when the count said:
"I am sure madame has prevailed on you to stay, and to come to my ball
and supper to-morrow?"
"She has led me to anticipate that you would do me that honour, and she
promises to dance the quadrilles with me. How can one resist entreaty
from such lips?"
"Quite so, and I am obliged to her for having kept you with us. I hope to
see you to-morrow."
I went out of the box in love, and almost happy in anticipation. The
pomade was a present from Esther, and it was the first time I had used
it. The box contained twenty-four pots of beautiful china. The next day I
put twelve into an elegant casket, which I wrapped up in oil-cloth and
sent to her without a note.
I spent the morning by going over Cologne with a guide; I visited all the
marvels of the place, and laughed with all my heart to see the horse
Bayard, of whom Ariosto has sung, ridden by the four sons of Aimon, or
Amone, father of Bradamante the Invincible, and Ricciardetto the
Fortunate.
I dined with M. de Castries, and everybody was surprised that the general
had asked me himself to the ball, as his jealousy was known, while the
lady was supposed only to suffer his attentions through a feeling of
vanity. The dear general was well advanced in years, far from
good-looking, and as his mental qualities by no means compensated for his
lack of physical ones he was by no means an object to inspire love. In
spite of his jealousy, he had to appear pleased that I sat next the fair
at supper, and that I spent the night in dancing with her or talking to
her. It was a happy night for me, and I re-entered my lodging no longer
thinking of leaving Cologne. In a moment of ecstasy, emboldened by the
turn the conversation had taken, I had dared to tell her that if she
would meet me alone I would stay in Cologne till the end of the carnival.
"And what would you say," she asked, "if I give my promise, and do not
keep it?"
"I should bemoan my lot, without accusing you; I should say to myself
that you had found it impossible to keep your word."
"You are very good; you must stay with us."
The day after the ball I went to pay her my first visit. She made me
welcome, and introduced me to her worthy husband, who, though neither
young nor handsome, was extremely good-hearted. After I had been there an
hour, we heard the general's carriage coming, and she said to me:
"If he asks you whether you are going to the Elector's ball at Bonn, say
yes!"
The general came in, and after the usual compliments had been passed I
withdrew.
I did not know by whom the ball was to be given, or when it was to take
place, but scenting pleasure from afar off I hastened to make enquiries
about it, and heard that all the good families in Cologne were going. It
was a masked ball, and consequently open to all. I decided then that I
would go; indeed I concluded that I had had orders to that effect, and at
all events my lady would be there, and I might hope for a happy meeting
with her. But as I wished to keep up my incognito as much as possible, I
resolved to reply to all who asked me that important business would
prevent my being present.
It fell out that the general asked me this very question in the presence
of the lady, and without regard to the orders I had received from her I
replied that my health would forbid my having that pleasure.
"You are very wise, sir," said the general, "all the pleasures on earth
should be sacrificed when it is a question of one's health."
I think so, too, now, but I thought differently then.
On the day of the ball, towards the evening, I set out in a post-chaise,
disguised so that not a soul in Cologne could have recognized me, and
provided with a box containing two dominoes; and on my arrival at Bonn I
took a room and put on one of the dominoes, locking up the other in the
box; and I then had myself carried to the ball in a sedan-chair.
I got in easily and unperceived, and recognized all the ladies of Cologne
without their masks, and my mistress sitting at a faro-table risking a
ducat. I was glad to see in the banker, Count Verita of Verona, whom I
had known in Bavaria. He was in the Elector's service. His small bank did
not contain more than five or six ducats, and the punters, men and women,
were not more than twelve. I took up a position by my mistress, and the
banker asked me to cut. I excused myself with a gesture, and my neighbour
cut without being asked. I put ten ducats on a single card, and lost four
times running; I played at the second deal, and experienced the same
fate. At the third deal nobody would cut, and the general, who was
standing by but not playing, agreed to do so. I fancied his cutting would
be lucky, and I put fifty ducats on one card. I won. I went 'paroli', and
at the second deal I broke the bank. Everybody was curious about me; I
was stared at and followed, but seizing a favourable opportunity I made
my escape.
I went to my room, took out my money, changed my costume, and returned to
the ball. I saw the table occupied by new gamesters, and another banker
who seemed to have a good deal of gold, but not caring to play any more I
had not brought much money with me. I mingled in all the groups in the
ballroom, and on all sides I heard expressions of curiosity about the
mask who broke the first bank.
I did not care to satisfy the general curiosity, but made my way from one
side of the room to the other till I found the object of my search
talking to Count Verita, and as I drew near I found out that they were
talking of me. The count was saying that the Elector had been asking who
had broken the bank, and that General Kettler had expressed his opinion
that it was a Venetian who had been in Cologne for the last week. My
mistress answered that she did not think I was there, as she had heard me
say that the state of my health would keep me at home.
"I know Casanova," said the count, "and if he be at Bonn the Elector
shall hear of it, and he shan't go off without my seeing him." I saw that
I might easily be discovered after the ball, but I defied the keenest
eyes to penetrate beneath my present disguise. I should have, no doubt,
remained unknown, but when the quadrilles were being arranged I took my
place in one, without reflecting that I should have to take off my mask.
As soon as my mistress saw me she told me she had been deceived, as she
would have wagered that I was the masker who broke Count Verita's bank. I
told her I had only just come.
At the end of the dance the count spied me out and said, "My dear
fellow-countryman, I am sure you are the man who broke my bank; I
congratulate you."
"I should congratulate myself if I were the fortunate individual."
"I am sure that it was you."
I left him laughing, and after having taken some refreshments I continued
dancing. Two hours afterwards the count saw me again and said,--
"You changed your domino in such a room, in such a house. The Elector
knows all about it, and as a punishment for this deceit he has ordered me
to tell you that you are not to leave Bonn to-morrow."
"Is he going to arrest me, then?"
"Why not, if you refuse his invitation to dinner tomorrow?"
"Tell his highness that his commands shall be obeyed. Will you present me
to him now?"
"He has left the ball, but wait on me to-morrow at noon." So saying, he
gave me his hand and went away.
I took care to keep the appointment on the day following, but when I was
presented I was in some confusion, as the Elector was surrounded by five
or six courtiers, and never having seen him I looked in vain for an
ecclesiastic. He saw my embarrassment and hastened to put an end to it,
saying, in bad Venetian, "I am wearing the costume of Grand Master of the
Teutonic Order to-day." In spite of his costume I made the usual
genuflexion, and when I would have kissed his hand he would not allow it,
but shook mine in an affectionate manner. "I was at Venice," said he,
"when you were under the Leads, and my nephew, the Elector of Bavaria,
told me that after your fortunate escape you stayed some time at Munich;
if you had come to Cologne I should have kept you. I hope that after
dinner you will be kind enough to tell us the story of your escape, that
you will stay to supper, and will join in a little masquerade with which
we propose to amuse ourselves."
I promised to tell my tale if he thought it would not weary him, warning
him that it would take two hours. "One could never have too much of a
good thing," he was kind enough to say; and I made him laugh by my
account of the conversation between the Duc de Choiseul and myself.
At dinner the prince spoke to me in Venetian, and was pleased to be most
gracious towards me. He was a man of a jovial and easy-going disposition,
and with his look of health one would not have prophesied so soon an end
as came to him. He died the year following.
As soon as we rose from table he begged me to begin my story, and for two
hours I had the pleasure of keeping this most brilliant company amused.
My readers know the history; its interest lies in the dramatic nature of
the details, but it is impossible to communicate the fire of a well-told
story to an account in writing.
The Elector's little bail was very pleasant. We were all dressed as
peasants, and the costumes were taken from a special wardrobe of the
prince's. It would have been ridiculous to choose any other dresses, as
the Elector wore one of the same kind himself. General Kettler was the
best disguised of us all; he looked the rustic to the life. My mistress
was ravishing. We only danced quadrilles and German dances. There were
only four or five ladies of the highest rank; all the others, who were
more or less pretty, were favourites of the prince, all his days a great
lover of the fair sex. Two of these ladies danced the Forlana, and the
Elector was much amused in making me dance it also. I have already said
that the Forlana is a Venetian dance, and one of the most energetic kind
imaginable. It is danced by a lady and gentleman opposite to one another,
and as the two ladies relieved one another they were almost the death of
me. One has to be strong to dance twelve turns, and after the thirteenth
I felt I could do no more, and begged for mercy.
Soon after we danced another dance, where each gentleman kisses a lady. I
was not too shy, and each time I continued to kiss my mistress with
considerable ardour, which made the peasant-elector burst with laughter
and the peasant-general burst with rage.
In a lull between the dances, this charming and original woman found
means to tell me in private that all the Cologne ladies would leave at
noon on the next day, and that I would increase my popularity by inviting
them all to breakfast at Bruhl.
"Send each one a note with the name of her cavalier, and trust in Count
Verita to do everything for the best; you need only tell him that you
wish to give an entertainment similar to that given two years ago by the
Prince de Deux-Ponts. Lose no time. You will have a score of guests; mind
you let them know the hour of the repast. Take care, too, that your
invitations are sent round by nine o'clock in the morning."
All these instructions were uttered with lightning speed, and I,
enchanted with the power my mistress thought she possessed over me,
thought only of obeying, without reflecting whether I owed her obedience.
Bruhl, breakfast, a score of people like the Prince Deux-Ponts,
invitations to the ladies, Count Verita; I knew as much as she could have
told me if she had taken an hour.
I left the room in my peasant's dress, and begged a page to take me to
Count Verita, who began to laugh on seeing my attire. I told my business
with the importance of an ambassador, and this made him in a still better
humour.
"It can all easily be arranged," said he, "I have only to write to the
steward, and I will do so immediately. But how much do you want to
spend?"
"As much as possible."
"As little as possible, I suppose you mean."
"Not at all; I want to treat my guests with magnificence."
"All the same you must fix on a sum, as I know whom I've got to deal
with."
"Well, well! two-three hundred ducats; will that do?"
"Two hundred; the Prince de Deux-Ponts did not spend more."
He began to write, and gave me his word that everything should be in
readiness. I left him and addressing myself to a sharp Italian page said
that I would give two ducats to the valet who would furnish me with the
names of the Cologne ladies who were in Bonn, and of the gentlemen who
had accompanied them. I got what I wanted in less than half an hour, and
before leaving the ball I told my mistress that all should be done
according to her desires.
I wrote eighteen notes before I went to bed, and in the morning a
confidential servant had delivered them before nine o'clock.
At nine o'clock I went to take leave of Count Verita, who gave me, on
behalf of the Elector, a superb gold snuff-box with his portrait set in
diamonds. I was very sensible of this mark of kindness, and I wished to
go and thank his serene highness before my departure, but my friendly
fellow-countryman told me that I might put off doing so till I passed
through Bonn on my way to Frankfort.
Breakfast was ordered for one o'clock. At noon I had arrived at Bruhl, a
country house of the Elector's, with nothing remarkable about it save its
furniture. In this it is a poor copy of the Trianon. In a fine hall I
found a table laid for twenty-four persons, arranged with silver gilt
plates, damask linen, and exquisite china, while the sideboard was
adorned with an immense quantity of silver and silvergilt plate. At one
end of the room were two other tables laden with sweets and the choicest
wines procurable. I announced myself as the host, and the cook told me I
should be perfectly satisfied.
"The collation," said he, "will be composed of only twenty-four dishes,
but in addition there will be twenty-four dishes of English oysters and a
splendid dessert."
I saw a great number of servants, and told him that they would not be
necessary, but he said they were, as the guests' servants could not be
admitted.
I received all my guests at the door, confining my compliments to begging
their pardons for having been so bold as to procure myself this great
honour.
The breakfast was served at one exactly, and I had the pleasure of
enjoying the astonishment in my mistress's eyes when she saw that I had
treated them as well as a prince of the empire. She was aware that
everybody knew her to be the chief object of this lavish outlay, but she
was delighted to see that I did not pay her any attentions which were at
all invidious. The table was seated for twenty-four, and though I had
only asked eighteen people every place was occupied. Three couples,
therefore, had come without being asked; but that pleased me all the
more. Like a courtly cavalier I would not sit down, but waited on the
ladies, going from one to the other, eating the dainty bits they gave me,
and seeing that all had what they wanted.
By the time the oysters were done twenty bottles of champagne had been
emptied, so that when the actual breakfast commenced everybody began to
talk at once. The meal might easily have passed for a splendid dinner,
and I was glad to see that not a drop of water was drunk, for the
Champagne, Tokay, Rhine wine, Madeira, Malaga, Cyprus, Alicante, and Cape
wine would not allow it.
Before dessert was brought on an enormous dish of truffles was placed on
the table. I advised my guests to take Maraschino with it, and those
ladies who appreciated the liqueur drank it as if it had been water. The
dessert was really sumptuous. In it were displayed the portraits of all
the monarchs of Europe. Everyone complimented the cook on his
achievement, and he, his vanity being tickled and wishing to appear
good-natured, said that none of it would spoil in the pocket, and
accordingly everybody took as much as they chose.
General Kettler, who, in spite of his jealousy and the part he saw me
play, had no suspicion of the real origin of the banquet, said,
"I will wager that this is the Elector's doing. His highness has desired
to preserve his incognito, and M. Casanova has played his part to
admiration."
This remark set all the company in a roar.
"General," said I, "if the Elector had given me such an order, I should,
of course, have obeyed him, but I should have felt it a humiliating part
to play. His highness, however, has deigned to do me a far greater
honour; look here." So saying, I shewed him the gold snuff-box, which
made the tour of the table two or three times over.
When we had finished, we rose from table, astonished to find we had been
engaged for three hours in a pleasurable occupation, which all would
willingly have prolonged; but at last we had to part, and after many
compliments they all went upon their way, in order to be in time for the
theatre. As well pleased as my guests, I left twenty ducats with the
steward, for the servants, and promised him to let Count Verita know of
my satisfaction in writing.
I arrived at Cologne in time for the French play, and as I had no
carriage I went to the theatre in a sedan chair. As soon as I got into
the house, I saw the Comte de Lastic alone with my fair one. I thought
this a good omen, and I went to them directly. As soon as she saw me, she
said with a melancholy air that the general had got so ill that he had
been obliged to go to bed. Soon after, M. de Lastic left us, and dropping
her assumed melancholy she made me, with the utmost grace, a thousand
compliments, which compensated me for the expenses of my breakfast a
hundred times over.
"The general," said she, "had too much to drink; he is an envious devil,
and has discovered that it is not seemly of you to treat us as if you
were a prince. I told him that, on the contrary, you had treated us as if
we were princes, waiting on us with your napkin on your arm. He thereupon
found fault with me for degrading you."
"Why do you not send him about his business? So rude a fellow is not
worthy of serving so famous a beauty."
"It's too late. A woman whom you don't know would get possession of him.
I should be obliged to conceal my feelings, and that would vex me."
"I understand--I understand. Would that I were a great prince! In the
mean time, let me tell you that my sickness is greater than Kettler's."
"You are joking, I hope."
"Nay, not at all; I am speaking seriously, for the kisses I was so happy
to snatch from you at the ball have inflamed my blood, and if you have
not enough kindness to cure me in the only possible way I shall leave
Cologne with a life-long grief."
"Put off your departure: why should you desire to go to Stuttgart so
earnestly? I think of you, believe me, and I do not wish to deceive you;
but it is hard to find an opportunity."
"If you had not the general's carriage waiting for you to-night, and I
had mine, I could take you home with perfect propriety."
"Hush! As you have not your carriage, it is my part to take you home. It
is a splendid idea, that we must so contrive it that it may not seem to
be a concerted plan. You must give me your arm to my carriage, and I
shall then ask you where your carriage is; you will answer that you have
not got one. I shall ask you to come into mine, and I will drop you at
your hotel. It will only give us a couple of minutes, but that is
something till we are more fortunate."
I replied to her only by a look which expressed the intoxication of my
spirits at the prospect of so great bliss.
Although the play was quite a short one, it seemed to me to last for
ever. At last the curtain fell, and we went downstairs. When we got to
the portico she asked me the questions we had agreed upon, and when I
told her I had not got a carriage, she said, "I am going to the general's
to ask after his health; if it will not take you too much out of your
way, I can leave you at your lodging as we come back."
It was a grand idea. We should pass the entire length of the ill-paved
town twice, and thus we secured a little more time. Unfortunately, the
carriage was a chariot, and as we were going the moon shone directly on
us. On that occasion the planet was certainly not entitled to the
appellation of the lovers' friend. We did all we could, but that was
almost nothing, and I found the attempt a desperate one, though my lovely
partner endeavoured to help me as much as possible. To add to our
discomforts, the inquisitive and impudent coachman kept turning his head
round, which forced us to moderate the energy of our movements. The
sentry at the general's door told our coachman that his excellency could
see no one, and we joyfully turned towards my hotel, and now that the
moon was behind us and the man's curiosity less inconvenient, we got on a
little better, or rather not so badly as before, but the horses seemed to
me to fly rather than gallop; however, feeling that it would be well to
have the coachman on my side in case of another opportunity, I gave him a
ducat as I got down.
I entered the hotel feeling vexed and unhappy, though more in love than
ever, for my fair one had convinced me that she was no passive mistress,
but could experience pleasure as well as give it. That being the case I
resolved not to leave Cologne before we had drained the cup of pleasure
together, and that, it seemed to me, could not take place till the
general was out of the way.
Next day, at noon, I went to the general's house to write down my name,
but I found he was receiving visitors and I went in. I made the general
an appropriate compliment, to which the rude Austrian only replied by a
cold inclination of the head. He was surrounded by a good many officers,
and after four minutes I made a general bow and went out. The boor kept
his room for three days, and as my mistress did not come to the theatre I
had not the pleasure of seeing her.
On the last day of the carnival Kettler asked a good many people to a
ball and supper. On my going to pay my court to my mistress in her box at
the theatre, and being left for a moment alone with her, she asked me if
I were invited to the general's supper. I answered in the negative.
"What!" said she, in an imperious and indignant voice, "he has not asked
you? You must go, for all that."
"Consider what you say," said I, gently, "I will do anything to please
you but that."
"I know all you can urge; nevertheless, you must go. I should feel
insulted if you were not at that supper. If you love me you will give me
this proof of your affection and (I think I may say) esteem."
"You ask me thus? Then I will go. But are you aware that you are exposing
me to the danger of losing my life or taking his? for I am not the man to
pass over an affront."
"I know all you can say," said she. "I have your honour at heart as much
as mine, or perhaps more so, but nothing will happen to you; I will
answer for everything. You must go, and you must give me your promise
now, for I am resolved if you do not go, neither will I, but we must
never see each other more."
"Then you may reckon upon me."
At that moment M. de Castries came in, and I left the box and went to the
pit, where I passed two anxious hours in reflecting on the possible
consequences of the strange step this woman would have me take.
Nevertheless, such was the sway of her beauty aver my soul, I determined
to abide by my promise and to carry the matter through, and to put myself
in the wrong as little as possible. I went to the general's at the end of
the play, and only found five or six people there. I went up to a
canoness who was very fond of Italian poetry, and had no trouble in
engaging her in an interesting discussion. In half an hour the room was
full, my mistress coming in last on the general's arm. I was taken up
with the canoness and did not stir, and consequently Kettler did not
notice me, while the lady in great delight at seeing me left him no time
to examine his guests, and he was soon talking to some people at the
other end of the room. In a quarter of an hour afterwards supper was
announced. The canoness rose, took my arm, and we seated ourselves at
table together, still talking about Italian literature. Then came the
catastrophe. When all the places had been taken one gentleman was left
standing, there being no place for him. "How can that have happened?"
said the general, raising his voice, and while the servants were bringing
another chair and arranging another place he passed his guests in review.
All the while I pretended not to notice what was going on, but when he
came to me he said loudly,
"Sir, I did not ask you to come."
"That is quite true, general," I said, respectfully, "but I thought, no
doubt correctly, that the omission was due to forgetfulness, and I
thought myself obliged all the same to come and pay my court to your
excellency."
Without a pause I renewed my conversation with the canoness, not so much
as looking around. A dreadful silence reigned for four or five minutes,
but the canoness began to utter witticisms which I took up and
communicated to my neighbours, so that in a short time the whole table
was in good spirits except the general, who preserved a sulky silence.
This did not much matter to me, but my vanity was concerned in smoothing
him down, and I watched for my opportunity.
M. de Castries was praising the dauphin, and his brothers, the Comte de
Lusace and the Duc de Courlande, were mentioned; this led the
conversation up to Prince Biron, formerly a duke, who was in Siberia, and
his personal qualities were discussed, one of the guests having said that
his chiefest merit was to have pleased the Empress Anne. I begged his
pardon, saying,--
"His greatest merit was to have served faithfully the last Duke Kettler;
who if it had not been for the courage of him who is now so unfortunate,
would have lost all his belongings in the war. It was Duke Kettler who so
heroically sent him to the Court of St. Petersburg, but Biron never asked
for the duchy. An earldom would have satisfied him, as he recognized the
rights of the younger branch of the Kettler family, which would be
reigning now if it were not for the empress's whim: nothing would satisfy
her but to confer a dukedom on the favourite."
The general, whose face had cleared while I was speaking, said, in the
most polite manner of which he was capable, that I was a person of
remarkable information, adding regretfully,--
"Yes, if it were not for that whim I should be reigning now."
After this modest remark he burst into a fit of laughter and sent me down
a bottle of the best Rhine wine, and addressed his conversation to me
till the supper was over. I quietly enjoyed the turn things had taken,
but still more the pleasure I saw expressed in the beautiful eyes of my
mistress.
Dancing went on all night, and I did not leave my canoness, who was a
delightful woman and danced admirably. With my lady I only danced one
minuet. Towards the end of the ball the general, to finish up with a
piece of awkwardness, asked me if I was going soon. I replied that I did
not think of leaving Cologne till after the grand review.
I went to bed full of joy at having given the burgomaster's wife such a
signal proof of my love, and full of gratitude to fortune who had helped
me so in dealing with my doltish general, for God knows what I should
have done if he had forgotten himself so far as to tell me to leave the
table! The next time I saw the fair she told me she had felt a mortal
pang of fear shoot through her when the general said he had not asked me.
"I am quite sure," said she, "that he would have gone further, if your
grand answer had not stopped his mouth; but if he had said another word,
my mind was made up."
"To do what?"
"I should have risen from the table and taken your arm, and we should
have gone out together. M. de Castries has told me that he would have
done the same, and I believe all the ladies whom you asked to breakfast
would have followed our example."
"But the affair would not have stopped then, for I should certainly have
demanded immediate satisfaction, and if he had refused it I should have
struck him with the flat of my sword."
"I know that, but pray forget that it was I who exposed you to this
danger. For my part, I shall never forget what I owe to you, and I will
try to convince you of my gratitude."
Two days later, on hearing that she was indisposed, I went to call on her
at eleven o'clock, at which time I was sure the general would not be
there. She received me in her husband's room, and he, in the friendliest
manner possible, asked me if I had come to dine with them. I hastened to
thank him for his invitation, which I accepted with pleasure, and I
enjoyed this dinner better than Kettler's supper. The burgomaster was a
fine-looking man, pleasant-mannered and intelligent, and a lover of peace
and quietness. His wife, whom he adored, ought to have loved him, since
he was by no means one of those husbands whose motto is, "Displease whom
you like, so long as you please me."
On her husband's going out for a short time, she shewed me over the
house.
"Here is our bedroom," said she; "and this is the closet in which I sleep
for five or six nights in every month. Here is a church which we may look
upon as our private chapel, as we hear mass from those two grated
windows. On Sundays we go down this stair and enter the church by a door,
the key to which is always in my keeping." It was the second Saturday in
Lent; we had an excellent fasting dinner, but I did not for once pay much
attention to eating. To see this young and beautiful woman surrounded by
her children, adored by her family, seemed to me a beautiful sight. I
left them at an early hour to write to Esther, whom I did not neglect,
all occupied as I was with this new flame.
Next day I went to hear mass at the little church next to the
burgomaster's house. I was well cloaked so as not to attract attention. I
saw my fair one going out wearing a capuchin, and followed by her family.
I noted the little door which was so recessed in the wall that it would
have escaped the notice of anyone who was unaware of its existence; it
opened, I saw, towards the staircase.
The devil, who, as everybody knows, has more power in a church than
anywhere else, put into my head the idea of enjoying my mistress by means
of the door and stair. I told her my plan the next day at the theatre.
"I have thought of it as well as you," said she, laughing, "and I will
give you the necessary instructions in writing; you will find them in the
first gazette I send you."
We could not continue this pleasant interview, as my mistress had with
her a lady from Aix-la-Chapelle, who was staying with her for a few days.
And indeed the box was full of company.
I had not long to wait, for next day she gave me back the gazette openly,
telling me that she had not found anything to interest her in it. I knew
that it would be exceedingly interesting to me. Her note was as follows:
"The design which love inspired is subject not to difficulty but
uncertainty. The wife only sleeps in the closet when her husband asks
her--an event which only occurs at certain periods, and the separation
does not last for more than a few days. This period is not far off, but
long custom has made it impossible for the wife to impose on her husband.
It will, therefore, be necessary to wait. Love will warn you when the
hour of bliss has come. The plan will be to hide in the church; and there
must be no thought of seducing the door-keeper, for though poor he is too
stupid to be bribed, and would betray the secret. The only way will be to
hide so as to elude his watchfulness. He shuts the church at noon on
working days; on feast days he shuts it at evening, and he always opens
it again at dawn. When the time comes, all that need be done is to give
the door a gentle push-it will not be locked. As the closet which is to
be the scene of the blissful combat is only separated from the room by a
partition, there must be no spitting, coughing, nor nose-blowing: it
would be fatal. The escape will be a matter of no difficulty; one can go
down to the church, and go out as soon as it is opened. Since the beadle
has seen nobody in the evening, it is not likely that he will see more in
the morning."
I kissed again and again this charming letter, which I thought shewed
great power of mental combination, and I went next day to see how the
coast lay: this was the first thing to be done. There was a chair in the
church in which I should never have been seen, but the stair was on the
sacristy side, and that was always locked up. I decided on occupying the
confessional, which was close to the door. I could creep into the space
beneath the confessor's seat, but it was so small that I doubted my
ability to stay there after the door was shut. I waited till noon to make
the attempt, and as soon as the church was empty I took up my position. I
had to roll myself up into a ball, and even then I was so badly concealed
by the folding door that anyone happening to pass by at two paces
distance might easily have seen me. However I did not care for that, for
in adventures of that nature one must leave a great deal to fortune.
Determined to run all risks I went home highly pleased with my
observations. I put everything I had determined down in writing, and sent
it to her box at the theatre, enclosed in an old gazette.
A week after she asked the general in my presence if her husband could do
anything for him at Aix-la-Chapelle, where he was going on the morrow,
with the intention of returning in three days. That was enough for me,
but a glance from her added meaning to her words. I was all the more glad
as I had a slight cold, and the next day being a feast day I could take
up my position at night fall, and thus avoid a painful vigil of several
hours' duration.
I curled myself up in the confessional at four o'clock, hiding myself as
best I could, and commending myself to the care of all the saints. At
five o'clock the beadle made his usual tour of inspection, went out and
locked the door. As soon as I heard the noise of the key I came out of my
narrow cell and sat down on a bench facing the windows. Soon after my
mistress's shadow appeared on the grated panes, and I knew she had seen
me.
I sat on the bench for a quarter of an hour and then pushed open the
little door and entered. I shut it and sat down on the lowest step of the
stair, and spent there five hours which would probably have not been
unpleasant ones if I had not been dreadfully tormented by the rats
running to and fro close to me. Nature has given me a great dislike to
this animal, which is comparatively harmless; but the smell of rats
always sickens me.
At last I heard the clock strike ten, the hour of bliss, and I saw the
form of my beloved holding a candle, and I was then freed from my painful
position. If my readers have been in such a situation they can imagine
the pleasures of that happy night, but they cannot divine the minute
circumstances; for if I was an expert my partner had an inexhaustible
store of contrivances for augmenting the bliss of that sweet employment.
She had taken care to get me a little collation, which looked delicious,
but which I could not touch, my appetite lying in another quarter.
For seven hours, which I thought all too short, we enjoyed one another,
not resting, except for talk, which served to heighten our pleasure.
The burgomaster was not the man for an ardent passion, but his strength
of constitution enabled him to do his duty to his wife every night
without failing, but, whether from regard to his health or from a
religious scruple, he suspended his rights every month while the moon
exercised hers, and to put himself out of temptation he made his wife
sleep apart. But for once in a way, the lady was not in the position of a
divorcee.
Exhausted, but not satiated with pleasure, I left her at day-break,
assuring her that when we met again she would find me the same; and with
that I went to hide in the confessional, fearing lest the growing light
might betray me to the beadle. However, I got away without any
difficulty, and passed nearly the whole day in bed, having my dinner
served to me in my room. In the evening I went to the theatre, to have
the pleasure of seeing the beloved object of whom my love and constancy
had made me the possessor.
At the end of a fortnight she sent me a note in which she told me that
she would sleep by herself on the night following. It was a ferial day,
and I therefore went to the church at eleven in the morning after making
an enormous breakfast. I hid myself as before, and the beadle locked me
in without making any discovery.
I had a wait of ten hours, and the reflection that I should have to spend
the time partly in the church and partly on the dark and rat-haunted
staircase, without being able to take a pinch of snuff for fear of being
obliged to blow my nose, did not tend to enliven the prospect; however,
the hope of the great reward made it easy to be borne. But at one o'clock
I heard a slight noise, and looking up saw a hand appear through the
grated window, and a paper drop on the floor of the church. I ran to pick
it up, while my heart beat fast, for my first idea was that some obstacle
had occurred which would compel me to pass the night on a bench in the
church. I opened it, and what was my joy to read as follows:
"The door is open, and you will be more comfortable on the staircase,
where you will find a light, a little dinner, and some books, than in the
church. The seat is not very easy, but I have done my best to remedy the
discomfort with a cushion. Trust me, the time will seem as long to me as
to you, but be patient. I have told the general that I do not feel very
well, and shall not go out to-day. May God keep you from coughing,
especially during the night, for on the least noise we should be undone."
What stratagems are inspired by love! I opened the door directly, and
found a nicely-laid meal, dainty viands, delicious wine, coffee, a
chafing dish, lemons, spirits of wine, sugar, and rum to make some punch
if I liked. With these comforts and some books, I could wait well enough;
but I was astonished at the dexterity of my charming mistress in doing
all this without the knowledge of anybody in the house.
I spent three hours in reading, and three more in eating, and making
coffee and punch, and then I went to sleep. At ten o'clock my darling
came and awoke me. This second night was delicious, but not so much so as
the former, as we could not see each other, and the violence of our
ecstatic combats was restrained by the vicinity of the good husband. We
slept part of the time, and early in the morning I had to make good my
retreat. Thus ended my amour with this lady. The general went to
Westphalia, and she was soon to go into the country. I thus made my
preparations for leaving Cologne, promising to come and see her the year
following, which promise however I was precluded, as the reader will see,
from keeping. I took leave of my acquaintance and set out, regretted by
all.
The stay of two months and a half which I made in Cologne did not
diminish my monetary resources, although I lost whenever I was persuaded
to play. However, my winnings at Bonn made up all deficiencies, and my
banker, M. Franck, complained that I had not made any use of him.
However, I was obliged to be prudent so that those persons who spied into
my actions might find nothing reprehensible.
I left Cologne about the middle of March, and I stopped at Bonn, to
present my respects to the Elector, but he was away. I dined with Count
Verita and the Abbe Scampar, a favourite of the Elector's. After dinner
the count gave me a letter of introduction to a canoness at Coblentz, of
whom he spoke in very high terms. That obliged me to stop at Coblentz;
but when I got down at the inn, I found that the canoness was at Manheim,
while in her stead I encountered an actress named Toscani, who was going
to Stuttgart with her young and pretty daughter. She was on her way from
Paris, where her daughter had been learning character-dancing with the
famous Vestris. I had known her at Paris, but had not seen much of her,
though I had given her a little spaniel dog, which was the joy of her
daughter. This daughter was a perfect jewel, who had very little
difficulty in persuading me to come with them to Stuttgart, where I
expected, for other reasons, to have a very pleasant stay. The mother was
impatient to know what the duke would think of her daughter, for she had
destined her from her childhood to serve the pleasures of this voluptuous
prince, who, though he had a titular mistress, was fond of experimenting
with all the ballet-girls who took his fancy.
We made up a little supper-party, and it may be guessed that two of us
belonging to the boards the conversation was not exactly a course in
moral theology. The Toscani told me that her daughter was a neophyte, and
that she had made up her mind not to let the duke touch her till he had
dismissed his reigning mistress, whose place she was designed to take.
The mistress in question was a dancer named Gardella, daughter of a
Venetian boatman, whose name has been mentioned in my first volume--in
fine, she was the wife of Michel d'Agata, whom I found at Munich fleeing
from the terrible Leads, where I myself languished for so long.
As I seemed to doubt the mother's assertion, and threw out some rather
broad hints to the effect that I believed that the first bloom had been
plucked at Paris, and that the Duke of Wurtemburg would only have the
second, their vanity was touched; and on my proposing to verify the
matter with my own eyes it was solemnly agreed that this ceremony should
take place the next day. They kept their promise, and I was pleasantly
engaged for two hours the next morning, and was at last obliged to
extinguish in the mother the flames her daughter had kindled in my
breast.
Although the Toscani was young enough, she would have found me ice if her
daughter had been able to satisfy my desires, but she did not trust me
well enough to leave us alone together. As it was she was well satisfied.
I resolved, then, on going to Stuttgart in company with the two nymphs,
and I expected to see there the Binetti, who was always an enthusiastic
admirer of mine. This actress was the daughter of a Roman boatman. I had
helped her to get on the boards the same year that Madame de Valmarana
had married her to a French dancer named Binet, whose name she had
Italianized by the addition of one syllable, like those who ennoble
themselves by adding another syllable to their names. I also expected to
see the Gardella, young Baletti, of whom I was very fond, his young wife
the Vulcani, and several other of my old friends, who I thought would
combine to make my stay at Stuttgart a very pleasant one. But it will be
seen that it is a risky thing to reckon without one's host. At the last
posting station I bid adieu to my two friends, and went to the "Bear."
CHAPTER XII
Gardella Portrait of The Duke of Wurtemburg--My Dinner with
Gardella, And its Consequences--Unfortunate Meeting I Play
and Lose Four Thousand Louis--Lawsuit--Lucky Flight--
My Arrival at Zurich--Church Consecrated By Jesus Christ
Himself
[Illustration: Chapter 12]
At that period the Court of the Duke of Wurtemburg was the most brilliant
in Europe. The heavy subsidies paid by France for quartering ten thousand
men upon him furnished him with the means for indulging in luxury and
debauchery. The army in question was a fine body of men, but during the
war it was distinguished only by its blunders.
The duke was sumptuous in his tastes, which were for splendid palaces,
hunting establishments on a large scale, enormous stables--in short,
every whim imaginable; but his chief expense was the large salaries he
paid his theatre, and, above all, his mistresses. He had a French play,
an Italian opera, grand and comic, and twenty Italian dancers, all of
whom had been principal dancers in Italian theatres. His director of
ballets was Novers, and sometimes five hundred dancers appeared at once.
A clever machinist and the best scene painters did their best to make the
audience believe in magic. All the ballet-girls were pretty, and all of
them boasted of having been enjoyed at least once by my lord. The chief
of them was a Venetian, daughter of a gondolier named Gardella. She was
brought up by the senator Malipiero, whom my readers know for his good
offices towards myself, who had her taught for the theatre, and gave her
a dancing-master. I found her at Munich, after my flight from The Leads,
married to Michel Agata. The duke took a fancy to her, and asked her
husband, who was only too happy to agree, to yield her; but he was
satisfied with her charms in a year, and put her on the retired list with
the title of madame.
This honour had made all the other ballet-girls jealous, and they all
thought themselves as fit as she to be taken to the duke's titular
mistress, especially as she only enjoyed the honour without the pleasure.
They all intrigued to procure her dismissal, but the Venetian lady
succeeded in holding her ground against all cabals.
Far from reproaching the duke for this incorrigible infidelity, she
encouraged him in it, and was very glad to be left to herself, as she
cared nothing for him. Her chief pleasure was to have the ballet-girls
who aspired to the honours of the handkerchief come to her to solicit her
good offices. She always received them politely, gave them her advice,
and bade them do their best to please the prince. In his turn the duke
thought himself bound to shew his gratitude for her good nature, and gave
her in public all the honours which could be given to a princess.
I was not long in finding out that the duke's chief desire was to be
talked about. He would have liked people to say that there was not a
prince in Europe to compare with him for wit, taste, genius, in the
invention of pleasures, and statesman-like capacities; he would fain be
regarded as a Hercules in the pleasures of Bacchus and Venus, and none
the less an Aristides in governing his people. He dismissed without pity
an attendant who failed to wake him after he had been forced to yield to
sleep for three or four hours, but he did not care how roughly he was
awakened.
It has happened that after having given his highness a large cup of
coffee, the servant has been obliged to throw him into a bath of cold
water, where the duke had to choose between awaking or drowning.
As soon as he was dressed the duke would assemble his council and
dispatch whatever business was on hand, and then he would give audience
to whoever cared to come into his presence. Nothing could be more comic
than the audiences he gave to his poorer subjects. Often there came to
him dull peasants and workmen of the lowest class; the poor duke would
sweat and rage to make them hear reason, in which he was sometimes
unsuccessful, and his petitioners would go away terrified, desperate, and
furious. As to the pretty country maidens, he examined into their
complaints in private, and though he seldom did anything for them they
went away consoled.
The subsidies which the French Crown was foolish enough to pay him for a
perfectly useless service did not suffice for his extravagant expenses.
He loaded his subjects with taxes till the patient people could bear it
no longer, and some years after had recourse to the Diet of Wetzlar,
which obliged him to change his system. He was foolish enough to wish to
imitate the King of Prussia, while that monarch made fun of the duke, and
called him his ape. His wife was the daughter of the Margrave of
Bayreuth, the prettiest and most accomplished princess in all Germany.
When I had come to Stuttgart she was no longer there; she had taken
refuge with her father, on account of a disgraceful affront which had
been offered her by her unworthy husband. It is incorrect to say that
this princess fled from her husband because of his infidelities.
After I had dined by myself, I dressed and went to the opera provided
gratis by the duke in the fine theatre he had built. The prince was in
the front of the orchestra, surrounded by his brilliant Court. I sat in a
box on the first tier, delighted to be able to hear so well the music of
the famous Jumella, who was in the duke's service. In my ignorance of the
etiquette of small German Courts I happened to applaud a solo, which had
been exquisitely sung by a castrato whose name I have forgotten, and
directly afterwards an individual came into my box and addressed me in a
rude manner. However, I knew no German, and could only answer by 'nich
verstand'--"I don't understand."
He went out, and soon after an official came in, who told me, in good
French, that when the sovereign was present all applause was forbidden.
"Very good, sir. Then I will go away and come again when the sovereign is
not here, as when an air pleases me I always applaud."
After this reply I called for my carriage, but just as I was getting into
it the same official came and told me that the duke wanted to speak to
me. I accordingly followed him to the presence.
"You are M. Casanova, are you?" said the duke.
"Yes, my lord."
"Where do you come from?"
"From Cologne."
"Is this the first time you have been to Stuttgart?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Do you think of staying long?"
"For five or six days, if your highness will allow me."
"Certainly, you may stay as long as you like, and you may clap when you
please."
"I shall profit by your permission, my lord."
"Good."
I sat down again, and the whole audience settled down to the play. Soon
after, an actor sung an air which the duke applauded, and of course all
the courtiers, but not caring much for the song I sat still--everyone to
his taste. After the ballet the duke went to the favourite's box, kissed
her hand, and left the theatre. An official, who was sitting by me and
did not know that I was acquainted with the Gardella, told me that as I
had had the honour of speaking to the prince I might obtain the honour of
kissing his favourite's hand.
I felt a strong inclination to laugh, but I restrained myself; and a
sudden and very irrational impulse made me say that she was a relation of
mine. The words had no sooner escaped me than I bit my lip, for this
stupid lie could only do me harm, but it was decreed that I should do
nothing at Stuttgart but commit blunders. The officer, who seemed
astonished at my reply, bowed and went to the favourite's box to inform
her of my presence. The Gardelia looked in my direction and beckoned to
me with her fan, and I hastened to comply with the invitation, laughing
inwardly at the part I was going to play. As soon as I came in she
graciously gave me her hand, which I kissed, calling her my cousin.
"Did you tell the duke you were my cousin?" said she.
"No," I replied.
"Very good, then I will do so myself; come and dine with me to-morrow."
She then left the house, and I went to visit the ballet-girls, who were
undressing: The Binetti, who was one of the oldest of my acquaintances,
was in an ecstasy of joy at seeing me, and asked me to dine with her
every day. Cartz, the violin, who had been with me in the orchestra at
St. Samuel's, introduced me to his pretty daughter, saying,
"She is not made for the duke's eyes to gaze on, and he shall never have
her."
The good man was no prophet, as the duke got possession of her a short
time after. She presented him with two babies, but these pledges of
affection could not fix the inconstant prince. Nevertheless, she was a
girl of the most captivating kind, for to the most perfect beauty she
added grace, wit, goodness, and kindness, which won everyone's heart. But
the duke was satiated, and his only pleasure lay in novelty.
After her I saw the Vulcani, whom I had known at Dresden, and who
suddenly presented her husband to me. He threw his arms round my neck. He
was Baletti, brother of my faithless one, a young man of great talent of
whom I was very fond.
I was surrounded by all these friends, when the officer whom I had so
foolishly told that I was related to the Gardella came in and began to
tell the story. The Binetti, after hearing it, said to him,
"It's a lie."
"But my dear," said I to her, "you can't be better informed on the
subject than I am." She replied by laughing, but Cartz said, very
wittily,
"As Gardella is only a boatman's daughter, like Binetti, the latter
thinks, and very rightly, that you ought to have given her the refusal of
your cousinship."
Next day I had a pleasant dinner with the favourite, though she told me
that, not having seen the duke, she could not tell me how he would take
my pleasantry, which her mother resented very much. This mother of hers,
a woman of the lowest birth, had become very proud since her daughter was
a prince's mistress, and thought my relationship a blot on their
escutcheon. She had the impudence to tell me that her relations had never
been players, without reflecting that it must be worse to descend to this
estate than to rise from it, if it were dishonourable. I ought to have
pitied her, but not being of a forbearing nature I retorted by asking if
her sister was still alive, a question which made her frown and to which
she gave no answer. The sister I spoke of was a fat blind woman, who
begged on a bridge in Venice.
After having spent a pleasant day with the favourite, who was the oldest
of my theatrical friends, I left her, promising to come to breakfast the
next day; but as I was going out the porter bade me not to put my feet
there again, but would not say on whose authority he gave me this polite
order. It would have been wiser to hold my tongue, as this stroke must
have come from the mother; or, perhaps, from the daughter, whose vanity I
had wounded: she was a good-enough actress to conceal her anger.
I was angry with myself, and went away in an ill humour; I was humiliated
to see myself treated in such a manner by a wretched wanton of an
actress; though if I had been more discreet I could have got a welcome in
the best society. If I had not promised to dine with Binetti the next day
I should have posted off forthwith, and I should thus have escaped all
the misadventures which befell me in that wretched town.
The Binetti lived in the house of her lover, the Austrian ambassador, and
the part of the house she occupied adjoined the town wall. As will be
seen; this detail is an important one. I dined alone with my good
fellow-countrywoman, and if I had felt myself capable of love at that
period all my old affection would have resumed its sway over me, as her
beauty was undiminished, and she had more tact and knowledge of the world
than when I knew her formerly.
The Austrian ambassador was a good-natured, easygoing, and generous man;
as for her husband he was not worthy of her, and she never saw him. I
spent a pleasant day with her, talking of our old friends, and as I had
nothing to keep me in Wurtemburg I decided to leave in two days, as I had
promised the Toscani and her daughter to go with them on the next day to
Louisbourg. We were to start at five in the morning, but the following
adventure befell me:--
As I was leaving Binetti's house I was greeted very courteously by three
officers whom I had become acquainted with at the coffee house, and I
walked along the promenade with them.
"We are going," said one of them, "to visit certain ladies of easy
virtue; we shall be glad to have you of our company."
"I only speak a few words of German," I answered, "and if I join you I
shall be bored."
"Ah! but the ladies are Italians," they exclaimed, "nothing could suit
you better."
I did not at all like following them, but my evil genius led me in that
wretched town from one blunder to another, and so I went in spite of
myself.
We turned back into the town, and I let myself be led up to the third
floor of an ill-looking house, and in the meanest of rooms I saw the
pretended nieces of Peccini. A moment after Peccini appeared, and had the
impudence to throw his arms around my neck, calling me his best friend.
His nieces overwhelmed me with caresses, and seemed to confirm the idea
that we were old friends. I did nothing and held my tongue.
The officers prepared for a debauch; I did not imitate their example, but
this made no difference to them. I saw into what an evil place I had been
decoyed, but a false shame prevented me from leaving the house without
ceremony. I was wrong, but I determined to be more prudent for the
future.
Before long a pot-house supper was served, of which I did not partake;
but not wishing to seem bad company I drank two or three small glasses of
Hungarian wine. After supper, which did not last very long, cards were
produced, and one of the officers held a bank at faro. I punted and lost
the fifty or sixty Louis I had about me. I felt that I was drunk, my head
was reeling, and I would have gladly given over playing and gone away,
but I have never been so possessed as on that day, either from false
shame or from the effects of the drugged wine they gave me. My noble
officers seemed vexed that I had lost, and would give me my revenge. They
made me hold a bank of a hundred Louis in fish, which they counted out to
me. I did so, and lost. I made a bank again, and again I lost. My
inflamed understanding, my increasing drunkenness, and my anger, deprived
me of all sense, and I kept increasing my bank, losing all the time, till
at midnight my good rascals declared they would play no more. They made a
calculation, and declared that I had lost nearly a hundred thousand
francs. So great was my intoxication, although I had had no more wine,
that they were obliged to send for a sedan chair to take me to my inn.
While my servant was undressing me he discovered that I had neither my
watches nor my gold snuff-boy.
"Don't forget to wake me at four in the morning," said I. Therewith I
went to bed and enjoyed a calm and refreshing sleep.
While I was dressing next morning I found a hundred Louis in my pocket,
at which I was much astonished, for my dizziness of brain being over now,
I remembered that I had not this money about me the evening before; but
my mind was taken up with the pleasure party, and I put off thinking of
this incident and of my enormous losses till afterwards. I went to the
Toscani and we set out for Louisbourg, where we had a capital dinner, and
my spirits ran so high that my companions could never have guessed the
misfortune that had just befallen me. We went back to Stuttgart in the
evening.
When I got home my Spaniard told me that they knew nothing about my
watches and snuff-box at the house where I had been the evening before,
and that the three officers had come to call on me, but not finding me at
home they had told him to warn me that they would breakfast with me on
the following morning. They kept the appointment.
"Gentlemen," said I, as soon as they came in, "I have lost a sum which I
cannot pay, and which I certainly should not have lost without the
drugged wine you gave me. You have taken me to a den of infamy, where I
was shamefully robbed of jewellery to the value of more than three
hundred Louis. I complain of no one, since I have only my own folly to
complain of. If I had been wiser all this would not have happened to me."
They exclaimed loudly at this speech, and tried to play the part of men
of honour. They spoke in vain, as I had made up my mind to pay nothing.
Whilst we were in the thick of the fight, and were beginning to get angry
over it, Baletti, Toscani, and Binetti came in, and heard the discussion.
I then had breakfast brought in, and after we had finished my friends
left me.
When we were once more alone, one of the rascals addressed me as follows:
"We are too honest, sir, to take advantage of your position. You have
been unfortunate, but all men are sometimes unfortunate, and we ask
nothing better than a mutual accommodation. We will take over all your
properties; jewels, diamonds, arms, and carriage, and have them valued;
and if the sum realized does not cover your debt we will take your
acceptance, payable at date, and remain good friends."
"Sir, I do not wish for the friendship of robbers, and I will not play a
single farthing."
At this they tried threats, but I kept cool and said,--
"Gentlemen, your menaces will not intimidate me, and, as far as I can
see, you have only two ways of getting paid; either by way of the law, in
which case I do not think I shall find it difficult to get a barrister to
take up my case, or, secondly, you can pay yourselves on my body,
honourably, with sword in hand."
As I had expected, they replied that if I wished they would do me the
honour of killing me after I had paid them. They went off cursing,
telling me that I would be sorry for what I had said.
Soon after I went out and spent the day with the Toscani in gaiety which,
situated as I was, was not far off madness. At the time I placed it to
the daughter's charms, and to the need my spirits were in of recovering
their elasticity.
However, the mother having witnessed the rage of the three robbers was
the first to urge me to fortify myself against their villainy by an
appeal to the law.
"If you give them the start," said she, "they may possibly gain a great
advantage over you in spite of the right being on your side."
And whilst I toyed with her charming daughter, she sent for a barrister.
After hearing my case the counsel told me that my best way would be to
tell the whole story to the sovereign as soon as possible.
"They took you to the house of ill-fame; they poured out the drugged wine
which deprived you of your reason; they made you play in spite of their
prince's prohibition (for gaming is strictly forbidden); in this company
you were robbed of your jewels after they had made you lose an enormous
sum. It's a hanging matter, and the duke's interest will be to do you
justice, for an act of scoundrelism like this committed by his officers
would dishonour him all over Europe."
I felt some repugnance to this course, for though the duke was a
shameless libertine I did not like telling him such a disgraceful story.
However, the case was a serious one, and after giving it due reflection I
determined to wait on the dike on the following morning.
"As the duke gives audience to the first comer," I said to myself, "why
should I not have as good a reception as a labouring man?" In this way I
concluded that it would be no use to write to him, and I was on my way to
the Court, when, at about twenty paces from the gate of the castle, I met
my three gentlemen who accosted me rudely and said I had better make up
my mind to pay, or else they would play the devil with me.
I was going on without paying any attention to them, when I felt myself
rudely seized by the right arm. A natural impulse of self-defence made me
put my hand to my sword, and I drew it in a manner that shewed I was in
earnest. The officer of the guard came running up, and I complained that
the three were assaulting me and endeavouring to hinder my approach to
the prince. On enquiry being made, the sentry and the numerous persons
who were present declared that I had only drawn in self-defence, so the
officer decided that I had perfect liberty to enter the castle.
I was allowed to penetrate to the last antechamber without any obstacle
being raised. Here I addressed myself to the chamberlain, demanding an
audience with the sovereign, and he assured me that I should be
introduced into the presence. But directly afterwards the impudent
scoundrel who had taken hold of my arm came up and began to speak to the
chamberlain in German. He said his say without my being able to
contradict him, and his representations were doubtless not in my favour.
Very possibly, too, the chamberlain was one of the gang, and I went from
Herod to Pilate. An hour went by without my being able to see the prince,
and then the chamberlain, who had assured me that I should have an
audience, came and told me that I might go home, as the duke had heard
all the circumstances of the case, and would no doubt see that justice
was done me.
I saw at once that I should get no justice at all, and as I was walking
away I thought how best I could get out of the difficulty. On my way I
met Binetti, who knew how I was placed, and he asked me to come and dine
with him, assuring me that the Austrian ambassador would take me under
his protection, and that he would save me from the violent measures which
the rascals no doubt intended to take, in spite of the chamberlain's
assurances. I accepted the invitation, and Binetti's charming wife,
taking the affair to heart, did not lose a moment in informing her lover,
the ambassador, of all the circumstances.
This diplomatist came into the room with her, and after hearing all the
details from my lips he said that in all probability the duke knew
nothing about it.
"Write a brief account of the business," said he, "and I will lay it
before the sovereign, who will no doubt see justice done."
I went to Binetti's desk, and as soon as I had written down my true
relation I gave it, unsealed, to the ambassador, who assured me that it
should be in the duke's hands in the course of an hour.
At dinner my country-woman assured me again that her lover should protect
me, and we spent the day pleasantly enough; but towards evening my
Spaniard came and assured me that if I returned to the inn I should be
arrested, "for," said he, "an officer came to see you, and finding you
were out he took up his position at the street door and has two soldiers
standing at the foot of the staircase."
The Binetti said, "You must not go to the inn; stay here, where you have
nothing to fear. Send for what you want, and we will wait and see what
happens." I then gave orders to my Spaniard to go and fetch the
belongings which were absolutely necessary to me.
At midnight the ambassador came in; we were still up, and he seemed
pleased that his mistress had sheltered me. He assured me that my plea
had been laid before the sovereign, but during the three days I was in
the house I heard no more about it.
On the fourth day, whilst I was pondering as to how I should act, the
ambassador received a letter from a minister requesting him, on behalf of
the sovereign, to dismiss me from his house, as I had a suit pending with
certain officers of his highness, and whilst I was with the ambassador
justice could not take its course. The ambassador gave me the letter, and
I saw that the minister promised that strict justice should be done me.
There was no help for it; I had to make up my mind to return to my inn,
but the Binetti was so enraged that she began to scold her lover, at
which he laughed, saying, with perfect truth, that he could not keep me
there in defiance of the prince.
I re-entered the inn without meeting anyone, but when I had had my dinner
and was just going to see my counsel an officer served me with a summons,
which was interpreted to me by my landlord, which ordered me to appear
forthwith before the notary appointed to take my deposition. I went to
him with the officer of the court, and spent two hours with the notary,
who wrote down my deposition in German while I gave it in Latin. When it
was done he told me to sign my name; to which I answered that I must
decline to sign a document I did not understand. He insisted on my doing
it, but I was immovable. He then got in a rage and said I ought to be
ashamed of myself for suspecting a notary's honour. I replied calmly that
I had no doubts as to his honour, but that I acted from principle, and
that as I did not understand what he had written I refused to sign it. I
left him, and was accompanied by the officer to my own counsel, who said
I had done quite right, and promised to call on me the next day to
receive my power of attorney.
"And when I have done that," he said, "your business will be mine."
I was comforted by this man, who inspired me with confidence, and went
back to the hotel, where I made a good supper and went tranquilly to
sleep. Next morning, however, when I awoke, my Spaniard announced an
officer who had followed him, and told me in good French that I must not
be astonished to find myself a prisoner in my room, for being a stranger
and engaged in a suit at law it was only right that the opposite party
should be assured that I would not escape before judgment was given. He
asked very politely for my sword, and to my great regret I was compelled
to give it him. The hilt was of steel, exquisitely chased; it was a
present from Madame d'Urfe, and was worth at least fifty louis.
I wrote a note to my counsel to tell him what had happened; he came to
see me and assured me that I should only be under arrest for a few days.
As I was obliged to keep my room, I let my friends know of my
confinement, and I received visits from dancers and ballet-girls, who
were the only decent people I was acquainted with in that wretched
Stuttgart, where I had better never have set foot. My situation was not
pleasant to contemplate: I had been drugged, cheated, robbed, abused,
imprisoned, threatened with a mulct of a hundred thousand francs, which
would have stripped me to my shirt, as nobody knew the contents of my
pocket-book. I could think of nothing else. I had written to Madame the
Gardella, but to no purpose, as I got no answer. All the consolation I
got was from Binetti, Toscani, and Baletti, who dined or supped with me
every day. The three rascals came to see me one by one, and each tried to
get me to give him money unknown to the other two, and each promised that
if I would do that, he would get me out of the difficulty. Each would
have been content with three or four hundred louis, but even if I had
given that sum to one of them I had no guarantee that the others would
desist from their persecution. Indeed, if I had done so I should have
given some ground to their pretensions, and bad would have been made
worse. My answer was that they wearied me, and that I should be glad if
they would desist from visiting me.
On the fifth day of my arrest the duke left for Frankfort; and the same
day Binetti came and told me from her lover that the duke had promised
the officers not to interfere, and that I was therefore in danger of an
iniquitous sentence. His advice was to neglect no means of getting out of
the difficulty, to sacrifice all my property, diamonds, and jewellery,
and thus to obtain a release from my enemies. The Binetti, like a wise
woman, disliked this counsel, and I relished it still less, but she had
to perform her commission.
I had jewellery and lace to the value of more than a hundred thousand
francs, but I could not resolve to make the sacrifice. I did not know
which way to turn or where to go, and while I was in this state of mind
my barrister came in. He spoke as follows:
"Sir, all my endeavors on your behalf have been unsuccessful. There is a
party against you which seems to have support in some high quarter, and
which silences the voice of justice. It is my duty to warn you that
unless you find some way of arranging matters with these rascals you are
a ruined man. The judgment given by the police magistrate, a rascal like
the rest of them, is of a summary character, for as a stranger you will
not be allowed to have recourse to the delays of the law. You would
require bail to do that. They have managed to procure witnesses who swear
that you are a professional gamester, that it was you who seduced the
three officers into the house of your countryman Peccini, that it is not
true that your wine was drugged that you did not lose your watches nor
your snuff-box, for, they say, these articles will be found in your mails
when your goods are sold. For that you will only have to wait till
to-morrow or the day after, and do not think that I am deceiving you in
any particular, or you will be sorry for it. They will come here and
empty your mails, boxes, and pockets, a list will be made, and they will
be sold by auction the same day. If the sum realized is greater than the
debt the surplus will go in costs, and you may depend upon it that a very
small sum will be returned to you; but if, on the other hand, the sum is
not sufficient to pay everything, including the debt, costs, expenses of
the auction, etc., you will be enrolled as a common soldier in the forces
of His Most Serene Highness. I heard it said to the officer, who is your
greatest creditor, that the four Louis enlistment money would be taken
into account, and that the duke would be glad to get hold of such a fine
man."
The barrister left me without my noticing him. I was so petrified by what
he had said. I was in such a state of collapse that in less than an hour
all the liquids in my body must have escaped. I, a common soldier in the
army of a petty sovereign like the duke, who only existed by the horrible
traffic in human flesh which he carried on after the manner of the
Elector of Hesse. I, despoiled by those knaves, the victim of an
iniquitous sentence. Never! I would endeavour to hit upon some plan to
gain time.
I began by writing to my chief creditor that I had decided to come to an
agreement with them, but I wished them all to wait upon my notary, with
witnesses, to put a formal close to the action and render me a free man
again.
I calculated that one of them was sure to be on duty on the morrow, and
thus I should gain a day at any rate. In the mean time I hoped to
discover some way of escape.
I next wrote to the head of the police, whom I styled "your excellency"
and "my lord," begging him to vouchsafe his all-powerful protection. I
told him that I had resolved on selling all my property to put an end to
the suit which threatened to overwhelm me, and I begged him to suspend
the proceedings, the cost of which could only add to my difficulties. I
also asked him to send me a trustworthy man to value my effects as soon
as I had come to an agreement with my creditors, with whom I begged for
his good offices. When I had done I sent my Spaniard to deliver the
letters.
The officer to whom I had written, who pretended that I was his debtor to
the amount of two thousand Louis, came to see me after dinner. I was in
bed; and I told him I thought I had fever. He began to offer his
sympathy, and, genuine or not, I was pleased with it. He told me he had
just had some conversation with the chief of the police, who had shewn
him my letter.
"You are very wise," said he, "in consenting to a composition, but we
need not all three be present. I have full powers from the other two, and
that will be sufficient for the notary:"
"I am in bad enough case," I replied, "for you to grant me the favour of
seeing you all together; I cannot think you will refuse me."
"Well, well, you shall be satisfied, but if you are in a hurry to leave
Stuttgart I must warn you that we cannot come before Monday, for we are
on duty for the next four days."
"I am sorry to hear it, but I will wait. Give me your word of honour that
all proceedings shall be suspended in the mean time."
"Certainly; here is my hand, and you may reckon on me. In my turn I have
a favour to ask. I like your post-chaise; will you let me have it for
what it cost you?"
"With pleasure."
"Be kind enough to call the landlord, and tell him in my presence that
the carriage belongs to me."
I had the landlord upstairs and did as the rascal had asked me, but mine
host told him that he could dispose of it after he had paid for it, and
with that he turned his back on him and left the room.
"I am certain of having the chaise," said the officer, laughing. He then
embraced me, and went away.
I had derived so much pleasure from my talk with him that I felt quite
another man. I had four days before me; it was a rare piece of good luck.
Some hours after, an honest-looking fellow who spoke Italian well came to
tell me, from the chief of police, that my creditors would meet on the
ensuing Monday, and that he himself was appointed to value my goods. He
advised me to make it a condition of the agreement that my goods should
not be sold by auction, and that my creditors should consider his
valuation as final and binding. He told me that I should congratulate
myself if I followed his advice.
I told him that I would not forget his services, and begged him to
examine my mails and my jewel-box. He examined everything and told me
that my lace alone was worth twenty thousand francs. "In all," he added,
"your goods are worth more than a hundred thousand francs, but I promise
to tell your adversaries another story, Thus, if you can persuade them to
take half their debt, you will get off with half your effects."
"In that ease," I said, "you shall have fifty louis, and here are six as
an earnest."
"I am grateful to you, and you can count upon my devotion. The whole town
and the duke as well know your creditors to be knaves, but they have
their reasons for refusing to see their conduct in its true light."
I breathed again, and now all my thoughts were concentrated on making my
escape with all I possessed, my poor chaise excepted. I had a difficult
task before me, but not so difficult a one as my flight from The Leads,
and the recollection of my great escape gave me fresh courage.
My first step was to ask Toscani, Baletti, and the dancer Binetti to
supper, as I had measures to concert with these friends of mine, whom I
could rely on, and who had nothing to fear from the resentment of three
rascals.
After we had had a good supper I told them how the affair stood, and that
I was determined to escape, and to carry my goods with me. "And now," I
said, "I want your advice."
After a brief silence Binetti said if I could get to his house I could
lower myself down from a window, and once on the ground I should be
outside the town walls and at a distance of a hundred paces from the high
road, by which I could travel post and be out of the duke's dominions by
daybreak. Thereupon Baletti opened the window and found that it would be
impossible to escape that way, on account of a wooden roof above a shop.
I looked out also, and seeing that he was right I said that I should no
doubt hit on some way of making my escape from the inn, but what troubled
me chiefly was my luggage. The Toscani then said:--
"You will have to abandon your mails, which you could not take off
without attracting attention, and you must send all your effects to my
house. I engage to deliver safely whatever you may put in my care. I will
take away your effects under my clothes in several journeys, and I can
begin to-night."
Baletti thought this idea a good one, and said that to do it the quicker
his wife would come and help. We fixed on this plan, and I promised
Binetti to be with him at midnight on Sunday, even if I had to stab the
sentry, who was at my door all day, but who went away at night after
locking me in. Baletti said he would provide me with a faithful servant,
and a post-chaise with swift horses, which would take my effects in other
mails. To make the best use of the time, the Toscani began to load
herself, putting two of my suits of clothes under her dress. For the next
few days my friends served me so well that, at midnight on Saturday, my
mails and my dressing case were empty; I kept back all the jewellery
intending to carry it in my pocket.
On Sunday, the Toscani brought me the keys of the two mails, in which she
had put my goods; and Baletti came also to tell me that all the necessary
measures had been taken, and that I should find a post-chaise, under the
charge of his servant, waiting for me on the high road. So far good, and
the reader shall now hear how I contrived to escape from my inn.
The sentry confined himself to a small ante-chamber, where he walked up
and down, without ever coming into my room, except at my invitation. As
soon as he heard that I had gone to bed he locked the door, and went off
till the next day. He used to sup on a little table in a corner of the
ante-room; his food being sent out by me. Profiting by my knowledge of
his habits, I gave my Spaniard the following instructions:
"After supper, instead of going to bed, I shall hold myself in readiness
for leaving my room, and I shall leave it when I see the light
extinguished in the ante-room, while I shall take care that my candle be
so placed as not to shew any light outside, or to reflect my shadow. Once
out of my room, I shall have no difficulty in reaching the stairs, and my
escape will be accomplished. I shall go to Binetti's, leave the town by
his house, and wait for you at Furstenburg. No one can hinder you from
joining me in the course of a day or two. So when you see me ready in my
room, and this will be whilst the sentry is having his supper, put out
the candle on the table: you can easily manage to do so whilst snuffing
it. You will then take it to re-light it, and I shall seize that moment
to get off in the darkness. When you conclude that I have got out of the
ante-room, you can come back to the soldier with the lighted candle, and
you can help him to finish his bottle. By that time I shall be safe, and
when you tell him I have gone to bed he will come to the door, wish me
good night, and after locking the door and putting the key in his pocket
he will go away with you. It is not likely that he will come in and speak
to me when he hears I have gone to bed."
Nevertheless, as he might possibly take it into his head to come into the
room, I carefully arranged a wig-block in a night-cap on the pillow, and
huddled up the coverlet so as to deceive a casual glance.
All my plans were successful, as I heard afterwards from my Spaniard.
Whilst he was drinking with the sentry I was getting on my great coat,
girding on my hanger (I had no longer a sword), and putting my loaded
pistols in my pocket. As soon as the darkness told me that Le Duc had put
out the candle I went out softly, and reached the staircase without
making the least noise. Once there the rest was easy, for the stair led
into the passage, and the passage to the main door, which was always open
till nearly midnight.
I stepped out along the street, and at a quarter to twelve I got to
Binetti's, and found his wife looking out for me at the window. When I
was in the room, whence I intended to escape, we lost no time. I threw my
overcoat to Baletti, who was standing in the ditch below, up to the knees
in mud, and binding a strong cord round my waist I embraced the Binetti
and Baletti's wife, who lowered me down as gently as possible. Baletti
received me in his arms, I cut the cord, and after taking my great coat I
followed his footsteps. We strode through the mud, and going along a
hedge we reached the high road in a state of exhaustion, although it was
not more than a hundred paces as the crow flies from where we stood to
the house. At a little distance off, beside a small wayside inn, we found
the postchaise in which sat Baletti's servant. He got out, telling us
that the postillion had just gone into the inn to have a glass of beer
and light his pipe. I took the good servant's place, and gave him a
reward, and begged them both to be gone, saying I would manage all the
rest myself.
It was April and, 1760--my birthday--and a remarkable period in my
career, although my whole life has been filled with adventures, good or
bad.
I had been in the carriage for two or three minutes when the postillion
came and asked me if we had much longer to wait. He thought he was
speaking to the same person that he had left in the chaise, and I did not
undeceive him. "Drive on," I answered, "and make one stage of it from
here to Tubingen, without changing horses at Waldenbach." He followed my
instructions, and we went along at a good pace, but I had a strong
inclination to laugh at the face he made when he saw me at Tubingen.
Baletti's servant was a youth, and slightly built; I was tall, and quite
a man. He opened his eyes to their utmost width, and told me I was not
the same gentleman that was in the carriage when he started. "You're
drunk," said I, putting in his hand four times what he was accustomed to
get, and the poor devil did not say a word. Who has not experienced the
persuasive influence of money? I went on my journey, and did not stop
till I reached Furstenburg, where I was quite safe.
I had eaten nothing on the way, and by the time I got to the inn I was
dying of hunger. I had a good supper brought to me, and then I went to
bed and slept well. As soon as I awoke I wrote to my three rascals. I
promised to wait ten days for them at the place from which I dated the
letter, and I challenged them to a duel a l'outrance, swearing that I
would publish their cowardice all over Europe if they refused to measure
swords with me. I next wrote to the Toscani, to Baletti, and to the
good-natured mistress of the Austrian ambassador, commending Le Duc to
their care, and thanking them for their friendly help.
The three rascals did not come, but the landlord's two daughters, both of
them pretty, made me pass the three days very agreeably.
On the fourth day, towards noon, I had the pleasure of seeing my faithful
Spaniard riding into the town carrying his portmanteau on his saddle.
"Sir," said he, "all Stuttgart knows you to be here, and I fear, lest the
three officers who were too cowardly to accept your challenge may have
you assassinated. If you are wise you will set out for Switzerland
forthwith."
"That's cowardly, my lad," said I. "Don't be afraid about me, but tell me
all that happened after my escape."
"As soon as you were gone, sir, I carried out your instructions, and
helped the poor devil of a sentry to empty his bottle, though he would
have willingly dispensed with my assistance in the matter; I then told
him you had gone to bed, and he locked the door as usual, and went away
after shaking me by the hand. After he had gone I went to bed. Next
morning the worthy man was at his post by nine o'clock, and at ten the
three officers came, and on my telling them that you were still asleep
they went away, bidding me come to a coffee-house, and summon them when
you got up. As they waited and waited to no purpose, they came again at
noon, and told the soldier to open the door. What followed amused me,
though I was in some danger in the midst of the rascals.
"They went in, and taking the wig-block for your head they came up to the
bed and politely wished you good morning. You took no notice, so one of
them proceeded to give you a gentle shake, and the bauble fell and rolled
along the floor. I roared with laughter at the sight of their amazement.
"'You laugh, do you, rascal? Tell us where your master is.' And to give
emphasis to their words they accompanied them with some strokes of the
cane.
"I was not going to stand this sort of thing, so I told them, with an
oath, that if they did not stop I should defend myself, adding that I was
not my master's keeper, and advising them to ask the sentry.
"The sentry on his part swore by all the saints that you must have
escaped by the window, but in spite of this a corporal was summoned, and
the poor man was sent to prison.
"The clamour that was going on brought up the landlord, who opened your
mails, and on finding them empty said that he would be well enough paid
by your postchaise, replying only with a grin to the officer who
pretended you had given it him.
"In the midst of the tumult a superior officer came up, who decided that
you must have escaped through the window, and ordered the sentry to be
set at liberty on the spot. Then came my turn, for, as I kept on laughing
and answered all questions by 'I don't know,' these gentleman had me
taken to prison, telling me I should stay there till I informed them
where you, or at least your effects, could be found.
"The next day one of them came to the prison, and told me that unless I
confessed I should undoubtedly be sent to the galleys.
"'On the faith of a Spaniard,' I answered, I know nothing, but if I did
it would be all the same to you, for no one can make an honest servant
betray his master.
"At this the rascal told the turnkey to give me a taste of the lash, and
after this had been done I was set at liberty.
"My back was somewhat scarified, but I had the proud consciousness of
having done my duty, and I went back and slept at the inn, where they
were glad to see me. Next morning everyone knew you were here and had
sent a challenge to the three sharpers, but the universal opinion was
that they were too knowing to risk their lives by meeting you.
Nevertheless, Madame Baletti told me to beg you to leave Furstenburg, as
they might very likely have you assassinated. The landlord sold your
chaise and your mails to the Austrian ambassador, who, they say, let you
escape from a window in the apartment occupied by his mistress. No one
offered to prevent me coming here.
"Three hours after Le Duc's arrival I took post and went to Schaffhaus,
and from there to Zurich, with hired horses, as there are no posts in
Switzerland. At Zurich I put up at the 'Sward,' an excellent inn.
"After supper, powdering over my arrival in Zurich where I had dropped
from the clouds as it were, I began, to reflect seriously upon my present
situation and the events of my past life. I recalled my misfortunes and
scrutinized my conduct; and was not long in concluding that all I had
suffered was through my own fault, and that when fortune would have
crowned me with happiness I had persistently trifled that happiness away.
I had just succeeded in escaping from a trap where I might have perished,
or at least have been overwhelmed with shame, and I shuddered at the
thought. I resolved to be no more fortune's plaything, but to escape
entirely from her hands. I calculated my assets and found I was possessed
of a hundred thousand crowns. 'With that,' said I, 'I can live secure
amidst the changes and chances of this life, and I shall at last
experience true happiness.'"
I went to bed pondering over these fancies, and my sleep was full of
happy dreams. I saw myself dwelling in a retired spot amidst peace and
plenty. I thought I was surrounded on all sides by a fair expanse of
country which belonged to me, where I enjoyed that freedom the world
cannot give. My dreams had all the force of reality, till a sudden
awakening at day-break came to give them the lie. But the imaginary bliss
I had enjoyed had so taken my fancy that I could not rest till I realized
it. I arose, dressed myself hastily, and went out, fasting, without
knowing where I was going.
I walked on and on, absorbed in contemplation, and did not really awake
till I found myself in a ravine between two lofty mountains. Stepping
forward I reached a valley surrounded by mountains on all sides, and in
the distance a fine church, attached to a pile of buildings,
magnificently situated. I guessed it to be a monastery, and I made my way
towards it.
The church door was open, and I went in and was amazed at the rich
marbles and the beauty of the altars; and, after hearing the last mass, I
went to the sacristy and found myself in a crowd of Benedictines.
The abbot, whom I recognized by his cross, came towards me and asked if I
wished to see the church and monastery. I replied that I should be
delighted, and he, with two other brethren, offered to shew me all. I saw
their rich ornaments, chasubles embroidered with gold and pearls, the
sacred vessels adorned with diamonds and other precious stones, a rich
balustrade, etc.
As I understood German very imperfectly and the Swiss dialect (which is
hard to acquire and bears the same relation to German that Genoese has to
Italian) not at all, I began to speak Latin, and asked the abbot if the
church had been built for long. Thereupon the very reverend father
entered into a long history, which would have made me repent my
inquisitiveness if he had not finished by saying that the church was
consecrated by Jesus Christ Himself. This was carrying its foundation
rather far back, and no doubt my face expressed some surprise, for to
convince me of the truth of the story the abbot bade me follow him into
the church, and there on a piece of marble pavement he shewed me the
imprint of the foot of Jesus, which He had left there at the moment of
the consecration, to convince the infidels and to save the bishop the
trouble of consecrating the church.
The abbot had had this divinely revealed to him in a dream, and going
into the church to verify the vision he saw the print of the Divine Foot,
and gave thanks to the Lord.
EPISODE 14 -- SWITZERLAND
CHAPTER XIII
I Resolve to Become a Monk--I go to Confession--Delay of a
Fortnight--Giustiniani, the Apostle Capuchin--I Alter my
Mind; My Reasons--My Pranks at the Inn--I Dine With the
Abbot
The cool way in which the abbot told these cock-and-bull stories gave me
an inclination to laughter, which the holiness of the place and the laws
of politeness had much difficulty in restraining. All the same I listened
with such an attentive air that his reverence was delighted with me and
asked where I was staying.
"Nowhere," said I; "I came from Zurich on foot, and my first visit was to
your church."
I do not know whether I pronounced these words with an air of
compunction, but the abbot joined his hands and lifted them to heaven, as
if to thank God for touching my heart and bringing me there to lay down
the burden of my sins. I have no doubt that these were his thoughts, as I
have always had the look of a great sinner.
The abbot said it was near noon and that he hoped I would do him the
honour of dining with him, and I accepted with pleasure, for I had had
nothing to eat and I knew that there is usually good cheer in such
places. I did not know where I was and I did not care to ask, being
willing to leave him under the impression that I was a pilgrim come to
expiate my sins.
On our way from the church the abbot told me that his monks were fasting,
but that we should eat meat in virtue of a dispensation he had received
from Benedict XIV., which allowed him to eat meat all the year round with
his guests. I replied that I would join him all the more willingly as the
Holy Father had given me a similar dispensation. This seemed to excite
his curiosity about myself, and when we got to his room, which did not
look the cell of a penitent, he hastened to shew me the brief, which he
had framed and glazed and hung up opposite the table so that the curious
and scrupulous might have it in full view.
As the table was only laid for two, a servant in full livery came in and
brought another cover; and the humble abbot then told me that he usually
had his chancellor with him at dinner, "for," said he, "I have a
chancery, since as abbot of Our Lady of Einsiedel I am a prince of the
Holy Roman Empire."
This was a relief to me, as I now knew where I was, and I no longer ran
the risk of shewing my ignorance in the course of conversation.
This monastery (of which I had heard before) was the Loretto of the
Mountains, and was famous for the number of pilgrims who resorted to it.
In the course of dinner the prince--abbot asked me where I came from, if
I were married, if I intended to make a tour of Switzerland, adding that
he should be glad to give me letters of introduction. I replied that I
was a Venetian, a bachelor, and that I should be glad to accept the
letters of introduction he had kindly offered me, after I had had a
private conference with him, in which I desired to take his advice on my
conscience.
Thus, without premeditation, and scarcely knowing what I was saying, I
engaged to confess to the abbot.
This was my way. Whenever I obeyed a spontaneous impulse, whenever I did
anything of a sudden, I thought I was following the laws of my destiny,
and yielding to a supreme will. When I had thus plainly intimated to him
that he was to be my confessor, he felt obliged to speak with religious
fervour, and his discourses seemed tolerable enough during a delicate and
appetising repast, for we had snipe and woodcock; which made me
exclaim,--
"What! game like that at this time of year?"
"It's a secret," said he, with a pleased smile, "which I shall be glad to
communicate to you."
The abbot was a man of taste, for though he affected sobriety he had the
choicest wines and the most delicious dishes on the table. A splendid
salmon-trout was brought, which made him smile with pleasure, and
seasoning the good fare with a jest, he said in Latin that we must taste
it as it was fish, and that it was right to fast a little.
While he was talking the abbot kept a keen eye on me, and as my fine
dress made him feel certain that I had nothing to ask of him he spoke at
ease.
When dinner was over the chancellor bowed respectfully and went out. Soon
after the abbot took me over the monastery, including the library, which
contained a portrait of the Elector of Cologne in semi-ecclesiastical
costume. I told him that the portrait was a good though ugly likeness,
and drew out of my pocket the gold snuffbox the prince had given me,
telling him that it was a speaking likeness. He looked at it with
interest, and thought his highness had done well to be taken in the dress
of a grand-master. But I perceived that the elegance of the snuff-box did
no harm to the opinion the abbot had conceived of me. As for the library,
if I had been alone it would have made me weep. It contained nothing
under the size of folio, the newest books were a hundred years old, and
the subject-matter of all these huge books was solely theology and
controversy. There were Bibles, commentators, the Fathers, works on canon
law in German, volumes of annals, and Hoffman's dictionary.
"I suppose your monks have private libraries of their own," I said,
"which contain accounts of travels, with historical and scientific
works."
"Not at all," he replied; "my monks are honest folk, who are content to
do their duty, and to live in peace and sweet ignorance."
I do not know what happened to me at that moment, but a strange whim came
into my head--I would be a monk, too. I said nothing about it at the
moment, but I begged the abbot to take me to his private chamber.
"I wish to make a general confession of all my sins," said I, "that I may
obtain the benefit of absolution, and receive the Holy Eucharist on the
morrow."
He made no answer, but led the way to a pretty little room, and without
requiring me to kneel down said he was ready to hear me.
I sat down before him and for three consecutive hours I narrated
scandalous histories unnumerable, which, however, I told simply and not
spicily, since I felt ascetically disposed and obliged myself to speak
with a contrition I did not feel, for when I recounted my follies I was
very far from finding the remembrance of them disagreeable.
In spite of that, the serene or reverend abbot believed, at all events,
in my attrition, for he told me that since by the appointed means I had
once more placed myself in a state of grace, contrition would be
perfected in me.
According to the good abbot, and still more according to me, without
grace contrition is impossible.
After he had pronounced the sacramental words which take away the sins of
men, he advised me to retire to the chamber he had appointed for me, to
pass the rest of the day in prayer, and to go to bed at an early hour,
but he added that I could have supper if I was accustomed to that meal.
He told me that I might communicate at the first mass next morning, and
with that we parted.
I obeyed with a docility which has puzzled me ever since, but at the time
I thought nothing of it. I was left alone in a room which I did not even
examine, and there I pondered over the idea which had come into my head
before making my confession; and I quite made up my mind that chance, or
rather my good genius, had led me to that spot, where happiness awaited
me, and where I might shelter all my days from the tempests of the world.
"Whether I stay here," said I, "depends on myself alone, as I am sure the
abbot will not refuse me the cowl if I give him ten thousand crowns for
my support."
All that was needed to secure my happiness seemed a library of my own
choosing, and I did not doubt but that the abbot would let me have what
books I pleased if I promised to leave them to the monastery after my
death.
As to the society of the monks, the discord, envy, and all the bickerings
inseparable from such a mode of life, I thought I had nothing to pass in
that way, since I had no ambitions which could rouse the jealousy of the
other monks. Nevertheless, despite my fascination, I foresaw the
possibility of repentance, and I shuddered at the thought, but I had a
cure for that also.
"When I ask for the habit," I said, "I will also ask that my novitiate be
extended for ten years, and if repentance do not come in ten years it
will not come at all. I shall declare that I do not wish for any cure or
any ecclesiastical dignity. All I want is peace and leave to follow my
own tastes, without scandalising anyone." I thought: I could easily
remove any objections which might be made to the long term of my
novitiate, by agreeing, in case I changed my mind, to forfeit the ten
thousand crowns which I would pay in advance.
I put down this fine idea in writing before I went to bed; and in the
morning, finding myself unshaken in my resolve, after I had communicated
I gave my plan to the abbot, who was taking chocolate in his room.
He immediately read my plan, and without saying anything put it on the
table, and after breakfast he walked up and down the room and read it
again, and finally told me that he would give me an answer after dinner.
I waited till night with the impatience of a child who has been promised
toys on its birthday--so completely and suddenly can an infatuation
change one's nature. We had as good a dinner as on the day before, and
when we had risen from the table the good abbot said,
"My carriage is at the door to take you to Zurich. Go, and let me have a
fortnight to think it over. I will bring my answer in person. In the
meanwhile here are two sealed letters, which please deliver yourself."
I replied that I would obey his instructions and that I would wait for
him at the "Sword," in the hope that he would deign to grant my wishes. I
took his hand, which he allowed me to kiss, and I then set out for
Zurich.
As soon as my Spaniard saw me the rascal began to laugh. I guessed what
he was thinking, and asked him what he was laughing at.
"I am amazed to see that no sooner do you arrive in Switzerland than you
contrive to find some amusement which keeps you away for two whole days."
"Ah, I see; go and tell the landlord that I shall want the use of a good
carriage for the next fortnight, and also a guide on whom I can rely."
My landlord, whose name was Ote, had been a captain, and was thought a
great deal of at Zurich. He told me that all the carriages in the
neighbourhood were uncovered. I said they would do, as there was nothing
better to be had, and he informed me I could trust the servant he would
provide me with.
Next morning I took the abbot's letters. One was for M. Orelli and the
other for a M. Pestalozzi, neither of whom I found at home; but in the
afternoon they both called on me, asked me to dinner, and made me promise
to come with them the same evening to a concert. This is the only species
of entertainment allowed at Zurich, and only members of the musical
society can be present, with the exception of strangers, who have to be
introduced by a member, and are then admitted on the payment of a crown.
The two gentlemen both spoke in very high terms of the Abbot of
Einsiedel.
I thought the concert a bad one, and got bored at it. The men sat on the
right hand and the women on the left. I was vexed with this arrangement,
for in spite of my recent conversation I saw three or four ladies who
pleased me, and whose eyes wandered a good deal in my direction. I should
have liked to make love to them, to make the best of my time before I
became a monk.
When the concert was over, men and women went out together, and the two
citizens presented me to their wives and daughters, who looked pleasant,
and were amongst those I had noticed.
Courtesy is necessarily cut short in the street, and, after I had thanked
the two gentlemen, I went home to the "Sword."
Next day I dined with M. Orelli, and I had an opportunity for doing
justice to his daughter's amiability without being able to let her
perceive how she had impressed me. The day after, I played the same part
with M. Pestalozzi, although his charming daughter was pretty enough to
excite my gallantry. But to my own great astonishment I was a mirror of
discretion, and in four days that was my character all over the town. I
was quite astonished to find myself accosted in quite a respectful
manner, to which I was not accustomed; but in the pious state of mind I
was in, this confirmed me in the belief that my idea of taking the cowl
had been a Divine inspiration. Nevertheless, I felt listless and weary,
but I looked upon that as the inevitable consequence of so complete a
change of life, and thought it would disappear when I grew more
accustomed to goodness.
In order to put myself, as soon as possible, on an equality with my
future brethren, I passed three hours every morning in learning German.
My master was an extraordinary man, a native of Genoa, and an apostate
Capuchin. His name was Giustiniani. The poor man, to whom I gave six
francs every morning, looked upon me as an angel from heaven, although I,
with the enthusiasm of a devotee, took him for a devil of hell, for he
lost no opportunity of throwing a stone at the religious orders. Those
orders which had the highest reputation, were, according to him, the
worst of all, since they led more people astray. He styled monks in
general as a vile rabble, the curse of the human race.
"But," said I to him one day, "you will confess that Our Lady of
Einsiedel . . ."
"What!" replied the Genoese, without letting me finish my remark, "do you
think I should make an exception in favour of a set of forty ignorant,
lazy, vicious, idle, hypocritical scoundrels who live bad lives under the
cloak of humility, and eat up the houses of the poor simpletons who
provide for them, when they ought to be earning their own bread?"
"But how about his reverend highness the abbot?"
"A stuck-up peasant who plays the part of a prince, and is fool enough to
think himself one."
"But he is a prince."
"As much a prince as I am. I look upon him as a mere buffoon."
"What has he done to you?"
"Nothing; but he is a monk."
"He is a friend of mine."
"I cannot retract what I have said, but I beg your pardon."
This Giustiniani had a great influence upon me, although I did not know
it, for I thought my vocation was sure. But my idea of becoming a monk at
Einsiedel came to an end as follows:
The day before the abbot was coming to see me, at about six o'clock in
the evening, I was sitting at my window, which looked out on the bridge,
and gazing at the passers-by, when all at once a carriage and four came
up at a good pace and stopped at the inn. There was no footman on it, and
consequently the waiter came out and opened the door, and I saw four
well-dressed women leave the carriage. In the first three I saw nothing
noticeable, but the fourth, who was dressed in a riding-habit, struck me
at once with her elegance and beauty. She was a brunette with fine and
well-set eyes, arched eyebrows, and a complexion in which the hues of the
lily and the rose were mingled. Her bonnet was of blue satin with a
silver fillet, which gave her an air I could not resist. I stretched out
from the window as far as I could, and she lifted her eyes and looked at
me as if I had bade her do so. My position obliged me to look at her for
half a minute; too much for a modest woman, and more than was required to
set me all ablaze.
I ran and took up my position at the window of my ante-chamber, which
commanded a view of the staircase, and before long I saw her running by
to rejoin her three companions. When she got opposite to my window she
chanced to turn in that direction, and on seeing me cried out as if she
had seen a ghost; but she soon recollected herself and ran away, laughing
like a madcap, and rejoined the other ladies who were already in their
room.
Reader, put yourself in my place, and tell me how I could have avoided
this meeting. And you who would bury yourselves in monastic shades,
persevere, if you can, after you have seen what I saw at Zurich on April
23rd.
I was in such a state of excitement that I had to lie down on my bed.
After resting a few minutes, I got up and almost unconsciously went
towards the passage window and saw the waiter coming out of the ladies'
room.
"Waiter," said I, "I will take supper in the dining-room with everybody
else."
"If you want to see those ladies, that won't do, as they have ordered
their supper to be brought up to them. They want to go to bed in good
time as they are to leave at day-break."
"Where are they going?"
"To Our Lady of Einsiedel to pay their vows."
"Where do they come from?"
"From Soleure."
"What are their names?"
"I don't know."
I went to lie down again, and thought how I could approach the fair one
of my thoughts. Should I go to Einsiedel, too? But what could I do when I
got there? These ladies are going to make their confessions; I could not
get into the confessional. What kind of a figure should I cut among the
monks? And if I were to meet the abbot on the way, how could I help
returning with him? If I had had a trusty friend I would have arranged
an ambuscade and carried off my charmer. It would have been an easy task,
as she had nobody to defend her. What if I were to pluck up my heart and
beg them to let me sup in their company? I was afraid of the three
devotees; I should meet with a refusal. I judged that my charmer's
devotion was more a matter of form than any thing else, as her
physiognomy declared her to be a lover of pleasure, and I had long been
accustomed to read womens' characters by the play of their features.
I did not know which way to turn, when a happy idea came into my head. I
went to the passage window and stayed there till the waiter went by. I
had him into the room, and began my discourse by sliding a piece of gold
into his hand. I then asked him to lend me his green apron, as I wished
to wait upon the ladies at supper.
"What are you laughing at?"
"At your taking such a fancy, sir, though I think I know why."
"You are a sharp fellow."
"Yes, sir, as sharp as most of them; I will get you a new apron. The
pretty one asked me who you were."
"What did you tell her?"
"I said you were an Italian; that's all."
"If you will hold your tongue I will double that piece of gold."
"I have asked your Spaniard to help me, sir, as I am single-handed, and
supper has to be served at the same time both upstairs and downstairs."
"Very good; but the rascal mustn't come into the room or he would be sure
to laugh. Let him go to the kitchen, bring up the dishes, and leave them
outside the door."
The waiter went out, and returned soon after with the apron and Le Duc,
to whom I explained in all seriousness what he had to do. He laughed like
a madman, but assured me he would follow my directions. I procured a
carving-knife, tied my hair in a queue, took off my coat, and put on the
apron over my scarlet waistcoat ornamented with gold lace. I then looked
at myself in the glass, and thought my appearance mean enough for the
modest part I was about to play. I was delighted at the prospect, and
thought to myself that as the ladies came from Soleure they would speak
French.
Le Duc came to tell me that the waiter was going upstairs. I went into
the ladies' room and said, "Supper is about to be served, ladies."
"Make haste about it, then," said the ugliest of them, "as we have got to
rise before day-break."
I placed the chairs round the table and glanced at my fair one, who
looked petrified. The waiter came in, and I helped him to put the dishes
on the table, and he then said to me, "Do you stay here, as I have to go
downstairs."
I took a plate and stood behind a chair facing the lady, and without
appearing to look at her I saw her perfectly, or rather I saw nothing
else. She was astonished the others did not give me a glance, and they
could not have pleased me better. After the soup I hurried to change her
plate, and then did the same office for the rest: they helped themselves
to the boiled beef.
While they were eating, I took a boiled capon and cut it up in a masterly
manner.
"We have a waiter who knows his work," said the lady of my thoughts.
"Have you been long at this inn?"
"Only a few weeks, madam."
"You wait very well."
"Madam is very good."
I had tucked in my superb ruffles of English point lace, but my frilled
shirt front of the same material protruded slightly through my vest,
which I had not buttoned carefully. She saw it, and said, "Come here a
moment."
"What does madam require?"
"Let me see it. What beautiful lace!"
"So I have been told, madam, but it is very old. An Italian gentleman who
was staying here made me a present of it."
"You have ruffles of the same kind, I suppose?"
"Yes, madam;" and so saying I stretched out my hand, unbuttoning my
waistcoat. She gently drew out the ruffle, and seemed to place herself in
a position to intoxicate me with the sight of her charms, although she
was tightly laced. What an ecstatic moment! I knew she had recognized me,
and the thought that I could not carry the masquerade beyond a certain
point was a veritable torment to me.
When she had looked a long time, one of the others said,
"You are certainly very curious, my dear, one would think you had never
seen lace before."
At this she blushed.
When the supper was done, the three ugly ladies each went apart to
undress, while I took away the dishes, and my heroine began to write. I
confess that I was almost infatuated enough to think that she was writing
to me; however, I had too high an opinion of her to entertain the idea.
As soon as I had taken away the dishes, I stood by the door in the
respectful manner becoming the occasion.
"What are you waiting for?" she said.
"For your orders, madam."
"Thank you, I don't want anything."
"Your boots, madam, you will like them removed before you retire."
"True, but still I don't like to give you so much trouble."
"I am here to attend on you, madam."
So saying, I knelt on one knee before her, and slowly unplaced her boots
while she continued writing. I went farther; I unbuckled her garters,
delighting in the contemplation and still more in the touch of her
delicately-shaped legs, but too soon for me she turned her head, and
said,
"That will do, thank you. I did not notice that you were giving yourself
so much trouble. We shall see you to-morrow evening."
"Then you will sup here, ladies?"
"Certainly."
I took her boots away, and asked if I should lock the door.
"No, my good fellow," said she, in the voice of a syren, "leave the key
inside."
Le Duc took the charmer's boots from me, and said, laughing,--
"She has caught you."
"What?"
"I saw it all, sir, you played your part as well as any actor in Paris;
and I am certain that she will give you a louis to-morrow, but if you
don't hand it over to me I will blow on the whole thing."
"That's enough, you rascal; get me my supper as quickly as possible."
Such are the pleasures which old age no longer allows me to enjoy, except
in my memory. There are monsters who preach repentance, and philosophers
who treat all pleasures as vanity. Let them talk on. Repentance only
befits crimes, and pleasures are realities, though all too fleeting.
A happy dream made me pass the night with the fair lady; doubtless it was
a delusion, but a delusion full of bliss. What would I not give now for
such dreams, which made my nights so sweet!
Next morning at day-break I was at her door with her boots in my hand
just as their coachman came to call them. I asked them, as a matter of
form, if they would have breakfast, and they replied merrily that they
had made too good a supper to have any appetite at such an early hour. I
went out of the room to give them time to dress, but the door was half
open, and I saw reflected in the glass the snow-white bosom of my fair
one; it was an intoxicating sight. When she had laced herself and put on
her dress she called for her boots. I asked if I should put them on, to
which she consented with a good grace, and as she had green velvet
breeches, she seemed to consider herself as almost a man. And, after all,
a waiter is not worth putting one's self out about. All the worst for him
if he dare conceive any hopes from the trifling concessions he receives.
His punishment will be severe, for who would have thought he could have
presumed so far? As for me, I am now, sad to say, grown old, and enjoy
some few privileges of this description, which I relish, though despising
myself, and still more those who thus indulge me.
After she had gone I went to sleep again, hoping to see her in the
evening. When I awoke I heard that the abbot of Einsiedel was at Zurich,
and my landlord told me that his reverend highness would dine with me in
my room. I told him that I wished to treat the abbot well, and that he
must set the best dinner he could for us.
At noon the worthy prelate was shewn up to my room, and began by
complimenting me on the good reputation I had at Zurich, saying that this
made him believe that my vocation was a real one.
"The following distich," he added, "should now become your motto:
"Inveni portum. Spes et fortuna valete;
Nil mihi vobiscum est: ludite nuns alios."
"That is a translation of two verses from Euripides," I answered; "but,
my lord, they will not serve me, as I have changed my mind since
yesterday."
"I congratulate you," said he, "and I hope you will accomplish all your
desires. I may tell you confidentially that it is much easier to save
one's soul in the world where one can do good to one's neighbours, than
in the convent, where a man does no good to himself nor to anyone else."
This was not speaking like the hypocrite Guistiniani had described to me;
on the contrary, it was the language of a good and sensible man.
We had a princely dinner, as my landlord had made each of the three
courses a work of art. The repast was enlivened by an interesting
conversation, to which wit and humour were not lacking. After coffee I
thanked the abbot with the greatest respect, and accompanied him to his
carriage, where the reverend father reiterated his offers of serving me,
and thus, well pleased with one another, we parted.
The presence and the conversation of this worthy priest had not for a
moment distracted my thoughts from the pleasing object with which they
were occupied. So soon as the abbot had gone, I went to the bridge to
await the blessed angel, who seemed to have been sent from Soleure with
the express purpose of delivering me from the temptation to become a
monk, which the devil had put into my heart. Standing on the bridge I
built many a fine castle in Spain, and about six in the evening I had the
pleasure of seeing my fair traveller once more. I hid myself so as to see
without being seen. I was greatly surprised to see them all four looking
towards my window. Their curiosity shewed me that the lady had told them
of the secret, and with my astonishment there was some admixture of
anger. This was only natural, as I not only saw myself deprived of the
hope of making any further advances, but I felt that I could no longer
play my part of waiter with any confidence. In spite of my love for the
lady I would not for the world become the laughing-stock of her three
plain companions. If I had interested her in my favour, she would
certainly not have divulged my secret, and I saw in her doing so proof
positive that she did not want the jest to go any further, or rather of
her want of that spirit so necessary to ensure the success of an
intrigue. If the three companions of my charmer had had anything
attractive about them, I might possibly have persevered and defied
misfortune; but in the same measure as beauty cheers my heart, ugliness
depresses it. Anticipating the melancholy which I foresaw would result
from this disappointment, I went out with the idea of amusing myself, and
happening to meet Giustiniani I told him of my misfortune, saying that I
should not be sorry to make up for it by a couple of hours of the society
of some mercenary beauty.
"I will take you to a house," said he, "where you will find what you
want. Go up to the second floor and you will be well received by an old
woman, if you whisper my name to her. I dare not accompany you, as I am
well known in the town and it might get me into trouble with the police,
who are ridiculously strict in these matters. Indeed I advise you to take
care that nobody sees you going in."
I followed the ex-Capuchin's advice and waited for the dusk of the
evening. I had a good reception, but the supper was poor, and the hours
that I spent with two young girls of the working class were tedious. They
were pretty enough, but my head was full of my perfidious charmer, and
besides, despite their neatness and prettiness, they were wanting in that
grace which adds so many charms to pleasure. The liberality of my
payment, to which they were not accustomed, captivated the old woman, who
said she would get me all the best stuff in the town; but she warned me
to take care that nobody saw me going into her house.
When I got back Le Duc told me that I had been wise to slip away, as my
masquerade had become generally known, and the whole house, including the
landlord, had been eagerly waiting to see me play the part of waiter. "I
took your place," he added. "The lady who has taken your fancy is
Madame----, and I must confess she is vastly fine."
"Did she ask where the other waiter was?"
"No, but the other ladies asked what had become of you several times."
"And Madame said nothing?"
"She didn't open her mouth, but looked sad and seemed to care for
nothing, till I said you were away because you were ill."
"That was stupid of you. Why did you say that?"
"I had to say something."
"True. Did you untie her shoe?"
"No; she did not want me to do so."
"Good. Who told you her name?"
"Her coachman. She is just married to a man older than herself."
I went to bed, but could only think of the indiscretion and sadness of my
fair lady. I could not reconcile the two traits in her character. Next
day, knowing that she would be starting early, I posted myself at the
window to see her get into the carriage, but I took care to arrange the
curtain in such a way that I could not be seen. Madame was the last to
get in, and pretending that she wanted to see if it rained, she took off
her bonnet and lifted her head. Drawing the curtain with one hand, and
taking off my cap with the other, I wafted her a kiss with the tips of my
fingers. In her turn she bowed graciously, returning my kiss with a
good-natured smile.
CHAPTER XIV
I Leave Zurich--Comic Adventure at Baden--Soleure--M. De
Chavigni--M. and Madame * * * I Act in a Play--I Counterfeit
Sickness to Attain Happiness
M. Mote, my landlord, introduced his two sons to me. He had brought them
up like young princes. In Switzerland, an inn-keeper is not always a man
of no account. There are many who are as much respected as people of far
higher rank are in other countries. But each country has its own manners.
My landlord did the honours of the table, and thought it no degradation
to make his guests pay for the meal. He was right; the only really
degrading thing in the world is vice. A Swiss landlord only takes the
chief place at table to see that everyone is properly attended to. If he
have a son, he does not sit down with his father, but waits on the
guests, with napkin in hand. At Schaffhaus, my landlord's son, who was a
captain in the Imperial army, stood behind my chair and changed my plate,
while his father sat at the head of the table. Anywhere else the son
would have been waited on, but in his father's house he thought, and
rightly, that it was an honour to wait.
Such are Swiss customs, of which persons of superficial understanding
very foolishly make a jest. All the same, the vaunted honour and loyalty
of the Swiss do not prevent them from fleecing strangers, at least as
much as the Dutch, but the greenhorns who let themselves be cheated,
learn thereby that it is well to bargain before-hand, and then they treat
one well and charge reasonably. In this way, when I was at Bale, I
baffled the celebrated Imhoff, the landlord of the "Three Kings."
M. Ote complimented me on my waiter's disguise, and said he was sorry not
to have seen me officiating, nevertheless, he said he thought I was wise
not to repeat the jest. He thanked me for the honour I had done his
house, and begged me to do him the additional favour of dining at his
table some day before I left. I answered that I would dine with him with
pleasure that very day. I did so, and was treated like a prince.
The reader will have guessed that the last look my charmer gave me had
not extinguished the fire which the first sight of her had kindled in my
breast. It had rather increased my flame by giving me hopes of being
better acquainted with her; in short, it inspired me with the idea of
going to Soleure in order to give a happy ending to the adventure. I took
a letter of credit on Geneva, and wrote to Madame d'Urfe, begging her to
give me a written introduction, couched in strong terms to M. de
Chavigni, the French ambassador, telling her that the interests of our
order were highly involved in my knowing this diplomatist, and requesting
her to address letters to me at the post office at Soleure. I also wrote
to the Duke of Wurtemburg, but had no answer from him, and indeed he must
have found my epistle very unpleasant reading.
I visited the old woman whom Giustiniani had told me of several times
before I left Zurich, and although I ought to have been well satisfied as
far as physical beauty was concerned, my enjoyment was very limited, as
the nymphs I wooed only spoke Swiss dialect--a rugged corruption of
German. I have always found that love without speech gives little
enjoyment, and I cannot imagine a more unsatisfactory mistress than a
mute, were she as lovely as Venus herself.
I had scarcely left Zurich when I was obliged to stop at Baden to have
the carriage M. Ote had got me mended. I might have started again at
eleven, but on hearing that a young Polish lady on her way to Our Lady of
Einseidel was to dine at the common table, I decided to wait; but I had
my trouble for nothing, as she turned out to be quite unworthy of the
delay.
After dinner, while my horses were being put in, the host's daughter, a
pretty girl enough, came into the room and made me waltz with her; it
chanced to be a Sunday. All at once her father came in, and the girl
fled.
"Sir," said the rascal, "you are condemned to pay a fine of one louis."
"Why?"
"For having danced on a holy day."
"Get out; I won't pay."
"You will pay, though," said he, shewing me a great parchment covered
with writing I did not understand.
"I will appeal."
"To whom, sir?"
"To the judge of the place."
He left the room, and in a quarter of an hour I was told that the judge
was waiting for me in an adjoining chamber. I thought to myself that the
judges were very polite in that part of the world, but when I got into
the room I saw the rascally host buried in a wig and gown.
"Sir," said he, "I am the judge."
"Judge and plaintiff too, as far as I can see."
He wrote in his book, confirming the sentence, and mulcting me in six
francs for the costs of the case.
"But if your daughter had not tempted me." said I, "I should not have
danced; she is therefore as guilty as I."
"Very true, sir; here is a Louis for her." So saying he took a Louis out
of his pocket, put it into a desk beside him, and said; "Now yours."
I began to laugh, paid my fine, and put off my departure till the morrow.
As I was going to Lucerne I saw the apostolic nuncio (who invited me to
dinner), and at Fribourg Comte d'Afri's young and charming wife; but at
ten leagues from Soleure I was a witness of the following curious
circumstances.
I was stopping the night in a village, and had made friends with the
surgeon, whom I had found at the inn, and while supper, which he was to
share with me, was getting ready, we walked about the village together.
It was in the dusk of the evening, and at a distance of a hundred paces I
saw a man climbing up the wall of a house, and finally vanishing through
a window on the first floor.
"That's a robber," said I, pointing him out to the surgeon. He laughed
and said,--
"The custom may astonish you, but it is a common one in many parts of
Switzerland. The man you have just seen is a young lover who is going to
pass the night with his future bride. Next morning he will leave more
ardent than before, as she will not allow him to go too far. If she was
weak enough to yield to his desires he would probably decline to marry
her, and she would find it difficult to get married at all."
At Soleure I found a letter from Madame d'Urfe, with an enclosure from
the Duc de Choiseul to the ambassador, M. de Chavigni. It was sealed, but
the duke's name was written below the address.
I made a Court toilet, took a coach, and went to call on the ambassador.
His excellency was not at home, so I left my card and the letter. It was
a feast-day, and I went to high mass, not so much, I confess, to seek for
God as for my charmer, but she was not there. After service I walked
around the town, and on my return found an officer who asked me to dinner
at the ambassador's.
Madame d'Urfe said that on the receipt of my letter she had gone
straightway to Versailles, and that with the help of Madame de Grammont
she had got me an introduction of the kind I wanted. This was good news
for me, as I desired to cut an imposing figure at Soleure. I had plenty
of money, and I knew that this magic metal glittered in the eyes of all.
M. de Chavigni had been ambassador at Venice thirty years before, and I
knew a number of anecdotes about his adventures there, and I was eager to
see what I could make out of him.
I went to his house at the time appointed, and found all his servants in
full livery, which I looked upon as a happy omen. My name was not
announced, and I remarked that when I came in both sides of the door were
opened for me by the page. A fine old man came forward to meet me, and
paying me many well-turned compliments introduced me to those present.
Then, with the delicate tact of the courtier, pretending not to recollect
my name, he drew the Duc de Choiseul's letter from his pocket, and read
aloud the paragraph in which the minister desired him to treat me with
the utmost consideration. He made me sit on an easy chair at his right
hand, and asked me questions to which I could only answer that I was
travelling for my pleasure, and that I considered the Swiss nation to be
in many respects superior to all other nations whatsoever.
Dinner was served, and his excellency set me on his right hand in a
position of equal honour to his own. We were sixteen in company, and
behind every chair stood a magnificent lackey in the ambassador's livery.
In the course of conversation I got an opportunity of telling the
ambassador that he was still spoken of at Venice with the utmost
affection.
"I shall always remember," he said, "the kindness with which the
Venetians treated me; but tell me, I beg, the names of those gentlemen
who still remember me; they must be quite old now."
This was what I was waiting for. M. de Malipiero had told me of certain
events which had happened during the regency, and M. de Bragadin had
informed me of the ambassador's amours with the celebrated Stringhetta.
His excellency's fare was perfect, but in the pleasure of conversing I
forgot that of eating. I told all my anecdotes so racily that his
features expressed the pleasure I was affording him, and when we rose
from the table he shook me by the hand, and told me he had not had so
agreeable a dinner since he had been at Soleure.
"The recollection of my Venetian gallantries," said the worthy old man,
"makes me recall many a happy moment; I feel quite young again."
He embraced me, and bade me consider myself as one of his family during
my stay at Soleure.
After dinner he talked a good deal about Venice, praising the Government,
and saying that there was not a town in the world where a man could fare
better, provided he took care to get good oil and foreign wines. About
five o'clock he asked me to come for a drive with him, getting into the
carriage first to give me the best place.
We got out at a pretty country house where ices were served to us. On our
way back he said that he had a large party every evening, and that he
hoped I would do him the honour to be present whenever it suited my
inclinations, assuring me that he would do his best to amuse me. I was
impatient to take part in the assembly, as I felt certain I should see my
charmer there. It was a vain hope, however, for I saw several ladies,
some old and ugly, some passable, but not one pretty.
Cards were produced, and I soon found myself at a table with a young lady
of fair complexion and a plain-looking woman well advanced in years, who
seemed, however, not to be destitute of wit. Though I was looed I played
on, and I lost five or six hundred fish without opening my lips. When it
came to a profit and loss account, the plain woman told me I owed three
louis.
"Three louis, madam."
"Yes, sir; we have been playing at two sous the fish. You thought,
perhaps, we were playing for farthings."
"On the contrary, I thought it was for francs, as I never play lower."
She did not answer this boast of mine, but she seemed annoyed. On
rejoining the company after this wearisome game, I proceeded to
scrutinize all the ladies present rapidly but keenly, but I could not see
her for whom I looked, and was on the point of leaving, when I happened
to notice two ladies who were looking at me attentively. I recognized
them directly. They were two of my fair one's companions, whom I had had
the honour of waiting on at Zurich. I hurried off, pretending not to
recognize them.
Next day, a gentleman in the ambassador's suite came to tell me that his
excellency was going to call on me. I told him that I would not go out
till I had the honour of receiving his master, and I conceived the idea
of questioning him concerning that which lay next to my heart. However,
he spared me the trouble, as the reader will see for himself.
I gave M. de Chavigni the best reception I could, and after we had
discussed the weather he told me, with a smile, that he had the most
ridiculous affair to broach to me, begging me to credit him when he said
that he did not believe it for a moment.
"Proceed, my lord."
"Two ladies who saw you at my house yesterday told me in confidence,
after you had gone, that I should do well to be on my guard, as you were
the waiter in an inn at Zurich where they had stayed. They added that
they had seen the other waiter by the Aar, and that in all probability
you had run away from the inn together; God alone knows why! They said,
furthermore, that you slipped away from my house yesterday as soon as you
saw them. I told them that even if you were not the bearer of a letter
from his grace the Duc de Choiseul I should have been convinced that they
were mistaken, and that they should dine with you to-day, if they would
accept my invitation. I also hinted that you might have merely disguised
yourself as a waiter in the hopes of winning some favours from them, but
they rejected the hypothesis as absurd, and said that you could carve a
capon and change a plate dexterously enough, but were only a common
waiter for all that, adding that with my permission they would compliment
you on your skill to-day.
"'Do so, by all means, ladies,' said I, 'M. Casanova and myself will be
highly amused.' And now do you mind telling me whether there be any
foundation of truth in the whole story?"
"Certainly, my lord, I will tell you all without reserve, but in
confidence, as this ridiculous report may injure the honour of one who is
dear to me, and whom I would not injure for the world."
"It is true, then? I am quite interested to hear all about it."
"It is true to a certain extent; I hope you don't take me for the real
waiter at the 'Sword.'"
"Certainly not, but I supposed you played the part of waiter?"
"Exactly. Did they tell you that they were four in company."
"Ah, I have got it! Pretty Madame was one of the party. That explains the
riddle; now I understand everything. But you were quite right in saying
that discretion was needful; she has a perfectly blameless reputation."
"Ah! I did not know that. What happened was quite innocent, but it might
be so garbled in the telling as to become prejudicial to the honour of a
lady whose beauty struck me with admiration."
I told him all the details of the case, adding that I had only come to
Soleure in the hopes of succeeding in my suit.
"If that prove an impossibility," said I, "I shall leave Soleure in three
or four days; but I will first turn the three ugly companions of my
charmer into ridicule. They might have had sense enough to guess that the
waiter's apron was only a disguise. They can only pretend to be ignorant
of the fact in the hope of getting some advantage over me, and injuring
their friend, who was ill advised to let them into the secret."
"Softly, softly, you go too fast and remind me of my own young days.
Permit me to embrace you, your story has delighted me. You shall not go
away, you shall stay here and court your charmer. To-day you can turn two
mischievous women into ridicule, but do it in an easy way. The thing is
so straightforward that M.---- will be the first to laugh at it. His wife
cannot be ignorant of your love for her, and I know enough of women to
pronounce that your disguise cannot have displeased her. She does know of
your love?"
"Undoubtedly."
He went away laughing, and at the door of his coach embraced me for the
third time.
I could not doubt that my charmer had told the whole story to her three
friends as they were returning from Einsiedel to Zurich, and this made
the part they had played all the more ill-natured; but I felt that it was
to my interest to let their malice pass for wit.
I went to the ambassador's at half-past one, and after making my bow to
him I proceeded to greet the company, and saw the two ladies. Thereupon,
with a frank and generous air, I went up to the more malicious-looking of
the two (she was lame, which may have made me think her more ill-looking)
and asked if she recognized me.
"You confess, then, that you are the waiter at the 'Sword'?"
"Well, not quite that, madam, but I confess that I was the waiter for an
hour, and that you cruelly disdained to address a single word to me,
though I was only a waiter, because I longed for the bliss of seeing you.
But I hope I shall be a little more fortunate here, and that you will
allow me to pay you my respectful homage."
"This is very wonderful! You played your part so well that the sharpest
eye would have been deceived. Now we shall see if you play your new part
as well. If you do me the honour to call on me I will give you a good
welcome."
After these complimentary speeches, the story became public property, and
the whole table was amusing itself with it, when I had the happiness of
seeing M.---- and Madame coming into the room.
"There is the good-natured waiter," said she to her husband.
The worthy man stepped forward, and politely thanked me for having done
his wife the honour of taking off her boots.
This told me that she had concealed nothing, and I was glad. Dinner was
served, M. de Chavigni made my charmer sit at his right hand, and I was
placed between my two calumniators. I was obliged to hide my game, so,
although I disliked them intensely, I made love to them, hardly raising
my eyes to glance at Madame, who looked ravishing. I did not find her
husband either as old or as jealous as I had expected. The ambassador
asked him and his wife to stay the evening to an impromptu ball, and then
said, that in order for me to be able to tell the Duc de Choiseul that I
was well amused at Soleure, he would be delighted to have a play, if
Madame would act the fair 'Ecossaise' again. She said she should be
delighted, but two more actors were wanted.
"That is all right," said the kind old gentleman, "I will play Montrose."
"And I, Murray," I remarked.
My lame friend, angry at this arrangement, which only left her the very
bad part of Lady Alton, could not help lancing a shaft at me.
"Oh! why isn't there a waiter's part in the play?" said she, "you would
play it so well."
"That is well said, but I hope you will teach me to play Murray even
better."
Next morning, I got the words of my part, and the ambassador told me that
the ball would be given in my honour. After dinner I went to my inn, and
after making an elaborate toilette I returned to the brilliant company.
The ambassador begged me to open the ball, and introduced me to the
highest born but not the most beautiful lady in the place. I then danced
with all the ladies present until the good-natured old man got me the
object of my vows as a partner in the quadrilles, which he did so easily
that no one could have made any remark. "Lord Murray," said he, "must
dance with no one but Lindane."
At the first pause I took the opportunity of saying that I had only come
to Soleure for her sake, that it was for her sake that I had disguised
myself at Zurich, and that I hoped she would permit me to pay my
addresses to her.
"I cannot invite you to my house," said she, "for certain sufficient
reasons; but if you will stay here some time we shall be able to see each
other. But I entreat you not to shew me any marked attention in public,
for there are those who will spy upon our actions, and it is not pleasant
to be talked about."
I was quite satisfied with this, and told her that I would do all in my
power to please her, and that the most prying eyes should have nothing to
fix on. I felt that the pleasure I looked forward to would be rendered
all the sweeter by a tincture of mystery.
I had proclaimed myself as a novice in the mimic art, and had entreated
my lame friend to be kind enough to instruct me. I therefore went to her
in the morning, but she could only flatter herself that hers was a
reflected light, as I had opportunities for paying my court to my charmer
in her house, and however great her vanity may have been, she must have
had some suspicions of the truth.
This woman was a widow, aged between thirty and forty years, of a
jaundiced complexion, and a piercing and malicious aspect. In her efforts
to hide the inequality of her legs, she walked with a stiff and awkward
air; and, wishing to be thought a wit, she increased her natural dullness
by a ceaseless flow of small talk. I persisted in behaving towards her
with a great air of respect, and one day she said that, having seen me in
the disguise of a waiter, she would not have thought I was a man of a
timid nature.
"In what respect do you think me timid?" said I; to which she gave me no
answer, but I knew perfectly well what she meant. I was tired of my part,
and I had determined to play it no more when we had acted L'Ecossaise.
All the best people at Soleure were present at our first performance. The
lame lady was delighted with the horror inspired by her acting; but she
might credit a great deal of it to her appearance. M. de Chavigni drew
forth the tears of the audience, his acting was said to be better than
the great Voltaire's. As for me, I remember how near I was to fainting
when, in the third scene of the fifth act, Lindane said to me,
"What! You! You dare to love me?"
She pronounced these words with such fiery scorn that all the spectators
applauded vehemently. I was almost put out of countenance, for I thought
I detected in her voice an insult to my honour. However, I collected
myself in the minute's respite which the loud applause gave me, and I
replied,---
"Yes; I adore you! How should I not?"
So pathetically and tenderly did I pronounce these words that the hall
rang again with the applause, and the encores from four hundred throats
made me repeat the words which, indeed, came from my heart.
In spite of the pleasure we had given to the audience, we judged
ourselves not perfect in our parts, and M. de Chavigni advised us to put
off our second performance for a couple of days.
"We will have a rehearsal to-morrow at my country house," said he, "and I
beg the favour of all your companies to dinner there."
However, we all made each other compliments on our acting. My lame friend
told me I had played well, but not so well as in the part of waiter,
which really suited me admirably. This sarcasm got the laugh on her side,
but I returned it by telling her that my performance was a work of art,
while her playing of Lady Alton was pure nature. M. de Chavigni told
Madame that the spectators were wrong to applaud when she expressed her
wonder at my loving her, since she had spoken the words disdainfully; and
it was impossible that Lindane could have despised Murray. The ambassador
called for me the next day in his carriage, and when we reached his
country-house we found all the actors assembled there. His excellency
addressed himself in the first place to M.----, telling him he thought
his business was as good as done, and that they would talk about it after
dinner. We sat down to table, and afterwards rehearsed the piece without
any need of the prompter's assistance.
Towards evening the ambassador told the company that he would expect them
to supper that evening at Soleure, and everyone left with the exception
of the ambassador, myself, and M.---- and Madame----. Just as we were
going I had an agreeable surprise.
"Will you come with me," said the Ambassador to M.----, "we can talk the
matter over at our ease? M. Casanova will have the honour of keeping
your wife company in your carriage."
I gave the fair lady my hand respectfully, and she took it with an air of
indifference, but as I was helping her in she pressed my hand with all
her might. The reader can imagine how that pressure made my blood
circulate like fire in my veins.
Thus we were seated side by side, our knees pressed tenderly against each
other. Half an hour seemed like a minute, but it must not be thought that
we wasted the time. Our lips were glued together, and were not set apart
till we came within ten paces of the ambassador's house, which I could
have wished at ten leagues distance. She was the first to get down, and I
was alarmed to see the violent blush which overspread her whole face.
Such redness looked unnatural; it might betray us; our spring of
happiness would soon be dry. The watchful eye of the envious Alton would
be fixed upon us, and not in vain; her triumph would outweigh her
humiliation. I was at my wits' end.
Love and luck, which have so favoured me throughout the course of my
life, came to my aid. I had about me a small box containing hellebore. I
opened it as if by instinct, and invited her to take a small pinch. She
did so, and I followed her example; but the dose was too strong, and as
we were going up the stairs we began to sneeze, and for the next quarter
of an hour we continued sneezing. People were obliged to attribute her
high colour to the sneezing, or at least no one could give voice to any
other suppositions. When the sneezing fit was over, this woman, who was
as clever as she was pretty, said her headache was gone, but she would
take care another time not to take so strong a dose. I looked out of the
corner of my eye at the malicious widow, who said nothing but seemed deep
in thought.
This piece of good luck decided me on staying at Soleure till my love was
crowned with success, and I determined to take a country house. I shall
not have much opinion of my readers if they find themselves in my
position--rich, young, independent, full of fire, and having only
pleasure to seek for--and do not follow my example. A perfect beauty was
before me with whom I was madly in love, and who, I was sure, shared that
love. I had plenty of money, and I was my own master. I thought this a
much better plan than turning monk, and I was above caring "what people
would say." As soon as the ambassador had returned, which he always did
at an early hour on account of his advanced age, I left the company and
went to see him in his private room. In truth I felt I must give him that
confidence which he had so well deserved.
As soon as he saw me he said,--
"Well, well, did you profit by the interview I got you?"
I embraced him, and said,--
"I may hope for everything."
When I was telling him about the hellebore he was lavish in his
compliments on my presence of mind, for, as he said, such an unusual
colour would have made people think there had been some kind of a
combat--a supposition which would not have tended towards my success.
After I had told him all, I imparted my plan.
"I shall do nothing in a hurry," said I, "as I have to take care that the
lady's honour does not suffer, and I trust to time to see the
accomplishment of my wishes. I shall want a pretty country house, a good
carriage, two lackeys, a good cook, and a housekeeper. All that I leave
to your excellency, as I look upon you as my refuge and guardian angel."
"To-morrow, without fail, I will see what I can do, and I have good hopes
of doing you a considerable service and of rendering you well content
with the attractions of Soleure."
Next day our rehearsal went off admirably, and the day after the
ambassador spoke to me as follows:
"So far as I can see, what you are aiming at in this intrigue is the
satisfying of your desires without doing any harm to the lady's
reputation. I think I know the nature of your love for her well enough to
say that if she told you that your leaving Soleure was necessary to her
peace of mind you would leave her at once. You see that I have sounded
you well enough to be a competent adviser in this delicate and important
affair, to which the most famous events in the annals of diplomacy are
not to be compared."
"Your excellency does not do sufficient justice to a career which has
gained you such distinction."
"That's because I am an old man, my dear fellow, and have shaken off the
rust and dust of prejudices, and am able to see things as they really
are, and appreciate them at their true value. But let us return to your
love-affair. If you wish to keep it in the dark, you must avoid with the
greatest care any action which may awaken suspicion in the minds of
people who do not believe that anything is indifferent. The most
malicious and censorious will not be able to get anything but the merest
chance out of the interview I procured you today, and the accident of the
sneezing bout, defy the most ill-natured to draw any deductions; for an
eager lover does not begin his suit by sending the beloved one into
convulsions. Nobody can guess that your hellebore was used to conceal the
blush that your caresses occasioned, since it does not often happen that
an amorous combat leaves such traces; and how can you be expected to have
foreseen the lady's blushes, and to have provided yourself with a
specific against them? In short, the events of to-day will not disclose
your secret. M.---- who, although he wishes to pass for a man devoid of
jealousy, is a little jealous; M.---- himself cannot have seen anything
out of the common in my asking him to return with me, as I had business
of importance with him, and he has certainly no reasons for supposing
that I should be likely to help you to intrigue with his wife.
Furthermore, the laws of politeness would have forbidden me, under any
circumstances, offering the lady the place I offered him, and as he
prides himself on his politeness he can raise no possible objection to
the arrangement which was made. To be sure I am old and you are young--a
distinction not unimportant in a husband's eyes." After this exordium,
added the good-natured ambassador, with a laugh, "an exordium which I
have delivered in the official style of a secretary of state, let us see
where we are. Two things are necessary for you to obtain your wished-for
bliss. The first thing, which concerns you more particularly, is to make
M.---- your friend, and to conceal from him that you have conceived a
passion for his wife, and here I will aid you to the best of my ability.
The second point concerns the lady's honour; all your relations with her
must appear open and above-board. Consider yourself under my protection;
you must not even take a country house before we have found out some plan
for throwing dust into the eyes of the observant. However, you need not
be anxious; I have hit upon a plan.
"You must pretend to be taken ill, but your illness must be of such a
kind that your doctor will be obliged to take your word for the symptoms.
Luckily, I know a doctor whose sole idea is to order country air for all
complaints. This physician, who is about as clever as his brethren, and
kills or cures as well as any of them, will come and feel my pulse one of
these days. You must take his advice, and for a couple of louis he will
write you a prescription with country air as the chief item. He will then
inform everybody that your case is serious, but that he will answer for
your cure."
"What is his name?"
"Doctor Herrenschwand."
"What is he doing here? I knew him at Paris; he was Madame du Rumain's
doctor."
"That is his brother. Now find out some polite complaint, which will do
you credit with the public. It will be easy enough to find a house, and I
will get you an excellent cook to make your gruel and beef-tea."
The choice of a complaint cost me some thought; I had to give it a good
deal of attention. The same evening I managed to communicate my plan to
Madame who approved of it. I begged her to think of some way of writing
to me, and she said she would.
"My husband," said she, "has a very high opinion of you. He has taken no
offence at our coming in the same carriage. But tell me, was it an
accident or design that made M. de Chavigni take my husband and leave us
together?"
"It was the result of design, dearest." She raised her beautiful eyes and
bit her lips. "Are you sorry it was so?"
"Alas! no."
In three or four days, on the day on which we were going to act
L'Ecossaise, the doctor came to dine with the ambassador and stayed till
the evening to see the play. At dessert he complimented me on my good
health, on which I took the opportunity, and told him that appearances
were deceitful, and that I should be glad to consult him the next day. No
doubt he was delighted to be deceived in his estimate of my health, and
he said he should be glad if he could be of any service. He called on me
at the hour agreed upon, and I told him such symptoms as my fancy
dictated; amongst other things, that I was subject to certain nocturnal
irritations which made me extremely weak, especially in the reins.
"Quite so, quite so; it's a troublesome thing, but we will see what can
be done. My first remedy, which you may possibly not care much for, is
for you to pass six weeks in the country, where you will not see those
objects which impress your brain, acting on the seventh pair of nerves,
and causing that lumbar discharge which no doubt leaves you in a very
depressed state."
"Yes, it certainly does."
"Quite so, quite so. My next remedy is cold bathing."
"Are the baths far from here?"
"They are wherever you like. I will write you a prescription, and the
druggist will make it up."
I thanked him, and after he had pouched the double-louis I slipped
politely into his hand, he went away assuring me that I should soon
experience an improvement in my health. By the evening the whole town
knew that I was ill and had to go into the country. M. de Chavigni said
pleasantly at dinner to the doctor, that he should have forbidden me all
feminine visitors; and my lame friend, refining on the idea, added that I
should above all be debarred access to certain portraits, of which I had
a box-full. I laughed approvingly, and begged M. de Chavigni, in the
presence of the company, to help me to find a pretty house and a good
cook, as I did not intend to take my meals alone.
I was tired of playing a wearisome part, and had left off going to see my
lame friend, but she soon reproached me for my inconstancy, telling me
that I had made a tool of her. "I know all," said this malicious woman,
"and I will be avenged."
"You cannot be avenged for nothing," said I, "for I have never done you
an injury. However, if you intend to have me assassinated, I shall apply
for police protection."
"We don't assassinate here," said she, savagely. "We are not Italians."
I was delighted to be relieved from the burden of her society, and
henceforth Madame was the sole object of my thoughts. M. de Chavigni, who
seemed to delight in serving me, made her husband believe that I was the
only person who could get the Duc de Choiseul to pardon a cousin of his
who was in the guards, and had had the misfortune to kill his man in a
duel. "This," said the kindly old gentleman, "is the best way possible of
gaining the friendship of your rival. Do you think you can manage it?"
"I am not positive of success."
"Perhaps I have gone a little too far; but I told him that by means of
your acquaintance with the Duchesse de Grammont you could do anything
with the minister."
"I must make you a true prophet; I will do all I can."
The consequence was that M.---- informed me of the facts in the
ambassador's presence, and brought me all the papers relative to the
case.
I spent the night in writing to the Duchesse de Grammont. I made my
letter as pathetic as possible, with a view to touching her heart, and
then her father's; and I then wrote to the worthy Madame d'Urfe telling
her that the well-being of the sublime order of the Rosy Cross was
concerned in the pardon of a Swiss officer, who had been obliged to leave
the kingdom on account of a duel in which the order was highly concerned.
In the morning, after resting for an hour, I went to the ambassador, and
shewed him the letter I had written to the duchess. He thought it
excellently expressed, and advised me to skew it to M.---- I found him
with his night-cap on; he was extremely grateful for the interest I took
in a matter which was so near to his heart. He told me that his wife had
not yet risen, and asked me to wait and take breakfast with her. I should
have much liked to accept the invitation, but I begged him to make my
excuses to his lady for my absence, on the pretence that I had to finish
my letters, and hand them to the courier who was just leaving. I hoped in
this way to scatter any jealousy that might be hovering in his brain, by
the slight importance I attached to a meeting with his wife.
I went to dine with M. de Chavigni, who thought my conduct had been very
politic, and said that he was certain that henceforth M.---- would be my
best friend. He then skewed me a letter from Voltaire thanking him for
playing Montrose in his Ecossaise; and another from the Marquis de
Chauvelin, who was then at Delices with the philosopher of Ferney. He
promised to come and see him after he had been to Turin, where he had
been appointed ambassador.
CHAPTER XV
My Country House--Madame Dubois--Malicious Trick Played on
Me by My Lame Enemy--My Vexation
There was a reception and a supper at the Court, as they styled the hotel
of M. de Chavigni, or rather of the ambassador of the King of France in
Switzerland. As I came in I saw my charmer sitting apart reading a
letter. I accosted her, apologizing for not having stayed to breakfast,
but she said I had done quite right, adding that if I had not chosen a
country house she hoped I would take one her husband would probably
mention to me that evening. She could not say any more, as she was called
away to a game at quadrille. For my part I did not play, but wandered
from one table to another.
At supper everybody talked to me about my health, and my approaching stay
in the country. This gave M.---- an opportunity to mention a delightful
house near the Aar; "but," he added, "it is not to be let for less than
six months."
"If I like it," I replied, "and am free to leave it when I please, I will
willingly pay the six months' rent in advance."
"There is a fine hall in it."
"All the better; I will give a ball as evidence of my gratitude to the
people of Soleure for the kind welcome I have received from them."
"Would you like to come and see it to-morrow?"
"With pleasure."
"Very good, then I will call for you at eight o'clock, if that hour will
suit you."
"I shall expect you."
When I got back to my lodging I ordered a travelling carriage and four,
and the next morning, before eight o'clock, I called for M. who was
ready, and seemed flattered at my anticipating him.
"I made my wife promise to come with us; but she is a sluggard, who
prefers her bed to the fresh air."
In less than an hour we reached our journey's end, and I found the house
a beautiful one and large enough to lodge the whole court of a prince of
the Holy Roman Empire. Besides the hall, which I thought magnificent, I
noted with great pleasure a closet arranged as a boudoir, and covered
with the most exquisite pictures. A fine garden, fountains, baths,
several well-furnished rooms, a good kitchen--in a word, everything
pleased me, and I begged M.---- to arrange for me to take up my abode
there in two days' time.
When we got back to Soleure, Madame told me how pleased she was that I
liked the house; and seizing the opportunity, I said that I hoped they
would often do me the honour of dining with me. They promised they would
do so. I drew from my pocket a packet containing a hundred louis, which I
gave M.---- to pay the rent. I then embraced him, and after imprinting a
respectful kiss on the hand of his fair mate I went to M. de Chavigni,
who approved of my having taken the house as it pleased my lady, and
asked me if it was true that I was going to give a ball.
"Yes, if I see any prospect of its being a brilliant one, and if I have
your approbation."
"You need have no doubts on that point, my dear fellow, and whatever you
can't find in the shops come to me for. Come, I see you are going to
spend a little money. It is a good plan, and overcomes many difficulties.
In the meanwhile you shall have two footmen, an excellent cook, a
housekeeper, and whatever other servants you require. The head of my
household will pay them, and you can settle with him afterwards, he is a
trustworthy man. I will come now and then and take a spoonful of soup
with you, and you shall reward me for what services I may have done you
by telling me how things are getting on. I have a great esteem for your
charming friend, her discretion is beyond her years, and the pledges of
love you will obtain of her will doubtless increase your passion and your
esteem. Is she aware that I know all?"
"She knows that we are firm friends, and she is glad of it, as she is
sure that you will be discreet."
"She may count on my discretion. She is really a delicious woman; I
should have been tempted to seduce her myself thirty years ago."
A druggist, whom the doctor had recommended to me, set out the same day
to get ready the baths which were to cure me of my imaginary complaint,
and in two days I went myself, after having given Le Duc orders to bring
my baggage on.
I was extremely surprised, on entering the apartment I was to occupy, to
see a pretty young woman who came up to me in a modest way to kiss my
hand. I stopped her doing so, and my astonished air made her blush.
"Do you belong to the household?" I said.
"The ambassador's steward has engaged me as your housekeeper."
"Pardon my surprise. Take me to my room."
She obeyed, and sitting down on the couch I begged her to sit beside me.
"That is an honour," said she, in the most polite and modest way, "I
cannot allow myself. I am only your servant."
"Very good, but when I am alone I hope you will consent to take your
meals with me, as I don't like eating by myself."
"I will do so, sir."
"Where is your room?"
"This is the one the steward assigned to me, but you have only to speak
if you wish me to sleep in another."
"Not at all; it will do very well."
Her room was just behind the recess in which my bed stood. I went in with
her and was astonished to see a great display of dresses, and in an
adjoining closet all the array of the toilette, linen in abundance, and a
good stock of shoes and embroidered slippers. Dumb with surprise I looked
at her, and was thoroughly satisfied with what I saw. Nevertheless I
determined to subject her to a close examination, as I thought her
manners too interesting and her linen too extensive for her to be a mere
servant. All at once I was struck with the idea that it might be a trick
of the ambassador's, for a fine woman, well educated, and aged
twenty-four or at the most twenty-five years, seemed to me more fitted to
be my mistress than my housekeeper. I therefore asked her if she knew the
ambassador, and what wages she was to receive. She replied that she only
knew M. de Chavigni by sight, and that the steward had promised her two
louis a month and her meals in her own room.
"Where do you come from? What's your name?"
"I come from Lyons; I am a widow, and my name is Dubois."
"I am delighted to have you in my service. I shall see you again."
She then left me, and I could not help thinking her a very interesting
woman, as her speech was as dignified as her appearance. I went down to
the kitchen and found the cook, an honest-looking fellow, who told me his
name was Rosier. I had known his brother in the service of the French
ambassador at Venice. He told me that supper would be ready at nine
o'clock.
"I never eat by myself," said I.
"So I hear, sir; and I will serve supper accordingly."
"What are your wages?"
"Four louis a month."
I then went to see the rest of my people. I found two sharp-looking
footmen, and the first of them told me he would see I had what wine I
wanted. Then I inspected my bath, which seemed convenient. An apothecary
was preparing certain matters for my imaginary cure. Finally, I took a
walk round my garden, and before going in I went into the gate-keeper's,
where I found a numerous family, and some girls who were not to be
despised. I was delighted to hear everybody speak French, and I talked
with them some time.
When I got back to my room, I found Le Duc occupied in unpacking my
mails; and telling him to give my linen to Madame Dubois, I went into a
pretty cabinet adjoining, where there was a desk and all materials
necessary for writing. This closet had only one window facing north, but
it commanded a view capable of inspiring the finest thoughts. I was
amusing myself with the contemplation of this sublime prospect, when I
heard a knock at my door. It was my pretty housekeeper, who wore a modest
and pleasant expression, and did not in the least resemble a person who
bears a complaint.
"What can I do for you, madam?"
"I hope you will be good enough to order your man to be polite to me?"
"Certainly; how has he failed in politeness?"
"He might possibly tell you in no respect. He wanted to kiss me, and as I
refused he thought himself justified in being rather insolent."
"How?"
"By laughing at me. You will pardon me, sir, but I do not like people who
make game."
"You are right; they are sure to be either silly or malicious. Make
yourself easy; Le Duc shall understand that you are to be treated with
respect. You will please sup with me."
Le Duc came in soon after, and I told him to behave respectfully towards
Madame Dubois.
"She's a sly cat," said the rascal; "she wouldn't let me kiss her."
"I am afraid you are a bad fellow."
"Is she your servant or your mistress?"
"She might be my wife."
"Oh! well, that's different. That will do; Madame Dubois shall have all
respect, and I will try my luck somewhere else."
I had a delicious supper. I was contented with my cook, my butler, my
housekeeper, and even with my Spaniard, who waited capitally at table.
After supper I sent out Le Duc and the other servant, and as soon as I
was alone with my too lovely housekeeper, who had behaved at table like a
woman of the world, I begged her to tell me her history.
"My history, sir, is short enough, and not very interesting. I was--born
at Lyons, and my relations took me to Lausanne, as I have been told, for
I was too young at the time to remember anything about it. My father, who
was in the service of Madame d'Ermance, left me an orphan when I was
fourteen. Madame d'Ermance was fond of me, and knowing that my mother's
means were small she took me to live with her. I had attained my
seventeenth year when I entered the service of Lady Montagu as lady's
maid, and some time after I was married to Dubois, an old servant of the
house. We went to England, and three years after my marriage I lost my
husband. The climate of England affected my lungs, and I was obliged to
beg my lady to allow me to leave her service. The worthy lady saw how
weak I was, and paid the expenses of my journey and loaded me with rich
presents. I returned to my mother at Lausanne, where my health soon
returned, and I went into the service of an English lady who was very
fond of me, and would have taken me with her to Italy if she had not
conceived some suspicions about the young Duke of Rosebury, with whom she
was in love, and whom she thought in love with me. She suspected me, but
wrongfully, of being her rival in secret. She sent me away, after giving
me rich presents, and saying how sorry she was she could not keep me. I
went back to my mother, and for two years I have lived with the toil of
my hands. Four days ago M. Lebel, the ambassador's steward, asked me if I
would enter the service of an Italian gentleman as housekeeper. I agreed,
in the hope of seeing Italy, and this hope is the cause of my stupidity.
In short: here I am."
"What stupidity are you referring to?"
"The stupidity of having entered your service before I knew you."
"I like your freedom. You would not have come, then, if you had not known
me?"
"Certainly not, for no lady will ever take me after having been with
you."
"Why not? may I ask."
"Well, sir; do you think you are the kind of man to have a house-keeper
like myself without the public believing my situation to be of quite a
different nature?"
"No, you are too pretty, and I don't look like a fossil, certainly; but
after all, what matter does it make?"
"It is all very well for you to make light of it, and if I were in your
place I would do the same; but how am I, who am a woman and not in an
independent position, to set myself above the rules and regulations of
society?"
"You mean, Madame Dubois, that you would very much like to go back to
Lausanne?"
"Not exactly, as that would not be just to you."
"How so?"
"People would be sure to say that either your words or your deeds were
too free, and you might possibly pass a rather uncharitable judgment on
me."
"What judgment could I pass on you?"
"You might think I wanted to impose on you."
"That might be, as I should be very much hurt by so sudden and
uncalled-for a departure. All the same I am sorry for you, as with your
ideas you can neither go nor stay with any satisfaction. Nevertheless,
you must do one or the other."
"I have made up my mind. I shall stay, and I am almost certain I shall
not regret it."
"I am glad to hear that, but there is one point to which I wish to call
your attention."
"What is that?"
"I will tell you. Let us have no melancholy and no scruples."
"You shall not see me melancholy, I promise you; but kindly explain what
you mean by the word 'scruples.'"
"Certainly. In its ordinary acceptation, the word 'scruple' signifies a
malicious and superstitious whim, which pronounces an action which may be
innocent to be guilty."
"When a course of action seems doubtful to me, I never look upon the
worst side of it. Besides, it is my duty to look after myself and not
other people."
"I see you have read a good deal."
"Reading is my greatest luxury. Without books I should find life
unbearable."
"Have you any books?"
"A good many. Do you understand English?"
"Not a word."
"I am sorry for that, as the English books would amuse you."
"I do not care for romances."
"Nor do I. But you don't think that there are only romances in English,
do you? I like that. Why do you take me for such a lover of the
romantic, pray?"
"I like that, too. That pretty outburst is quite to my taste, and I am
delighted to be the first to make you laugh."
"Pardon me if I laugh, but . . ."
"But me no buts, my dear; laugh away just as you like, you will find that
the best way to get over me. I really think, though, that you put your
services at too cheap a rate."
"That makes me laugh again, as it is for you to increase my wages if you
like."
"I shall take care that it is done."
I rose from table, not taken, but surprised, with this young woman, who
seemed to be getting on my blind side. She reasoned well, and in this
first interview she had made a deep impression on me. She was young,
pretty, elegant, intellectual, and of distinguished manners; I could not
guess what would be the end of our connection. I longed to speak to M.
Lebel, to thank him for getting me such a marvel, and still more, to ask
him some questions about her.
After the supper had been taken away, she came to ask if I would have my
hair put in curl papers.
"It's Le Duc's business," I answered, "but if you like, it shall be yours
for the future."
She acquitted herself like an expert.
"I see," said I, "that you are going to serve me as you served Lady
Montagu."
"Not altogether; but as you do not like melancholy, allow me to ask a
favour."
"Do so, my dear."
"Please do not ask me to give you your bath."
"Upon my honour, I did not think of doing so. It would be scandalous.
That's Le Duc's business."
"Pardon me, and allow me to ask another favour."
"Tell me everything you want."
"Allow me to have one of the door-keeper's daughters to sleep with me."
"If it had come into my head, I would have proposed it to you. Is she in
your room now?"
"No."
"Go and call her, then."
"Let us leave that till to-morrow, as if I went at this time of night it
might make people talk."
"I see you have a store of discretion, and you may be sure I will not
deprive you of any of it."
She helped me to undress, and must have found me very modest, but I must
say it was not from virtue. My heart was engaged elsewhere, and Madame
Dubois had impressed me; I was possibly duped by her, but I did not
trouble myself to think whether I was or not. I rang for Le Duc in the
morning, and on coming in he said he had not expected the honour.
"You're a rascal," I said, "get two cups of chocolate ready directly
after I have had my bath."
After I had taken my first cold bath, which I greatly enjoyed, I went to
bed again. Madame Dubois came in smiling, dressed in a style of careless
elegance.
"You look in good spirits."
"I am, because I am happy with you. I have had a good night, and there is
now in my room a girl as lovely as an angel, who is to sleep with me."
"Call her in."
She called her, and a monster of ugliness entered, who made me turn my
head away.
"You haven't given yourself a rival certainly, my dear, but if she suits
you it is all right. You shall have your breakfast with me, and I hope
you will take chocolate with me every morning."
"I shall be delighted, as I am very fond of it."
I had a pleasant afternoon. M. de Chavigni spent several hours with me.
He was pleased with everything, and above all with my fair housekeeper,
of whom Lebel had said nothing to him.
"She will be an excellent cure for your love for Madame," said he.
"There you are wrong," I answered, "she might make me fall in love with
her without any diminution of my affection for my charmer."
Next day, just as I was sitting down to table with my housekeeper, I saw
a carriage coming into the courtyard, and my detestable lame widow
getting out of it. I was terribly put out, but the rules of politeness
compelled me to go and receive her.
"I was far from anticipating that you would do me so great an honour,
madam."
"I daresay; I have come to dine with you, and to ask you to do me a
favour."
"Come in, then, dinner is just being served. I beg to introduce Madame
Dubois to you."
I turned towards my charming housekeeper, and told her that the lady
would dine with us.
Madame Dubois, in the character of mistress of the house, did the honours
admirably, and my lame friend, in spite of her pride, was very polite to
her. I did not speak a dozen words during the meal, and paid no sort of
attention to the detestable creature; but I was anxious to know what she
could want me to do for her. As soon as Madame Dubois had left the room
she told me straight out that she had come to ask me to let her have a
couple of rooms in my house for three weeks or a month at the most.
I was astonished at such a piece of impudence, and told her she asked
more than I was at liberty to give.
"You can't refuse me, as everybody knows I have come on purpose to ask
you."
"Then everybody must know that I have refused you. I want to be
alone--absolutely alone, without any kind of restriction on my liberty.
The least suspicion of company would bore me."
"I shall not bore you in any way, and you will be at perfect liberty to
ignore my presence. I shall not be offended if you don't enquire after
me, and I shall not ask after you--even if you are ill. I shall have my
meals served to me by my own servant, and I shall take care not to walk
in the garden unless I am perfectly certain you are not there. You must
allow that if you have any claims to politeness you cannot refuse me."
"If you were acquainted with the most ordinary rules of politeness,
madam, you would not persist in a request to which I have formally
declined to accede."
She did not answer, but my words had evidently produced no effect. I was
choking with rage. I strode up and down the room, and felt inclined to
send her away by force as a madwoman. However, I reflected that she had
relations in a good position whom I might offend if I treated her
roughly, and that I might make an enemy capable of exacting a terrible
revenge; and, finally, that Madame might disapprove of my using violence
to this hideous harpy....
"Well, madam," said I, "you shall have the apartment you have solicited
with so much importunity, and an hour after you come in I shall be on my
way back to Soleure."
"I accept the apartment, and I shall occupy it the day after to-morrow.
As for your threat of returning to Soleure, it is an idle one, as you
would thereby make yourself the laughing-stock of the whole town."
With this final impertinence she rose and went away, without taking any
further notice of me. I let her go without moving from my seat. I was
stupefied. I repented of having given in; such impudence was
unparalleled. I called myself a fool, and vowed I deserved to be publicly
hooted. I ought to have taken the whole thing as a jest; to have
contrived to get her out of the house on some pretext, and then to have
sent her about her business as a madwoman, calling all my servants as
witnesses.
My dear Dubois came in, and I told my tale. She was thunderstruck.
"I can hardly credit her requesting, or your granting, such a thing,"
said she, "unless you have some motives of your own."
I saw the force of her argument, and not wishing to make a confidante of
her I held my tongue, and went out to work off my bile.
I came in tired, after taking a stiff walk. I took supper with Madame
Dubois, and we sat at table till midnight. Her conversation pleased me
more and more; her mind was well-furnished, her speech elegant, and she
told her stories and cracked her jokes with charming grace. She was
devoid of prejudices, but by no means devoid of principle. Her discretion
was rather the result of system than of virtue; but if she had not a
virtuous spirit, her system would not have shielded her from the storms
of passion or the seductions of vice.
My encounter with the impudent widow had so affected me that I could not
resist going at an early hour on the following day to communicate it to
M. de Chavigni. I warned Madame Dubois that if I were not back by
dinner-time she was not to wait for me.
M. de Chavigni had been told by my enemy that she was going to pay me a
visit, but he roared with laughter on hearing the steps she had taken to
gain her ends.
"Your excellency may find it very funny," said I, "but I don't."
"So I see; but take my advice, and be the first to laugh at the
adventure. Behave as if you were unaware of her presence, and that will
be a sufficient punishment for her. People will soon say she is smitten
with you, and that you disdain her love. Go and tell the story to M.----,
and stay without ceremony to dinner. I have spoken to Lebel about your
pretty housekeeper: the worthy man had no malicious intent in sending her
to you. He happened to be going to Lausanne, and just before, I had told
him to find you a good housekeeper; thinking it over on his way, he
remembered his friend Madame Dubois, and the matter was thus arranged
without malice or pretense. She is a regular find, a perfect jewel for
you, and if you get taken with her I don't think she will allow you to
languish for long."
"I don't know, she seems to be a woman of principle."
"I shouldn't have thought you would be taken in by that sort of thing. I
will ask you both to give me a dinner to-morrow, and shall be glad to
hear her chatter."
M---- welcomed me most kindly, and congratulated me on my conquest, which
would make my country house a paradise. I joined in the jest, of course,
with the more ease that his charming wife, though I could see that she
suspected the truth, added her congratulations to those of her husband;
but I soon changed the course of their friendly mirth by telling them the
circumstances of the case. They were indignant enough then, and the
husband said that if she had really quartered herself on me in that
fashion, all I had to do was to get an injunction from the courts
forbidding her to put her foot within my doors.
"I don't want to do that," said I, "as besides publicly disgracing her I
should be skewing my own weakness, and proclaiming that I was not the
master in my own house, and that I could not prevent her establishing
herself with me."
"I think so, too," said the wife, "and I am glad you gave way to her.
That shews how polite you are, and I shall go and call on her to
congratulate her on the welcome she got, as she told me that her plans
had succeeded."
Here the matter ended, and I accepted their invitation to dine with them.
I behaved as a friend, but with that subtle politeness which takes away
all ground for suspicion; accordingly, the husband felt no alarm. My
charmer found the opportunity to tell me that I had done wisely in
yielding to the ill-timed demand of that harpy, and that as soon as M. de
Chauvelin, whom they were expecting, had gone away again, I could ask her
husband to spend a few days with me, and that she would doubtless come
too.
"Your door-keeper's wife," she added, "was my nurse. I have been kind to
her, and when necessary I can write to you by her without running any
risk."
After calling on two Italian Jesuits who were passing through Soleure,
and inviting them to dine with me on the following day, I returned home
where the good Dubois amused me till midnight by philosophical
discussions. She admired Locke; and maintained that the faculty of
thought was not a proof of the existence of spirit in us, as it was in
the power of God to endow matter with the capacity for thought; I was
unable to controvert this position. She made me laugh by saying that
there was a great difference between thinking and reasoning, and I had
the courage to say,--
"I think you would reason well if you let yourself be persuaded to sleep
with me, and you think you reason well in refusing to be so persuaded."
"Trust me, sir," said she; "there is as much difference between the
reasoning powers of men and women as there is between their physical
characteristics."
Next morning at nine o'clock we were taking our chocolate, when my enemy
arrived. I heard her carriage, but I did not take the slightest notice.
The villainous woman sent away the carriage and installed herself in her
room with her maid.
I had sent Le Duc to Soleure for my letters, so I was obliged to beg my
housekeeper to do my hair; and she did it admirably, as I told her we
should have the ambassador and the two Jesuits to dinner. I thanked her,
and kissed her for the first time on the cheek, as she would not allow me
to touch her beautiful lips. I felt that we were fast falling in love
with one another, but we continued to keep ourselves under control, a
task which was much easier for her than for me, as she was helped by that
spirit of coquetry natural to the fair sex, which often has greater power
over them than love itself.
M. de Chavigni came at two; I had consulted him before asking the
Jesuits, and had sent my carriage for them. While we were waiting for
these gentlemen we took a turn in the garden, and M. de Chavigni begged
my fair housekeeper to join us as soon as she had discharged certain
petty duties in which she was then engaged.
M. de Chavigni was one of those men who were sent by France to such
powers as she wished to cajole and to win over to her interests. M. de
l'Hopital, who knew how to gain the heart of Elizabeth Petrovna, was
another; the Duc de Nivernois, who did what he liked with the Court of
St. James's in 1762, is a third instance.
Madame Dubois came out to us in due course, and entertained us very
agreeably; and M. de Chavigni told me that he considered she had all the
qualities which would make a man happy. At dinner she enchanted him and
captivated the two Jesuits by her delicate and subtle wit. In the evening
this delightful old nobleman told me he had spent a most pleasant day,
and after asking me to dine at his house while M. de Chauvelin was there,
he left me with an effusive embrace.
M. de Chauvelin, whom I had the honour to know at Versailles, at M. de
Choiseul's, was an extremely pleasant man. He arrived at Soleure in the
course of two days, and M. de Chavigni having advised me of his presence
I hastened to pay my court to him. He remembered me, and introduced me to
his wife, whom I had not the honour of knowing. As chance placed me next
to my charmer at table, my spirits rose, and my numerous jests and
stories put everybody in a good temper. On M. de Chauvelin remarking that
he knew some pleasant histories of which I was the hero, M. de Chavigni
told him that he did not know the best of all, and recounted to him my
adventure at Zurich. M. de Chauvelin then told Madame that to serve her
he would willingly transform himself into a footman, on which
M.---- joined in and said that I had a finer taste for beauty, as she, for
whose sake I had made myself into a waiter, was at that moment a guest of
mine in my country house.
"Ah, indeed!" said M. de Chauvelin, "then we must come and see your
quarters, M. Casanova."
I was going to reply, when M. de Chavigni anticipated me by saying,
"Yes, indeed! and I hope he will lend me his beautiful hall to give you a
ball next Sunday."
In this manner the good-natured courtier prevented me from promising to
give a ball myself, and relieved me of my foolish boast, which I should
have been wrong in carrying out, as it would have been an encroachment on
his privilege as ambassador of entertaining these distinguished strangers
during the five or six days they might stay at Soleure. Besides, if I had
kept to my word, it would have involved me in a considerable expense,
which would not have helped me in my suit.
The conversation turning on Voltaire, the Ecossaise was mentioned, and
the acting of my neighbour was highly commended in words that made her
blush and shine in her beauty like a star, whereat her praises were
renewed.
After dinner the ambassador invited us to his ball on the day after the
morrow, and I went home more deeply in love than ever with my dear
charmer, whom Heaven had designed to inflict on me the greatest grief I
have had in my life, as the reader shall see.
I found that my housekeeper had gone to bed, and I was glad of it, for
the presence of my fair one had excited my passions to such an extent
that my reason might have failed to keep me within the bounds of respect.
Next morning she found me sad, and rallied me in such a way that I soon
recovered my spirits. While we were taking our chocolate the lame
creature's maid brought me a note, and I sent her away, telling her that
I would send the answer by my own servant. This curious letter ran as
follows:
"The ambassador has asked me to his ball on Sunday. I answered that I was
not well, but if I found myself better in the evening I would come. I
think that as I am staying in your house I ought to be introduced by you
or stay away altogether. So if you do not wish to oblige me by taking me,
I must beg of you to tell the ambassador that I am ill. Pardon me if I
have taken the liberty of infringing our agreement in this peculiar
instance, but it is a question of keeping up some sort of appearance in
public."
"Not so," I cried, mad with rage; and taking my pen I wrote thus:
"I think your idea is a beautiful one, madam. You will have to be ill, as
I mean to keep to the conditions you made yourself, and to enjoy full
liberty in all things, and I shall therefore deny myself the honour of
taking you to the ball which the ambassador is to give in my hall."
I read her insolent letter and my reply to my housekeeper, who thought
the answer just what she deserved. I then sent it to her.
I passed the next two days quietly and agreeably without going out or
seeing any visitors, but the society of Madame Dubois was all-sufficient
for me. Early on Sunday morning the ambassador's people came to make the
necessary preparations for the ball and supper. Lebel came to pay me his
respects while I was at table. I made him sit down, while I thanked him
for procuring me a housekeeper who was all perfection.
Lebel was a fine man, middle-aged, witty, and an excellent steward,
though perfectly honest.
"Which of you two," said he to me, "is the most taken in?"
"We are equally pleased with each other," answered my charming
housekeeper.
To my great delight the first pair to appear were M.---- and Madame. She
was extremely polite to Madame Dubois, and did not shew the slightest
astonishment when I introduced her as my housekeeper. She told me that I
must take her to see her lame friend, and to my great disgust I had to
go. We were received with a show of great friendship, and she went out
with us into the garden, taking M.----'s arm, while his wife leant
amorously on mine.
When we had made a few turns of the garden, Madame begged me to take her
to her nurse. As her husband was close by, I said,--
"Who is your nurse?"
"Your door-keeper's wife," said her husband, "we will wait for you in
this lady's apartment."
"Tell me, sweetheart," said she on the way, "does not your pretty
housekeeper sleep with you?"
"I swear she does not; I can only love you."
"I would like to believe you, but I find it hard to do so; however, if
you are speaking the truth it is wrong of you to keep her in the house,
as nobody will believe in your innocence."
"It is enough for me that you believe in it. I admire her, and at any
other time I expect we could not sleep under the same roof without
sleeping in the same bed; but now that you rule my heart I am not capable
of a passion for her."
"I am delighted to hear it; but I think she is very pretty."
We went in to see her nurse, who called her "my child," and kissed her
again and again, and then left us alone to prepare some lemonade for us.
As soon as we found ourselves alone our mouths were glued together, and
my hands touched a thousand beauties, covered only by a dress of light
sarcenet; but I could not enjoy her charms without this cruel robe, which
was all the worse because it did not conceal the loveliness beneath it. I
am sure that the good nurse would have kept us waiting a long time if she
had known how we longed to be left alone for a few moments longer; but,
alas! the celerity with which she made those two glasses of lemonade was
unexampled.
"It was made beforehand, was it?" said I, when I saw her coming in.
"Not at all, sir; but I am a quick hand."
"You are, indeed."
These words made my charmer go off into a peal of laughter, which she
accompanied with a significant glance in my direction. As we were going
away she said that as things seemed to be against us we must wait till
her husband came to spend a few days with me.
My terrible enemy gave us some sweets, which she praised very highly, and
above all some quince marmalade, which she insisted on our testing. We
begged to be excused, and Madame pressed my foot with hers. When we had
got away she told me I had been very wise not to touch anything, as the
widow was suspected of having poisoned her husband.
The ball, the supper, the refreshments, and the guests were all of the
most exquisite and agreeable kind. I only danced one minuet with Madame
de Chauvelin, nearly all my evening being taken up with talking to her
husband. I made him a present of my translation of his poem on the seven
deadly sins, which he received with much pleasure.
"I intend," said I, "to pay you a visit at Turin."
"Are you going to bring your housekeeper with you?"
"No."
"You are wrong, for she is a delightful person."
Everybody spoke of my dear Dubois in the same way. She had a perfect
knowledge of the rules of good breeding, and she knew how to make herself
respected without being guilty of the slightest presumption. In vain she
was urged to dance, and she afterwards told me that if she had yielded
she would have become an object of hatred to all the ladies. She knew
that she could dance exquisitely.
M. de Chauvelin went away in two days, and towards the end of the week I
heard from Madame d'Urfe, who told me that she had spent two days at
Versailles in furtherance of my desires. She sent me a copy of the
letters of pardon signed by the king in favour of the relation of M.----,
assuring me that the original had been sent to the colonel of his
regiment, where he would be reinstated in the rank which he held before
the duel.
I had my horses put into my carriage, and hastened to carry this good
news to M. de Chavigni. I was wild with joy, and I did not conceal it
from the ambassador, who congratulated me, since M.---- having obtained by
me, without the expenditure of a penny, a favour which would have cost
him dear if he had succeeded in purchasing it, would henceforth be only
too happy to treat me with the utmost confidence.
To make the matter still more important, I begged my noble friend to
announce the pardon to M.---- in person, and he immediately wrote a note
to that gentleman requesting his presence.
As soon as he made his appearance, the ambassador handed him the copy of
the pardon, telling him that he owed it all to me. The worthy man was in
an ecstasy, and asked what he owed me.
"Nothing, sir, unless you will give me your friendship, which I value
more than all the gold in the world; and if you would give me a proof of
your friendship, come and spend a few days with me; I am positively dying
of loneliness. The matter I have done for you is a mere trifle; you see
how quickly it has been arranged."
"A mere trifle! I have devoted a year's labour to it; I have moved heaven
and earth without succeeding, and in a fortnight you have accomplished
it. Sir, you may dispose of my life."
"Embrace me, and come and see me. I am the happiest of men when I am
enabled to serve persons of your merit."
"I will go and tell the good news to my wife, who will love you as well
as I do."
"Yes, do so," said the ambassador, "and bring her to dinner here
to-morrow."
When we were alone together, the Marquis de Chavigni, an old courtier and
a wit, began to make some very philosophical reflections on the state of
a court where nothing can be said to be easy or difficult per se, as the
one at a moment's notice may become the other; a court where justice
often pleads in vain, while interest or even importunity get a ready
hearing. He had known Madame d'Urfe, had even paid his court to her at
the period when she was secretly beloved by the regent. He it was who had
given her the name of Egeria, because she said she had a genius who
directed her and passed the nights with her when she slept by herself.
The ambassador then spoke of M.----, who had undoubtedly become a very
great friend of mine.
"The only way to blind a jealous husband," said he, "is to make him your
friend, for friendship will rarely admit jealousy."
The next day at dinner, at the ambassador's, Madame gave me a thousand
proofs of grateful friendship, which my heart interpreted as pledges of
love. The husband and wife promised to pay me a three days' visit in the
following week at my country house.
They kept their word without giving me any further warning, but I was not
taken by surprise as I had made all preparations for their reception.
My heart leapt with joy on seeing my charmer getting down from the
carriage, but my joy was not unalloyed, as the husband told me that they
must absolutely return on the fourth day, and the wife insisted on the
horrible widow being present at all our conversation.
I took my guests to the suite of rooms I had prepared for them, and which
I judged most suitable for my designs. It was on the ground floor,
opposite to my room. The bedroom had a recess with two beds, separated by
a partition through which one passed by a door. I had the key to all the
doors, and the maid would sleep in a closet beyond the ante-chamber.
In obedience to my divinity's commands we went and called on the widow,
who gave us a cordial welcome; but under the pretext of leaving us in
freedom refused to be of our company during the three days. However, she
gave in when I told her that our agreement was only in force when I was
alone.
My dear Dubois, with her knowledge of the rules of society, did not need
a hint to have her supper in her room, and we had an exquisite meal as I
had given orders that the fare should be of the best. After supper I took
my guests to their apartment, and felt obliged to do the same by the
widow. She wanted me to assist at her toilet, but I excused myself with a
bow. She said, maliciously, that after all the pains I had taken I
deserved to be successful. I gave her no answer.
Next morning, as we were walking in the garden, I warned my charmer that
I had all the keys of the house, and that I could introduce myself into
her room at any moment.
"I am waiting," said she, "for my husband's embraces, which he has
prefaced with caresses, as is usual with him. We must therefore wait till
the night after next, which will take away all risk, as I have never
known him to embrace me for two nights in succession."
About noon we had a visit from M. de Chavigni, who came to ask for
dinner, and made a great to-do when he heard that my housekeeper dined in
her room. The ladies said he was quite right, so we all went and made her
sit down at table with us. She must have been flattered, and the incident
evidently increased her good humour, as she amused us by her wit and her
piquant stories about Lady Montagu. When we had risen from table Madame
said to me,--
"You really must be in love with that young woman; she is ravishing."
"If I could pass two hours in your company to-night, I would prove to you
that I am yours alone."
"It is still out of the question, as my husband has ascertained that the
moon changes to-day."
"He has to ask leave of the moon, has he, before discharging so sweet a
duty?"
"Exactly. According to his system of astrology, it is the only way to
keep his health and to have the son that Heaven wills to grant him, and
indeed without aid from above it is hardly likely that his wishes will be
accomplished."
"I hope to be the instrument of Heaven," said I, laughing.
"I only hope you may."
Thus I was obliged to wait. Next morning, as we were walking in the
garden, she said to me,--
"The sacrifice to the moon has been performed, and to make sure I will
cause him to renew his caresses tonight as soon as we go to bed; and
after that he is certain to sleep soundly. You can come at an hour after
midnight; love will await you."
Certain of my bliss, I gave myself up to the joy that such a certainty
kindles in a fiery heart. It was the only night remaining, as M.---- had
decided that on the next day they would return to Soleure.
After supper I took the ladies to their apartments, and on returning told
my housekeeper that I had a good deal of writing to do, and that she
should go to bed.
Just before one o'clock I left my room, and the night being a dark one I
had to feel my way half round my house, and to my surprise found the door
open; but I did not pay any attention to this circumstance. I opened the
door of the second ante-chamber, and the moment I shut it again a hand
seized mine, whilst another closed my lips. I only heard a whispered
"hush!" which bade me silent. A sofa was at hand; we made it our altar of
sacrifice, and in a moment I was within the temple of love. It was summer
time and I had only two hours before me, so I did not lose a moment, and
thinking I held between my arms the woman I had so long sighed for I
renewed again and again the pledges of my ardent love. In the fulness of
my bliss I thought her not awaiting me in her bed an admirable idea, as
the noise of our kisses and the liveliness of our motions might have
awakened the troublesome husband. Her tender ecstasies equalled mine, and
increased my bliss by making me believe (oh, fatal error!) that of all my
conquests this was the one of which I had most reason to boast.
To my great grief the clock warned me that it was time for me to be gone.
I covered her with the tenderest kisses, and returning to my room, in the
greatest gladness, I resigned myself to sleep.
I was roused at nine o'clock by M.----, who seemed in a happy frame of
mind, and shewed me a letter he had just received, in which his relative
thanked me for restoring him to his regiment. In this letter, which was
dictated by gratitude, he spoke of me as if I had been a divinity.
"I am delighted," I said, "to have been of service to you."
"And I," said he, "am equally pleased to assure you of my gratitude. Come
and breakfast with us, my wife is still at her toilette. Come along."
I rose hastily, and just as I was leaving the room I saw the dreadful
widow, who seemed full of glee, and said,--
"I thank you, sir; I thank you with all my heart. I beg to leave you at
liberty again; I am going back to Soleure."
"Wait for a quarter of an hour, we are going to breakfast with Madame."
"I can't stop a moment, I have just wished her good day, and now I must
be gone. Farewell, and remember me."
"Farewell, madam."
She had hardly gone before M.---- asked me if the woman was beside
herself.
"One might think so, certainly," I replied, "for she has received nothing
but politeness at my hands, and I think she might have waited to go back
with you in the evening."
We went to breakfast and to discuss this abrupt leave-taking, and
afterwards we took a turn in the garden where we found Madame Dubois.
M.---- took possession of her; and as I thought his wife looking rather
downcast I asked her if she had not slept well.
"I did not go to sleep till four o'clock this morning," she replied,
"after vainly sitting up in bed waiting for you till that time. What
unforeseen accident prevented your coming?"
I could not answer her question. I was petrified. I looked at her fixedly
without replying; I could not shake off my astonishment. At last a
dreadful suspicion came into my head that I had held within my arms for
two hours the horrible monster whom I had foolishly received in my house.
I was seized with a terrible tremor, which obliged me to go and take
shelter behind the arbour and hide my emotion. I felt as though I should
swoon away. I should certainly have fallen if I had not rested my head
against a tree.
My first idea had been a fearful thought, which I hastened to repel, that
Madame, having enjoyed me, wished to deny all knowledge of the fact--a
device which is in the power of any woman who gives up her person in the
dark to adopt, as it is impossible to convict her of lying. However, I
knew the divine creature I had thought I possessed too well to believe
her capable of such base deceit. I felt that she would have been lacking
in delicacy, if she had said she had waited for me in vain by way of a
jest; as in such a case as this the least doubt is a degradation. I was
forced, then, to the conclusion that she had been supplanted by the
infernal widow. How had she managed it? How had she ascertained our
arrangements? I could not imagine, and I bewildered myself with painful
surmises. Reason only comes to the aid of the mind when the confusion
produced by painful thoughts has almost vanished. I concluded, then, that
I had spent two hours with this abominable monster; and what increased my
anguish, and made me loathe and despise myself still more, was that I
could not help confessing that I had been perfectly happy. It was an
unpardonable mistake, as the two women differed as much as white does
from black, and though the darkness forbade my seeing, and the silence my
hearing, my sense of touch should have enlightened me--after the first
set-to, at all events, but my imagination was in a state of ecstasy. I
cursed love, my nature, and above all the inconceivable weakness which
had allowed me to receive into my house the serpent that had deprived me
of an angel, and made me hate myself at the thought of having defiled
myself with her. I resolved to die, after having torn to pieces with my
own hands the monster who had made me so unhappy.
While I was strengthening myself in this resolution M.---- came up to me
and asked me kindly if I were ill; he was alarmed to see me pale and
covered with drops of sweat. "My wife," said the worthy man, "is uneasy
about you, and sent me to look after you." I told him I had to leave her
on account of a sudden dizziness, but that I began to feel better. "Let
us rejoin her." Madame Dubois brought me a flask of strong waters, saying
pleasantly that she was sure it was only the sudden departure of the
widow that had put me out.
We continued our walk, and when we were far enough from the husband, who
was with my housekeeper, I said I had been overcome by what she had said,
but that it had doubtless been spoken jestingly.
"I was not jesting at all," said she, with a sigh, "tell me what
prevented your coming."
Again I was struck dumb. I could not make up my mind to tell her the
story, and I did not know what to say to justify myself. I was silent and
confused when my housekeeper's little servant came up and gave me a
letter which the wretched widow had sent her by an express. She had
opened it, and found an enclosure addressed to me inside. I put it in my
pocket, saying I would read it at my leisure. On Madame saying in joke
that it was a love-letter, I could not laugh, and made no answer. The
servant came to tell us that dinner was served, but I could touch
nothing. My abstinence was put down to my being unwell.
I longed to read the letter, but I wished to be alone to do so, and that
was a difficult matter to contrive.
Wishing to avoid the game of piquet which formed our usual afternoon's
amusement, I took a cup of coffee, and said that I thought the fresh air
would do me good. Madame seconded me, and guessing what I wanted she
asked me to walk up and down with her in a sheltered alley in the garden.
I offered her my arm, her husband offered his to my housekeeper, and we
went out.
As soon as my mistress saw that we were free from observation, she spoke
as follows,--
"I am sure that you spent the night with that malicious woman, and I am
afraid of being compromised in consequence. Tell me everything; confide
in me without reserve; 'tis my first intrigue, and if it is to serve as a
lesson you should conceal nothing from me. I am sure you loved me once,
tell me that you have not become my enemy."
"Good heavens! what are you saying? I your enemy!"
"Then tell me all, and before you read that wretched creature's letter. I
adjure you in the name of love to hide nothing from me."
"Well, divine creature, I will do as you bid me. I came to your apartment
at one o'clock, and as soon as I was in the second ante-chamber, I was
taken by the arm, and a hand was placed upon my lips to impose silence; I
thought I held you in my arms, and I laid you gently on the sofa. You
must remember that I felt absolutely certain it was you; indeed, I can
scarcely doubt it even now. I then passed with you, without a word being
spoken, two of the most delicious hours I have ever experienced. Cursed
hours! of which the remembrance will torment me for the remainder of my
days. I left you at a quarter past three. The rest is known to you."
"Who can have told the monster that you were going to visit me at that
hour?"
"I can't make out, and that perplexes me."
"You must confess that I am the most to be pitied of us three, and
perhaps, alas! the only one who may have a just title to the name
'wretched.'"
"If you love me, in the name of Heaven do not say that; I have resolved
to stab her, and to kill myself after having inflicted on her that
punishment she so well deserves."
"Have you considered that the publicity of such an action would render me
the most unfortunate of women? Let us be more moderate, sweetheart; you
are not to blame for what has happened, and if possible I love you all
the more. Give me the letter she has written to you. I will go away from
you to read it, and you can read it afterwards, as if we were seen
reading it together we should have to explain matters."
"Here it is."
I then rejoined her husband, whom my housekeeper was sending into fits of
laughter. The conversation I had just had had calmed me a little, and the
trustful way in which she had asked for the letter had done me good. I
was in a fever to know the contents, and yet I dreaded to read it, as it
could only increase my rage and I was afraid of the results.
Madame rejoined us, and after we had separated again she gave me the
letter, telling me to keep it till I was alone. She asked me to give her
my word of honour to do nothing without consulting her, and to
communicate all my designs to her by means of her nurse.
"We need not fear the harpy saying anything about it," she remarked, "as
she would first have to proclaim her own prostitution, and as for us,
concealment is the best plan. And I would have you note that the horrible
creature gives you a piece of advice you would do well to follow."
What completely tore my heart asunder during this interview was to see
great tears--tears of love and grief--falling from her beautiful eyes;
though to moderate my anguish she forced a smile. I knew too well the
importance she attached to her fair fame not to guess that she was
tormented with the idea that the terrible widow knew of the understanding
between us, and the thought added fresh poignancy to my sorrow.
This amiable pair left me at seven in the evening, and I thanked the
husband in such a manner that he could not doubt my sincerity, and, in
truth, I said no more than I felt. There is no reason why the love one
feels for a woman should hinder one from being the true friend of her
husband--if she have a husband. The contrary view is a hateful prejudice,
repugnant both to nature and to philosophy. After I had embraced him I
was about to kiss the hand of his charming wife, but he begged me to
embrace her too, which I did respectfully but feelingly.
I was impatient to read the terrible letter, and as soon as they were
gone I shut myself up in my room to prevent any interruptions. The
epistle was as follows:
"I leave your house, sir, well enough pleased, not that I have spent a
couple of hours with you, for you are no better than any other man, but
that I have revenged myself on the many open marks of contempt you have
given me; for your private scorn I care little, and I willingly forgive
you. I have avenged myself by unmasking your designs and the hypocrisy of
your pretty prude, who will no longer be able to treat me with that
irritating air of superiority which she, affecting a virtue which she
does not possess, has displayed towards me. I have avenged myself in the
fact that she must have been waiting for you all the night, and I would
have given worlds to have heard the amusing conversation you must have
had when she found out that I had taken for vengeance's sake, and not for
love, the enjoyment which was meant for her. I have avenged myself
because you can no longer pretend to think her a marvel of beauty, as
having mistaken me for her, the difference between us must needs be
slight; but I have done you a service, too, as the thought of what has
happened should cure you of your passion. You will no longer adore her
before all other women who are just as good as she. Thus I have disabused
you, and you ought to feel grateful to me; but I dispense you from all
gratitude, and do not care if you choose to hate me, provided your hatred
leaves me in peace; but if I find your conduct objectionable in the
future, I warn you that I will tell all, since I do not care for my own
fame as I am a widow and mistress of my own actions. I need no man's
favour, and care not what men may say of me. Your mistress, on the other
hand, is in quite a different position.
"And here I will give you a piece of advice, which should convince you of
my generosity. For the last ten years I have been troubled with a little
ailment which has resisted all attempts at treatment. You exerted
yourself to such an extent to prove how well you loved me that you must
have caught the complaint. I advise you, then, to put yourself under
treatment at once to weaken the force of the virus; but above all do not
communicate it to your mistress, who might chance to hand it on to her
husband and possibly to others, which would make a wretched woman of her,
to my grief and sorrow, since she has never done me any harm. I felt
certain that you two would deceive the worthy husband, and I wished to
have proof; thus I made you take me in, and the position of the apartment
you gave them was enough to remove all doubts; still I wanted to have
proof positive. I had no need of any help to arrive at my ends, and I
found it a pleasant joke to keep you in the dark. After passing two
nights on the sofa all for nothing, I resolved on passing the third night
there, and my perseverance was crowned with success. No one saw me, and
my maid even is ignorant of my nocturnal wanderings, though in any case
she is accustomed to observe silence. You are, then, at perfect liberty
to bury the story in oblivion, and I advise you to do so.
"If you want a doctor, tell him to keep his counsel, for people at
Soleure know of my little indisposition, and they might say you caught it
from me, and this would do us both harm."
Her impudence struck me so gigantic in its dimensions that I almost
laughed. I was perfectly aware that after the way I had treated her she
must hate me, but I should not have thought she would have carried her
perverse hatred so far. She had communicated to me an infectious disease,
though I did not so far feel any symptoms; however, they would no doubt
appear, and I sadly thought I should have to go away to be cured, to
avoid the gossip of malicious wits. I gave myself up to reflection, and
after two hours' thought I wisely resolved to hold my tongue, but to be
revenged when the opportunity presented itself.
I had eaten nothing at dinner, and needed a good supper to make me sleep.
I sat down to table with my housekeeper, but, like a man ashamed of
himself, I dared not look her in the face.
CHAPTER XVI
Continuation of the Preceding Chapter--I Leave Soleure
When the servants had gone away and left us alone, it would have looked
strange if we had remained as dumb as two posts; but in my state of mind
I did not feel myself capable of breaking the silence. My dear Dubois,
who began to love me because I made her happy, felt my melancholy react
on herself, and tried to make me talk.
"Your sadness," said she, "is not like you; it frightens me. You may
console yourself by telling me of your troubles, but do not imagine that
my curiosity springs from any unworthy motive, I only want to be of
service to you. You may rely on my being perfectly discreet; and to
encourage you to speak freely, and to give you that trust in me which I
think I deserve, I will tell you what I know and what I have learnt about
yourself. My knowledge has not been obtained by any unworthy stratagems,
or by a curiosity in affairs which do not concern me."
"I am pleased with what you say, my dear housekeeper. I see you are my
friend, and I am grateful to you. Tell me all you know about the matter
which is now troubling me, and conceal nothing."
"Very good. You are the lover and the beloved of Madame----. The widow
whom you have treated badly has played you some trick which has involved
you with your mistress, and then the wretched woman has 477 left your
house with the most unpardonable rudeness this tortures you. You fear
some disastrous consequences from which you cannot escape, your heart and
mind are at war, and there is a struggle in your breast between passion
and sentiment. Perhaps I am wrong, but yesterday you seemed to me happy
and to-day miserable. I pity you, because you have inspired me with the
tenderest feelings of friendship. I did my best to-day to converse with
the husband that you might be free to talk to the wife, who seems to me
well worthy of your love."
"All that you have said is true. Your friendship is dear to me, and I
have a high opinion of your intellectual powers. The widow is a monster
who has made me wretched in return for my contempt, and I cannot revenge
myself on her. Honour will not allow me to tell you any more, and indeed
it would be impossible for you or any one else to alleviate the grief
that overwhelms me. It may possibly be my death, but in the mean time, my
dear Dubois, I entreat you to continue your friendship towards me, and to
treat me with entire candour. I shall always attend to what you say, and
thus you will be of the greatest service to me. I shall not be
ungrateful."
I spent a weary night as I had expected, for anger, the mother of
vengeance, always made me sleepless, while sudden happiness had sometimes
the same effect.
I rang for Le Duc early in the morning, but, instead of him, Madame
Dubois's ugly little attendant came, and told me that my man was ill, and
that the housekeeper would bring me my chocolate. She came in directly
after, and I had no sooner swallowed the chocolate than I was seized with
a violent attack of sickness, the effect of anger, which at its height
may kill the man who cannot satisfy it. My concentrated rage called for
vengeance on the dreadful widow, the chocolate came on the top of the
anger, and if it had not been rejected I should have been killed; as it
was I was quite exhausted. Looking at my housekeeper I saw she was in
tears, and asked her why she wept.
"Good heavens! Do you think I have a heart of stone?"
"Calm yourself; I see you pity me. Leave me, and I hope I shall be able
to get some sleep."
I went to sleep soon after, and I did not wake till I had slept for seven
hours. I felt restored to life. I rang the bell, my housekeeper came in,
and told me the surgeon of the place had called. She looked very
melancholy, but on seeing my more cheerful aspect I saw gladness
reappearing on her pretty face.
"We will dine together, dearest," said I, "but tell the surgeon to come
in. I want to know what he has to say to me."
The worthy man entered, and after looking carefully round the room to see
that we were alone, he came up to me, and whispered in my ear that Le Duc
had a malady of a shameful character.
I burst out laughing, as I had been expecting some terrible news.
"My dear doctor," said I, "do all you can to cure him, and I will pay you
handsomely, but next time don't look so doleful when you have anything to
tell me. How old are you?"
"Nearly eighty."
"May God help you!"
I was all the more ready to sympathize with my poor Spaniard, as I
expected to find myself in a like case.
What a fellow-feeling there is between the unfortunate! The poor man will
seek in vain for true compassion at the rich man's doors; what he
receives is a sacrifice to ostentation and not true benevolence; and the
man in sorrow should not look for pity from one to whom sorrow is
unknown, if there be such a person on the earth.
My housekeeper came in to dress me, and asked me what had been the
doctor's business.
"He must have said something amusing to make you laugh."
"Yes, and I should like to tell you what it was; but before I do so I
must ask you if you know what the venereal disease is?"
"Yes, I do; Lady Montagu's footman died of it while I was with her."
"Very good, but you should pretend not to know what it is, and imitate
other ladies who assume an ignorance which well becomes them. Poor Le Duc
has got this disease."
"Poor fellow, I am sorry for him! Were you laughing at that?"
"No; it was the air of mystery assumed by the old doctor which amused
me."
"I too have a confidence to make, and when you have heard it you must
either forgive me or send me away directly."
"Here is another bother. What the devil can you have done? Quick! tell
me."
"Sir, I have robbed you!"
"What robbed me? When? How? Can you return me what you have taken? I
should not have thought you capable of such a thing. I never forgive a
robber or a liar."
"You are too hasty, sir. I am sure you will forgive me, as I robbed you
only half an hour ago, and I am now going to return to you the theft."
"You are a singular woman, my dear. Come, I will vouchsafe full
forgiveness, but restore immediately what you have taken."
"This is what I stole."
"What! that monster's letter? Did you read it?"
"Yes, of course, for otherwise I should not have committed a theft,
should I?"
"You have robbed me my secret, then, and that is a thing you cannot give
me back. You have done very wrong."
"I confess I have. My theft is all the greater in that I cannot make
restoration. Nevertheless, I promise never to speak a word of it all my
life, and that ought to gain me my pardon. Give it me quickly."
"You are a little witch. I forgive you, and here is the pledge of my
mercy." So saying I fastened my lips on hers.
"I don't doubt the validity of your pardon; you have signed with a double
and a triple seal."
"Yes; but for the future do not read, or so much as touch, any of my
papers, as I am the depositary of secrets of which I am not free to
dispose."
"Very good; but what shall I do when I find papers on the ground, as that
letter was?"
"You must pick them up, but not read them."
"I promise to do so."
"Very well, my dear; but you must forget the horrors you have read."
"Listen to me. Allow me to remember what I have read; perhaps you may be
the gainer. Let us talk over this affair, which has made my hair stand on
end. This monster of immodesty has given you two mortal blows--one in the
body and one in the soul; but that is not the worst, as she thinks that
Madame's honour is in her keeping. This, in my thinking, is the worst of
all; for, in spite of the affront, your mutual love might continue, and
the disease which the infamous creature has communicated to you would
pass off; but if the malicious woman carries out her threats, the honour
of your charming mistress is gone beyond return. Do not try to make me
forget the matter, then, but let us talk it over and see what can be
done."
I thought I was dreaming when I heard a young woman in her position
reasoning with more acuteness than Minerva displays in her colloquies
with Telemachus. She had captured not only my esteem but my respect.
"Yes, my dear," I answered, "let us think over some plan for delivering a
woman who deserves the respect of all good men from this imminent danger;
and the very thought that we have some chance of success makes me
indebted to you. Let us think of it and talk of it from noon to night.
Think kindly of Madame----, pardon her first slip, protect her honour,
and have pity on my distress. From henceforth call me no more your master
but your friend. I will be your friend till death; I swear it to you.
What you say is full of wisdom; my heart is yours. Embrace me."
"No, no, that is not necessary; we are young people, and we might perhaps
allow ourselves to go astray. I only wish for your friendship; but I do
not want you to give it to me for nothing. I wish to deserve it by giving
you solid proofs of my friendship for you. In the meanwhile I will tell
them to serve dinner, and I hope that after you have eaten something you
will be quite well."
I was astonished at her sagacity. It might all be calculated artifice,
and her aim might be to seduce me, but I did not trouble myself about
that. I found myself almost in love with her, and like to be the dupe of
her principles, which would have made themselves felt, even if she had
openly shared my love. I decided that I would add no fuel to my flames,
and felt certain that they would go out of their own accord. By leaving
my love thus desolate it would die of exhaustion. I argued like a fool. I
forgot that it is not possible to stop at friendship with a pretty woman
whom one sees constantly, and especially when one suspects her of being
in love herself. At its height friendship becomes love, and the
palliative one is forced to apply to soothe it for a moment only
increases its intensity. Such was the experience of Anacreon with
Smerdis, and Cleobulus with Badyllus. A Platonist who pretends that one
is able to live with a young woman of whom one is fond, without becoming
more than her friend, is a visionary who knows not what he says. My
housekeeper was too young, too pretty, and above all too pleasant, she
had too keen a wit, for me not to be captivated by all these qualities
conjoined; I was bound to become her lover.
We dined quietly together without saying anything about the affair we had
at heart, for nothing is more imprudent or more dangerous than to speak
in the presence of servants, who out of maliciousness or ignorance put
the worst construction on what they hear; add or diminish, and think
themselves privileged to divulge their master's secrets, especially as
they know them without having been entrusted with them.
As soon as we were alone, my dear Dubois asked me if I had sufficient
proof of Le Duc's fidelity.
"Well, my dear, he is a rascal and a profligate, full of impudence,
sharp-witted, ignorant, a fearful liar, and nobody but myself has any
power over him. However, he has one good quality, and that is blind
obedience to my orders. He defies the stick, and he would defy the
gallows if it were far enough off. When I have to ford a river on my
travels, he strips off his clothes without my telling him, and jumps in
to see if I can across in safety."
"That will do; he is just what we want under the circumstances. I will
begin by assuring you, my dear friend, as you will have me style you
thus, that Madame's honour is perfectly safe. Follow my advice, and if
the detestable widow does not take care she will be the only person put
to shame. But we want Le Duc; without him we can do nothing. Above all we
must find out how he contracted his disease, as several circumstances
might throw obstacles in the way of my design. Go to him at once and find
out all particulars, and if he has told any of the servants what is the
matter with him. When you have heard what he has to say, warn him to keep
the matter quiet."
I made no objection, and without endeavouring to penetrate her design I
went to Le Duc. I found him lying on his bed by himself. I sat down
beside him with a smile on my face, and promised to have him cured if he
would tell me all the circumstances of the case.
"With all my heart, sir, the matter happened like this. The day you sent
me to Soleure to get your letters, I got down at a roadside dairy to get
a glass of milk. It was served to me by a young wench who caught my
fancy, and I gave her a hug; she raised no objection, and in a quarter of
an hour she made me what you see."
"Have you told anyone about it?"
"I took good care not to do so, as I should only have got laughed at. The
doctor is the only one who knows what is the matter, and he tells me the
swelling will be gone down before tomorrow, and I hope I shall be able by
that time to wait upon you."
"Very good, but remember to keep your own counsel."
I proceeded to inform my Minerva of our conversation, and she said,--
"Tell me whether the widow could take her oath that she had spent the two
hours on the sofa with you."
"No, for she didn't see me, and I did not say a word."
"Very good; then sit down at your desk and write, and tell her she is a
liar, as you did not leave your room at all, and that you are making the
necessary enquiries in your household to find out who is the wretched
person she has unwittingly contaminated. Write at once and send off your
letter directly. In an hour and a half's time you can write another
letter; or rather you can copy what I am just going to put down."
"My dear, I see your plan; it is an ingenious one, but I have given my
word of honour to Madame to take no steps in the matter without first
consulting her."
"Then your word of honour must give way to the necessity of saving her
honour. Your love retards your steps, but everything depends on our
promptitude, and on the interval between the first and second letter.
Follow my advice, I beg of you, and you will know the rest from the
letter I am going to write for you to copy. Quick I write letter number
one."
I did not allow myself to reflect. I was persuaded that no better plan
could be found than that of my charming governess, and I proceeded to
write the following love-letter to the impudent monster:
"The impudence of your letter is in perfect accord with the three nights
you spent in discovering a fact which has no existence save in your own
perverse imagination. Know, cursed woman, that I never left my room, and
that I have not to deplore the shame of having passed two hours with a
being such as you. God knows with whom you did pass them, but I mean to
find out if the whole story is not the creation of your devilish brain,
and when I do so I will inform you.
"You may thank Heaven that I did not open your letter till after M. and
Madame had gone. I received it in their presence, but despising the hand
that wrote it I put it in my pocket, little caring what infamous stuff it
contained. If I had been curious enough to read it and my guests had seen
it, I would have you know that I would have gone in pursuit of you, and
at this moment you would have been a corpse. I am quite well, and have no
symptoms of any complaint, but I shall not lower myself to convince you
of my health, as your eyes would carry contagion as well as your wretched
carcase."
I shewed the letter to my dear Dubois, who thought it rather strongly
expressed, but approved of it on the whole; I then sent it to the
horrible being who had caused me such unhappiness. An hour and a half
afterwards I sent her the following letter, which I copied without
addition or subtraction:
"A quarter of an hour after I had sent off my letter, the village doctor
came to tell me that my man had need of his treatment for a disease of a
shameful nature which he had contracted quite recently. I told him to
take care of his patient; and when he had gone I went to see the invalid,
who confessed, after some pressure, that he had received this pretty
present from you. I asked him how he had contrived to obtain access to
you, and he said that he saw you going by your self in the dark into the
apartment of M.----. Knowing that I had gone to bed, and having no
further services to render me, curiosity made him go and see what you
were doing there by stealth, as if you had wanted to see the lady, who
would be in bed by that time, you would not have gone by the door leading
to the garden. He at first thought that you went there with ill-intent,
and he waited an hour to see if you stole anything, in which case he
would have arrested you; but as you did not come out, and he heard no
noise, he resolved to go in after you, and found you had left the door
open. He has assured me that he had no intentions in the way of carnal
enjoyment, and I can well believe him. He tells me he was on the point of
crying for help, when you took hold of him and put your hand over his
mouth; but he changed his plans on finding himself drawn gently to a
couch and covered with kisses. You plainly took him for somebody else,
'and,' said he, 'I did her a service which she has done ill to recompense
in this fashion.' He left you without saying a word as soon as the day
began to dawn, his motive being fear of recognition. It is easy to see
that you took my servant for myself, for in the night, you know, all cats
are grey, and I congratulate you on obtaining an enjoyment you certainly
would not have had from me, as I should most surely have recognized you
directly from your breath and your aged charms, and I can tell you it
would have gone hard with you. Luckily for you and for me, things
happened otherwise. I may tell you that the poor fellow is furious, and
intends making you a visit, from which course I believe I have no right
to dissuade him. I advise you to hear him politely, and to be in a
generous mood when he comes, as he is a determined fellow like all
Spaniards, and if you do not treat him properly he will publish the
matter, and you will have to take the consequences. He will tell you
himself what his terms are, and I daresay you will be wise enough to
grant them."
An hour after I had sent off this epistle I received a reply to my first
letter. She told me that my device was an ingenious one, but that it was
no good, as she knew what she was talking about. She defied me to shew
her that I was healthy in the course of a few days.
While we were at supper, my dear Dubois tried her utmost to cheer me up,
but all to no purpose; I was too much under the influence of strong
emotion to yield to her high spirits. We discussed the third step, which
would put an apex to the scheme and cover the impudent woman with shame.
As I had written the two letters according to my housekeeper's
instructions, I determined to follow her advice to the end. She told me
what to say to Le Duc in the morning; and she was curious to know what
sort of stuff he was made of, she begged me to let her listen behind the
curtains of my bed.
Next morning Le Due came in, and I asked if he could ride on horseback to
Soleure.
"Yes, sir," he replied, "but the doctor tells me I must begin to bathe
to-morrow."
"Very good. As soon as your horse is ready, set out and go to Madame
F----, but do not let her know you come from me, or suspect that you are
a mere emissary of mine. Say that you want to speak to her. If she
refuses to receive you, wait outside in the street; but I fancy she will
receive you, and without a witness either. Then say to her, 'You have
given me my complaint without having been asked, and I require you to
give me sufficient money to get myself cured.' Add that she made you work
for two hours in the dark, and that if it had not been for the fatal
present she had given to you, you would have said nothing about it; but
that finding yourself in such a state (you needn't be ashamed to shew
her) she ought not to be astonished at your taking such a course. If she
resists, threaten her with the law. That's all you have to do, but don't
let my name appear. Return directly without loss of time, that I may know
how you have got on."
"That's all very fine, sir, but if this jolly wench has me pitched out of
window, I shan't come home quite so speedily."
"Quite so, but you needn't be afraid; I will answer for your safety."
"It's a queer business you are sending me on."
"You are the only man I would trust to do it properly."
"I will do it all right, but I want to ask you one or two essential
questions. Has the lady really got the what d'you call it?"
"She has."
"I am sorry for her. But how am I to stick to it that she has peppered
me, when I have never spoken to her?"
"Do you usually catch that complaint by speaking, booby?"
"No, but one speaks in order to catch it, or while one is catching it."
"You spent two hours in the dark with her without a word being spoken,
and she will see that she gave this fine present to you while she thought
she was giving it to another."
"Ah! I begin to see my way, sir. But if we were in the dark, how was I to
know it was she I had to do with?
"Thus: you saw her going in by the garden door, and you marked her
unobserved. But you may be sure she won't ask you any of these
questions."
"I know what to do now. I will start at once, and I am as curious as you
to know what her answer will be. But here's another question comes into
my head. She may try to strike a bargain over the sum I am to ask for my
cure; if so, shall I be content with three hundred francs?"
"That's too much for her, take half."
"But it isn't much for two hours of such pleasure for her and six weeks
of such pain for me."
"I will make up the rest to you."
"That's good hearing. She is going to pay for damage she has done. I
fancy I see it all, but I shall say nothing. I would bet it is you to
whom she has made this fine present, and that you want to pay her out."
"Perhaps so; but keep your own counsel and set out."
"Do you know I think the rascal is unique," said my dear Dubois, emerging
from her hiding-place, "I had hard work to keep from laughing when he
said that if he were pitched out of the window he would not come back so
soon. I am sure he will acquit himself better than ever did diplomatist.
When he gets to Soleure the monster will have already dispatched her
reply to your second letter. I am curious to see how it will turn out."
"To you, my dear, the honour of this comedy belongs. You have conducted
this intrigue like a past master in the craft. It could never be taken
for the work of a novice."
"Nevertheless, it is my first and I hope it will be my last intrigue."
"I hope she won't defy me to 'give evidence of my health'."
"You are quite well so far, I think?"
"Yes; and, by the way, it is possible she may only have leucorrhoea. I am
longing to see the end of the piece, and to set my mind at rest."
"Will you give Madame an account of our scheme?"
"Yes; but I shall not be able to give you the credit you deserve."
"I only want to have credit in your eyes."
"You cannot doubt that I honour you immensely, and I shall certainly not
deprive you of the reward that is your due."
"The only reward I ask for is for you to be perfectly open with me."
"You are very wonderful. Why do you interest yourself so much in my
affairs? I don't like to think you are really inquisitive."
"You would be wrong to think that I have a defect which would lower me in
my own eyes. Be sure, sir, that I shall only be curious when you are
sad."
"But what can have made you feel so generously towards me?"
"Only your honourable conduct towards me."
"You touch me profoundly, and I promise to confide in you for the
future."
"You will make me happy."
Le Duc had scarcely gone an hour when a messenger on foot came to bring
me a second letter from the widow. He also gave me a small packet,
telling me that he had orders to wait for a reply. I sent him down to
wait, and I gave the letter to Madame Dubois, that she might see what it
contained. While she was reading it I leant upon the window, my heart
beating violently.
"Everything is getting on famously," cried my housekeeper. "Here is the
letter; read it."
"Whether I am being told the truth, or whether I am the victim of a myth
arising from your fertile imagination (for which you are too well known
all over Europe), I will regard the whole story as being true, as I am
not in a position to disprove it. I am deeply grieved to have injured an
innocent man who has never done me any ill, and I will willingly pay the
penalty by giving him a sum which will be more than sufficient to cure
him of the plague with which I infected him. I beg that you will give him
the twenty-five louis I am sending you; they will serve to restore him to
health, and to make him forget the bitterness of the pleasure I am so
sorry to have procured for him. And now are you sufficiently generous to
employ your authority as master to enjoin on your man the most absolute
secrecy? I hope so, for you have reason to dread my vengeance otherwise.
Consider that, if this affair is allowed to transpire, it will be easy
for me to give it a turn which may be far from pleasant to you, and which
will force the worthy man you are deceiving to open his eyes; for I have
not changed my opinion, as I have too many proofs of your understanding
with his wife. As I do not desire that we should meet again, I shall go
to Lucerne on the pretext of family concerns. Let me know that you have
got this letter."
"I am sorry," I said, "to have sent Le Duc, as the harpy is violent, and
I am afraid of something happening to him."
"Don't be afraid," she replied, "nothing will happen, and it is better
that they should see each other; it makes it more certain. Send her the
money directly; she will have to give it to him herself, and your
vengeance will be complete. She will not be able to entertain the
slightest suspicion, especially if Le Duc shews her her work, and in two
or three hours you will have the pleasure of hearing everything from his
lips. You have reason to bless your stars, as the honour of the woman you
love is safe. The only thing that can trouble you is the remembrance of
the widow's foul embraces, and the certainty that the prostitute has
communicated her complaint to you. Nevertheless, I hope it may prove a
slight attack and be easily cured. An inveterate leucorrhoea is not
exactly a venereal disease, and I have heard people in London say that it
was rarely contagious. We ought to be very thankful that she is going to
Lucerne. Laugh and be thankful; there is certainly a comic touch in our
drama."
"Unfortunately, it is tragi-comic. I know the human heart, and I am sure
that I must have forfeited Madame's affections."
"It is true that----; but this is not the time to be thinking of such
matters. Quick! write to her briefly and return her the twenty-five
Louis."
My reply was as follows:
"Your unworthy suspicions, your abominable design of revenge, and the
impudent letter you wrote me, are the only causes of your no doubt bitter
repentance. I hope that it will restore peace to your conscience. Our
messengers have crossed, through no fault of mine. I send you the
twenty-five Louis; you can give them to the man yourself. I could not
prevent my servant from paying you a visit, but this time you will not
keep him two hours, and you will not find it difficult to appease his
anger. I wish you a good journey, and I shall certainly flee all
occasions of meeting you, for I always avoid the horrible; and you must
know, odious woman, that it isn't everybody who endeavours to ruin the
reputation of their friends. If you see the apostolic nuncio at Lucerne,
ask him about me, and he will tell you what sort of a reputation I have
in Europe. I can assure you that Le Duc has only spoken to me of his
misadventure, and that if you treat him well he will be discreet, as he
certainly has nothing to boast of. Farewell."
My dear Minerva approved of this letter, and I sent it with the money by
the messenger.
"The piece is not yet done," said my housekeeper, "we have three scenes
more:"
"What are they?"
"The return of your Spaniard, the appearance of the disease, and the
astonishment of Madame when she hears it all."
I counted the moments for Le Duc to return, but in vain; he did not
appear. I was in a state of great anxiety, although my dear Dubois kept
telling me that the only reason he was away so long was that the widow
was out. Some people are so happily constituted that they never admit the
possibility of misfortune. I was like that myself till the age of thirty,
when I was put under the Leads. Now I am getting into my dotage and look
on the dark side of everything. I am invited to a wedding, and see nought
but gloom; and witnessing the coronation of Leopold, at Prague, I say to
myself, 'Nolo coronari'. Cursed old age, thou art only worthy of dwelling
in hell, as others before me have thought also, 'tristisque senectus'.
About half-past nine my housekeeper looked out, and saw Le Duc by the
moonlight coming along at a good pace. That news revived me. I had no
light in the room, and my housekeeper ran to hide in the recess, for she
would not have missed a word of the Spaniard's communication.
"I am dying of hunger," said he, as he came in. "I had to wait for that
woman till half-past six. When she came in she found me on the stairs and
told me to go about my business, as she had nothing to say to me.
"'That may be, fair lady,' I replied; 'but I have a few words to say to
you, and I have been waiting here for a cursed time with that intent.'
"'Wait a minute,' she replied; and then putting into her pocket a packet
and a letter which I thought was addressed in your writing, she told me
to follow her. As soon as I got to her room, I saw there was no one else
present, and I told her that she had infected me, and that I wanted the
wherewithal to pay the doctor. As she said nothing I proceeded to
convince her of my infected state, but she turned away her head, and
said,--
"'Have you been waiting for me long?
"'Since eleven, without having had a bite or a sup.'
"Thereupon she went out, and after asking the servant, whom I suppose she
had sent here, what time he had come back, she returned to me, shut the
door, and gave me the packet, telling me that it contained twenty-five
Louis for my cure, and that if I valued my life I would keep silence in
the matter. I promised to be discreet, and with that I left here, and
here I am.
"Does the packet belong to me?"
"Certainly. Have some supper and go to bed."
My dear Dubois came out of her recess and embraced me, and we spent a
happy evening. Next morning I noticed the first symptoms of the disease
the hateful widow had communicated to me, but in three or four days I
found it was of a very harmless character, and a week later I was quite
rid of it. My poor Spaniard, on the other hand, was in a pitiable case.
I passed the whole of the next morning in writing to Madame. I told her
circumstantially all I had done, in spite of my promise to consult her,
and I sent her copies of all the letters to convince her that our enemy
had gone to Lucerne with the idea that her vengeance had been only an
imaginary one. Thus I shewed her that her honour was perfectly safe. I
ended by telling her that I had noticed the first symptoms of the
disease, but that I was certain of getting rid of it in a very few days.
I sent my letter through her nurse, and in two days' time I had a few
lines from her informing me that I should see her in the course of the
week in company with her husband and M. de Chavigni.
Unhappy I! I was obliged to renounce all thoughts of love, but my Dubois,
who was with me nearly all day on account of Le Duc's illness, began to
stand me in good stead. The more I determined to be only a friend to her,
the more I was taken with her; and it was in vain that I told myself that
from seeing her without any love-making my sentiment for her would die a
natural death. I had made her a present of a ring, telling her that
whenever she wanted to get rid of it I would give her a hundred louis for
it; but this could only happen in time of need--an impossible contingency
while she continued with me, and I had no idea of sending her away. She
was natural and sincere, endowed with a ready wit and good reasoning
powers. She had never been in love, and she had only married to please
Lady Montagu. She only wrote to her mother, and to please her I read the
letters. They were full of filial piety, and were admirably written.
One day the fancy took me to ask to read the letters her mother wrote in
reply. "She never replies," said she, "For an excellent reason, namely,
that she cannot write. I thought she was dead when I came back from
England, and it was a happy surprise to find her in perfect health when I
got to Lausanne."
"Who came with you from England?"
"Nobody."
"I can't credit that. Young, beautiful, well dressed, obliged to
associate casually with all kinds of people, young men and profligates
(for there are such everywhere), how did you manage to defend yourself?"
"Defend myself? I never needed to do so. The best plan for a young woman
is never to stare at any man, to pretend not to hear certain questions
and certainly not to answer them, to sleep by herself in a room where
there is a lock and key, or with the landlady when possible. When a girl
has travelling adventures, one may safely say that she has courted them,
for it is easy to be discreet in all countries if one wishes."
She spoke justly. She assured me that she had never had an adventure and
had never tripped, as she was fortunate enough not to be of an amorous
disposition. Her naive stories, her freedom from prudery, and her sallies
full of wit and good sense, amused me from morning till night, and we
sometimes thoued each other; this was going rather far, and should have
shewn us that we were on the brink of the precipice. She talked with much
admiration of the charms of Madame, and shewed the liveliest interest in
my stories of amorous adventure. When I got on risky ground, I would make
as if I would fain spare her all unseemly details, but she begged me so
gracefully to hide nothing, that I found myself obliged to satisfy her;
but when my descriptions became so faithful as almost to set us on fire,
she would burst into a laugh, put her hand over my mouth, and fly like a
hunted gazelle to her room, and then lock herself in. One day I asked her
why she did so, and she answered, "To hinder you from coming to ask me
for what I could not refuse you at such moments."
The day before that on which M. and Madame and M. de Chavigni came to
dine with me, she asked me if I had had any amorous adventures in
Holland. I told her about Esther, and when I came to the mole and my
inspection of it, my charming curiosity ran to stop my mouth, her sides
shaking with laughter. I held her gently to me, and could not help
seeking whether she had a mole in the same place, to which she opposed
but a feeble resistance. I was prevented by my unfortunate condition from
immolating the victim on the altar of love, so we confined ourselves to a
make-believe combat which only lasted a minute; however, our eyes took in
it, and our excited feelings were by no means appeased. When we had done
she said, laughing, but yet discreetly,--
"My dear friend, we are in love with one another; and if we do not take
care we shall not long be content with this trifling."
Sighing as she spoke, she wished me good night and went to bed with her
ugly little maid. This was the first time we had allowed ourselves to be
overcome by the violence of our passion, but the first step was taken. As
I retired to rest I felt that I was in love, and foresaw that I should
soon be under the rule of my charming housekeeper.
M. and Madame--and M. Chavigni gave us an agreeable surprise, the next
day, by coming to dine with us, and we passed the time till dinner by
walking in the garden. My dear Dubois did the honours of the table, and I
was glad to see that my two male guests were delighted with her, for they
did not leave her for a moment during the afternoon, and I was thus
enabled to tell my charmer all I had written to her. Nevertheless I took
care not to say a word about the share my housekeeper had had in the
matter, for my mistress would have been mortified at the thought that her
weakness was known to her.
"I was delighted to read your letters," said she, "and to hear that that
villainous woman can no longer flatter herself upon having spent two
hours with you. But tell me, how can you have actually spent them with
her without noticing, in spite of the dark, the difference between her
and me? She is much shorter, much thinner, and ten years older. Besides,
her breath is disagreeable, and I think you know that I have not that
defect. Certainly, you could not see her hair, but you could touch, and
yet you noticed nothing! I can scarcely believe it!"
"Unhappily, it is only too true. I was inebriated with love, and thinking
only of you, I saw nothing but you."
"I understand how strong the imagination would be at first, but this
element should have been much diminished after the first or second
assault; and, above all, because she differs from me in a matter which I
cannot conceal and she cannot supply."
"You are right--a burst of Venus! When I think that I only touched two
dangling flabby breasts, I feel as if I did not deserve to live!"
"And you felt them, and they did not disgust you!"
"Could I be disgusted, could I even reflect, when I felt certain that I
held you in my arms, you for whom I would give my life. No, a rough skin,
a stinking breath, and a fortification carried with far too much ease;
nothing could moderate my amorous fury."
"What do I hear? Accursed and unclean woman, nest of impurities! And
could you forgive me all these defects?"
"I repeat, the idea that I possessed you deprived me of my thinking
faculties; all seemed to me divine."
"You should have treated me like a common prostitute, you should even
have beaten me on finding me such as you describe."
"Ah! now you are unjust!"
"That may be; I am so enraged against that monster that my anger deprives
me of reason. But now that she thinks that she had to do with a servant,
and after the degrading visit she has had she ought to die of rage and
shame. What astonishes me is her believing it, for he is shorter than you
by four inches. And how can she imagine that a servant would do it as
well as you? It's not likely. I am sure she is in love with him now.
Twenty-five louis! He would have been content with ten. What a good thing
that the poor fellow's illness happened so conveniently. But I suppose
you had to tell him all?"
"Not at all. I gave him to understand that she had made an appointment
with me in that room, and that I had really spent two hours with her, not
speaking for fear of being heard. Then, thinking over the orders I gave
him, he came to the conclusion that on finding myself diseased afterwards
I was disgusted, and being able to disavow my presence I had done so for
the sake of revenge."
"That's admirable, and the impudence of the Spaniard passes all belief.
But her impudence is the most astonishing thing of all. But supposing her
illness had been a mere trick to frighten you, what a risk the rascal
would have run!"
"I was afraid of that, as I had no symptoms of disease whatever."
"But now you really have it, and all through my fault. I am in despair."
"Be calm, my angel, my disease is of a very trifling nature. I am only
taking nitre, and in a week I shall be quite well again. I hope that then
. . . ."
"Ah! my dear friend."
"What?"
"Don't let us think of that any more, I beseech you."
"You are disgusted, and not unnaturally; but your love cannot be very
strong, Ah! how unhappy I am."
"I am more unhappy than you. I love you, and you would be thankless
indeed if you ceased to love me. Let us love each other, but let us not
endeavour to give one another proofs of our love. It might be fatal. That
accursed widow! She is gone away, and in a fortnight we shall be going
also to Bale, where we remain till the end of November."
The die is cast, and I see that I must submit to your decision, or rather
to my destiny, for none but fatal events have befallen me since I came to
Switzerland. My only consoling thought is that I have made your honour
safe."
"You have won my husband's friendship and esteem; we shall always be good
friends."
"If you are going I feel that I must go before you. That will tend to
convince the wretched author of my woe that there is nothing blame-worthy
in my friendship for you."
"You reason like an angel, and you convince me more and more of your
love. Where are you going?"
"To Italy; but I shall take Berne and Geneva on my way."
"You will not be coming to Bale, then? I am glad to hear it, in spite of
the pleasure it would give me to see you. No doubt your arrival would
give a handle for the gossips, and I might suffer by it. But if possible,
in the few days you are to remain, shew yourself to be in good spirits,
for sadness does not become you."
We rejoined the ambassador and M.---- who had not had time to think about
us, as my dear Dubois had kept them amused by her lively conversation. I
reproached her for the way in which she husbanded her wit as far as I was
concerned, and M. de Chavigni, seizing the opportunity, told us it was
because we were in love, and lovers are known to be chary of their words.
My housekeeper was not long in finding a repartee, and she again began to
entertain the two gentlemen, so that I was enabled to continue my walk
with Madame, who said,--
"Your housekeeper, my dear friend, is a masterpiece. Tell me the truth,
and I promise to give you a mark of my gratitude that will please you
before I go."
"Speak; what do you wish to know?"
"You love her and she loves you in return."
"I think you are right, but so far . . . ."
"I don't want to know any more, for if matters are not yet arranged they
soon will be, and so it comes to the same thing. If you had told me you
did not love her I should not have believed you, for I can't conceive
that a man of your age can live with a woman like that without loving
her. She is very pretty and exceedingly intelligent, she has good
spirits, talents, an excellent manner, and she speaks exceedingly well:
that is enough to charm you, and I expect you will find it difficult to
separate from her. Lebel did her a bad turn in sending her to you, as she
used to have an excellent reputation, and now she will no longer be able
to get a place with ladies in the highest society."
"I shall take her to Berne."
"That is a good idea."
Just as they were going I said that I should soon be coming to Soleure to
thank them for the distinguished reception they had given me, as I
proposed leaving in a few days. The idea of never seeing Madame again was
so painful to me that as soon as I got in I went to bed, and my
housekeeper, respecting my melancholy, retired after wishing me
good-night.
In two or three days I received a note from my charmer, bidding me call
upon them the day following at about ten o'clock, and telling me I was to
ask for dinner. I carried out her orders to the letter. M. gave me a most
friendly reception, but saying that he was obliged to go into the country
and could not be home till one o'clock, he begged me not to be offended
if he delivered me over to his wife for the morning. Such is the fate of
a miserable husband! His wife was engaged with a young girl at
tambour-work; I accepted her company on the condition that she would not
allow me to disturb her work.
The girl went away at noon, and soon after we went to enjoy the fresh air
outside the house. We sat in a summer-house from which, ourselves unseen,
we could see all the carriages that approached the house.
"Why, dearest, did you not procure me the bliss when I was in good
health."
"Because at that time my husband suspected that you turned yourself into
a waiter for my sake, and that you could not be indifferent towards me.
Your discretion has destroyed his suspicions; and also your housekeeper,
whom he believes to be your wife, and who has taken his fancy to such an
extent, that I believe he would willingly consent to an exchange, for a
few days at any rate. Would you agree?"
"Ah! if the exchange could be effected."
Having only an hour before me, and foreseeing that it would be the last I
should pass beside her, I threw myself at her feet. She was full of
affection, and put no obstacles in the way of my desires, save those
which my own feelings dictated, for I loved her too well to consent to
injure her health. I did all I could to replace the utmost bliss, but the
pleasure she enjoyed doubtless consisted in a great measure in shewing me
her superiority to the horrible widow.
When we saw the husband's carriage coming, we rose and took care that the
worthy man should not find us in the arbour. He made a thousand excuses
for not having returned sooner.
We had an excellent dinner, and at table he talked almost entirely of my
housekeeper, and he seemed moved when I said I meant to take her to
Lausanne to her mother. I took leave of them at five o'clock with a
broken heart, and from there I went to M. de Chavigni and told him all my
adventures. He had a right to be told, as he had done all in his power to
insure the success of a project which had only failed by an unexampled
fatality.
In admiration of my dear Dubois's wit--for I did not conceal the part she
played he said that old as he was he should think himself quite happy if
he had such a woman with him, and he was much pleased when I told him
that I was in love with her. "Don't give yourself the trouble, my dear
Casanova, of running from house to house to take leave," said the amiable
nobleman. "It can be done just as well at the assembly, and you need not
even stay to supper, if you don't want to."
I followed his advice, and thus saw again Madame as I thought, for the
last time, but I was wrong; I saw her ten years afterwards; and at the
proper time the reader will see where, when, how, and under what
circumstances.
Before going away, I followed the ambassador to his room to thank him as
he deserved, for his kindness, and to ask him to give me a letter of
introduction for Berne, where I thought of staying a fortnight. I also
begged him to send Lebel to me that we might settle our accounts. He told
me that Lebel should bring me a letter for M. de Muralt, the Mayor of
Thun.
When I got home, feeling sad on this, the eve of my leaving a town where
I had but trifling victories and heavy losses, I thanked my housekeeper
for waiting for me, and to give her a good night I told her that in three
days we should set out for Berne, and that my mails must be packed.
Next day, after a somewhat silent breakfast, she said,--
"You will take me with you, won't you?"
"Certainly, if you like me well enough to want to go."
"I would go with you to the end of the world, all the more as you are now
sick and sad, and when I saw you first you were blithe and well. If I
must leave you, I hope at least to see you happy first."
The doctor came in just then to tell me that my poor Spaniard was so ill
that he could not leave his bed.
"I will have him cured at Berne," said I; "tell him that we are going to
dine there the day after to-morrow."
"I must tell you, sir, that though it's only a seven leagues' journey, he
cannot possibly undertake it as he has lost the use of all his limbs."
"I am sorry to hear that, doctor."
"I dare say, but it's true."
"I must verify the matter with my own eyes;" and so saying I went to see
Le Duc.
I found the poor rascal, as the doctor had said, incapable of motion. He
had only the use of his tongue and his eyes.
"You are in a pretty state," said I to him.
"I am very ill, sir, though otherwise I feel quite well."
"I expect so, but as it is you can't move, and I want to dine at Berne
the day after to-morrow."
"Have me carried there, I shall get cured."
"You are right, I will have you carried in a litter."
"I shall look like a saint out for a walk."
I told one of the servants to look after him, and to see to all that was
necessary for our departure. I had him taken to the "Falcon" by two
horses who drew his litter.
Lebel came at noon and gave me the letter his master had written for M.
de Murat. He brought his receipts and I paid everything without
objection, as I found him an entirely honest man, and I had him to dinner
with Madame Dubois and myself. I did not feel disposed to talk, and I was
glad to see that they got on without me; they talked away admirably and
amused me, for Lebel was by no means wanting in wit. He said he was very
glad I had given him an opportunity of knowing the housekeeper, as he
could not say he had known her before, having only seen her two or three
times in passing through Lausanne. On rising from the table he asked my
permission to write to her, and she, putting in her voice, called on him
not to forget to do so.
Lebel was a good-natured man, of an honest appearance, and approaching
his fiftieth year. Just as he was going, without asking my leave, he
embraced her in the French fashion, and she seemed not to have the
slightest objection.
She told me as soon as he was gone that this worthy man might be useful
to her, and that she was delighted to enter into a correspondence with
him.
The next day was spent in putting everything in order for our short
journey, and Le Duc went off in his litter, intending to rest for the
night at four leagues from Soleure. On the day following, after I had
remembered the door-keeper, the cook, and the man-servant I was leaving
behind, I set out in my carriage with the charming Dubois, and at eleven
o'clock I arrived at the inn at Berne, where Le Duc had preceded me by
two hours. In the first place, knowing the habits of Swiss innkeepers, I
made an agreement with the landlord; and I then told the servant I had
kept, who came from Berne, to take care of Le Duc, to put him under good
medical superintendence, and to bid the doctor spare nothing to cure him
completely.
I dined with my housekeeper in her room, for she had a separate lodging,
and after sending my letter to M. de Muralt I went out for a walk.
CHAPTER XVII
Berne--La Mata Madame de la Saone--Sara--My Departure--
Arrival at Bale
I reached an elevation from which I could look over a vast stretch of
country watered by a little river, and noticing a path leading to a kind
of stair, the fancy took me to follow it. I went down about a hundred
steps, and found forty small closets which I concluded were bathing
machines. While I was looking at the place an honest-looking fellow came
up to me, and asked me if I would like a bath. I said I would, and he
opened one of the closets, and before long I surrounded by a crowd of
young girls.
"Sir," said the man, "they all aspire to the honour of attending you
while you bathe; you have only to choose which it shall be. Half-a-crown
will pay for the bath, the girl, and your coffee."
As if I were the Grand Turk, I examined the swarm of rustic beauties, and
threw my handkerchief at the one I liked the best. We went into a closet,
and shutting the door with the most serious air, without even looking at
me, she undressed me, and put a cotton cap on my head, and as soon as she
saw me in the water she undressed herself as coolly as possible, and
without a word came into the bath. Then she rubbed me all over, except in
a certain quarter, which I had covered with my hands. When I thought I
had been manipulated sufficiently, I asked for coffee. She got out of the
bath, opened the door, and after asking for what I wanted got in again
without the slightest consciousness.
When the coffee came she got out again to take it, shut the door, and
returned to the bath, and held the tray while I was drinking, and when I
had finished she remained beside me.
Although I had taken no great notice of her, I could see that she
possessed all the qualifications a man could desire in a woman: fine
features, lively eyes, a pretty mouth, and an excellent row of teeth, a
healthy complexion, a well-rounded bosom a curved back, and all else in
the same sort. I certainly thought her hands might have been softer, but
their hardness was probably due to hard work. Furthermore, she was only
eighteen, and yet I remained cold to all her charms. How was that? That
was the question I asked myself; and I think the reason probably was that
she was too natural, too devoid of those assumed graces and coquettish
airs which women employ with so much art for the seduction of men. We
only care for artifice and false show. Perhaps, too, our senses, to be
irritated, require woman's charms to be veiled by modesty. But if,
accustomed as we are to clothe ourselves, the face is the smallest factor
in our perfect happiness, how is it that the face plays the principal
part in rendering a man amorous? Why do we take the face as an index of
a woman's beauty, and why do we forgive her when the covered parts are
not in harmony with her features? Would it not be much more reasonable
and sensible to veil the face, and to have the rest of the body naked?
Thus when we fall in love with a woman, we should only want, as the crown
of our bliss, to see a face answerable to those other charms which had
taken our fancy. There can be no doubt that that would be the better
plan, as in that case we should only be seduced by a perfect beauty, and
we should grant an easy pardon if at the lifting of the mask we found
ugliness instead of loveliness. Under those circumstances an ugly woman,
happy in exercising the seductive power of her other charms, would never
consent to unveil herself; while the pretty ones would not have to be
asked. The plain women would not make us sigh for long; they would be
easily subdued on the condition of remaining veiled, and if they did
consent to unmask, it would be only after they had practically convinced
one that enjoyment is possible without facial beauty. And it is evident
and undeniable that inconstancy only proceeds from the variety of
features. If a man did not see the face, he would always be constant and
always in love with the first woman who had taken his fancy. I know that
in the opinion of the foolish all this will seem folly, but I shall not
be on the earth to answer their objections.
When I had left the bath, she wiped me with towels, put on my shirt, and
then in the same state--that is, quite naked, she did my hair.
While I was dressing she dressed herself too, and having soon finished
she came to buckle my shoes. I then gave her half-a-crown for the bath
and six francs for herself; she kept the half-crown, but gave me back the
six francs with silent contempt. I was mortified; I saw that I had
offended her, and that she considered her behaviour entitled her to
respect. I went away in a bad enough humour.
After supper I could not help telling my dear Dubois of the adventure I
had had in the afternoon, and she made her own comments on the details.
"She can't have been pretty," said she, "for if she had been, you would
certainly have given way. I should like to see her."
"If you like I will take you there."
"I should be delighted."
"But you will have to dress like a man:"
She rose, went out without a word, and in a quarter of an hour returned
in a suit of Le Duc's, but minus the trousers, as she had certain
protuberances which would have stood out too much I told her to take a
pair of my breeches, and we settled to go to the bath next morning.
She came to wake at six o'clock. She was dressed like a man, and wore a
blue overcoat which disguised her shape admirably. I rose and went to La
Mata, as the place is called.
Animated by the pleasure the expedition gave her, my dear Dubois looked
radiant. Those who saw her must have seen through her disguise, she was
so evidently a woman; so she wrapped herself up in her overcoat as well
as she could.
As soon as we arrived we saw the master of the baths, who asked me if I
wanted a closet for four, and I replied in the affirmative. We were soon
surrounded by the girls, and I shewed my housekeeper the one who had not
seduced me; she made choice of her, and I having fixed upon a big,
determined-looking wench, we shut ourselves up in the bath.
As soon as I was undressed I went into the water with my big attendant.
My housekeeper was not so quick; the novelty of the thing astonished her,
and her expression told me that she repented of having come; but putting
a good face on it, she began to laugh at seeing me rubbed by the feminine
grenadier. She had some trouble before she could take off her chemise,
but as it is only the first step that costs, she let it fall off, and
though she held her two hands before her she dazzled me, in spite of
myself, by the beauty of her form. Her attendant prepared to treat her as
she had treated me, but she begged to be left alone; and on my following
her example she felt obliged to let me look after her.
The two Swiss girls, who had no doubt often been present at a similar
situation, began to give us a spectacle which was well known to me, but
which was quite strange to my dear Dubois.
These two Bacchantes began to imitate the caresses I lavished on my
housekeeper, who was quite astonished at the amorous fury with which my
attendant played the part of a man with the other girl. I confess I was a
little surprised myself, in spite of the transports which my fair
Venetian nun had shewn me six years before in conjunction with
C---- C----.
I could not have imagined that anything of the kind could have distracted
my attention, holding, as I did, the woman I loved, whose charms were
sufficient to captivate all the senses; but the strange strife of the two
young Menads took up her attention as well as mine.
"Your attendant," said she, "must be a boy, not a girl."
"But," said I, "you saw her breasts."
"Yes, but she may be a boy all the same."
The big Swiss girl who had heard what we had said turned round and shewed
me what I should not have credited. There could be no mistake, however.
It was a feminine membrane, but much longer than my little finger, and
stiff enough to penetrate. I explained to my dear Dubois what it was, but
to convince her I had to make her touch it. The impudent creature pushed
her shamelessness so far as to offer to try it on her, and she insisted
so passionately that I was obliged to push her away. She then turned to
her companion and satiated on her body her fury of lust. In spite of its
disgusting nature, the sight irritated us to such a degree that my
housekeeper yielded to nature and granted me all I could desire.
This entertainment lasted for two hours, and we returned to the town well
pleased with one another. On leaving the bath I gave a Louis to each of
the two Bacchantes, and we went away determined to go there no more. It
will be understood that after what had happened there could be no further
obstacle to the free progress of our love; and accordingly my dear Dubois
became my mistress, and we made each other happy during all the time we
spent at Berne. I was quite cured of my misadventure with the horrible
widow, and I found that if love's pleasures are fleeting so are its
pains. I will go farther and maintain that the pleasures are of much
longer duration, as they leave memories which can be enjoyed in old age,
whereas, if a man does happen to remember the pains, it is so slightly as
to have no influence upon his happiness.
At ten o'clock the Mayor of Thun was announced. He was dressed in the
French fashion, in black, and had a manner at once graceful and polite
that pleased me. He was middle-aged, and enjoyed a considerable position
in the Government. He insisted on my reading the letter that M. de
Chavigni had written to him on my account. It was so flattering that I
told him that if it had not been sealed I should not have had the face to
deliver it. He asked me for the next day to a supper composed of men
only, and for the day after that, to a supper at which women as well as
men would be present. I went with him to the library where we saw M.
Felix, an unfrocked monk, more of a scribbler than a scholar, and a young
man named Schmidt, who gave good promise, and was already known to
advantage in the literary world. I also had the misfortune of meeting
here a very learned man of a very wearisome kind; he knew the names of
ten thousand shells by heart, and I was obliged to listen to him for two
hours, although I was totally ignorant of his science. Amongst other
things he told me that the Aar contained gold. I replied that all great
rivers contained gold, but he shrugged his shoulders and did not seem
convinced.
I dined with M. de Muralt in company with four or five of the most
distinguished women in Berne. I liked them very well, and above all
Madame de Saconai struck me as particularly amiable and well-educated. I
should have paid my addresses to her if I had been staying long in the
so-called capital of Switzerland.
The ladies of Berne are well though not extravagantly dressed, as luxury
is forbidden by the laws. Their manners are good and they speak French
with perfect ease. They enjoy the greatest liberty without abusing it,
for in spite of gallantry decency reigns everywhere. The husbands are not
jealous, but they require their wives to be home by supper-time.
I spent three weeks in the town, my time being divided between my dear
Dubois and an old lady of eighty-five who interested me greatly by her
knowledge of chemistry. She had been intimately connected with the
celebrated Boerhaave, and she shewed me a plate of gold he had transmuted
in her presence from copper. I believed as much as I liked of this, but
she assured me that Boerhaave possessed the philosopher's stone, but that
he had not discovered the secret of prolonging life many years beyond the
century. Boerhaave, however, was not able to apply this knowledge to
himself, as he died of a polypus on the heart before he had attained the
age of perfect maturity, which Hypocrates fixes at between sixty and
seventy years. The four millions he left to his daughter, if they do not
prove that he could make gold, certainly prove that he could save it. The
worthy old woman told me he had given her a manuscript in which the whole
process was explained, but that she found it very obscure.
"You should publish it," said I.
"God forbid!"
"Burn it, then."
"I can't make up my mind to do so."
M. de Muralt took me to see the military evolutions gone through by the
citizens of Berne, who are all soldiers, and I asked him the meaning of
the bear to be seen above the gate of the town. The German for bear is
'bar', 'bern', and the animal has given its name to the town and canton
which rank second in the Republic, although it is in the first place for
its wealth and culture. It is a peninsula formed by the Aar, which rises
near the Rhine. The mayor spoke to me of the power of the canton, its
lordships and bailiwicks, and explained his own powers; he then described
the public policy, and told me of the different systems of government
which compose the Helvetic Union.
"I understand perfectly well," I said, "that each of the thirteen cantons
has its own government."
"I daresay you do," he replied, "but what you don't understand any more
than I do is, that there is a canton which has four separate
governments."
I had an excellent supper with fourteen or fifteen senators. There were
no jokes, no frivolous conversation, and no literature; but law, the
commonweal, commerce, political economy, speculation, love of country,
and the duty of preferring liberty to life, in abundance.
I felt as if I were in a new element, but I enjoyed the privilege of
being a man amidst men who were all in honour to our common humanity. But
as the supper went on, these rigid republicans began to expand, the
discourse became less measured, there were even some bursts of laughter,
owing to the wine. I excited their pity, and though they praised sobriety
they thought mine excessive. However, they respected my liberty, and did
not oblige me to drink, as the Russians, Swedes, Poles, and most northern
peoples do.
We parted at midnight--a very late hour in Switzerland, and as they
wished me a good night, each of them made me a sincere offer of his
friendship. One of the company at an early period of the supper, before
he had begun to get mellow, had condemned the Venetian Republic for
banishing the Grisons, but on his intellect being enlightened by Bacchus
he made his apologies.
"Every government," said he, "ought to know its own interests better than
strangers, and everybody should be allowed to do what he wills with his
own."
When I got home I found my housekeeper lying in my bed. I gave her a
hundred caresses in witness of my joy, and I assured her practically of
my love and gratitude. I considered her as my wife, we cherished each
other, and did not allow the thought of separating to enter our minds.
When two lovers love each other in all freedom, the idea of parting seems
impossible.
Next morning I got a letter from the worthy Madame d'Urfe, who begged me
to call on Madame de la Saone, wife of a friend of hers--a
lieutenant-general. This lady had come to Berne in the hope of getting
cured of a disease which had disfigured her in an incredible manner.
Madame de la Saone was immediately introduced to all the best society in
the place. She gave a supper every day, only asking men; she had an
excellent cook. She had given notice that she would pay no calls, and she
was quite right. I hastened to make my bow to her; but, good Heavens!
what a terrible and melancholy sight did I behold!
I saw a woman dressed with the utmost elegance, reclining voluptuously
upon a couch. As soon as she saw me she arose, gave me a most gracious
reception, and going back to her couch invited me to sit beside her. She
doubtless noticed my surprise, but being probably accustomed to the
impression which the first sight of her created, she talked on in the
most friendly manner, and by so doing diminished my aversion.
Her appearance was as follows: Madame de Saone was beautifully dressed,
and had the whitest hands and the roundest arms that can be imagined. Her
dress, which was cut very low, allowed me to see an exquisite breast of
dazzling whiteness, heightened by two rosy buds; her figure was good, and
her feet the smallest I have ever seen. All about her inspired love, but
when one's eyes turned to her face every other feeling gave way to those
of horror and pity. She was fearful. Instead of a face, one saw a
blackened and disgusting scab. No feature was distinguishable, and her
ugliness was made more conspicuous and dreadful by two fine eyes full of
fire, and by a lipless mouth which she kept parted, as if to disclose two
rows of teeth of dazzling whiteness. She could not laugh, for the pain
caused by the contraction of the muscles would doubtless have drawn tears
to her eyes; nevertheless she appeared contented, her conversation was
delightful, full of wit and humour, and permeated with the tone of good
society. She might be thirty at the most, and she had left three
beautiful young children behind in Paris. Her husband was a fine,
well-made man, who loved her tenderly, and had never slept apart from
her. It is probable that few soldiers have shewn such courage as this,
but it is to be supposed that he did not carry his bravery so far as to
kiss her, as the very thought made one shudder. A disorder contracted
after her first child-bed had left the poor woman in this sad state, and
she had borne it for ten years. All the best doctors in France had tried
in vain to cure her, and she had come to Berne to put herself into the
hands of two well-known physicians who had promised to do so. Every quack
makes promises of this sort; their patients are cured or not cured as it
happens, and provided that they pay heavily the doctor is ready enough to
lay the fault, not on his ignorance, but at the door of his poor deluded
patient.
The doctor came while I was with her, and just as her intelligent
conversation was making me forget her face. She had already began to take
his remedies, which were partly composed of mercury.
"It seems to me," said she, "that the itching has increased since I have
taken your medicines."
"It will last," said the son of AEsculapius, "till the end of the cure,
and that will take about three months."
"As long as I scratch myself," said she, "I shall be in the same state,
and the cure will never be completed."
The doctor replied in an evasive manner. I rose to take my leave, and
holding my hand she asked me to supper once for all. I went the same
evening; the poor woman took everything and drank some wine, as the
doctor had not put her on any diet. I saw that she would never be cured.
Her good temper and her charming conversational powers kept all the
company amused. I conceived that it would be possible to get used to her
face, and to live with her without being disgusted. In the evening I
talked about her to my housekeeper, who said that the beauty of her body
and her mental endowments might be sufficient to attract people to her. I
agreed, though I felt that I could never become one of her lovers.
Three or four days after, I went to a bookseller's to read the newspaper,
and was politely accosted by a fine young man of twenty, who said that
Madame de la Saone was sorry not to have seen me again at supper.
"You know the lady?"
"I had the honour to sup at her house with you."
"True; I remember you."
"I get her the books she likes, as I am a bookseller, and not only do I
sup with her every evening, but we breakfast together every morning
before she gets up."
"I congratulate you. I bet you are in love with her."
"You are pleased to jest, but she is pleasanter than you think."
"I do not jest at all, but I would wager she would not have the courage
to push things to an extremity."
"Perhaps you would lose."
"Really? I should be very glad to."
"Let us make a bet."
"How will you convince me I have lost?"
"Let us bet a louis, and you must promise to be discreet."
"Very good."
"Come and sup at her house this evening, and I will tell you something."
"You shall see me there."
When I got home I told my housekeeper what I had heard.
"I am curious to know," said she, "how he will convince you." I promised
to tell her, which pleased her very much.
I was exact to my appointment. Madame de la Saone reproached me
pleasantly for my absence, and gave me a delicious supper. The young
bookseller was there, but as his sweetheart did not speak a word to him
he said nothing and passed unnoticed.
After supper we went out together, and he told me on the way that if I
liked he would satisfy me the next morning at eight o'clock. "Call here,
and the lady's maid will tell you her mistress is not visible, but you
have only to say that you will wait, and that you will go into the
ante-chamber. This room has a glass door commanding a view of madame's
bed, and I will take care to draw back the curtains over the door so that
you will be able to see at your ease all that passes between us. When the
affair is over I shall go out by another door, she will call her maid,
and you will be shewn in. At noon, if you will allow me, I will bring you
some books to the 'Falcon,' and if you find that you have lost you shall
pay me my louis." I promised to carry out his directions, and we parted.
I was curious to see what would happen, though I by no means regarded it
as an impossibility; and on my presenting myself at eight o'clock, the
maid let me in as soon as I said that I could wait. I found a corner of
the glass door before which there was no curtain, and on applying my eye
to the place I saw my young adventurer holding his conquest in his arms
on the bed. An enormous nightcap entirely concealed her face--an
excellent precaution which favoured the bookseller's enterprise.
When the rascal saw that I had taken up my position, he did not keep me
waiting, for, getting up, he presented to my dazzled gaze, not only the
secret treasures of his sweetheart, but his own also. He was a small man,
but where the lady was most concerned he was a Hercules, and the rogue
seemed to make a parade of his proportions as if to excite my jealousy.
He turned his victim round so that I should see her under all aspects,
and treated her manfully, while she appeared to respond to his ardour
with all her might. Phidias could not have modelled his Venus on a finer
body; her form was rounded and voluptuous, and as white as Parian marble.
I was affected in a lively manner by the spectacle, and re-entered my
lodging so inflamed that if my dear Dubois had not been at hand to quench
my fire I should have been obliged to have extinguished it in the baths
of La Mata.
When I had told her my tale she wanted to know the hero of it, and at
noon she had that pleasure. The young bookseller brought me some books I
had ordered, and while paying him for them I gave him our bet and a Louis
over and above as a mark of my satisfaction at his prowess. He took it
with a smile which seemed to shew that he thought I ought to think myself
lucky to have lost. My housekeeper looked at him for some time, and asked
if he knew her; he said he did not.
"I saw you when you were a child," said she. "You are the son of M.
Mignard, minister of the Gospel. You must have been ten when I saw you."
"Possibly, madam."
"You did not care to follow your father's profession, then?"
"No madam, I feel much more inclined to the worship of the creature than
to that of the Creator, and I did not think my father's profession would
suit me."
"You are right, for a minister of the Gospel ought to be discreet, and
discretion is a restraint."
This stroke made him blush, but we did not give him time to lose courage.
I asked him to dine with me, and without mentioning the name of Madame de
la Saone he told his amorous adventures and numerous anecdotes about the
pretty women of Berne.
After he had gone, my housekeeper said that once was quite enough to see
a young man of his complexion. I agreed with her, and had no more to do
with him; but I heard that Madame de Saone took him to Paris and made his
fortune. Many fortunes are made in this manner, and there are some which
originated still more nobly. I only returned to Madame de la Saone to
take my leave, as I shall shortly relate.
I was happy with my charmer, who told me again and again that with me she
lived in bliss. No fears or doubts as to the future troubled her mind;
she was certain, as I was, that we should never leave each other; and she
told me she would pardon all the infidelities I might be guilty of,
provided I made full confession. Hers, indeed, was a disposition with
which to live in peace and content, but I was not born to enjoy such
happiness.
After we had been a fortnight at Berne, my housekeeper received a letter
from Soleure. It came from Lebel. As I saw she read it with great
attention, I asked her what it was about.
"Take it and read it," said she; and she sat down in front of me to read
my soul by the play of my features.
Lebel asked her, in concise terms, if she would become his wife.
"I have only put off the proposition," said he, "to set my affairs in
order, and to see if I could afford to marry you, even if the consent of
the ambassador were denied us. I find I am rich enough to live well in
Berne or elsewhere without the necessity of my working; however I shall
not have to face the alternative, for at the first hint of the matter M.
de Chavigni gave his consent with the best grace imaginable."
He went on begging her not to keep him long waiting for a reply, and to
tell him in the first place if she consented; in the second, whether she
would like to live at Berne and be mistress in her own house, or whether
she would prefer to return to Soleure and live with the ambassador, which
latter plan might bring them some profit. He ended by declaring that
whatever she had would be for her sole use, and that he would give her a
dower of a hundred thousand francs. He did not say a word about me.
"Dearest," said I, "you are at perfect liberty to choose your own course,
but I cannot contemplate your leaving me without considering myself as
the most unhappy of men."
"And if I lose you I should be the most unhappy of women; for if you love
me I care not whether we are married or no."
"Very good; but what answer are you going to make."
"You shall see my letter to-morrow. I shall tell him politely but plainly
that I love you, that I am yours, that I am happy, and that it is thus
impossible for me to accept his flattering propositions. I shall also say
that I appreciate his generosity, and that if I were wise I should accept
him, but that being the slave of my love for you I can only follow my
inclination."
"I think you give an excellent turn to your letter. In refusing such an
offer you could not have better reasons than those you give, and it would
be absurd to try and persuade him that we are not lovers, as the thing is
self-evident. Nevertheless, my darling, the letter saddens me."
"Why, dearest?"
"Because I have not a hundred thousand francs to offer you."
"I despise them; and if you were to offer me such a sum, I should only
accept it to lay it at your feet. You are certainly not destined to
become miserable, but if that should come to pass, be sure that I should
be only too happy to share your misery."
We fell into one another's arms, and love made us taste all its
pleasures. Nevertheless, in the midst of bliss, some tinge of sadness
gained upon our souls. Languishing love seems to redouble its strength,
but it is only in appearance; sadness exhausts love more than enjoyment.
Love is a madcap who must be fed on laughter and mirth, otherwise he dies
of inanition.
Next day my sweetheart wrote to Lebel in the sense she had decided on,
and I felt obliged to write M. de Chavigni a letter in which love,
sentiment, and philosophy were mingled. I did not conceal from him that I
loved the woman whom Lebel coveted to distraction, but I said that as a
man of honour I would rather die than deprive my sweetheart of such solid
advantages.
My letter delighted the housekeeper, for she was anxious to know what the
ambassador thought of the affair, which needed much reflection.
I got on the same day the letters of introduction I had asked Madame
d'Urfe to give me, and I determined, to the joy of my dear Dubois, to set
out for Lausanne. But we must hark back a little.
When one is sincerely in love, one thinks the beloved object full of
deserts, and the mind, the dupe of the feelings, thinks all the world
jealous of its bliss.
A. M. de F----, member of the Council of the Two Hundred, whom I had met
at Madame de la Saone's, had become my friend. He came to see me and I
introduced him to my dear Dubois, whom he treated with the same
distinction he would have used towards my wife. He had presented us to
his wife, and had come several times to see us with her and her daughter
Sara. Sara was only thirteen, but she was extremely precocious, dark
complexioned, and full of wit; she was continually uttering naivetes, of
which she understood the whole force, although looking at her face one
would have thought her perfectly innocent. She excelled in the art of
making her father and mother believe in her innocence, and thus she
enjoyed plenty of liberty.
Sara had declared that she was in love with my housekeeper, and as her
parents laughed at her she lavished her caresses on my dear Dubois. She
often came to breakfast with us, and when she found us in bed she would
embrace my sweetheart, whom she called her wife, passing her hand over
the coverlet to tickle her, telling her that she was her wife, and that
she wanted to have a child. My sweetheart laughed and let her go on.
One day I told her jokingly that she would make me jealous, that I
thought she really was a man, and that I was going to make sure. The sly
little puss told me that I was making a mistake, but her hand seemed
rather to guide mine than to oppose it. That made me curious, and my mind
was soon set at rest as to her sex. Perceiving that she had taken me in
and got exactly what she wanted, I drew back my hand, and imparted my
suspicions to my housekeeper, who said I was right. However, as the
little girl had no part in my affections, I did not push the thing any
farther.
Two or three days after, this girl came in as I was getting up, and said
in her usual simple way,
"Now that you know I am not really a man you can not be jealous or have
objection to my taking your place beside my little wife, if she will let
me."
My housekeeper, who looked inclined to laugh, said,
"Come along."
In the twinkling of an eye she was undressed and in the arms of her
little wife, whom she proceeded to treat as an amorous husband. My
sweetheart laughed, and Sara, having contrived in the combat to rid
herself of her chemise and the coverlet, displayed herself to me without
any veil, while at the same time she shewed me all the beauties of my
sweetheart. This sight inflamed me. I shut the door, and made the little
hussy witness of my ardour with my sweetheart. Sara looked on
attentively, playing the part of astonishment to perfection, and when I
had finished she said, with the utmost simplicity,
"Do it again:"
"I can't, my dear; don't you see I am a dead man?"
"That's very funny," she cried; and with the most perfect innocence she
came over, and tried to effect my resurrection.
When she had succeeded in placing me in the wished-for condition, she
said, "Now go in;" and I should doubtless have obeyed, but my housekeeper
said, "No, dearest, since you have effected its resurrection, you must
make it die again."
"I should like to," said she, "but I am afraid I have not got enough
room;" and so saying she placed herself in a position to shew me that she
was speaking the truth, and that if she did not make me die it was not
her fault.
Imitating her simplicity I approached her, as if I wished to oblige her,
but not to go too far; but not finding any resistance I accomplished the
act in all its forms, without her giving the slightest evidence of pain,
without any of the accidents of a first trial, but, on the contrary, with
all the marks of the utmost enjoyment.
Although I was sure of the contrary, I kept my self-possession enough to
tell my housekeeper that Sara had given me what can only be given once,
and she pretended to believe me.
When the operation was finished, we had another amusing scene. Sara
begged us not to say a word about it to her papa or mamma, as they would
be sure to scold her as they had scolded her when she got her ears
pierced without asking their leave.
Sara knew that we saw through her feigned simplicity, but she pretended
not to do so as it was to her own advantage. Who could have instructed
her in the arts of deceit? Nobody; only her natural wit, less rare in
childhood than in youth, but always rare and astonishing. Her mother said
her simplicities shewed that she would one day be very intelligent, and
her father maintained that they were signs of her stupidity. But if Sara
had been stupid, our bursts of laughter would have disconcerted her; and
she would have died for shame, instead of appearing all the better
pleased when her father deplored her stupidity. She would affect
astonishment, and by way of curing one sort of stupidity she corroborated
it by displaying another. She asked us questions to which we could not
reply, and laughed at her instead, although it was evident that before
putting such questions she must have reasoned over them. She might have
rejoined that the stupidity was on our side, but by so doing she would
have betrayed herself.
Lebel did not reply to his sweetheart, but M. de Chavigni wrote me a
letter of four pages. He spoke like a philosopher and an experienced man
of the world.
He shewed me that if I were an old man like him, and able to insure a
happy and independent existence to my sweetheart after my death, I should
do well to keep her from all men, especially as there was so perfect a
sympathy between us; but that as I was a young man, and did not intend to
bind myself to her by the ties of marriage, I should not only consent to
a union which seemed for her happiness, but that as a man of honour it
was my duty to use my influence with her in favour of the match. "With
your experience," said the kind old gentleman, "you ought to know that a
time would come when you would regret both having lost this opportunity,
for your love is sure to become friendship, and then another love will
replace that which you now think as firm as the god Terminus.
"Lebel," he added, "has told me his plans, and far from disapproving, I
have encouraged him, for your charming friend won my entire esteem in the
five or six times I had the pleasure of seeing her with you. I shall be
delighted, therefore, to have her in my house, where I can enjoy her
conversation without transgressing the laws of propriety. Nevertheless,
you will understand that at my age I have formed no desires, for I could
not satisfy them even if their object were propitious." He ended by
telling me that Lebel had not fallen in love in a young man's style, that
he had reflected on what he was doing, and that he would consequently not
hurry her, as she would see in the letter he was going to send her. A
marriage ought always to be undertaken in cold blood.
I gave the letter to my housekeeper, who read it attentively, and gave it
back to me quite coolly.
"What do you think of his advice, dearest?"
"I think I had better follow it: he says there is no hurry, and delay is
all we want. Let us love each other and think only of that. This letter
is written with great wisdom, but I cannot imagine our becoming
indifferent to each other, though I know such a thing is possible."
"Never indifferent; you make a mistake there."
"Well, friends, then; and that is not much better after being lovers."
"But friendship, dearest, is never indifferent. Love, it is true, may be
in its composition. We know it, as it has been thus from the beginning of
the world."
"Then the ambassador was right. Repentance might come and torment us when
love had been replaced by calmer friendship."
"If you think so, let us marry each other to-morrow, and punish thereby
the vices of our human nature."
"Yes, we will marry, but there is no hurry; fearing lest hymen should
quicken the departure of love, let us enjoy our happiness while we can."
"You speak admirably, my angel, and deserve the greatest good fortune."
"I wish for no greater than what you procure me."
We went to bed, continuing our discussions, and when we were in each
other's arms we made an arrangement which suited us very well.
"Lausanne," said she, "is a little town where you would meet with the
warmest hospitality, and during your fortnight's stay you will have
nothing to do but to make visits and to go to suppers. I am known to all
the nobility, and the Duke of Rosebury, who wearied me with his
love-making, is still there. My appearance with you will make everybody
talk, and it will be as annoying for you as for me. My mother lives
there, too. She would say nothing, but in her heart she would be
ill-pleased to see me as the housekeeper of a man like you, for common
sense would inform everyone that I was your mistress."
I thought she was right, and that it would be well to respect the rules
of society. We decided that she should go to Lausanne by herself and stay
with her mother, that in two or three days I should follow her, and
should live by myself, as long as I liked, having full liberty to see her
at her mother's.
"When you leave Lausanne," said she, "I will rejoin you at Geneva, and
then we will travel together where you please and as long as our love
lasts."
In two days she started early in the morning, sure of my constancy, and
congratulating herself on her discretion. I was sad at her leaving me,
but my calls to take leave served to rouse me from my grief. I wished to
make M. Haller's acquaintance before I left Switzerland, and the mayor,
M. de Muralt, gave me a letter of introduction to him very handsomely
expressed. M. de Haller was the bailiff of Roche.
When I called to take leave of Madame de la Saone I found her in bed, and
I was obliged to remain by her bedside for a quarter of an hour. She
spoke of her disease, and gave the conversation such a turn that she was
able with perfect propriety to let me see that the ravages of the disease
had not impaired the beauty of her body. The sight convinced me that
Mignard had need of less courage than I thought, and I was within an inch
of doing her the same service. It was easy enough to look only at her
body, and it would have been difficult to behold anything more beautiful.
I know well that prudes and hypocrites, if they ever read these Memoirs,
will be scandalized at the poor lady, but in shewing her person so
readily she avenged herself on the malady which had disfigured her.
Perhaps, too, her goodness of heart and politeness told her what a trial
it was to look at her face, and she wished to indemnify the man who
disguised his feelings of repugnance by shewing him what gifts nature had
given her. I am sure, ladies, that the most prudish--nay, the most
virtuous, amongst you, if you were unfortunate enough to be so
monstrously deformed in the face, would introduce some fashion which
would conceal your ugliness, and display those beauties which custom
hides from view. And doubtless Madame de la Saone would have been more
chary of her person if she had been able to enchant with her face like
you.
The day I left I dined with M---- I----, and was severely taken to task by
pretty Sara for having sent her little wife away before me. The reader
will see how I met her again at London three years later. Le Duc was
still in the doctor's hands, and very weak; but I made him go with me, as
I had a good deal of property, and I could not trust it to anybody else.
I left Berne feeling naturally very sad. I had been happy there, and to
this day the thought of it is a pleasant one.
I had to consult Dr. Herrenschwand about Madame d'Urfe, so I stopped at
Morat, where he lived, and which is only four leagues from Berne. The
doctor made me dine with him that I might try the fish of the lake, which
I found delicious. I had intended to go on directly after dinner, but I
was delayed by a curiosity of which I shall inform the reader.
After I had given the doctor a fee of two Louis for his advice, in
writing, on a case of tapeworm, he made me walk with him by the Avanches
road, and we went as far as the famous mortuary of Morat.
"This mortuary," said the doctor, "was constructed with part of the bones
of the Burgundians, who perished here at the well-known battle lost by
Charles the Bold."
The Latin inscription made me laugh.
"This inscription," said I, "contains an insulting jest; it is almost
burlesque, for the gravity of an inscription should not allow of
laughter."
The doctor, like a patriotic Swiss, would not allow it, but I think it
was false shame on his part. The inscription ran as follows, and the
impartial reader can judge of its nature:
"Deo. opt. Max. Caroli inclyti et fortisimi Burgundie duds
exercitus Muratum obsidens, ab Helvetiis cesus, hoc sui
monumentum reliquit anno MCDLXXVI."
Till then I had had a great idea of Morat. Its fame of seven centuries,
three sieges sustained and repulsed, all had given me a sublime notion of
it; I expected to see something and saw nothing.
"Then Morat has been razed to the ground?" said I to the doctor.
"Not at all, it is as it always has been, or nearly so."
I concluded that a man who wants to be well informed should read first
and then correct his knowledge by travel. To know ill is worse than not
to know at all, and Montaigne says that we ought to know things well.
But it was the following comic adventure which made me spend the night at
Morat:
I found at the inn a young maid who spoke a sort of rustic Italian. She
struck me by her great likeness to my fair stocking-seller at Paris. She
was called Raton, a name which my memory has happily preserved. I offered
her six francs for her favours, but she refused the money with a sort of
pride, telling me that I had made a mistake and that she was an honest
girl.
"It may be so," said I, and I ordered my horses to be put in. When the
honest Raton saw me on the point of leaving, she said, with an air that
was at once gay and timid, that she wanted two louis, and if I liked to
give her them and pass the night with her I should be well content.
"I will stay, but remember to be kind."
"I will."
When everybody had gone to bed, she came into my room with a little
frightened manner, calculated to redouble my ardour, but by great good
luck, feeling I had a necessity, I took the light and ran to the place
where I could satisfy it. While there I amused myself by reading
innumerable follies one finds written in such places, and suddenly my
eyes lighted on these words:--
"This tenth day of August, 1760, the wretched Raton gave me the
what-d'-you-call-it: reader, beware."
I was almost tempted to believe in miracles, for I could not think there
were two Ratons in the same house. I returned gaily to my room and found
my sweetheart in bed without her chemise. I went to the place beside the
bed where she had thrown it down, and as soon as she saw me touching it
she begged me in a fright not to do so, as it was not clean. She was
right, for it bore numerous marks of the disease which infected her. It
may be imagined that my passion cooled, and that I sent her away in a
moment; but I felt at the same time the greatest gratitude to what is
called chance, for I should have never thought of examining a girl whose
face was all lilies and roses, and who could not be more than eighteen.
Next day I went to Roche to see the celebrated Haller.
CHAPTER XVIII
M. Haller--My Stay at Lausanne--Lord Rosebury--The Young
Saconai--Dissertation on Beauty--The Young Theologian
M. Haller was a man six feet high and broad in a proportion; he was a
well-made man, and a physical as well as a mental colossus. He received
me courteously, and when he had read M. de Muralt's letter, he displayed
the greatest politeness, which shews that a good letter of introduction
is never out of place. This learned man displayed to me all the treasures
of his knowledge, replying with exactitude to all my questions, and above
all with a rare modesty which astonished me greatly, for whilst he
explained the most difficult questions, he had the air of a scholar who
would fain know; but on the other hand, when he asked me a scientific
question, it was with so delicate an art that I could not help giving the
right answer.
M. de Haller was a great physiologist, a great doctor, and a great
anatomist. He called Morgagni his master, though he had himself made
numerous discoveries relating to the frame of man. While I stayed with
him he shewed me a number of letters from Morgagni and Pontedera, a
professor of botany, a science of which Haller had an extensive
knowledge. Hearing me speak of these learned men whose works I had read
at an early age, he complained that Pontedera's letters were almost
illegible and written in extremely obscure Latin. He shewed me a letter
from a Berlin Academician, whose name I have forgotten, who said that
since the king had read his letter he had no more thoughts of suppressing
the Latin language. Haller had written to Frederick the Great that a
monarch who succeeded in the unhappy enterprise of proscribing the
language of Cicero and Virgil from the republic of letters would raise a
deathless monument to his own ignorance. If men of letters require a
universal language to communicate with one another, Latin is certainly
the best, for Greek and Arabic do not adapt themselves in the same way to
the genius of modern civilization.
Haller was a good poet of the Pindaric kind; he was also an excellent
statesman, and had rendered great services to his country. His morals
were irreproachable, and I remember his telling me that the only way to
give precepts was to do so by example. As a good citizen he was an
admirable paterfamilias, for what greater proof could he give of his love
of country than by presenting it with worthy subjects in his children,
and such subjects result from a good education. His wife was still young,
and bore on her features the marks of good nature and discretion. He had
a charming daughter of about eighteen; her appearance was modest, and at
table she only opened her mouth to speak in a low tone to a young man who
sat beside her. After dinner, finding myself alone with M. Haller, I
asked him who this young man was. He told me he was his daughter's tutor.
"A tutor like that and so pretty a pupil might easily become lovers."
"Yes, please God."
This Socratic reply made me see how misplaced my remark had been, and I
felt some confusion. Finding a book to my hand I opened it to restore my
composure.
It was an octavo volume of his works, and I read in it:
"Utrum memoria post mortem dubito."
"You do not think, then," said I, "that the memory is an essential part
of the soul?"
"How is that question to be answered?" M. de Haller replied, cautiously,
as he had his reasons for being considered orthodox.
During dinner I asked if M. de Voltaire came often to see him. By way of
reply he repeated these lines of the poet:--
"Vetabo qui Cereris sacrum vulgarit arcanum sub usdem sit trabibus."
I spent three days with this celebrated man, but I thought myself obliged
to refrain from asking his opinion on any religious questions, although I
had a great desire to do so, as it would have pleased me to have had his
opinion on that delicate subject; but I believe that in matters of that
kind M. Haller judged only by his heart. I told him, however, that I
should consider a visit to Voltaire as a great event, and he said I was
right. He added, without the slightest bitterness,
"M. de Voltaire is a man who ought to be known, although, in spite of the
laws of nature, many persons have found him greater at a distance than
close at hand."
M. de Haller kept a good and abundant though plain table; he only drank
water. At dessert only he allowed himself a small glass of liqueur
drowned in an enormous glass of water. He talked a great deal of
Boerhaave, whose favourite pupil he had been. He said that after
Hypocrates, Boerhaave was the greatest doctor and the greatest chemist
that had ever existed.
"How is it," said I, "that he did not attain mature age?"
"Because there is no cure for death. Boerhaave was born a doctor, as
Homer was born a poet; otherwise he would have succumbed at the age of
fourteen to a malignant ulcer which had resisted all the best treatment
of the day. He cured it himself by rubbing it constantly with salt
dissolved in his own urine."
"I have been told that he possessed the philosopher's stone."
"Yes, but I don't believe it."
"Do you think it possible?"
"I have been working for the last thirty years to convince myself of its
impossibility; I have not yet done so, but I am sure that no one who does
not believe in the possibility of the great work can be a good chemist."
When I left him he begged me to write and tell him what I thought of the
great Voltaire, and in, this way our French correspondence began. I
possess twenty-two letters from this justly celebrated man; and the last
word written six months before, his too, early death. The longer I live
the more interest I take in my papers. They are the treasure which
attaches me to life and makes death more hateful still.
I had been reading at Berne Rousseau's "Heloise," and I asked M. Haller's
opinion of it. He told me that he had once read part of it to oblige a
friend, and from this part he could judge of the whole. "It is the worst
of all romances, because it is the most eloquently expressed. You will
see the country of Vaud, but don't expect to see the originals of the
brilliant portraits which Jean Jacques painted. He seems to have thought
that lying was allowable in a romance, but he has abused the privilege.
Petrarch, was a learned man, and told no lies in speaking of his love for
Laura, whom he loved as every man loves the woman with whom he is taken;
and if Laura had not contented her illustrious lover, he would not have
celebrated her."
Thus Haller spoke to me of Petrarch, mentioning Rousseau with aversion.
He disliked his very eloquence, as he said it owed all its merits to
antithesis and paradox. Haller was a learned man of the first class, but
his knowledge was not employed for the purpose of ostentation, nor in
private life, nor when he was in the company of people who did not care
for science. No one knew better than he how to accommodate himself to his
company he was friendly with everyone, and never gave offence. But what
were his qualifications? It would be much easier to say what he had not
than what he had. He had no pride, self-sufficiency, nor tone of
superiority--in fact, none of those defects which are often the reproach
of the learned and the witty.
He was a man of austere virtue, but he took care to hide the austerity
under a veil of a real and universal kindness. Undoubtedly he thought
little of the ignorant, who talk about everything right or wrong, instead
of remaining silent, and have at bottom only contempt for the learned;
but he only shewed his contempt by saying nothing. He knew that a
despised ignoramus becomes an enemy, and Haller wished to be loved. He
neither boasted of nor concealed his knowledge, but let it run like a
limpid stream flowing through the meadows. He talked well, but never
absorbed the conversation. He never spoke of his works; when someone
mentioned them he would turn the conversation as soon as he conveniently
could. He was sorry to be obliged to contradict anyone who conversed with
him.
When I reached Lausanne I found myself enabled to retain my incognito for
a day at any rate. I naturally gave the first place to my affections. I
went straight to my sweetheart without needing to ask my way, so well had
she indicated the streets through which I had to pass. I found her with
her mother, but I was not a little astonished to see Lebel there also.
However, my surprise must have passed unnoticed, for my housekeeper,
rising from her seat with a cry of joy, threw her arms about my neck, and
after having kissed me affectionately presented me to her worthy mother,
who welcomed me in the friendliest manner. I asked Lebel after the
ambassador, and how long he had been at Lausanne.
He replied, with a polite and respectful air, that his master was quite
well, and that he had come to Lausanne on business, and had only been
there a few hours; and that, wishing to pay his regards to Madame
Dubois's mother, he had been pleasantly surprised to see the daughter
there as well.
"You know," he added, "what my intentions are. I have to go back
to-morrow, and when you have made up your minds, write to me and I will
come and take her to Soleure, where I will marry her."
He could not have spoken more plainly or honourably. I said that I would
never oppose the will of my sweetheart, and my Dubois, interrupting me,
said in her turn that she would never leave me until I sent her away.
Lebel found these replies too vague, and told me with noble freedom that
we must give him a definite reply, since in such cases uncertainty spoils
all. At that moment I felt as if I could never agree to his wishes, and I
told him that in ten days I would let him know of our resolution,
whatever it was. At that he was satisfied, and left us.
After his departure my sweetheart's mother, whose good sense stood her
instead of wit, talked to us in a manner that answered our inclinations,
for, amorous as we were, we could not bear the idea of parting. I agreed
that my housekeeper should wait up for me till midnight, and that we
could talk over our reply with our heads on the pillow.
My Dubois had a separate room with a good bed and excellent furniture.
She gave me a very good supper, and we spent a delicious night. In the
morning we felt more in love than ever, and were not at all disposed to
comply with Lebel's wishes. Nevertheless, we had a serious conversation.
The reader will remember that my mistress had promised to pardon my
infidelities, provided that I confessed them. I had none to confess, but
in the course of conversation I told her about Raton.
"We ought to think ourselves very fortunate," said she, "for if it had
not been for chance, we should have been in a fine state now."
"Yes, and I should be in despair."
"I don't doubt it, and you would be all the more wretched as I should
never complain to you."
"I only see one way of providing against such a misfortune. When I have
been unfaithful to you I will punish myself by depriving myself of the
pleasure of giving you proofs of my affection till I am certain that I
can do so without danger."
"Ah! you would punish me for your faults, would you? If you love me as I
love you, believe me you would find a better remedy than that."
"What is that?"
"You would never be unfaithful to me."
"You are right. I am sorry I was not the first to think of this plan,
which I promise to follow for the future."
"Don't make any promises," said she, with a sigh, "it might prove too
difficult to keep them."
It is only love which can inspire such conversations, but unfortunately
it gains nothing by them.
Next morning, just as I was going out to take my letters, the Baron de
Bercei, uncle of my friend Bavois, entered.
"I know," said he, "that my nephew owes his fortune to you; he is just
going to be made general, and I and all the family will be enchanted to
make your acquaintance. I have come to offer my services, and to beg that
you will dine with me to-day, and on any other day you please when you
have nothing better to do, and I hope you will always consider yourself
of the family.
"At the same time I beg of you not to tell anybody that my nephew has
become a Catholic, as according to the prejudices of the country it would
be a dishonour which would reflect on the whole family."
I accepted his invitation, and promised to say nothing about the
circumstance he had mentioned.
I left my letters of introduction, and I received everywhere a welcome of
the most distinguished kind. Madame de Gentil-Langalerie appeared the
most amiable of all the ladies I called on, but I had not time to pay my
court to one more than another. Every day politeness called me to some
dinner, supper, ball, or assembly. I was bored beyond measure, and I felt
inclined to say how troublesome it is to have such a welcome. I spent a
fortnight in the little town, where everyone prides himself on his
liberty, and in all my life I have never experienced such a slavery, for
I had not a moment to myself. I was only able to pass one night with my
sweetheart, and I longed to set off with her for Geneva. Everybody would
give me letters of introduction for M. de Voltaire, and by their
eagerness one would have thought the great man beloved, whereas all
detested him on account of his sarcastic humour.
"What, ladies!" said I, "is not M. de Voltaire good-natured, polite, and
affable to you who have been kind enough to act in his plays with him?"
"Not in the least. When he hears us rehearse he grumbles all the time. We
never say a thing to please him: here it is a bad pronunciation, there a
tone not sufficiently passionate, sometimes one speaks too softly,
sometimes too loudly; and it's worse when we are acting. What a hubbub
there is if one add a syllable, or if some carelessness spoil one of his
verses. He frightens us. So and so laughed badly; so and so in Alzire had
only pretended to weep."
"Does he want you to weep really?"
"Certainly. He will have real tears. He says that if an actor wants to
draw tears he must shed them himself."
"I think he is right there; but he should not be so severe with amateurs,
above all with charming actresses like you. Such perfection is only to be
looked for from professionals, but all authors are the same. They never
think that the actor has pronounced the words with the force which the
sense, as they see it, requires."
"I told him, one day, that it was not my fault if his lines had not the
proper force."
"I am sure he laughed."
"Laughed? No, sneered, for he is a rude and impertinent man."
"But I suppose you overlook all these failings?"
"Not at all; we have sent him about his business."
"Sent him about his business?"
"Yes. He left the house he had rented here, at short notice, and retired
to where you will find him now. He never comes to see us now, even if we
ask him."
"Oh, you do ask him, though you sent him about his business?"
"We cannot deprive ourselves of the pleasure of admiring his talents, and
if we have teased him, that was only from revenge, and to teach him
something of the manners of good society."
"You have given a lesson to a great master."
"Yes; but when you see him mention Lausanne, and see what he will say of
us. But he will say it laughingly, that's his way."
During my stay I often saw Lord Rosebury, who had vainly courted my
charming Dubois. I have never known a young man more disposed to silence.
I have been told that he had wit, that he was well educated, and even in
high spirits at times, but he could not get over his shyness, which gave
him an almost indefinable air of stupidity. At balls, assemblies--in
fact, everywhere, his manners consisted of innumerable bows. When one
spoke to him, he replied in good French but with the fewest possible
words, and his shy manner shewed that every question was a trouble to
him. One day when I was dining with him, I asked him some question about
his country, which required five or six small phrases by way of answer.
He gave me an excellent reply, but blushed all the time like a young girl
when she comes out. The celebrated Fox who was then twenty, and was at
the same dinner, succeeded in making him laugh, but it was by saying
something in English, which I did not understand in the least. Eight
months after I saw him again at Turin, he was then amorous of a banker's
wife, who was able to untie his tongue.
At Lausanne I saw a young girl of eleven or twelve by whose beauty I was
exceedingly struck. She was the daughter of Madame de Saconai, whom I had
known at Berne. I do not know her after history, but the impression she
made on me has never been effaced. Nothing in nature has ever exercised
such a powerful influence over me as a pretty face, even if it be a
child's.
The Beautiful, as I have been told, is endowed with this power of
attraction; and I would fain believe it, since that which attracts me is
necessarily beautiful in my eyes, but is it so in reality? I doubt it,
as that which has influenced me has not influenced others. The universal
or perfect beauty does not exist, or it does not possess this power. All
who have discussed the subject have hesitated to pronounce upon it, which
they would not have done if they had kept to the idea of form. According
to my ideas, beauty is only form, for that which is not beautiful is that
which has no form, and the deformed is the opposite of the 'pulchrum' and
'formosum'.
We are right to seek for the definitions of things, but when we have them
to hand in the words; why should we go farther? If the word 'forma' is
Latin, we should seek for the Latin meaning and not the French, which,
however, often uses 'deforme' or 'difforme' instead of 'laid', ugly,
without people's noticing that its opposite should be a word which
implies the existence of form; and this can only be beauty. We should
note that 'informe' in French as well as in Latin means shapeless, a body
without any definite appearance.
We will conclude, then, that it is the beauty of woman which has always
exercised an irresistible sway over me, and more especially that beauty
which resides in the face. It is there the power lies, and so true is
that, that the sphinxes of Rome and Versailles almost make me fall in
love with them though, the face excepted, they are deformed in every
sense of the word. In looking at the fine proportions of their faces one
forgets their deformed bodies. What, then, is beauty? We know not; and
when we attempt to define it or to enumerate its qualities we become like
Socrates, we hesitate. The only thing that our minds can seize is the
effect produced by it, and that which charms, ravishes, and makes me in
love, I call beauty. It is something that can be seen with the eyes, and
for my eyes I speak. If they had a voice they would speak better than I,
but probably in the same sense.
No painter has surpassed Raphael in the beauty of the figures which his
divine pencil produced; but if this great painter had been asked what
beauty was, he would probably have replied that he could not say, that he
knew it by heart, and that he thought he had reproduced it whenever he
had seen it, but that he did not know in what it consisted.
"That face pleases me," he would say, "it is therefore beautiful!"
He ought to have thanked God for having given him such an exquisite eye
for the beautiful; but 'omne pulchrum difficile'.
The painters of high renown, all those whose works proclaim genius, have
excelled in the delineation of the beautiful; but how small is their
number compared to the vast craved who have strained every nerve to
depict beauty and have only left us mediocrity!
If a painter could be dispensed from making his works beautiful, every
man might be an artist; for nothing is easier than to fashion ugliness,
and brush and canvas would be as easy to handle as mortar and trowel.
Although portrait-painting is the most important branch of the art, it is
to be noted that those who have succeeded in this line are very few.
There are three kinds of portraits: ugly likenesses, perfect likenesses,
and those which to a perfect likeness add an almost imperceptible
character of beauty. The first class is worthy only of contempt and their
authors of stoning, for to want of taste and talent they add
impertinence, and yet never seem to see their failings. The second class
cannot be denied to possess real merit; but the palm belongs to the
third, which, unfortunately, are seldom found, and whose authors deserve
the large fortunes they amass. Such was the famous Notier, whom I knew in
Paris in the year 1750. This great artist was then eighty, and in spite
of his great age his talents seemed in all their freshness. He painted a
plain woman; it was a speaking likeness, and in spite of that those who
only saw the portrait pronounced her to be a handsome woman.
Nevertheless, the most minute examination would not have revealed any
faithlessness to the original, but some imperceptible touches gave a real
but indefinite air of beauty to the whole. Whence does that magic art
take its source? One day, when he had been painting the plain-looking
"Mesdames de France," who on the canvas looked like two Aspasias, I asked
him the above question. He answered:--
"It is a magic which the god of taste distils from my brains through my
brushes. It is the divinity of Beauty whom all the world adores, and
which no one can define, since no one knows of what it consists. That
canvas shews you what a delicate shade there is between beauty and
ugliness; and nevertheless this shade seems an enormous difference to
those unacquainted with art."
The Greek painters made Venus, the goddess of beauty, squint-eyed, and
this odd idea has been praised by some; but these painters were certainly
in the wrong.
Two squinting eyes might be beautiful, but certainly not so beautiful as
if they did not squint, for whatever beauty they had could not proceed
from their deformity.
After this long digression, with which the reader may not be very well
pleased, it is time for me to return to my sweetheart. The tenth day of
my visit to Lausanne, I went to sup and sleep with my mistress, and that
night was the happiest I remember. In the morning, while we were taking
coffee with her mother, I observed that we seemed in no hurry to part. At
this, the mother, a woman of few words, took up the discourse in a polite
and dignified manner, and told me it was my duty to undeceive Lebel
before I left; and at the same time she gave me a letter she had had from
him the evening before. The worthy man begged her to remind me that if I
could not make up my mind to separate from her daughter before I left
Lausanne, it would be much more difficult for me to do so when I was
farther off; above all, if, as would probably be the case, she gave me a
living pledge of her love. He said that he had no thoughts of drawing
back from his word, but he should wish to be able to say that he had
taken his wife from her mother's hands.
When I had read the letter aloud, the worthy mother wept, and left us
alone. A moment's silence ensued, and with a sigh that shewed what it
cost her, my dear Dubois had the courage to tell me that I must instantly
write to Lebel to give up all pretensions to her, or to come and take her
at once.
"If I write and tell him to think no more of you, I must marry you
myself."
"No."
With this no she arose and left me. I thought it over for a quarter of an
hour, I weighed the pros and cons and still my love shrank from the
sacrifice. At last, on consideration that my housekeeper would never have
such a chance again, that I was not sure that I could always make her
happy, I resolved to be generous, and determined to write to Lebel that
Madame Dubois had decided of her own free will to become his wife, that I
had no right to oppose her resolution, and that I would go so far as to
congratulate him on a happiness I envied him. I begged him to leave
Soleure at once and come and receive her in my presence from the hands of
her worthy mother.
I signed the letter and took it to my housekeeper, who was in her
mother's room. "Take this letter, dearest, and read it, and if you
approve its contents put your signature beside mine." She read it several
times, while her good mother wept, and then, with an affectionate and
sorrowful air, she took the pen and signed. I begged her mother to find
somebody to take the letter to Soleure immediately, before my resolution
was weakened by repentance.
The messenger came, and as soon as he had gone, "Farewell," said I,
embracing her, with my eyes wet with tears, "farewell, we shall see each
other again as soon as Lebel comes."
I went to my inn, a prey to the deepest grief. This sacrifice had given a
new impetus to my love for this charming woman, and I felt a sort of
spasm, which made me afraid I should get ill. I shut myself up in my
room, and I ordered the servants to say I was unwell and could see no
one.
In the evening of the fourth day after, Lebel was announced. He embraced
me, saying his happiness would be due to me. He then left me, telling me
he would expect me at the house of his future bride.
"Excuse me to-day, my dear fellow," said I, "but I will dine with you
there to-morrow."
When he had left me, I told Le Duc to make all preparations for our
leaving the next day after dinner.
I went out early on the following day to take leave of everybody, and at
noon Lebel came to take me to that sad repast, at which, however, I was
not so sad as I had feared.
As I was leaving I begged the future Madame Lebel to return me the ring I
had given her, and as we had agreed, I presented her with a roll of a
hundred Louis, which she took with a melancholy air.
"I should never have sold it," she said, "for I have no need of money."
"In that case I will give it back to you, but promise me never to part
with it, and keep the hundred Louis as some small reward of the services
you have rendered me."
She shook my hand affectionately, put on my finger her wedding ring, and
left me to hide her grief. I wiped my tears away, and said to Lebel,
"You are about to possess yourself of a treasure which I cannot commend
too highly. You are a man of honour; you will appreciate her excellent
qualities, and you will know how to make her happy. She will love you
only, take care of your household, and keep no secrets from you. She is
full of wit and spirits, and will easily disperse the slightest shadow of
ill humour which may fall on you."
I went in with him to the mother's room to take leave of her, and Madame
Dubois begged me to delay my departure and sup once more with her. I told
her that my horses were put in and the carriage waiting at my door, and
that such a delay would set tongues talking; but that if she liked, she,
her future husband and her mother, could come and see me at an inn two
leagues off on the Geneva road, where we could stay as long as we liked.
Lebel approved of the plan, and my proposition was accepted.
When I got back to my inn I found my carriage ready, and I got in and
drove to the meeting-place, and ordered a good supper for four, and an
hour later my guests arrived.
The gay and even happy air of the newly betrothed surprised me, but what
astonished me more was the easy way with which she threw herself into my
arms as soon as she saw me. It put me quite out of countenance, but she
had more wit than I. However, I mustered up sufficient strength to follow
her cue, but I could not help thinking that if she had really loved me
she would not have found it possible to pass thus from love to mere
friendship. However, I imitated her, and made no objections to those
marks of affection allowed to friendship, which are supposed to have no
tincture of love in them.
At supper I thought I saw that Lebel was more delighted at having such a
wife than at the prospect of enjoying her and satisfying a strong
passion. That calmed me; I could not be jealous of a man like that. I
perceived, too, that my sweetheart's high spirits were more feigned than
real; she wished to make me share them so as to render our separation
less bitter, and to tranquillise her future husband as to the nature of
our feelings for one another. And when reason and time had quieted the
tempest in my heart, I could not help thinking it very natural that she
should be pleased at the prospect of being independent, and of enjoying a
fortune.
We made an excellent supper, which we washed down so well that at last
the gaiety which had been simulated ended by being real. I looked at the
charming Dubois with pleasure; I regarded her as a treasure which had
belonged to me, and which after making me happy was with my full consent
about to ensure the happiness of another. It seemed to me that I had been
magnanimous enough to give her the reward she deserved, like a good
Mussulman who gives a favourite slave his freedom in return for his
fidelity. Her sallies made me laugh and recalled the happy moments I had
passed with her, but the idea of her happiness prevented my regretting
having yielded my rights to another.
As Lebel was obliged to return to Lausanne in order to get back to
Soleure in two days, we had to part. I embraced him and asked him to
continue his friendship towards me, and he promised with great effusion
to be my friend till death. As we were going down the stair, my charming
friend said, with great candour,
"I am not really gay, but I oblige myself to appear so. I shall not be
happy till the scar on my heart has healed. Lebel can only claim my
esteem, but I shall be his alone though my love be all for you. When we
see each other again, as from what you say I hope we shall, we shall be
able to meet as true friends, and perhaps we shall congratulate each
other on the wise part we have taken. As for you, though I do not think
you will forget me, I am sure that before long some more or less worthy
object will replace me and banish your sorrow. I hope it will be so. Be
happy. I may be with child; and if it prove to be so, you shall have no
cause to complain of my care of your child, which you shall take away
when you please. We made an agreement on this point yesterday. We
arranged that the marriage should not be consummated for two months; thus
we shall be certain whether the child belongs to you or no, and we will
let people think that it is the legitimate offspring of our marriage.
Lebel conceived this plan that he might have his mind at rest on the
supposed force of blood, in which he declares he believes no more than I
do. He has promised to love the child as if he were its father. If you
write to me, I will keep you acquainted with everything; and if I have
the happiness to give you a child, it will be much dearer to me than your
ring."
We wept, and Lebel laughed to see us.
I could only reply by pressing her to my breast, and then I gave her over
to her future husband, who told me as he got into the carriage that our
long talk had pleased him very much.
I went to bed sadly enough. Next morning when I awoke, a pastor of the
Church of Geneva came to ask me to give him a place in my carriage. I
agreed, and was not sorry I had done so.
This priest was an eloquent man, although a theologian, who answered the
most difficult religious questions I could put to him. There was no
mystery with him, everything was reason. I have never found a more
compliant Christianity than that of this worthy man, whose morals, as I
heard afterwards at Geneva, were perfectly pure. But I found out that
this kind of Christianity was not peculiar to him, all his
fellow-Calvinists thought in the same way.
Wishing to convince him that he was a Calvinist in name only, since he
did not believe that Jesus Christ was of the same substance as the
Father, he replied that Calvin was only infallible where he spoke 'ex
cathedra', but I struck him dumb by quoting the words of the Gospel. He
blushed when I reproached him with Calvin's belief that the Pope was the
Antichrist of the Apocalypse.
"It will be impossible to destroy this prejudice at Geneva," said he,
"till the Government orders the effacement of an inscription on the
church door which everybody reads, and which speaks of the head of the
Roman Church in this manner."
"The people," he added, "are wholly ignorant; but I have a niece of
twenty, who does not belong to the people in this way. I shall have the
honour of making you known to her; she is a theologian, and pretty as
well."
"I shall be delighted to see her, but God preserve me from arguing with
her!"
"She will make you argue, and I can assure you that it will be a pleasure
for you!"
"We shall see; but will you give me your address?"
"No sir, but I shall have the honour of conducting you to your inn and
acting as your guide."
I got down at Balances, and was well lodged. It was the 20th of August,
1760. On going to the window I noticed a pane of glass on which I read
these words, written with the point of a diamond: "You will forget
Henriette." In a moment my thoughts flew back to the time in which
Henriette had written these words, thirteen years ago, and my hair stood
on end. We had been lodged in this room when she separated from me to
return to France. I was overwhelmed, and fell on a chair where I
abandoned myself to deep thought. Noble Henriette, dear Henriette, whom I
had loved so well; where was she now? I had never heard of her; I had
never asked anyone about her. Comparing my present and past estates, I
was obliged to confess that I was less worthy of possessing her now than
then. I could still love, but I was no longer so delicate in my thoughts;
I had not those feelings which justify the faults committed by the
senses, nor that probity which serves as a contrast to the follies and
frailties of man; but, what was worst of all, I was not so strong.
Nevertheless, it seemed that the remembrance of Henriette restored me to
my pristine vigour. I had no longer my housekeeper; I experienced a great
void; and I felt so enthusiastic that if I had known where Henriette was
I should have gone to seek her out, despite her prohibition.
Next day, at an early hour, I went to the banker Tronchin, who had all my
money. After seeing my account, he gave me a letter of credit on
Marseilles, Genoa, Florence and Rome, and I only took twelve thousand
francs in cash. I had only fifty thousand crowns, three hundred francs,
but that would take me a good way. As soon as I had delivered my letters,
I returned to Balances, impatient to see M. de Voltaire.
I found my fellow-traveller in my room. He asked me to dinner, telling me
that I should have M. Vilars-Chandieu, who would take me after dinner to
M. de Voltaire, who had been expecting me for several days. I followed
the worthy man, and found at his house excellent company, and the young
theologian whom the uncle did not address till dessert.
I will endeavour to report as faithfully as possible the young woman's
conversation.
"What have you been doing this morning, my dear niece?"
"I have been reading St. Augustine, whom I thought absurd, and I think I
can refute him very shortly."
"On what point?"
"Concerning the mother of the Saviour."
"What does St. Augustine say?"
"You have no doubt remarked the passage, uncle. He says that the Virgin
Mary conceived Jesus Christ through the ears."
"You do not believe that?"
"Certainly not, and for three good reasons. In the first place because
God, being immaterial, had no need of a hole to go in or come out by; in
the second place, because the ear has no connection with the womb; and in
the third place, because Mary, if she had conceived by the ear, would
have given birth by the same channel. This would do well enough for the
Catholics," said she, giving me a glance, "as then they would be
reasonable in calling her a virgin before her conception, during her
pregnancy, and after she had given birth to the child."
I was extremely astonished, and my astonishment was shared by the other
guests. Divine theology rises above all fleshly considerations, and after
what we had heard we had either to allow her this privilege, or to
consider the young theologian as a woman without shame. The learned niece
did not seem to care what we thought, as she asked for my opinion on the
matter.
"If I were a theologian and allowed myself an exact examination into the
miracles, it is possible I should be of your opinion; but as this is by
no means the case, I must limit myself to condemning St. Augustine for
having analysed the mystery of the Annunciation. I may say, however, that
if the Virgin had been deaf, St. Augustine would have been guilty of a
manifest absurdity, since the Incarnation would have been an
impossibility, as in that case the nerves of the ear would have had no
sort of communication with the womb, and the process would have been
inconceivable; but the Incarnation is a miracle."
She replied with great politeness that I had shown myself a greater
theologian than she, and her uncle thanked me for having given her a
lesson. He made her discuss various subjects, but she did not shine. Her
only subject was the New Testament. I shall have occasion to speak of
this young woman when I get back to Geneva.
After dinner we went to see Voltaire, who was just leaving the table as
we came in. He was in the middle of a court of gentlemen and ladies,
which made my introduction a solemn one; but with this great man
solemnity could not fail to be in my favour.
EPISODE 15 -- WITH VOLTAIRE
CHAPTER XIX
M. de Voltaire; My Discussions with That Great Man--Ariosto-
-The Duc de Villars--The Syndic and the Three Girls--Dispute
with Voltaire--Aix-en-Savoie--The Marquis Desarmoises
"M. de Voltaire," said I, "this is the happiest moment of my life. I have
been your pupil for twenty years, and my heart is full of joy to see my
master."
"Honour me with your attendance on my course for twenty years more, and
promise me that you will bring me my fees at the end of that time."
"Certainly, if you promise to wait for me."
This Voltairean sally made all present laugh, as was to be expected, for
those who laugh keep one party in countenance at the other's expense, and
the side which has the laughter is sure to win; this is the rule of good
society.
I was not taken by surprise, and waited to have my revenge.
Just then two Englishmen came in and were presented to him.
"These gentlemen are English," said Voltaire; "I wish I were."
I thought the compliment false and out of place; for the gentlemen were
obliged to reply out of politeness that they wished they had been French,
or if they did not care to tell a lie they would be too confused to tell
the truth. I believe every man of honour should put his own nation first.
A moment after, Voltaire turned to me again and said that as I was a
Venetian I must know Count Algarotti.
"I know him, but not because I am a Venetian, as seven-eights of my dear
countrymen are not even aware of his existence."
"I should have said, as a man of letters."
"I know him from having spent two months with him at Padua, seven years
ago, and what particularly attracted my attention was the admiration he
professed for M. de Voltaire."
"That is flattering for me, but he has no need of admiring anyone."
"If Algarotti had not begun by admiring others, he would never have made
a name for himself. As an admirer of Newton he endeavoured to teach the
ladies to discuss the theory of light."
"Has he succeeded?"
"Not as well as M. de Fontenelle in his 'Plurality of Worlds;' however,
one may say he has succeeded."
"True. If you see him at Bologna, tell him I am expecting to hear from
him about Russia. He can address my letters to my banker, Bianchi, at
Milan, and they will be sent on to me."
"I will not fail to do so if I see him."
"I have heard that the Italians do not care for his style."
"No; all that he writes is full of French idioms. His style is wretched."
"But do not these French turns increase the beauty of your language?"
"They make it insufferable, as French would be mixed with Italian or
German even though it were written by M. de Voltaire."
"You are right; every language should preserve its purity. Livy has been
criticised on this account; his Latin is said to be tainted with
patavinity."
"When I began to learn Latin, the Abbe Lazzarini told me he preferred
Livy to Sallust."
"The Abbe Lazzarini, author of the tragedy, 'Ulisse il giovine'? You must
have been very young; I wish I had known him. But I knew the Abbe Conti
well; the same that was Newton's friend, and whose four tragedies contain
the whole of Roman history."
"I also knew and admired him. I was young, but I congratulated myself on
being admitted into the society of these great men. It seems as if it
were yesterday, though it is many years ago; and now in your presence my
inferiority does not humiliate me. I wish to be the younger son of all
humanity."
"Better so than to be the chief and eldest. May I ask you to what branch
of literature you have devoted yourself?"
"To none; but that, perhaps, will come afterwards. In the meantime I read
as much as I can, and try to study character on my travels."
"That is the way to become learned, but the book of humanity is too vast.
Reading a history is the easier way."
"Yes, if history did not lie. One is not sure of the truth of the facts.
It is tiring, while the study of the world is amusing. Horace, whom I
know by heart, is my guide-book."
"Algarotti, too, is very fond of Horace. Of course you are fond of
poetry?"
"It is my passion."
"Have you made many sonnets?"
"Ten or twelve I like, and two or three thousand which in all probability
I have not read twice."
"The Italians are mad after sonnets."
"Yes; if one can call it a madness to desire to put thought into measured
harmony. The sonnet is difficult because the thought has to be fitted
exactly into the fourteen lines."
"It is Procrustes' bed, and that's the reason you have so few good ones.
As for us, we have not one; but that is the fault of our language."
"And of the French genius, which considers that a thought when extended
loses all its force."
"And you do not think so?"
"Pardon me, it depends on the kind of thought. A witty saying, for
example, will not make a sonnet; in French or Italian it belongs to the
domain of epigram."
"What Italian poet do you like best?"
"Ariosto; but I cannot say I love him better than the others, for he is
my only love."
"You know the others, though?"
"I think I have read them all, but all their lights pale before
Ariosto's. Fifteen years ago I read all you have written against him, and
I said that you, would retract when you had read his works."
"I am obliged to you for thinking that I had not read them. As a matter
of fact I had done so, but I was young. I knew Italian very imperfectly,
and being prejudiced by the learned Italians who adore Tasso I was
unfortunate enough to publish a criticism of Ariosto which I thought my
own, while it was only the echo of those who had prejudiced me. I adore
your Ariosto!"
"Ah! M. de Voltaire, I breathe again. But be good enough to have the work
in which you turned this great man into ridicule excommunicated."
"What use would that be? All my books are excommunicated; but I will
give you a good proof of my retractation."
I was astonished! The great man began to recite the two fine passages
from the thirty-fourth and thirty-fifth cantos, in which the divine poet
speaks of the conversation of Astolpho with St. John and he did it
without missing a single life or committing the slightest fault against
the laws of prosody. He then pointed out the beauties of the passages
with his natural insight and with a great man's genius. I could not have
had anything better from the lips of the most skilled commentators in
Italy. I listened to him with the greatest attention, hardly daring to
breath, and waiting for him to make a mistake, but I had my trouble for
nothing. I turned to the company crying that I was more than astonished,
and that all Italy should know what I had seen. "And I, sir," said the
great man, "will let all Europe know of the amends I owe to the greatest
genius our continent has produced."
Greedy of the praise which he deserved so well, Voltaire gave me the next
day his translation which Ariosto begins thus:
"Quindi avvien the tra principi a signori."
At the end of the recitation which gained the applause of all who heard
it, although not one of them knew Italian, Madame Denis, his niece, asked
me if I thought the passage her uncle had just recited one of the finest
the poet had written.
"Yes, but not the finest."
"It ought to be; for without it Signor Lodovico would not have gained his
apotheosis."
"He has been canonised, then? I was not aware of that."
At these words the laugh, headed by Voltaire, went for Madame Denis.
Everybody laughed except myself, and I continued to look perfectly
serious.
Voltaire was vexed at not seeing me laugh like the rest, and asked me the
reason.
"Are you thinking," said he, "of some more than human passage?"
"Yes," I answered.
"What passage is that?"
"The last thirty-six stanzas of the twenty-third canto, where the poet
describes in detail how Roland became mad. Since the world has existed no
one has discovered the springs of madness, unless Ariosto himself, who
became mad in his old age. These stanzas are terrible, and I am sure they
must have made you tremble."
"Yes, I remember they render love dreadful. I long to read them again."
"Perhaps the gentleman will be good enough to recite them," said Madame
Denis, with a side-glance at her uncle.
"Willingly," said I, "if you will have the goodness to listen to me."
"You have learn them by heart, then, have you?" said Voltaire.
"Yes, it was a pleasure and no trouble. Since I was sixteen, I have read
over Ariosto two or three times every year; it is my passion, and the
lines naturally become linked in my memory without my having given myself
any pains to learn them. I know it all, except his long genealogies and
his historical tirades, which fatigue the mind and do not touch the
heart. It is only Horace that I know throughout, in spite of the often
prosaic style of his epistles, which are certainly far from equalling
Boileau's."
"Boileau is often too lengthy; I admire Horace, but as for Ariosto, with
his forty long cantos, there is too much of him."
"It is fifty-one cantos, M. de Voltaire."
The great man was silent, but Madame Denis was equal to the occasion.
"Come, come," said she, "let us hear the thirty-six stanzas which earned
the author the title of divine, and which are to make us tremble."
I then began, in an assured voice, but not in that monotonous tone
adopted by the Italians, with which the French so justly reproach us. The
French would be the best reciters if they were not constrained by the
rhyme, for they say what they feel better than any other people. They
have neither the passionate monotonous tone of my fellow-countrymen, nor
the sentimentality of the Germans, nor the fatiguing mannerisms of the
English; to every period they give its proper expression, but the
recurrence of the same sounds partly spoils their recitation. I recited
the fine verses of Ariosto, as if it had been rhythmic prose, animating
it by the sound of my voice and the movements of my eyes, and by
modulating my intonation according to the sentiments with which I wished
to inspire my audience. They saw how hardly I could restrain my tears,
and every eye was wet; but when I came to the stanza,
"Poiche allargare il freno al dolor puote,
Che resta solo senza altrui rispetto,
Giu dagli occhi rigando per le gote
Sparge un fiume de lacrime sul petto,"
my tears coursed down my cheeks to such an extent that everyone began to
sob. M. de Voltaire and Madame Denis threw their arms round my neck, but
their embraces could not stop me, for Roland, to become mad, had to
notice that he was in the same bed in which Angelica had lately been
found in the arms of the too fortunate Medor, and I had to reach the next
stanza. For my voice of sorrow and wailing I substituted the expression
of that terror which arose naturally from the contemplation of his fury,
which was in its effects like a tempest, a volcano, or an earthquake.
When I had finished I received with a sad air the congratulations of the
audience. Voltaire cried,
"I always said so; the secret of drawing tears is to weep one's self, but
they must be real tears, and to shed them the heart must be stirred to
its depths. I am obliged to you, sir," he added, embracing me, "and I
promise to recite the same stanzas myself to-morrow, and to weep like
you."
He kept his word.
"It is astonishing," said Madame Denis, "that intolerant Rome should not
have condemned the song of Roland."
"Far from it," said Voltaire, "Leo X. excommunicated whoever should dare
to condemn it. The two great families of Este and Medici interested
themselves in the poet's favour. Without that protection it is probable
that the one line on the donation of Rome by Constantine to Silvester,
where the poet speaks 'puzza forte' would have sufficed to put the whole
poem under an interdict."
"I believe," said I, "that the line which has excited the most talk is
that in which Ariosto throws doubt on the general resurrection. Ariosto,"
I added, "in speaking of the hermit who would have hindered Rhodomonte
from getting possession of Isabella, widow of Zerbin, paints the African,
who wearied of the hermit's sermons, seizes him and throws him so far
that he dashes him against a rock, against which he remains in a dead
swoon, so that 'che al novissimo di forse fia desto'."
This 'forse' which may possibly have only been placed there as a flower
of rhetoric or as a word to complete the verse, raised a great uproar,
which would doubtless have greatly amused the poet if he had had time!
"It is a pity," said Madame Denis, "that Ariosto was not more careful in
these hyperbolical expressions."
"Be quiet, niece, they are full of wit. They are all golden grains, which
are dispersed throughout the work in the best taste."
The conversation was then directed towards various topics, and at last we
got to the 'Ecossaise' we had played at Soleure.
They knew all about it.
M. de Voltaire said that if I liked to play it at his house he would
write to M. de Chavigni to send the Lindane, and that he himself would
play Montrose. I excused myself by saying that Madame was at Bale and
that I should be obliged to go on my journey the next day. At this he
exclaimed loudly, aroused the whole company against me, and said at last
that he should consider my visit as an insult unless I spared him a week
at least of my society.
"Sir," said I, "I have only come to Geneva to have the honour of seeing
you, and now that I have obtained that favour I have nothing more to do."
"Have you come to speak to me, or for me to speak to you?"
"In a measure, of course, to speak to you, but much more for you to speak
to me."
"Then stay here three days at least; come to dinner every day, and we
will have some conversation."
The invitation was so flattering and pressing that I could not refuse it
with a good grace. I therefore accepted, and I then left to go and write.
I had not been back for a quarter of an hour when a syndic of the town,
an amiable man, whom I had seen at M. de Voltaire's, and whose name I
shall not mention, came and asked me to give him supper. "I was present,"
said he, "at your argument with the great man, and though I did not open
my mouth I should much like to have an hour's talk with you." By way of
reply, I embraced him, begging him to excuse my dressing-gown, and
telling him that I should be glad if he would spend the whole night with
me.
The worthy man spent two hours with me, without saying a word on the
subject of literature, but to please me he had no need to talk of books,
for he was a disciple of Epicurus and Socrates, and the evening was spent
in telling little stories, in bursts of laughter, and in accounts of the
various kinds of pleasure obtainable at Geneva. Before leaving me he
asked me to come and sup with him on the following evening, promising
that boredom should not be of the party.
"I shall wait for you," said I.
"Very good, but don't tell anyone of the party."
I promised to follow his instructions.
Next morning, young Fox came to see me with the two Englishmen I had seen
at M. de Voltaire's. They proposed a game of quinze, which I accepted,
and after losing fifty louis I left off, and we walked about the town
till dinner-time.
We found the Duc de Villars at Delices; he had come there to consult Dr.
Tronchin, who had kept him alive for the last ten years.
I was silent during the repast, but at dessert, M. de Voltaire, knowing
that I had reasons for not liking the Venetian Government, introduced the
subject; but I disappointed him, as I maintained that in no country could
a man enjoy more perfect liberty than in Venice.
"Yes," said he, "provided he resigns himself to play the part of a dumb
man."
And seeing that I did not care for the subject, he took me by the arm to
his garden, of which, he said, he was the creator. The principal walk led
to a pretty running stream.
"'Tis the Rhone," said he, "which I send into France."
"It does not cost you much in carriage, at all events," said I.
He smiled pleasantly and shewed me the principal street of Geneva, and
Mont Blanc which is the highest point of the Alps.
Bringing back the conversation to Italian literature, he began to talk
nonsense with much wit and learning, but always concluding with a false
judgment. I let him talk on. He spoke of Homer, Dante, and Petrarch, and
everybody knows what he thought of these great geniuses, but he did
himself wrong in writing what he thought. I contented myself with saying
that if these great men did not merit the esteem of those who studied
them; it would at all events be a long time before they had to come down
from the high place in which the praise of centuries, had placed them.
The Duc de Villars and the famous Tronchin came and joined us. The
doctor, a tall fine man, polite, eloquent without being a
conversationalist, a learned physician, a man of wit, a favourite pupil
of Boerhaeve, without scientific jargon, or charlatanism, or
self-sufficiency, enchanted me. His system of medicine was based on
regimen, and to make rules he had to be a man of profound science. I have
been assured, but can scarcely believe it, that he cured a consumptive
patient of a secret disease by means of the milk of an ass, which he had
submitted to thirty strong frictions of mercury by four sturdy porters.
As to Villars he also attracted my attention, but in quite a different
way to Tronchin. On examining his face and manner I thought I saw before
me a woman of seventy dressed as a man, thin and emaciated, but still
proud of her looks, and with claims to past beauty. His cheeks and lips
were painted, his eyebrows blackened, and his teeth were false; he wore a
huge wig, which, exhaled amber, and at his buttonhole was an enormous
bunch of flowers, which touched his chin. He affected a gracious manner,
and he spoke so softly that it was often impossible to hear what he said.
He was excessively polite and affable, and his manners were those of the
Regency. His whole appearance was supremely ridiculous. I was told that
in his youth he was a lover of the fair sex, but now that he was no
longer good for anything he had modestly made himself into a woman, and
had four pretty pets in his employ, who took turns in the disgusting duty
of warming his old carcase at night.
Villars was governor of Provence, and had his back eaten up with cancer.
In the course of nature he should have been buried ten years ago, but
Tronchin kept him alive with his regimen and by feeding the wounds on
slices of veal. Without this the cancer would have killed him. His life
might well be called an artificial one.
I accompanied M. de Voltaire to his bedroom, where he changed his wig and
put on another cap, for he always wore one on account of the rheumatism
to which he was subject. I saw on the table the Summa of St. Thomas, and
among other Italian poets the 'Secchia Rapita' of Tassoni.
"This," said Voltaire, "is the only tragicomic poem which Italy has.
Tassoni was a monk, a wit and a genius as well as a poet."
"I will grant his poetical ability but not his learning, for he ridiculed
the system of Copernicus, and said that if his theories were followed
astronomers would not be able to calculate lunations or eclipses."
"Where does he make that ridiculous remark?"
"In his academical discourses."
"I have not read them, but I will get them."
He took a pen and noted the name down, and said,--
"But Tassoni has criticised Petrarch very ingeniously."
"Yes, but he has dishonoured taste and literature, like Muratori."
"Here he is. You must allow that his learning is immense."
"Est ubi peccat."
Voltaire opened a door, and I saw a hundred great files full of papers.
"That's my correspondence," said he. "You see before you nearly fifty
thousand letters, to which I have replied."
"Have you a copy of your answers?"
"Of a good many of them. That's the business of a servant of mine, who
has nothing else to do."
"I know plenty of booksellers who would give a good deal to get hold of
your answers.
"Yes; but look out for the booksellers when you publish anything, if you
have not yet begun; they are greater robbers than Barabbas."
"I shall not have anything to do with these gentlemen till I am an old
man."
"Then they will be the scourge of your old age."
Thereupon I quoted a Macaronic verse by Merlin Coccaeus.
"Where's that from?"
"It's a line from a celebrated poem in twenty-four cantos."
"Celebrated?"
"Yes; and, what is more, worthy of being celebrated; but to appreciate it
one must understand the Mantuan dialect."
"I could make it out, if you could get me a copy."
"I shall have the honour of presenting you with one to-morrow."
"You will oblige me extremely."
We had to leave his room and spend two hours in the company, talking over
all sorts of things. Voltaire displayed all the resources of his
brilliant and fertile wit, and charmed everyone in spite of his sarcastic
observations which did not even spare those present, but he had an
inimitable manner of lancing a sarcasm without wounding a person's
feelings. When the great man accompanied his witticisms with a graceful
smile he could always get a laugh.
He kept up a notable establishment and an excellent table, a rare
circumstance with his poetic brothers, who are rarely favourites of
Plutus as he was. He was then sixty years old, and had a hundred and
twenty thousand francs a year. It has been said maliciously that this
great man enriched himself by cheating his publishers; whereas the fact
was that he fared no better than any other author, and instead of duping
them was often their dupe. The Cramers must be excepted, whose fortune he
made. Voltaire had other ways of making money than by his pen; and as he
was greedy of fame, he often gave his works away on the sole condition
that they were to be printed and published. During the short time I was
with him, I was a witness of such a generous action; he made a present to
his bookseller of the "Princess of Babylon," a charming story which he
had written in three days.
My epicurean syndic was exact to his appointment, and took me to a house
at a little distance where he introduced me to three young ladies, who,
without being precisely beautiful, were certainly ravishing. Two of them
were sisters. I had an easy and pleasant welcome, and from their
intellectual appearance and gay manners I anticipated a delightful
evening, and I was not disappointed. The half hour before supper was
passed in conversation, decent but without restraint, and during supper,
from the hints the syndic gave me, I guessed what would happen after
dessert.
It was a hot evening, and on the pretext of cooling ourselves, we
undressed so as to be almost in a state of nature. What an orgy we had! I
am sorry I am obliged to draw a veil over the most exciting details. In
the midst of our licentious gaiety, whilst we were heated by love,
champagne, and a discourse of an exciting nature, I proposed to recite
Grecourt's 'Y Gyec'. When I had finished the voluptuous poem, worthy of
an abbe's pen, I saw that the eyes of the three beauties were all aflame,
and said,--
"Ladies, if you like, I will shew you all three, one after the other, why
the sentence, 'Gaudeant bene nati', was uttered"; and without waiting for
their reply, I succeeded in making them happy. The syndic was radiant, he
was pleased at having given me a present entirely to my taste; and I
fancied that the entertainment was not displeasing to the three Graces,
who were kept low by the Sybarite, as his powers were almost limited to
desires. The girls lavished their thanks on me, while I endeavoured to
assure them of my gratitude; but they leapt for joy when they heard the
syndic asking me to come next day.
As he was taking me back to my inn I told him how great a pleasure he had
given me, and he said he had brought up the three jewels himself.
"You," he added, "are the only man besides myself they know. You shall
see them again, but I beg you will take care not to leave anything behind
you, for in this town of prejudices that would be a great misfortune for
them and for me."
"You are always moderate in your enjoyment, then?" I said to him.
"Unfortunately, that is no merit as far as I am concerned. I was born for
the service of love, and Venus has punished me for worshipping her when I
was too young."
After a good night's sleep I awoke in an active mood, and began to write
a letter to Voltaire in blank verse, which cost me four times the pains
that rhymed verses would have done. I sent it to him with the poem of
Theophile Falengue, but I made a mistake in doing so, as I might have
known he would not care for it; one cannot appreciate what one does not
understand. I then went to Mr. Fox, where I found the two Englishmen who
offered me my revenge. I lost a hundred Louis, and was glad to see them
set out for Lausanne.
The syndic had told me that the three young ladies belonged to
respectable families, but were not rich. I puzzled my head to think of
some useful present I might make them without offending them, and at last
I hit on a plan of the most ridiculous nature, as the reader will see. I
went to a jeweller and told him to make me three golden balls, each of
two ounces in weight.
At noon I went to M. de Voltaire's. He was not to be seen, but Madame
Denis consoled me for his absence. She had wit, learning without
pretension, taste, and a great hatred for the King of Prussia, whom she
called a villain. She asked about my beautiful housekeeper, and
congratulated me on having married her to a respectable man. Although I
feel now that she was quite right, I was far from thinking so then; the
impression was too fresh on my mind. Madame Denis begged me to tell her
how I had escaped from The Leads, but as the story was rather a long one
I promised to satisfy her another time.
M. de Voltaire did not dine with us; he appeared, however, at five
o'clock, holding a letter in his hand.
"Do you know," said he, "the Marquis Albergati Capacelli, senator of
Bologna, and Count Paradisi?"
"I do not know Paradisi, but I know Albergati by sight and by reputation;
he is not a senator, but one of the Forty, who at Bologna are Fifty."
"Dear me! That seems rather a riddle!"
"Do you know him?"
"No, but he has sent me Goldoni's 'Theatre,' the translation of my
Tancred, and some Bologna sausages, and he says he will come and see me."
"He will not come; he is not such a fool."
"How a fool? Would there be anything foolish in coming to see me?"
"Certainly not, as far as you are concerned; but very much so far his own
sake."
"Would you mind telling me why?"
"He knows what he would lose; for he enjoys the idea you seem to have of
him, and if he came you would see his nothingness, and good-bye to the
illusion. He is a worthy man with six thousand sequins a year, and a
craze for the theatre. He is a good actor enough, and has written several
comedies in prose, but they are fit neither for the study nor the stage."
"You certainly give him a coat which does not make him look any bigger."
"I assure you it is not quite small enough."
"But tell me how he can belong to the Forty and the Fifty?"
"Just as at Bale noon is at eleven."
"I understand; just as your Council of Ten is composed of seventeen
members."
"Exactly; but the cursed Forty of Bologna are men of another kind."
"Why cursed?"
"Because they are not subject to the fisc, and are thus enabled to commit
whatever crimes they like with perfect impunity; all they have got to do
is to live outside the state borders on their revenues."
"That is a blessing, and not a curse; but let me return to our subject. I
suppose the Marquis Albergati is a man of letters?"
"He writes well enough, but he is fond of the sound of his own voice, his
style is prolix, and I don't think he has much brains."
"He is an actor, I think you said?"
"Yes, and a very good one, above all, when he plays the lover's part in
one of his own plays."
"Is he a handsome man?"
"Yes, on the stage, but not elsewhere; his face lacks expression."
"But his plays give satisfaction?"
"Not to persons who understand play writing; they would be hissed if they
were intelligible."
"And what do you think of Goldoni?"
"I have the highest opinion of him. Goldoni is the Italian Moliere."
"Why does he call himself poet to the Duke of Parma?"
"No doubt to prove that a wit as well as a fool has his weak points; in
all probability the duke knows nothing about it. He also calls himself a
barrister, though he is such only in his own imagination. Goldoni is a
good play writer, and nothing more. Everybody in Venice knows me for his
friend, and I can therefore speak of him with authority. He does not
shine in society, and in spite of the fine satire of his works he is a
man of an extremely gentle disposition."
"So I have been told. He is poor, and wants to leave Venice. The managers
of the theatres where they play his pieces will not like that."
"People talked about getting him a pension, but the project has been
relegated to the Greek Kalends, as they said that if he had a pension he
would write no more."
"Cumae refused to give a pension to Homer, for fear that all the blind
men would ask for a pension."
We spent a pleasant day, and he thanked me heartily for the copy of the
Macaronicon, which he promised to read. He introduced me to a Jesuit he
had in his household, who was called Adam, and he added, after telling me
his name, "not the first Adam." I was told afterwards that Voltaire used
to play backgammon with him, and when he lost he would throw the dice and
the box at his head. If Jesuits were treated like that all the world
over, perhaps we should have none but inoffensive Jesuits at last, but
that happy time is still far off.
I had scarcely got to my inn in the evening when I received my three
golden balls, and as soon as the syndic came we set off to renew our
voluptuous orgy. On the way he talked about modesty, and said,--
"That feeling which prevents our shewing those parts which we have been
taught to cover from our childhood, may often proceed from virtue, but is
weaker than the force of education, as it cannot resist an attack when
the attacking party knows what he is about. I think the easiest way to
vanquish modesty is to ignore its presence, to turn it into ridicule, to
carry it by storm. Victory is certain. The hardihood of the assailer
subdues the assailed, who usually only wishes to be conquered, and nearly
always thanks you for your victory.
"Clement of Alexandria, a learned man and a philosopher, has remarked
that the modesty which appears so deeply rooted in women's hearts really
goes no farther than the clothes they wear, and that when these are
plucked off no trace of it remains."
We found the three girls lightly clad and sitting on a large sopha, and
we sat down opposite to them. Pleasant talk and a thousand amorous kisses
occupied the half hour just before supper, and our combat did not begin
till we had eaten a delicious repast, washed down with plenty of
champagne.
We were sure of not being interrupted by the maid and we put ourselves at
our ease, whilst our caresses became more lively and ardent. The syndic,
like a careful man, drew a packet of fine French letters from his pocket,
and delivered a long eulogium on this admirable preservative from an
accident which might give rise to a terrible and fruitless repentance.
The ladies knew them, and seemed to have no objection to the precaution;
they laughed heartily to see the shape these articles took when they were
blown out. But after they had amused themselves thus for some time, I
said,
"My dear girls, I care more for your honour than your beauty; but do not
think I am going to shut myself in a piece of dead skin to prove that I
am alive. Here," I added, drawing out the three golden balls, "is a surer
and less disagreeable way of securing you from any unpleasant
consequences. After fifteen years' experience I can assure you that with
these golden balls you can give and take without running the least risk.
For the future you will have no need of those humiliating sheaths. Trust
in me and accept this little present from a Venetian who adores you."
"We are very grateful," said the elder of the two sisters, "but how are
these pretty balls used?"
"The ball has to be at the rear of the temple of love, whilst the amorous
couple are performing the sacrifice. The antipathy communicated to the
metal by its being soaked for a certain time in an alkaline solution
prevents impregnation."
"But," said the cousin, "one must take great care that the ball is not
shaken out by the motion before the end of the sacrifice."
"You needn't be afraid of that if you place yourself in a proper
position."
"Let us see how it's done," said the syndic, holding a candle for me to
put the ball in place.
The charming cousin had gone too far to turn back; she had to submit to
the operation. I placed the ball in such a position that it could not
fall out before I was in; however, it fell out towards the end, just as
we were separating. The victim perceived that I had taken her in.
However, she said nothing, picked up the ball, and challenged the two
sisters to submit to the pleasant experiment, to which they lent
themselves with the greatest interest; while the syndic, who had no faith
in the virtues of the metal, contented himself with looking on. After
half an hour's rest I began again, without balls, assuring them that I
would be careful, and I kept my word, without depriving them of the
pleasure in the slightest degree.
When it was time to part, these girls, who had formerly been scantily
provided for, threw their arms round my neck, overwhelmed me with
caresses, and declared how much they owed me. The syndic told them that I
was going in two days, and suggested that they should make me stay a day
longer in Geneva, and I made this sacrifice joyfully. The worthy syndic
had an engagement on the following day, and I sorely needed a holiday
myself. He took me back to my inn, thanking me almost as heartily as his
charming nymphs.
After having enjoyed a calm and refreshing sleep ten hours, I felt myself
able to enjoy the delightful society of M. de Voltaire. I went to his
house, but I was disappointed in my hopes, as it pleased the great man to
be in a fault-finding and sarcastic mood the whole day. He knew I had to
leave on the morrow.
He began by thanking me at table for my present of Merlin Coccaeus.
"You certainly gave it me with good intentions," said he, "but I owe you
no thanks for praising it so highly, as you made me lose four hours in
reading nonsense."
I felt my hair stand on end, but I mastered my emotions, and told him
quietly enough that one day, perhaps, he would find himself obliged to
praise the poem more highly than I had done. I quoted several instances
of the insufficiency of a first perusal.
"That's true," said he; "but as for your Merlin, I will read him no more.
I have put him beside Chapelain's 'Pucelle'."
"Which pleases all the critics, in spite of its bad versification, for it
is a good poem, and Chapelain was a real poet though he wrote bad verses.
I cannot overlook his genius."
My freedom must have shocked him, and I might have guessed it when he
told me he had put the 'Macaronicon' beside the 'Pucelle'. I knew that
there was a poem of the same title in circulation, which passed for
Voltaire's; but I also knew that he disavowed it, and I thought that
would make him conceal the vexation my explanation must have caused him.
It was not so, however; he contradicted me sharply, and I closed with
him.
"Chapelain," said I, "has the merit of having rendered his subject-matter
pleasant, without pandering to the tastes of his readers by saying things
shocking to modesty and piety. So thinks my master Crebillon:"
"Crebillon! You cite a weighty authority. But how is my friend Crebillon
your master, may I ask?"
"He taught me to speak French in less than two years, and as a mark of my
gratitude I translated his Radamiste into Italian Alexandrines. I am the
first Italian who has dared to use this metre in our language."
"The first? I beg your pardon, as that honour belongs to my friend Pierre
Jacques Martelli."
"I am sorry to be obliged to tell you that you are making a mistake."
"Why, I have his works, printed at Bologna, in my room!"
"I don't deny that, I am only talking about the metre used by Martelli.
What you are thinking of must be verses of fourteen syllables; without
alternative masculine and feminine rhymes. However, I confess that he
thinks he has imitated the French Alexandrines, and his preface made me
explode with laughter. Did you read it?"
"Read it? I always read prefaces, and Martelli proves there that his
verses have the same effect in Italian as our Alexandrine verses have in
French."
"Exactly, that's what's so amusing. The worthy man is quite mistaken, and
I only ask you to listen to what I have to say on the subject. Your
masculine verse has only twelve poetic syllables, and the feminine
thirteen. All Martelli's lines have fourteen syllables, except those that
finish with a long vowel, which at the end of a line always counts as two
syllables. You will observe that the first hemistitch in Martelli always
consists of seven syllables, while in French it only has six. Your friend
Pierre Jacques was either stone deaf or very hard of hearing."
"Then you have followed our theory of versification rigorously."
"Just so, in spite of the difficulty, as nearly all our words end with a
short syllable."
"What reception has been accorded to your innovation?"
"It has not been found pleasing, because nobody knows how to recite my
verses; but I hope to triumph when I deliver them myself before our
literary clubs."
"Do you remember any of your version of the Radamiste?"
"I remember it all."
"You have a wonderful memory; I should be glad to hear it."
I began to recite the same scene that I had recited to Crebillon ten
years before, and I thought M. de Voltaire listened with pleasure.
"It doesn't strike one as at all harsh," said he.
This was the highest praise he would give me. In his turn the great man
recited a passage from Tancred which had not as yet been published, and
which was afterwards considered, and rightly, as a masterpiece.
We should have got on very well if we had kept to that, but on my quoting
a line of Horace to praise one of his pieces, he said that Horace was a
great master who had given precepts which would never be out of date.
Thereupon I answered that he himself had violated one of them, but that
he had violated it grandly.
"Which is that?"
"You do not write, 'Contentus paucis lectoribus'."
"If Horace had had to combat the hydra-headed monster of superstition, he
would have written as I have written--for all the world."
"It seems to me that you might spare yourself the trouble of combating
what you will never destroy."
"That which I cannot finish others will, and I shall always have the
glory of being the first in the field."
"Very good; but supposing you succeed in destroying superstition, what
are you going to put in its place?"
"I like that. If I deliver the race of man from a wild beast which is
devouring it, am I to be asked what I intend to put in its place?"
"It does not devour it; on the contrary, it is necessary to its
existence."
"Necessary to its existence! That is a horrible blasphemy, the falsity of
which will be seen in the future. I love the human race; I would fain see
men like myself, free and happy, and superstition and freedom cannot go
together. Where do you find an enslaved and yet a happy people?"
"You wish, then, to see the people sovereign?"
"God forbid! There must be a sovereign to govern the masses."
"In that case you must have superstition, for without it the masses will
never obey a mere man decked with the name of monarch."
"I will have no monarch; the word expresses despotism, which I hate as I
do slavery."
"What do you mean, then? If you wish to put the government in the hands
of one man, such a man, I maintain, will be a monarch."
"I would have a sovereign ruler of a free people, of which he is the
chief by an agreement which binds them both, which would prevent him from
becoming a tyrant."
"Addison will tell you that such a sovereign is a sheer impossibility. I
agree with Hobbes, of two evils choose the least. A nation without
superstition would be a nation of philosophers, and philosophers would
never obey. The people will only be happy when they are crushed and
down-trodden, and bound in chains."
"This is horrible; and you are of the people yourself. If you have read
my works you must have seen how I shew that superstition is the enemy of
kings."
"Read your works? I have read and re-read them, especially in places
where I have differed from you. Your ruling passion is the love of
humanity. 'Est ubi peccas'. This blinds you. Love humanity, but love it
as it is. It is not fit to receive the blessings you would lavish on it,
and which would only make it more wretched and perverse. Leave men their
devouring monster, it is dear to them. I have never laughed so heartily
as at Don Quixote assailed by the galley-slaves whom his generosity had
set free."
"I am sorry that you have such a bad opinion of your fellow-creatures.
And by the way, tell me whether there is freedom in Venice."
"As much as can be expected under an aristocracy. Our liberty is not so
great as that which the English enjoy, but we are content."
"Even under The Leads?"
"My imprisonment was certainly despotic; but as I had knowingly abused my
liberty I am satisfied that the Government was within its rights in
shutting me up without the usual formalities."
"All the same, you made your escape."
"I used my rights as they had used theirs."
"Very good! But as far as I can see, no one in Venice is really free."
"That may be; but you must agree that the essence of freedom consists in
thinking you have it."
"I shall not agree to that so easily. You and I see liberty from very
different points of view. The aristocrats, the members of the Government
even, are not free at Venice; for example, they cannot travel without
permission."
"True, but that is a restriction of their own making to preserve their
power. Would you say that a Bernese is not free, because he is subject to
the sumptuary laws, which he himself had made."
"Well, well, I wish the people made the laws everywhere."
After this lively answer, he abruptly asked me what part I came from.
"From Roche," said I. "I should have been very sorry to leave Switzerland
without seeing the famous Haller. In my travels I render homage to my
learned contemporaries, and you come the last and best."
"You must have liked Haller."
"I spent three of the happiest days of my life with him."
"I congratulate you. He is a great man and worthy of all honour."
"I think as you do, and I am glad to hear you doing him justice; I am
sorry he was not so just towards you."
"Well, you see we may be both of us mistaken."
At this reply, the quickness of which constituted its chief merit,
everybody present began to laugh and applaud.
No more was said of literature, and I became a silent actor till M. de
Voltaire retired, when I approached Madame Denis, and asked her if she
had any commands for me at Rome. I went home well pleased at having
compelled the giant of intellect to listen to reason, as I then thought
foolishly enough; but there was a rankling feeling left in my heart
against him which made me, ten years later, criticise all he had written.
I am sorry now for having done so, though on reading my censures over
again I find that in many places I was right. I should have done better,
however, to have kept silence, to have respected his genius, and to have
suspected my own opinions. I should have considered that if it had not
been for those quips and cranks which made me hate him on the third day,
I should have thought him wholly sublime. This thought alone should have
silenced me, but an angry man always thinks himself right. Posterity on
reading my attack will rank me among the Zoyluses, and the humble apology
I now make to the great man's shades may not be read.
If we meet in the halls of Pluto, the more peccant parts of our mortal
nature purged away, all will be made up; he will receive my heartfelt
apologies, and he will be my friend, I his sincere admirer.
I spent part of the night and the whole of the following day in writing
down my conversations with Voltaire, and they amounted nearly to a
volume, of which I have only given a mere abridgment. Towards the evening
my Epicurean syndic called on me, and we went to sup with the three
nymphs, and for five hours we indulged in every species of wantonness, in
which I had a somewhat fertile imagination. On leaving I promised to call
on them again on my return from Rome, and I kept my word. I set out the
next day, after dining with the syndic, who accompanied me as far as
Anneci, where I spent the night. Next day I dined at Aix, with the
intention of lying at Chamberi, but my destiny ordered otherwise.
Aix is a villainous hole where the mineral waters attract people of
fashion towards the end of the summer--a circumstance of which I was then
ignorant. I dined hastily, wishing to set out immediately for Chamberi,
when in the middle of my repast a crowd of fashionable people burst into
the room. I looked at them without stirring, replying with an inclination
of the head to the bows which some of them made me. I soon discovered
from their conversation that they had all come to take the waters. A
gentleman of a fine presence came up to me and asked if I were going to
Turin; I answered that my way was to Marseilles.
Their dinner was served, and everybody sat down. Among them I noticed
several pleasant-looking ladies, with gentlemen who were either their
husbands or their lovers. I concluded that I might find some amusement
with them, as they all spoke French with that easy tone of good society
which is so attractive, and I felt that I should be inclined to stay
without much pressing, for that day at all events.
I finished my dinner before the company had come to the end of their
first course, and as my coach could not go for another hour I went up to
a pretty woman, and complimented her on the good the waters of Aix seemed
to have done her, for her appetite made all who looked at her feel
hungry.
"I challenge you to prove that you are speaking the truth," said she,
with a smile. I sat down next to her, and she gave me a nice piece of the
roast which I ate as if I had been fasting.
While I was talking with the lady, and eating the morsels she gave me, I
heard a voice saying that I was in the abbe's place, and another voice
replying that the abbe had been gone for half an hour.
"Why has he gone?" asked a third, "he said he was going to stay here for
another week." At this there was some whispering, but the departure of an
abbe had nothing interesting in it for me, and I continued eating and
talking. I told Le Duc, who was standing behind my chair, to get me some
champagne. I offered the lady some, she accepted, and everyone began to
call for champagne. Seeing my neighbour's spirits rising, I proceeded to
make love to her, and asked her if she were always as ready to defy those
who paid their court to her.
"So many of them," she answered, "are not worthy the trouble."
She was pretty and quick-witted, and I took a fancy to her, and wished
for some pretext on which I could put off my departure, and chance came
to my aid.
"The place next to you was conveniently empty," said a lady to my
neighbour who was drinking with me.
"Very conveniently, for my neighbour wearied me."
"Had he no appetite?" said I.
"Gamesters only have an appetite for money."
"Usually, but your power is extraordinary; for I have never made two
dinners on one day before now."
"Only out of pride; as I am sure you will eat no supper."
"Let us make a bet on it."
"We will; we will bet the supper."
"All right."
All the guests began to clap, and my fair neighbour blushed with
pleasure. I ordered Le Duc to tell my coachman that I should not be going
till the next day.
"It is my business," said the lady, "to order the supper."
"Yes, you are right; for he who pays, orders. My part will be to oppose
you to the knife, and if I eat as much as you I shall be the winner."
"Very good."
At the end of dinner, the individual who had addressed me before called
for cards, and made a small bank of faro. He put down twenty-five
Piedmontese pistoles, and some silver money to amuse the
ladies--altogether it amounted nearly to forty louis. I remained a
spectator during the first deal, and convinced myself that the banker
played very well.
Whilst he was getting ready for the second deal, the lady asked me why I
did not play. I whispered to her that she had made me lose my appetite
for money. She repaid this compliment with a charming smile.
After this declaration, feeling myself entitled to play, I put down forty
louis, and lost them in two deals. I got up, and on the banker saying
very politely that he was sorry for my loss, I replied that it was a mere
nothing, but that I always made it a rule never to risk a sum of money
larger than the bank. Somebody then asked me if I knew a certain Abbe
Gilbert.
"I knew a man of that name," said I, "at Paris; he came from Lyons, and
owes me a pair of ears, which I mean to cut off his head when I meet
him."
My questioner made no reply to this, and everybody remained silent, as if
nothing had been said. From this I concluded that the abbe aforesaid must
be the same whose place I had occupied at dinner. He had doubtless seen
me on my arrival and had taken himself off. This abbe was a rascal who
had visited me at Little Poland, to whom I had entrusted a ring which had
cost me five thousand florins in Holland; next day the scoundrel had
disappeared.
When everybody had left the table, I asked Le Duc if I were well lodged.
"No," said he; "would you like to see your room?"
He took me to a large room, a hundred paces from the inn, whose sole
furniture consisted of its four walls, all the other rooms being
occupied. I complained vainly to the inn-keeper, who said,
"It's all I can offer you, but I will have a good bed, a table, and
chairs taken there."
I had to content myself with it, as there was no choice.
"You will sleep in my room," said I to Le Duc, "take care to provide
yourself with a bed, and bring my baggage in."
"What do you think of Gilbert, sir?" said my Spaniard; "I only recognized
him just as he was going, and I had a lively desire to take him by the
back of his neck."
"You would have done well to have satisfied that desire."
"I will, when I see him again."
As I was leaving my big room, I was accosted politely by a man who said
he was glad to be my neighbour, and offered to take me to the fountain if
I were going there. I accepted his offer. He was a tall fair man, about
fifty years old; he must once have been handsome, but his excessive
politeness should have made me suspect him; however, I wanted somebody to
talk to, and to give me the various pieces of information I required. On
the way he informed me of the condition of the people I had seen, and I
learnt that none of them had come to Aix for the sake of the waters.
"I am the only one," said he, "who takes them out of necessity. I am
consumptive; I get thinner every day, and if the waters don't do me any
good I shall not last much longer."
So all the others have only come here for amusement's sake?"
"And to game, sir, for they are all professional gamesters."
"Are they French?"
"They are all from Piedmont or Savoy; I am the only Frenchman here."
"What part of France do you come from?"
"From Lorraine; my father, who is eighty years old, is the Marquis
Desarmoises. He only keeps on living to spite me, for as I married
against his wishes he has disinherited me. However, as I am his only son,
I shall inherit his property after his death, in spite of him. My house
is at Lyons, but I never go there, as I have the misfortune to be in love
with my eldest daughter, and my wife watches us so closely as to make my
courtship hopeless."
"That is very fine; otherwise, I suppose, your daughter would take pity
on her amorous papa?"
"I daresay, for she is very fond of me, and has an excellent heart."
CHAPTER XX
My Adventures at Aix--My Second M. M.--Madame Zeroli
This man, who, though he did not know me, put the utmost confidence in
me, so far from thinking he was horrifying me by the confession of such
wickedness, probably considered he was doing me a great honour. While I
listened to him I reflected that though depraved he might have his good
points, and that his weakness might have a pitiable if not a pardonable
side. However, wishing to know more of him, I said,--
"In spite of your father's sternness, you live very well."
"On the contrary, I live very ill. I enjoy a pension from the Government,
which I surrender to my wife, and as for me I make a livelihood on my
travels. I play black gammon and most other games perfectly. I win more
often than I lose, and I live on my winnings."
"But is what you have told me about your daughter known to the visitors
here?"
"Everybody knows it; why should I hide it? I am a man of honour and
injure no one; and, besides, my sword is sharp."
"Quite so; but would you tell me whether you allow your daughter to have
a lover?"
"I should have no objection, but my wife is religious."
"Is your daughter pretty?"
"Very; if you are going to Lyons, you can go and see her; I will give you
a letter of introduction for her."
"Thank you, but I am going to Italy. Can you tell me the name of the
gentleman who kept the bank?"
"That is the famous Parcalier, Marquis de Prie since the death of his
father, whom you may have known as ambassador at Venice. The gentleman
who asked you if you knew the Abbe Gilbert is the Chevalier Zeroli,
husband of the lady you are to sup with. The rest are counts, marquises,
and barons of the usual kind, some from Piedmont and some from Savoy. Two
or three are merchants' sons, and the ladies are all their friends or
relations. They are all professional gamblers and sharp-witted. When a
stranger comes here they know how to get over him, and if he plays it is
all up with him, for they go together like pickpockets at a fair. They
think they have got you, so take care of yourself."
In the evening we returned to the inn, and found all the company playing,
and my companion proceeded to play with a Count de Scarnafisch.
The Chevalier Zeroli offered to play faro with me for forty sequins, and
I had just lost that sum when supper was served. My loss had not affected
my spirits, and the lady finding me at once hungry and gay paid the bet
with a good grace. At supper I surprised her in certain side-glances,
which warned me that she was going to try to dupe me; I felt myself safe
as far as love was concerned, but I had reason to dread fortune, always
the friend of those who keep a bank at faro, especially as I had already
lost. I should have done well to go, but I had not the strength; all I
could do was to promise myself that I would be extremely prudent. Having
large sums in paper money and plenty of gold, it was not difficult for me
to be careful.
Just after supper the Marquis de Prie made a bank of about three hundred
sequins. His staking this paltry sum shewed me that I had much to lose
and little to win, as it was evident that he would have made a bank of a
thousand sequins if he had had them. I put down fifty Portuguese crowns,
and said that as soon as I had lost them I should go to bed. In the
middle of the third deal I broke the bank.
"I am good for another two hundred louis," said the marquis.
"I should be glad to continue playing," I replied, "if I had not to go at
day-break"; and I thereupon left the room.
Just as I was going to bed, Desarmoises came and asked me to lend him
twelve louis. I had expected some such request, and I counted them out to
him. He embraced me gratefully, and told me that Madame Zeroli had sworn
to make me stay on at least for another day. I smiled and called Le Duc,
and asked him if my coachman knew that I was starting early; he replied
that he would be at the door by five o'clock.
"Very good," said Desarmoises, "but I will wager that you will not go for
all that."
He went out and I went to bed, laughing at his prophecy.
At five o'clock next morning the coachman came to tell me that one of the
horses was ill and could not travel. I saw that Desarmoises had had an
inkling of some plot, but I only laughed. I sent the man roughly about
his business, and told Le Duc to get me post-horses at the inn. The
inn-keeper came and told me that there were no horses, and that it would
take all the morning to find some, as the Marquis de Prie, who was
leaving at one o'clock in the morning, had emptied his stables. I
answered that in that case I would dine at Aix, but that I counted on his
getting me horses by two o'clock in the afternoon.
I left the room and went to the stable, where I found the coachman
weeping over one of his horses stretched out on the straw. I thought it
was really an accident, and consoled the poor devil, paying him as if he
had done his work, and telling him I should not want him any more. I then
went towards the fountain, but the reader will be astonished by a meeting
of the most romantic character, but which is yet the strict truth.
At a few paces from the fountain I saw two nuns coming from it. They were
veiled, but I concluded from their appearance that one was young and the
other old. There was nothing astonishing in such a sight, but their habit
attracted my attention, for it was the same as that worn by my dear
M---- M----, whom I had seen for the last time on July 24th, 1755, five
years before. The look of them was enough, not to make me believe that
the young nun was M---- M----, but to excite my curiosity. They were
walking towards the country, so I turned to cut them off that I might see
them face to face and be seen of them. What was my emotion when I saw the
young nun, who, walking in front, and lifting her veil, disclosed the
veritable face of M---- M----. I could not doubt that it was she, and I
began to walk beside her; but she lowered her veil, and turned to avoid
me.
The reasons she might have for such a course passed in a moment through
my mind, and I followed her at a distance, and when she had gone about
five hundred paces I saw her enter a lonely house of poor appearance that
was enough for me. I returned to the fountain to see what I could learn
about the nun.
On my way there I lost myself in a maze of conjectures.
"The too charming and hapless M---- M----," said I to myself, "must have
left her convent, desperate--nay, mad; for why does she still wear the
habit of her order? Perhaps, though, she has got a dispensation to come
here for the waters; that must be the reason why she has a nun with her,
and why she has not left off her habit. At all events the journey must
have been undertaken under false pretences. Has she abandoned herself to
some fatal passion, of which the result has been pregnancy? She is
doubtless perplexed, and must have been pleased to see me. I will not
deceive her expectations; I will do all in my power to convince her that
I am worthy of her."
Lost in thought I did not notice I had arrived at the fountain, round
which stood the whole host of gamesters. They all crowded round me, and
said how charmed they were to see me still there. I asked the Chevalier
Zeroli after his wife, and he told me she was still abed, and that it
would be a good thing if I would go and make her get up. I was just going
when the doctor of the place accosted me, saying, that the waters of the
Aix would increase my good health. Full of the one idea, I asked him
directly if he were the doctor in attendance on a pretty nun I had seen.
"She takes the waters," he replied, "but she does not speak to anyone."
"Where does she come from?"
"Nobody knows; she lives in a peasant's house."
I left the doctor, and instead of going towards the inn, where the hussy
Zeroli was doubtless waiting for me, I made my way towards the peasant's
house, which already seemed to me the temple of the most blissful
deities, determined to obtain the information I required as prudently as
might be. But as if love had favoured my vows, when I was within a
hundred paces of the cottage I saw the peasant woman coming out to meet
me.
"Sir," said she, accosting me, "the young nun begs you to return this
evening at nine o'clock; the lay-sister will be asleep then, and she will
be able to speak freely to you."
There could be no more doubt. My heart leapt with joy. I gave the
country-woman a louis, and promised to be at the house at nine exactly.
With the certainty of seeing my dear M---- M---- again I returned to the
inn, and on ascertaining which was Madame Zeroli's room I entered without
ceremony, and told her that her husband had sent me to make her get up.
"I thought you were gone?"
"I am going at two."
I found her still more enticing in bed than at table. I helped her to put
on her stays, and the sight of her charms inflamed my ardour, but I
experienced more resistance than I had anticipated. I sat down at the
foot of the bed, and told her how fervently I loved her, and how unhappy
I was at not being able to give her marks of my love before I left.
"But," said she, laughing, "you have only got to stay."
"Give me some hope, and I will stay till to-morrow."
"You are in too much of a hurry, take things more quietly."
I contented myself with the few favours she granted me, pretending as
usual only to yield to violence, when I was obliged to restrain myself on
the appearance of her husband, who took the precaution of making a noise
before he came in. As soon as she saw him, she said, without the
slightest perturbation, "I have persuaded the gentleman to stay tell the
day after to-morrow."
"I am all the more pleased to hear it, my dear," said the chevalier, "as
I owe him his revenge."
With these words he took up a pack of cards, which came as readily to his
hands as if they had been placed there on purpose, and seating himself
beside his wife, whom he made into the table, he began to deal.
I could not draw back, and as my thoughts were distracted I kept on
losing till they came to tell me dinner was ready.
"I have no time to dress," said the lady, "so I will have my dinner in
bed, if you gentlemen will keep me company."
How could I refuse? The husband went out to order the dinner, and
feeling myself authorized by the loss of twenty Louis, I told the hussy
that if she would not give me a plain promise to make me happy that
afternoon I should go away when I had had my dinner.
"Breakfast with me to-morrow morning. We shall be alone."
After receiving from her certain earnests of her promise, I promised to
stay on.
We dined by her bedside, and I told Le Duc that I should not be going
till the afternoon of the next day, which made the husband and wife
radiant. When we had done, the lady said she would like to get up; and I
went out, promising to return and play piquet with her. I proceeded to
reline my purse, and I met Desarmoises, who said,
"I have found out the secret; they gave her coachman two Louis to
substitute a sick horse for his own."
"It's a matter of give and take," said I; "I am in love with the
chevalier's wife, and I am putting off my departure till I have got all I
want out of her."
"I am afraid you will have to pay pretty dearly for your pleasure.
However, I will do what I can for your interests."
I thanked him smilingly, and returned to the lady, whom I left at eight
o'clock under pretext of a violent headache, after having lost ten louis
to her. I reminded her of her promise for next morning at nine o'clock,
and I left her in the midst of the company.
It was a fine moonlight night as I walked towards the peasant's house,
where I was to see my dear M---- M---- once more. I was impatient to see
what the visit, on which the rest of my life might depend, would bring
forth.
I had taken the precaution to provide myself with a pair of pistols, and
my sword hung at my side, for I was not wholly devoid of suspicion in
this place, where there were so many adventurers; but at twenty paces
from the cottage I saw the woman coming towards me. She told me that the
nun could not come down, so I must be content to enter through the
window, by means of a ladder which she had placed there for the purpose.
I drew near, and not seeing any light I should not have easily decided on
going up, if I had not heard the voice I thought I knew so well, saying,
"Fear nothing; come." Besides, the window was not very high up, and there
could not be much danger of a trap. I ascended, and thought for certain
that I held my dear M---- M---- in my arms, as I covered her face with my
ardent kisses.
"Why," said I, in Venetian, "have you not a light? I hope you are going
to inform me of an event which seems wonderful to me; quick, dearest,
satisfy my impatience."
The reader will guess my surprise when he learns that on hearing her
voice close to me I found that she was not M---- M----. She told me that
she did not understand Venetian, and that I did not require a light to
tell her what M. de Coudert had decided on doing to save her from her
peril.
"You surprise me; I do not know M. de Coudert. What! Are you not a
Venetian? Are you not the nun I saw this morning?"
"Hapless one! I have made a mistake. I am the nun you saw this morning,
but I am French. In the name of God keep my counsel and begone, for I
have nothing to say to you! Whisper, for if the lay-sister woke up I
should be undone."
"Do not be afraid of my discretion. What deceived me was your exact
likeness to a nun of your order who will be always dear to me: and if you
had not allowed me to see your features I should not have followed you.
Forgive the tenderness I shewed towards you, though you must think me
very audacious."
"You astonished me very much, but you did not offend me. I wish I were
the nun in whom you are interested. I am on the brink of a fearful
precipice."
"If ten louis are any good to you, it will be an honour for me to give
you them."
"Thank you, I have no need of money. Allow me to give you back the louis
you sent me this morning."
"The louis was for the country-woman. You increase my surprise; pray tell
me what is the misfortune under which you labour, for which money can do
nothing."
"Perhaps God has sent you to my aid. Maybe you will give me good advice.
Listen to what I am about to tell you."
"I am at your service, and I will listen with the greatest attention. Let
us sit down."
"I am afraid there is neither seat nor bed."
"Say on, then; we will remain standing."
"I come from Grenoble. I was made to take the veil at Chamberi. Two years
after my profession, M. de Coudert found means to see me. I received him
in the convent garden, the walls of which he scaled, and at last I was so
unfortunate as to become pregnant. The idea of giving birth to a child at
the convent was too dreadful--I should have languished till I died in a
terrible dungeon--and M. de Coudert thought of a plan for taking me out
of the convent. A doctor whom he gained over with a large sum of money
declared that I should die unless I came here to take the waters, which
he declared were the only cure for my illness. A princess whom M. de
Coudert knew was partly admitted to the secret, and she obtained the
leave of absence for three months from the Bishop of Chamberi, and the
abbess consented to my going.
"I thus hoped to be delivered before the expiration of the three months;
but I have assuredly made a mistake, for the time draws to an end and I
feel no signs of a speedy delivery. I am obliged to return to the
convent, and yet I cannot do so. The lay-sister who is with me is a
perfect shrew. She has orders not to let me speak to anybody, and never
to let my face be seen. She it was who made me turn when she saw you
following us. I lifted my veil for you to see that I was she of whom I
thought you were in search, and happily the lay-sister did not notice me.
She wants me to return with her to the convent in three days, as she
thinks I have an incurable dropsy. She does not allow me to speak to the
doctor, whom I might, perhaps, have gained over by telling him the truth.
I am only twenty-one, and yet I long for death."
"Do not weep so, dear sister, and tell me how you expect to be delivered
here without the lay-sister being aware of it?"
"The worthy woman with whom I am staying is an angel of goodness. I have
confided in her, and she promised me that when I felt the pangs coming on
she would give that malicious woman a soporific, and thus we should be
freed from all fears of her. By virtue of the drug she now sleeps soundly
in the room under this garret."
"Why was I not let in by the door?"
"To prevent the woman's brother seeing you; he is a rude boor."
"What made you think that I had anything to do with M. de Coudert?"
"Ten or twelve days ago, I wrote to him and told him of my dreadful
position. I painted my situation with such lively colours that I thought
he must do all in his power to help me. As the wretched cling to every
straw, I thought, when I saw you following me, that you were the
deliverer he had sent."
"Are you sure he got your letter?"
"The woman posted it at Anneci."
"You should write to the princess."
"I dare not."
"I will see her myself, and I will see M. de Coudert. In fine, I will
move heaven and earth, I will even go to the bishop, to obtain an
extension of your leave; for it is out of the question for you to return
to the convent in your present situation. You must decide, for I can do
nothing without your consent. Will you trust in me? If so, I will bring
you a man's clothes to-morrow and take you to Italy with me, and while I
live I swear I will care for you."
For reply, I only heard long-drawn sobs, which distressed me beyond
words, for I felt acutely the situation of this poor creature whom Heaven
had made to be a mother, and whom the cruelty of her parents had
condemned to be a useless nun.
Not knowing what else to say, I took her hand and promised to return the
next day and hear her decision, for it was absolutely necessary that she
should decide on some plan. I went away by the ladder, and gave a second
louis to the worthy woman, telling her that I should be with her on the
morrow at the same hour, but that I should like to be able to enter by
the door. I begged her to give the lay-sister a stronger dose of opium,
so that there should be no fear of her awaking while I talked with the
young nun.
I went to bed glad at heart that I had been wrong in thinking that the
nun was M---- M----. Nevertheless the great likeness between them made me
wish to see her nearer at hand, and I was sure that she would not refuse
me the privilege of looking at her the next day. I smiled at the thought
of the ardent kisses I had given her, but I felt that I could not leave
her to her fate. I was glad to find that I did not need any sensual
motive to urge me to a good deed, for as soon as I found that it was not
M---- M---- who had received those tender kisses I felt ashamed of having
given them. I had not even given her a friendly kiss when I left her.
In the morning Desarmoises came and told me that all the company, not
seeing me at supper, had been puzzling itself to find out what had become
of me. Madame Zeroli had spoken enthusiastically about me, and had taken
the jests of the two other ladies in good part, boasting that she could
keep me at Aix as long as she remained there herself. The fact was that I
was not amorous but curious where she was concerned, and I should have
been sorry to have left the place without obtaining complete possession
of her, for once at all events.
I kept my appointment, and entered her room at nine o'clock exactly. I
found her dressed, and on my reproaching her she said that it should be
of no consequence to me whether she were dressed or undressed. I was
angry, and I took my chocolate without so much as speaking to her. When I
had finished she offered me my revenge at piquet, but I thanked her and
begged to be excused, telling her that in the humour in which she had put
me I should prove the better player, and that I did not care to win
ladies' money. So saying I rose to leave the room.
"At least be kind enough to take me to the fountain."
"I think not. If you take me for a freshman, you make a mistake, and I
don't care to give the impression that I am pleased when I am displeased.
You can get whomsoever you please to take you to the fountain, but as for
me I must beg to be excused. Farewell, madam."
With these words I went out, paying no attention to her efforts to recall
me.
I found the inn-keeper, and told him that I must leave at three o'clock
without a fail. The lady, who was at her window, could hear me. I went
straight to the fountain where the chevalier asked me what had become of
his wife, and I answered that I had left her in her room in perfect
health. In half an hour we saw her coming with a stranger, who was
welcomed by a certain M. de St. Maurice. Madame Zeroli left him, and
tacked herself on to me, as if there had been nothing the matter. I could
not repulse her without the most troublesome consequences, but I was very
cold. After complaining of my conduct she said that she had only been
trying me, that if I really loved her I should put off my departure, and
that I should breakfast with her at eight o'clock the next day. I
answered coolly that I would think it over. I was serious all
dinner-time, and said once or twice that I must go at three o'clock, but
as I wanted to find some pretext for staying on account of the nun, I let
myself be persuaded into making a bank at faro.
I staked all the gold I had, and I saw every face light up as I put down
about four hundred louis in gold, and about six hundred francs in silver.
"Gentlemen," said I, "I shall rise at eight o'clock precisely." The
stranger said, with a smile, that possibly the bank might not live so
long, but I pretended not to understand him. It was just three o'clock. I
begged Desarmoises to be my croupier, and I began to deal with due
deliberation to eighteen or twenty punters, all professional gamblers. I
took a new pack at every deal.
By five o'clock I had lost money. We heard carriage wheels, and they said
it was three Englishmen from Geneva, who were changing horses to go on to
Chamberi. A moment after they came in, and I bowed. It was Mr. Fox and
his two friends, who had played quinze with me. My croupier gave them
cards, which they received gladly, and went ten louis, playing on two and
three cards, going paroli, seven and the 'va', as well as the 'quinze',
so that my bank was in danger of breaking. However, I kept up my face,
and even encouraged them to play, for, God being neutral, the chances
were in my favour. So it happened, and at the third deal I had cleared
the Englishmen out, and their carriage was ready.
While I was shuffling a fresh pack of cards, the youngest of them drew
out of his pocket-book a paper which he spewed to his two companions. It
was a bill of exchange. "Will you stake the value of this bill on a card,
without knowing its value?" said he.
"Yes," I replied, "if you will tell me upon whom it is drawn, and
provided that it does not exceed the value of the bank."
After a rapid glance at the pile of gold before me, he said, "The bill is
not for so large a sum as your bank, and it is payable at sight by
Zappata, of Turin."
I agreed, he cut, and put his money on an ace, the two friends going half
shares. I drew and drew and drew, but no ace appeared. I had only a dozen
cards left.
"Sir," said I, calmly to the punter, "you can draw back if you like."
"No, go on."
Four cards more, and still no ace; I had only eight cards left.
"My lord," said I, "it's two to one that I do not hold the ace, I repeat
you can draw back."
"No, no, you are too generous, go on."
I continued dealing, and won; I put the bill of exchange in my pocket
without looking at it. The Englishmen shook me by the hand and went off
laughing. I was enjoying the effect this bold stroke had made on the
company, when young Fox came in and with a roar of laughter begged me to
lend him fifty Louis. I counted them out with the greatest pleasure, and
he paid me them back in London three years later.
Everyone was curious to know the value of the bill of exchange, but I was
not polite enough to satisfy their curiosity. It was for eight thousand
Piedmontese francs, as I saw as soon as I was alone. The Englishmen had
brought me good luck, for when they had gone fortune declared for the
bank. I rose at eight o'clock, some ladies having won a few louis, all
the others were dried up. I had won more than a thousand louis, and I
gave twenty-five to Desarmoises, who jumped for joy. I locked up my
money, put my pistols in my pocket, and set out towards the
meeting-place.
The worthy peasant woman brought me in by the door, telling me that
everybody was asleep, and that she had not found it necessary to renew
the lay-sister's dose, as she was still asleep.
I was terrified. I went upstairs, and by the light of a single candle I
saw the wretched, veiled figure of the nun, extended upon a sack which
the peasant woman had placed along the wall instead of a sofa. The candle
which lighted this dreary place was fixed in a bottle.
"What have you decided on doing?" said I.
"I have decided on nothing, for an unforeseen incident has confounded us.
The lay-sister has been asleep for eighteen hours."
"She will die of convulsions or of an apoplectic fit to-night if you do
not call a doctor, who may possibly restore her to life with a dose of
castor oil."
"We have thought of that, but we did not dare to take that step for fear
of consequences; for whether he restores her or not, he will say that we
have poisoned her."
"I pity you, upon my soul! Indeed, I believe that it is too late, and
that a doctor could do nothing. One must obey the laws of prudence and
let her die. The mischief is done, and I see no remedy."
"At any rate, we ought to think of her soul and send for a priest."
"A priest would do her no good, as she is in a perfect lethargy; her soul
is safe enough. Besides, an ignorant priest would find out too much, and
would tell the whole story either through malice or stupidity. It will be
time to call a priest when she has ceased to breathe. You must tell him
that she died very suddenly; you must weep a great deal, and give him a
fee, and he will think only of calming your grief, and nothing about the
sudden death."
"Then we must let her die?"
"We must leave her to nature."
"If she dies I will send a messenger to the abbess, who will dispatch
another lay-sister."
"Yes, and that will give you another ten days. During that time you may
be delivered, and you will confess that every cloud has a silver lining.
Do not grieve so, but let us endeavour to submit to the will of God. Send
for the country-woman, for I must give her some hints as to her conduct
in this delicate matter, on which the honour and life of all three may
depend. For instance, if it were discovered that I had come here, I might
be taken for the poisoner."
The woman came, and I shewed her how necessary it was for her to be
prudent and discreet. She understood me perfectly, perceived her own
dangerous position, and promised that she would not send for the priest
till she was certain of the sister's death. I then made her accept ten
louis in case of need.
Seeing herself made rich by my liberality, she kissed my hands, knelt
down, and bursting into tears promised to follow my advice carefully.
When she had left us, the nun began to weep bitterly, accusing herself of
the murder of the lay-sister, and thinking that she saw hell opening
beneath her feet. I sought in vain to calm her; her grief increased, and
at last she fell in a dead faint on the sack. I was extremely distressed,
and not knowing what to do I called to the woman to bring some vinegar,
as I had no essences about me. All at once I remembered the famous
hellebore, which had served me so well with Madame and, taking the little
box, I held it to her nostrils. It took effect just as the woman brought
the vinegar. "Rub her temples," said I. She took off her cap, and the
blackness of her hair was the only thing that convinced me it was not my
fair Venetian. The hellebore having brought her to her senses, she opened
her large black eyes, and from that moment I fell madly in love with her.
The peasant woman, seeing that she was herself again and out of danger,
went away, and taking her between my arms I covered her with fiery
kisses, in spite of her continuous sneezes.
"Please let me put on my veil again," said she, "or else I shall be
excommunicated."
I laughed at her fears, and continued to lavish my burning kisses on her
face.
"I see you do not believe me, but I assure you that the abbess threatened
me with excommunication if I let myself be seen by a man."
"Fear these bolts no longer, dear, they cannot hurt you."
But she sneezed more violently than ever, and fearing lest her efforts
might bring on her delivery I called the woman again, and left the nun in
her care, promising to return at the same hour on the next day.
It would not have been like me to leave this interesting creature in her
distress, but my devotion to her cause had no merit, since I was madly in
love with this new M---- M---- with black eyes; and love always makes men
selfish, since all the sacrifices they make for the beloved object are
always ultimately referable to their own desires.
I had determined, then, to do all in my power for her, and certainly not
to allow her to return to the convent in the state she was in. I
concluded that to save her would be an action pleasing to God, since God
alone could have made her so like my beloved, and God had willed that I
should win a good deal of money, and had made me find the Zeroli, who
would serve as a shield to my actions and baffle the curiosity of spies.
The philosophers and the mystics may perhaps laugh at me, but what do I
care? I have always delighted in referring all the actions of my life to
God, and yet people have charged me with Atheism!
Next morning I did not forget the Zeroli, and I went to her room at eight
and found her asleep. Her maid begged me to go in quietly for fear of
awakening her, and then left me and shut the door. I knew my part, for I
remembered how, twenty years before, a Venetian lady, whose sleep I had
foolishly respected, had laughed at me and sent me about my business. I
therefore knew what to do; and having gently uncovered her, I gave myself
up to those delicate preliminary delights which sweeten the final
pleasure. The Zeroli wisely continued to sleep; but at last, conquered by
passion, she seconded my caresses with greater ardour than my own, and
she was obliged to laugh at her stratagem. She told me that her husband
had gone to Geneva to buy a repeating watch, and that he would not return
till next day, and that she could spend the night with me.
"Why the night, dearest, while we have the day before us? The night is
for slumber, and in the day one enjoys double bliss, since the light
allows all the senses to be satisfied at once. If you do not expect
anybody, I will pass the whole morning with you."
"Very good; nobody will interrupt us."
I was soon in her arms, and for four hours we gave ourselves up to every
kind of pleasure, cheating each other the better to succeed, and laughing
with delight each time we convinced each other of our love. After the
last assault she asked me, in return for her kindness, to spend three
more days at Aix.
"I promise you," I said, "to stay here as long as you continue giving me
such marks of your love as you have given me this morning."
"Let us get up, then, and go to dinner."
"In company, dearest? Look at your eyes."
"All the better. People will guess what has happened, and the two
countesses will burst with envy. I want everybody to know that it is for
me alone that you are remaining at Aix."
"I am not worth the trouble, my angel, but so be it; I will gladly oblige
you, even though I lose all my money in the next three days."
"I should be in despair if you lost; but if you abstain from punting you
will not lose, though you may let yourself be robbed."
"You may be sure that I know what I am about, and that I shall only allow
ladies to rob me. You have had some money out of me yourself."
"Yes, but not nearly so much as the countesses, and I am sorry you
allowed them to impose on you, as they no doubt put it down to your being
in love with them."
"They are quite wrong, poor dears, for neither would have kept me here a
day."
"I am delighted to hear it. But let me tell you what the Marquis of St.
Maurice was saying about you yesterday."
"Say on. I hope he did not allow himself any offensive remarks."
"No; he only said that you should never have offered the Englishman to be
off at eight cards, as you had as much chance as he, and if he had won he
might have thought that you knew the card was there."
"Very good, but tell the marquis that a gentleman is incapable of such a
thought, and besides I knew the character of the young nobleman, and I
was almost sure he would not accept my offer."
When we appeared in the dining-room we were received with applause. The
fair Zeroli had the air of regarding me as her property, and I affected
an extremely modest manner. No one dared to ask me to make a bank after
dinner; the purses were too empty, and they contented themselves with
trente-quarante, which lasted the whole day, and which cost me a score of
louis.
I stole away as usual towards evening, and after having ordered Le Duc
not to leave my room for a moment during my stay at Aix, I went towards
the cottage where the unfortunate nun was no doubt expecting me
anxiously. Soon, in spite of the darkness, I thought I made out somebody
following me. I stopped short, and some persons passed me. In two or
three minutes I went on again, and I saw the same people, whom I could
not have caught up if they had not slackened their pace. It might all be
accidental, but I wanted to be sure about it. I left the road without
losing my reckoning, feeling quite sure of finding my way when I ceased
to be followed; but I soon felt sure that my steps were dogged, as I saw
the same shadowy figures at a little distance off. I doubled my speed,
hid behind a tree, and as soon as I saw the spies fired a pistol in the
air. I looked round shortly after, saw no one, and went on my way.
I went upstairs and found the nun in bed, with two candles on the table.
"Are you ill?"
"I was ill for a time, but praised be God! I am now quite well, having
given birth to a fine boy at two o'clock this morning."
"Where is the child?"
"Alas! I did but kiss him once, and my good hostess carried him away I
know not where. The Holy Virgin heard my prayers, for my pains, though
sharp, were soon over, and a quarter of an hour after my delivery I was
still sneezing. Tell me whether you are a man or an angel, for I fear
lest I sin in adoring you."
"This is good news indeed. And how about the lay-sister?"
"She still breathes, but we have no hope that she will recover. Her face
is terribly distorted. We have sinned exceedingly, and God will punish me
for it."
"No, dearest, God will forgive you, for the Most Holy judges by the
heart, and in your heart you had no evil thoughts. Adore Divine
Providence, which doeth all things well."
"You console me. The country-woman assures me that you are an angel, for
the powder you gave me delivered me. I shall never forget you, though I
do not know your name."
The woman then came, and I thanked her for the care she had taken of the
invalid. I again warned her to be prudent, and above all to treat the
priest well when the lay-sister breathed her last, and thus he would not
take notice of anything that might involve leer in disaster.
"All will be well," said she, "for no one knows if the lay-sister is well
or ill, or why the lady does not leave her bed."
"What have you done with the child?"
"I took him with my own hands to Anneci, where I bought everything
necessary for the well-being of this lady and for the death of the other
one."
"Doesn't your brother know anything about it?"
"Lord preserve us--no! He went away yesterday, and will not be back for a
week. We have nothing to fear."
I gave her another ten louis, begging her to buy some furniture, and to
get me something to eat by the time I came next day. She said she had
still plenty of money left, and I thought she would go mad when I told
her that whatever was over was her own. I thought the invalid stood in
need of rest, and I left her, promising to return at the same hour on the
following day.
I longed to get this troublesome matter safely over, and I knew that I
could not regard myself as out of the wood till the poor lay-sister was
under the sod. I was in some fear on this account, for if the priest was
not an absolute idiot he must see that the woman had been poisoned.
Next morning I went to see the fair Zeroli, and I found her and her
husband examining the watch he had bought her. He came up to me, took my
hand, and said he was happy that his wife had the power to keep me at
Aix. I replied that it was an easy task for her, and a "bravo" was all he
answered.
The chevalier was one of those men who prefer to pass for good-natured
than foolish husbands. His wife took my arm, and we left him in his room
while we proceeded to the fountain. On the way she said she would be
alone the next day, and that she would no longer indulge her curiosity in
my nocturnal excursions.
"Oh! it is you who have had me followed, is it?"
"No, it is I who followed you, but to no effect. However, I did not think
you were so wicked. You frightened me dreadfully! Do you know, sir, you
might have killed me if your shot had not luckily missed."
"I missed on purpose, dearest; for though I did not suspect that it was
you, I fired in the air, feeling certain that that would be enough to
scare off the spies."
"You won't be troubled with them any more."
"If they like to follow me, perhaps I shall let them, for my walk is
quite innocent. I am always back by ten."
While we were at table we saw a travelling carriage and six horses drawn
up. It was the Marquis de Prie, with a Chevalier de St. Louis and two
charming ladies, of whom one, as the Zeroli hastened to inform me, was
the Marquis's mistress. Four places were laid, and while the newcomers
were waiting to be served, they were told the story of my bet with the
Englishman.
The marquis congratulated me, telling me that he had not hoped to find me
at Aix on his return; and here Madame Zeroli put in her word, and said
that if it had not been for her he would not have seen me again. I was
getting used to her foolish talk, and I could only agree with a good
grace, which seemed to delight her intensely although her husband was
present, but he seemed to share her triumph.
The marquis said that he would make a little bank for me, and feeling
obliged to accept I soon lost a hundred louis. I went to my room to write
some letters, and at twilight I set out to see my nun.
"What news have you?"
"The lay-sister is dead, and she is to be buried tomorrow. To-morrow is
the day we were to have returned to the convent. This is the letter I am
sending to the abbess. She will dispatch another laysister, unless she
orders the country-woman to bring me back to the convent."
"What did the priest say?"
"He said the lay-sister died of a cerebral lethargy, which super-induced
an attack of apoplexy."
"Very good, very good."
"I want him to say fifteen masses for her, if you will let me?"
"Certainly, my dear, they will serve as the priest's reward, or rather as
the reward of his happy ignorance."
I called the peasant woman, and gave her the order to have the masses
said, and bade her tell the priest that the masses were to be said for
the intention of the person who paid for them. She told me that the
aspect of the dead sister was dreadful, and that she had to be guarded by
two women who sprinkled her with holy water, lest witches, under the form
of cats, should come and tear her limb from limb. Far from laughing at
her, I told her she was quite right, and asked where she had got the
laudanum.
"I got it from a worthy midwife, and old friend of mine. We got it to
send the poor lay-sister to sleep when the pains of child-birth should
come on."
"When you put the child at the hospital door, were you recognized?"
"Nobody saw me as I put it into the box, and I wrote a note to say the
child had not been baptized."
"Who wrote the note?"
"I did."
"You will, of course, see that the funeral is properly carried out?"
"It will only cost six francs, and the parson will take that from two
louis which were found on the deceased; the rest will do for masses to
atone for her having had the money."
"What! ought she not to have had the two louis?"
"No," said the nun, "we are forbidden to have any money without the
knowledge of the abbess, under pain of excommunication."
"What did they give you to come here?"
"Ten Savoy sols a day. But now I live like a princess, as you shall see
at supper, for though this worthy woman knows the money you gave her is
for herself she lavishes it on me."
"She knows, dear sister, that such is my intention, and here is some more
to go on with."
So saying I took another ten louis from my purse, and bade the
country-woman spare nothing for the invalid's comfort. I enjoyed the
worthy woman's happiness; she kissed my hands, and told me that I had
made her fortune, and that she could buy some cows now.
As soon as I was alone with the charming nun, whose face recalled to my
memory the happy hours I had passed with M---- M----, my imagination began
to kindle, and drawing close to her I began to talk of her seducer,
telling her I was surprised that he had not helped her in the cruel
position in which he had placed her. She replied that she was debarred
from accepting any money by her vow of poverty and obedience, and that
she had given up to the abbess what remained of the alms the bishop had
procured her.
"As to my state when I was so fortunate as to meet you, I think he cannot
have received my letter."
"Possibly, but is he a rich or handsome man?"
"He is rich but certainly not handsome. On the contrary, he is extremely
ugly, deformed, and over fifty."
"How did you become amorous of a fellow like that?"
"I never loved him, but he contrived to gain my pity. I thought he would
kill himself, and I promised to be in the garden on the night he
appointed, but I only went there with the intention of bidding him
begone, and he did so, but after he had carried his evil designs into
effect."
"Did he use violence towards you, then?"
"No, for that would have been no use. He wept, threw himself on his
knees, and begged so hard, that I let him do what he liked on the
condition that he would not kill himself, and that he would come no more
to the garden."
"Had you no fear of consequences?"
"I did not understand anything about it; I always thought that one could
not conceive under three times at least."
"Unhappy ignorance! how many woes are caused by it! Then he did not ask
you to give him any more assignations?"
"He often asked me, but I would not grant his request because our
confessor made me promise to withstand him thenceforth, if I wished to be
absolved."
"Did you tell him the name of the seducer?"
"Certainly not; the good confessor would not have allowed me to do so; it
would have been a great sin."
"Did you tell your confessor the state you were in?"
"No, but he must have guessed it. He is a good old man, who doubtless
prayed to God for me, and my meeting you was, perhaps, the answer to his
prayers."
I was deeply moved, and for a quarter of an hour I was silent, and
absorbed in my thoughts. I saw that this interesting girl's misfortune
proceeded from her ignorance, her candour, her perfect innocence, and a
foolish feeling of pity, which made her grant this monster of lubricity a
thing of which she thought little because she had never been in love. She
was religious, but from mere habit and not from reflection, and her
religion was consequently very weak. She abhorred sin, because she was
obliged to purge herself of it by confession under pain of everlasting
damnation, and she did not want to be damned. She had plenty of natural
common sense, little wit, for the cultivation of which she had no
opportunities, and she was in a state of ignorance only pardonable in a
nun. On weighing these facts I foresaw that I should find it a difficult
task to gain those favours which she had granted to Coudert; her
repentance had been too bitter for her to expose herself to the same
danger over again.
The peasant woman returned, laid the table for two, and brought us our
supper. Everything was new--napkins, plates, glasses, spoons, knives,
etc., and everything was exquisitely clean. The wines were excellent, and
the dishes delightful in their simplicity. We had roast game, fish,
cheese with cream, and very good fruit. I spent an hour and a half at
supper, and drank two bottles of wine as I talked to the nun, who ate
very little.
I was in the highest spirits, and the woman, delighted with my praise of
her provision, promised I should be served the same way every evening.
When I was alone with the nun, whose face filled me with such burning
recollections, I began to speak of her health, and especially of the
inconveniences attached to child-birth. She said she felt quite well, and
would be able to return to Chamberi on foot. "The only thing that
troubles me is my breasts, but the woman assures me that the milk will
recede to-morrow, and that they will then assume their usual shape."
"Allow me to examine them, I know something about it."
"Look!"
She uncovered her bosom, not thinking it would give me any pleasure, but
wishing to be polite, without supposing I had any concealed desires. I
passed my hands over two spheres whose perfect shape and whiteness would
have restored Lazarus to life. I took care not to offend her modesty, but
in the coolest manner possible asked her how she felt a little lower
down, and as I put the question I softly extended my hand. However, she
kept it back gently, telling me not to go any further as she still felt a
little uneasy. I begged her pardon, and said I hoped I should find
everything quite right by the next day.
"The beauty of your bosom," I added, "makes me take a still greater
interest in you."
So saying I let my mouth meet hers, and I felt a kiss escape as if
involuntarily from her lips. It ran like fire through my veins, my brain
began to whirl, and I saw that unless I took to a speedy flight I should
lose all her confidence. I therefore left her, calling her "dear
daughter" as I bade her farewell.
It poured with rain, and I got soaked through before I reached my
lodging. This was a bath well fitted to diminish the ardour of my
passion, but it made me very late in rising the next morning.
I took out the two portraits of M---- M----, one in a nun's dress, and the
other nude, as Venus. I felt sure they would be of service to me with the
nun.
I did not find the fair Zeroli in her room, so I went to the fountain,
where she reproached me with a tenderness I assessed at its proper value,
and our quarrel was made up in the course of our walk. When dinner was
over the Marquis the Prie made a bank, but as he only put down a hundred
louis I guessed that he wanted to win a lot and lose a little. I put down
also a hundred louis, and he said that it would be better sport if I did
not stake my money on one card only. I replied that I would stake a louis
on each of the thirteen.
"You will lose."
"We will see. Here is my hand on the table, and I stake a louis on each
of the thirteen cards."
According to the laws of probability, I should certainly have lost, but
fate decided otherwise and I won eighty louis. At eight o'clock I bowed
to the company, and I went as usual to the place where my new love dwelt.
I found the invalid ravishing. She said she had had a little fever, which
the country-woman pronounced to be milk fever, and that she would be
quite well and ready to get up by the next day. As I stretched out my
hand to lift the coverlet; she seized it and covered it with kisses,
telling me that she felt as if she must give me that mark of her filial
affection. She was twenty-one, and I was thirty-five. A nice daughter for
a man like me! My feelings for her were not at all of a fatherly
character. Nevertheless, I told her that her confidence in me, as shewn
by her seeing me in bed, increased my affection for her, and that I
should be grieved if I found her dressed in her nun's clothes next day.
"Then I will stop in bed," said she; "and indeed I shall be very glad to
do so, as I experience great discomfort from the heat of my woollen
habit; but I think I should please you more if I were decently dressed;
however, as you like it better, I will stop in bed."
The country-woman came in at that moment, and gave her the abbess' letter
which her nephew had just brought from Chamberi. She read it and gave it
to me. The abbess told her that she would send two lay-sisters to bring
her back to the convent, and that as she had recovered her health she
could come on-foot, and thus save money which could be spent in better
ways. She added that as the bishop was away, and she was unable to send
the lay-sisters without his permission, they could not start for a week
or ten days. She ordered her, under pain of the major excommunication,
never to leave her room, never to speak to any man, not even to the
master of the house, and to have nothing to do with anybody except with
the woman. She ended by saying that she was going to have a mass said for
the repose of the departed sister's soul.
"I am obliged to you for having shewn me this letter, but be pleased to
tell me if I may visit you for the next week or ten days, without doing
hurt to your conscience; for I must tell you I am a man. I have only
stopped in this place because of the lively interest with which you have
inspired me, but if you have the least objection to receive me on account
of the singular excommunication with which you are threatened, I will
leave Aix tomorrow. Speak."
"Sir, our abbess is lavish of these thunders, and I have already incurred
the excommunication with which she threatens me; but I hope it will not
be ratified by God, as my fault has made me happy and not miserable. I
will be sincere with you; your visits are my only joy, and that joy is
doubled when you tell me you like to come. But if you can answer my
question without a breach of confidence, I should like to know for whom
you took me the first time you saw me; you cannot imagine how you
astonished and frightened me. I have never felt such kisses as those you
lavished on me, but they cannot increase my sin as I was not a consenting
party, and you told me yourself that you thought you were kissing
another."
"I will satisfy your curiosity. I think I can do so as you are aware by
this time that the flesh is weak, or rather stronger than the spirit, and
that it compels the strongest intellects to commit faults against right
reason. You shall hear the history of an amour that lasted for two years
with the fairest and the best of all the nuns of Venice."
"Tell me all, sir. I have fallen myself, and I should be cruel and unjust
if I were to take offence at anything you may tell me, for you cannot
have done anything with her that Coudert did not do to me."
"I did much more and much less, for I never gave her a child. If I had
been so unfortunate I should have carried her off to Rome, where we
should have fallen at the feet of the Holy Father, who would have
absolved her from her vows, and my dear M---- M---- would now be my wife."
"Good heavens M---- M---- is my name."
This circumstance, which was really a mere coincidence, rendered our
meeting still more wonderful, and astonished me as much as it did her.
Chance is a curious and fickle element, but it often has the greatest
influence on our lives.
After a brief silence I told her all that had taken place between the
fair Venetian and myself. I painted our amorous combats in a lively and
natural manner, for, besides my recollections, I had her living picture
before my eyes, and I could follow on her features the various emotions
aroused by my recital. When I had finished she said,
"But is your M---- M---- really so like me, that you mistook me for her?"
Drawing from my pocket-book the portrait in which M---- M---- was dressed
as a nun, I gave it to her, saying,
"Judge for yourself."
"She really is; it might pass for my portrait. It is my dress and my
face; it is wonderful. To this likeness I owe all my good fortune. Thanks
be to God that you do not love me as you loved her, whom I am glad to
call my sister. There are indeed two M---- M---- s. Mighty Providence, all
Thy least ways are wonderful, and we are at best poor, weak, ignorant
mortals."
The worthy country-woman came up and have us a still better supper than
on the previous night. The invalid only ate soup, but she promised to do
better by the following evening.
I spent an hour with her after supper, and I convinced her by my reserve
that she had made a mistake in thinking that I only loved her as a
daughter. Of her own accord she shewed me that her breast had regained
its usual condition. I assured myself of the fact by my sense of touch,
to which she made no opposition, not thinking that I could be moved by
such a trifle. All the kisses which I lavished on her lips and eyes she
put down to the friendship for her. She said, smiling, that she thanked
God she was not fair like her sister, and I smiled myself at her
simplicity.
But I could not keep up this sort of thing for long, and I had to be
extremely careful. As soon as I felt that passion was getting the upper
hand, I gave her a farewell kiss and went away. When I got home Le Duc
gave me a note from Madame Zeroli, who said she would expect me at the
fountain, as she was going to breakfast with the marquis's mistress.
I slept well, but in my dreams I saw again and again the face of the new
M---- M----. Next day, as soon as I got to the fountain, Madame Zeroli
told me that all the company maintained that I ought to have lost in
playing on thirteen cards at once, as it was not true that one card won
four times in each deal; however, the marquis, though he agreed with the
rest, had said that he would not let me play like that again.
"I have only one objection to make to that--namely, that if I wanted to
play in the same way again he could only prevent me by fighting for it."
"His mistress swears she will make you play in the usual way."
I smiled, and thanked her for her information.
When I got back to the inn I played a game of quinze with the marquis,
and lost fifty louis; afterwards I let myself be persuaded to hold a
bank. I put down five hundred louis, and defied fortune. Desarmoises was
my croupier, and I warned the company that every card must have the stake
placed on it, and that I should rise at half-past seven. I was seated
between two ladies. I put the five hundred louis on the board, and I got
change from the inn-keeper to the amount of a hundred crowns, to amuse
the ladies with. But something happened. All the cards before me were
loose packs, and I called for new ones. The inn-keeper said he had sent
to Chamberi for a hundred packs, and that the messenger would be back
soon.
"In the meanwhile," said he, "you can use the cards on the table, which
are as good as new."
"I want them new, not as good as new. I have my prejudices, and they are
so strong as to be invincible. In the meanwhile I shall remain a
spectator, though I am sorry to keep the ladies waiting."
Nobody dared say a word, and I rose, after replacing my money in my
cash-box. The Marquis de Prie took the bank, and played splendidly. I
stood beside Madame Zeroli, who made me her partner, and gave me five or
six Louis the next day. The messenger who was to be back soon did not
return till midnight, and I thanked my stars for the escape I had had,
for in such a place, full of professional gamesters, there are people
whose eyes are considerably sharper than a lynx's. I put the money back
in my room, and proceeded on my usual way.
I found my fair nun in bed, and asked her,
"How do you feel to-day, madam?"
"Say daughter, that name is so sweet to me that I would you were my
father that I might clasp you in my arms without fearing anyone."
"Well, my dear daughter, do not fear anything, but open your arms to me."
"I will; we will embrace one another."
"My little ones are prettier than they were yesterday let me suck them."
"You silly papa, you are drinking your daughter's milk."
"It is so sweet, darling, and the little drop I tasted has made me feel
so happy. You cannot be angry at my enjoying this harmless privilege."
"Of course I am not angry; you delighted me. But I shall have to call you
baby, not papa."
"How glad I am to find you in better spirits to-night!"
"You have 'given me back my happiness, and I feel at peace once more. The
country-woman told me that in a few days I should be just the same as if
I had never seen Coudert."
"That is not quite true; how about your stomach, for instance?"
"Be quiet; you can't know anything about such things, and I am quite
astonished myself."
"Let me see."
"Oh, no; you mustn't see, but you may feel."
"All right."
"Oh! please don't go there."
"Why not? You can't be made differently from your sister, who would be
now about thirty. I want to shew you her portrait naked."
"Have you got it with you? I should so like to see it."
I drew it out and gave it to her. She admired it, kissed it, and asked me
if the painter had followed nature in all respects.
"Certainly," said I. "She knew that such a picture would give me
pleasure."
"It is very fine. It is more like me than the other picture. But I
suppose the long hair is only put in to please you?"
"Not at all. Italian nuns are allowed to wear their hair as long as they
please, provided they do not shew it.
"We have the same privilege. Our hair is cut once, and then we may let it
grow as long as we like."
"Then you have long hair?"
"As long as in the picture; but you would not like my hair as it is
black."
"Why, black is my favourite colour. In the name of God, let me see it."
"You ask me in God's name to commit a sin; I shall incur another
excommunication, but I cannot refuse you anything. You shall see my hair
after supper, as I don't want to scandalize the countrywoman."
"You are right; I think you are the sweetest of your sex. I shall die of
grief when you leave this cottage to return to your sad prison."
"I must indeed return and do penance for my sins."
"I hope you have the wit to laugh at the abbess's silly
excommunications?"
"I begin not to dread them so much as I used to."
"I am delighted to hear it, as I see you will make me perfectly happy
after supper."
The country-woman came up, and I gave her another ten louis; but it
suddenly dawned upon me that she took me for a madman. To disabuse her of
this idea I told her that I was very rich, and that I wanted to make her
understand that I could not give her enough to testify my gratitude to
her for the care she had taken of the good nun. She wept, kissed my hand,
and served us a delicious supper. The nun ate well and drank
indifferently, but I was in too great a hurry to see the beautiful black
hair of this victim to her goodness of heart, and I could not follow her
example. The one appetite drove out the other.
As soon as we were relieved of the country-woman's presence, she removed
her hood, and let a mass of ebon hair fall upon her alabaster shoulders,
making a truly ravishing contrast. She put the portrait before her, and
proceeded to arrange her hair like the first M---- M----.
"You are handsomer than your sister," said I, "but I think she was more
affectionate than you."
"She may have been more affectionate, but she had not a better heart."
"She was much more amorous than you."
"I daresay; I have never been in love."
"That is strange; how about your nature and the impulse of the senses?"
"We arrange all that easily at the convent. We accuse ourselves to the
confessor, for we know it is a sin, but he treats it as a childish fault,
and absolves us without imposing any penances."
"He knows human nature, and makes allowances for your sad position."
"He is an old man, very learned, and of ascetic habits, but he is all
indulgence. It will be a sad day when we lose him."
"But in your amorous combats with another nun, don't you feel as if you
would like her to change into a man?"
"You make me laugh. To be sure, if my sweetheart became a man I should
not be sorry, but we do not desire such a miracle."
"That is, perhaps, through a coldness of temperament. In that your sister
was better, for she liked me much more than C---- C----, and you do not
like me as well as the sweetheart you left behind you at the convent."
"Certainly not, for with you I should violate my own chastity and expose
myself to consequences I tremble to think of."
"You do not love me, then?"
"What are you saying? I adore you, and I am very sorry you are not a
woman."
"I love you too, but your desire makes me laugh; for I would rather not
be turned into a woman to please you, especially as I expect I should not
think you nearly as beautiful. Sit down, my dear, and let me see your
fine hair flowing over your beautiful body."
"Do you want me to take off my chemise?"
"Of course; how handsome you look without it. Let me suck your pretty
breasts, as I am your baby."
She granted me this privilege, and looking at me with a face full of
pleasure, she allowed me to press her naked body to my breast, not
seeing, or pretending not to see, the acuteness of my enjoyment. She then
said,
"If such delights as these were allowed friendship, I should say it is
better than love; for I have never experienced so great pleasure as when
you put your lips to my bosom. Let me do the same to you."
"I wish you could, but you will find nothing there."
"Never mind; it will amuse us."
After she had fulfilled her desire, we spent a quarter of an hour in
mutual embraces, and my excitement was more than I could bear.
"Tell me truly," said I, "amidst our kisses, amidst these ecstacies which
we call child-like, do you not feel a desire for something more?"
"I confess that I do, but such desires are sinful; and as I am sure that
your passions are as high as mine, I think we had better stop our
agreeable employment; for, papa dear, our friendship is becoming burning
love, is it not?"
"Yes, love, and love that cannot be overcome."
"I know it."
"If you know it, let us perform to love the sweetest of all sacrifices."
"No, no; on the contrary, let us stop and be more prudent in the future,
lest we become the victims of love. If you love me, you should say so
too."
With these words she slipped gently from my arms, put back her beautiful
hair under her cap, and when I had helped her on with her chemise, the
coarseness of which horrified me, I told her she might calm herself. I
told her how sorry I felt to see her delicate body frayed by so coarse a
stuff, and she told me it was of the usual material, and that all the
nuns wore chemises of the same kind.
My mind was in a state of consternation, for the constraint I had imposed
on myself seemed much greater than the utmost pleasure I could have
gained. I neither determined on persevering in nor on abandoning the
pursuit; all I wanted was to be sure that I should not encounter the
least resistance. A folded rose-leaf spoilt the repose of the famous
Smindyrides, who loved a soft bed. I preferred, therefore, to go away,
than to risk finding the rose-leaf which troubled the voluptuous
Sybarite. I left the cottage in love and unhappy, and as I did not go to
bed till two o'clock in the morning I slept till mid-day.
When I woke up Le Duc gave me a note which he should have given me the
night before. He had forgotten it, and I was not sorry. The note came
from Madame Zeroli, who said she would expect me at nine o'clock in the
morning, as she would be alone. She told me that she was going to give a
supper-party, that she was sure I would come, and that as she was leaving
Aix directly after, she counted on my coming too--at any rate, as far as
Chamberi. Although I still liked her, her pretensions made me laugh. It
was too late now to be with her at nine, I could not go to her
supper-party because of my fair nun, whom I would not have left just then
for the seraglio of the Grand Turk; and it was impossible for me to
accompany her to Chamberi, as when I came back I might no longer find the
only object which kept me at Aix.
However, as soon as I had finished dressing, I went to see her and found
her furious. I excused myself by saying that I had only had her letter
for an hour, but she went away without giving me time to tell her that I
could not sup with her or go to Chamberi with her. She scowled at me at
table, and when the meal was over the Marquis de Prie told me that they
had some new cards, and that everybody was longing to see me make a bank.
I went for my money, and I made a bank of five hundred louis. At seven
o'clock I had lost more than half that sum, but for all that I put the
rest in my pocket and rose from the table.
After a sad glance in the direction of Madame Zeroli I went to the
cottage, where I found my angel in a large new bed, with a small but
pretty bed beside it which was meant for me. I laughed at the incongruity
of these pieces of furniture with our surroundings, but by way of
thanking the thoughtful country-woman I drew fifty louis from my purse
and gave them to her, telling her it was for the remainder of the time
the lady was with her, and I told her to spend no more money in
furniture.
This was done in true gamester fashion. I had lost nearly three hundred
louis, but I had risked more than five hundred, and I looked on the
difference as pure profit. If I had gained as much as I had lost I should
probably have contented myself with giving her ten louis, but I fancied I
was losing the fifty louis on a card. I have always liked spending money,
but I have never been careless with it except in gaming.
I was in an ecstasy to see the face of my M---- M---- light up with delight
and astonishment.
"You must be very rich," said she.
"Don't think it, dearest, but I love you passionately; and not being able
to give you anything by reason of your unfortunate vow of poverty, I
lavish what I possess on this worthy woman, to induce her to spare
nothing for your comfort while you are here. Perhaps, too--though it is
not a definite thought--I hope that it will make you love me more."
"How can I love you more than I do? The only thing that makes me unhappy
is the idea of returning to the convent."
"But you told me yesterday that it was exactly that idea which made you
happy."
"I have changed my mind since yesterday. I passed a cruel night, for as
soon as I fell asleep I was in your arms, and I awoke again and again on
the point of consummating the greatest of crimes."
"You did not go through such a struggle before committing the same crime
with a man you did--not love."
"It is exactly because I did not love him that my sin struck me as
venial. Do you understand what I mean?"
"It's a piece of superstitious metaphysics, but I understand you
perfectly."
"You have made me happy, and I feel very grateful to you, and I feel glad
and certain of conquering when I reflect that your situation is different
to mine."
"I will not dispute it with you, although I am sorry for what you say."
"Why?"
"Because you think yourself in duty bound to refuse caresses which would
not hurt you, and which would give me new life and happiness."
"I have thought it over."
"Are you weeping?"
"Yes, and what is more, these tears are dear to me."
"I do not understand."
"I have two favours to ask of you."
"Say on, and be sure you will obtain what you ask."
CHAPTER XXI
End of My Adventure with the Nun from Chamberi--My Flight
from Aix
"Yesterday," said the charming nun, "you left in my hands the two
portraits of my Venetian sister. I want you to give them to me."
"They are yours."
"I thank you. My second favour is, that you will be good enough to take
my portrait in exchange; you shall have it to-morrow."
"I shall be delighted. It will be the most precious of all my jewels, but
I wonder how you can ask me to take it as a favour, whereas you are doing
me a favour I should never have dared to demand. How shall I make myself
worthy of giving you my portrait?"
"Ah, dearest! it would be a dear possession, but God preserve me from
having it at the convent!"
"I will get myself painted under the costume of St. Louis of Gonzaga, or
St. Anthony of Padua."
"I shall be damned eternally."
"We will say no more about it."
She had on a dimity corset, trimmed with red ribbon, and a cambric
chemise. I was surprised, but politeness did not allow me to ask where
they came from, so I contented myself with staring at them. She guessed
my thoughts, and said, smilingly, that it was a present from the
countrywoman.
"Seeing her fortune made, the worthy woman tries every possible way to
convince her benefactor that she is grateful to him. Look at the bed; she
was certainly thinking of you, and look at these fine materials. I
confess I enjoy their softness extremely. I shall sleep better to-night
if I am not plagued by those seductive dreams which tormented me last
night."
"Do you think that the bed and the fine linen will deliver you from the
dreams you fear?"
"No doubt they will have a contrary effect, for softness irritates the
passions. I shall leave everything with the good woman. I do not know
what they would say if I took them with me to the convent."
"You are not so comfortable there?"
"Oh, no! A straw bed, a couple of blankets, and sometimes, as a great
favour, a thin mattress and two coarse sheets. But you seem sad; you were
so happy yesterday."
"How can I be happy when I can no longer toy with you without making you
unhappy."
"You should have said without giving me the greatest delight."
"Then will you consent to receive pleasure in return for that which you
give me?"
"But yours is innocent and mine is not."
"What would you do, then, if mine and yours were the same?"
"You might have made me wretched yesterday, for I could not have refused
you anything."
"Why wretched? You would have had none of those dreams, but would have
enjoyed a quiet night. I am very sorry the peasant woman has given you
that corset, as otherwise I might at least have seen my little pets
without fear of bad dreams."
"But you must not be angry with the good woman, for she knows that a
corset is easy to unlace. And I cannot bear to see you sad."
With these words she turned her ardent gaze upon me, and I covered her
with kisses which she returned with interest. The country-woman came up
to lay the pretty new table, just as I was taking off her corset without
her offering the least resistance.
This good omen put me in high spirits, but as I looked at her I saw a
shadow passing across her face. I took care not to ask her the reason,
for I guessed what was the matter, and I did not wish to discuss those
vows which religion and honour should have made inviolable. To distract
her mind from these thoughts, I made her eat by the example I set, and
she drank the excellent claret with as much pleasure as I, not thinking
that as she was not used to it it would put her in a frame of mind not
favourable to continence. But she did not notice this, for her gaiety
made her look prettier than before, and aroused her passions.
When we were alone I congratulated her on her high spirits, telling her
that my sadness had fled before her gaiety, and that the hours I could
spend with her would be all too short.
"I should be blithe," said she, "if it were only to please you."
"Then grant me the favour you accorded me yesterday evening."
"I would rather incur all the excommunications in the world than run the
risk of appearing unjust to you. Take me."
So saying, she took off her cap, and let down her beautiful hair. I
unlaced her corset, and in the twinkling of an eye I had before me such a
siren as one sees on the canvas of Correggio. I could not look upon her
long without covering her with my burning kisses, and, communicating my
ardour, before long she made a place for me beside herself. I felt that
there was no time for thinking, that nature had spoken out, and that love
bade me seize the opportunity offered by that delicious weakness. I threw
myself on her, and with my lips glued to hers I pressed her between my
amorous arms, pending the moment of supreme bliss.
But in the midst of these joys, she turned her head, closed her eyelids,
and fell asleep. I moved away a little, the better to contemplate the
treasures that love displayed before me. The nun slept, as I thought; but
even if her sleep was feigned, should I be angry with her for the
stratagem? Certainly not; true or feigned, the sleep of a loved one
should always be respected by a delicate lover, although there are some
pleasures he may allow himself. If the sleep is real there is no harm
done, and if it is put on the lover only responds to the lady's desires.
All that is necessary is so to manage one's caresses that they are
pleasant to the beloved object. But M---- M---- was really asleep; the
claret had numbed her senses, and she had yielded to its influence
without any ulterior motives. While I gazed at her I saw that she was
dreaming. Her lips uttered words of which I could not catch the meaning,
but her voluptuous aspect told me of what she dreamt. I took off my
clothes; and in two minutes I had clasped her fair body to mine, not
caring much whether she slept on or whether I awoke her and brought our
drama to a climax, which seemed inevitable.
I was not long uncertain, for the instinctive movements she made when she
felt the minister that would fain accomplish the sacrifice at the door of
the sanctuary, convinced me that her dream still lasted, and that I could
not make her happier than by changing it into reality. I delicately moved
away all obstacles, and gently and by degrees consummated this sweet
robbery, and when at last I abandoned myself to all the force of passion,
she awoke with a sigh of bliss, murmuring,
"Ah! it is true then."
"Yes, my angel! are you happy?"
For all reply she drew me to her and fastened her lips on mine, and thus
we awaited the dawn of day, exhausting all imaginable kinds of pleasure,
exciting each other's desires, and only wishing to prolong our enjoyment.
"Alas!" said she, "I am happy now, but you must leave me till the
evening. Let us talk of our happiness, and enjoy it over again."
"Then you do not repent having made me a happy man?"
"No; it is you who have made me happy. You are an angel from heaven. We
loved, we crowned our love; I cannot have done aught to offend God. I am
free from all my fears. We have obeyed nature and our destinies. Do you
love me still?"
"Can you ask me? I will shew you to-night."
I dressed myself as quickly as possible while we talked of our love, and
I left her in bed, bidding her rest.
It was quite light when I got home. Le Duc had not gone to bed, and gave
me a letter from the fair Zeroli, telling me that it had been delivered
at eleven o'clock. I had not gone to her supper, and I had not escorted
her to Chamberi; I had not had time to give her a moment's thought. I was
sorry, but I could not do anything. I opened her letter which consisted
of only six lines, but they were pregnant ones. She advised me never to
go to Turin, for if I went there she would find means to take vengeance
on me for the dastardly affront I had put upon her. She reproached me
with having put her to public shame, said I had dishonoured her, and
vowed she would never forgive me. I did not distress myself to any great
extent; I tore up the friendly missive, and after I had had my hair done
I went to the fountain.
Everybody flew at me for not having been at Madame Zeroli's supper. I
defended myself as best I could, but my excuses were rather tame, about
which I did not trouble myself. I was told that all was known, and this
amused me as I was aware that nothing was known. The marquis's mistress
took hold of my arm, and told me, without any circumlocution, that I had
the reputation of being inconstant, and by way of reply I observed
politely that I was wrongfully accused, but that if there was any ground
for the remark it was because I had never served so sweet a lady as
herself. She was flattered by my compliment, and I bit my lip when I
heard her ask in the most gracious manner why I did not breakfast
sometimes with the marquis.
"I was afraid of disturbing him," said I.
"How do you mean?"
"I should be interrupting him in his business."
"He has no business, and he would be delighted to see you. Come
to-morrow, he always breakfasts in my room."
This lady was the widow of a gentleman of quality; she was young,
undoubtedly pretty, and possessing in perfection the jargon of good
society; nevertheless, she did not attract me. After recently enjoying
the fair Zeroli, and finding my suit with the fair nun at the height of
its prosperity, I was naturally hard to please, and in plain words--I was
perfectly contented with my situation. For all that, I had foolishly
placed myself in such a position that I was obliged to give her to
understand that she had delighted me by her preference.
She asked the marquis if she could return to the inn.
"Yes," said he, "but I have some business in hand, and cannot come with
you."
"Would you be kind enough to escort me?" said she to me. I bowed in
assent.
On the way she told me that if Madame Zeroli were still there she would
not have dared to take my arm. I could only reply by equivocating, as I
had no wish to embark in a fresh intrigue. However, I had no choice; I
was obliged to accompany her to her room and sit down beside her; but as
I had had no sleep the night before I felt tired and began to yawn, which
was not flattering for the lady. I excused myself to the best of my
ability, telling her that I was ill, and she believed me or pretended to
believe me. But I felt sleep stealing upon me, and I should have
infallibly dropped off if it had not been for my hellebore, which kept me
awake by making me sneeze.
The marquis came in, and after a thousand compliments he proposed a game
of quinze. I begged him to excuse me, and the lady backed me up, saying I
could not possibly play in the midst of such a sneezing fit. We went down
to dinner, and afterwards I easily consented to make a bank, as I was
vexed at my loss of the day before. As usual I staked five hundred louis,
and about seven o'clock, though two-thirds of the bank had gone, I
announced the last deal. The marquis and two other heavy gamesters then
endeavoured to break the bank, but fortune turned, and I not only got
back my losses but won three hundred Louis besides. Thereupon I rose,
promising the company to begin again next day. All the ladies had won, as
Desarmoises had orders to let them play as they liked up to a certain
limit.
I locked up my money, and warning my faithful Spaniard that I should not
be coming back, I went to my idol, having got wet through on the way, and
being obliged to undress as soon as I arrived. The good woman' of the
house took care to dry my clothes.
I found the fair nun dressed in her religious habit, and lying on the
small bed.
"Why are you not in your own bed, dearest?"
"Because I feel quite well again, my darling, and I wished to sup with
you at table. We will go to bed afterwards, if that will give you any
pleasure."
"It will give me pleasure if you share in my delight."
"Alas! I am undone, and I shall doubtless die when I have to leave you."
"Do not leave me, sweetheart; come with me to Rome; and leave the matter
in my hands. I will make you my wife, and we will live happily together
ever after."
"That would be too great a bliss, but I could never make up my mind to
it; say no more about it."
I was sure of spending a delicious night--in the possession of all her
charms, and we stayed an hour at table, seasoning the dishes with sweet
converse. When we had done, the woman came up, gave her a packet, and
went away again, wishing us good night.
"What does this packet contain, darling?"
"It is the present I have got for you-my portrait, but you must not see
it till I am in bed."
"I will indulge you in that fancy, although I am very curious to see the
portrait."
"You will say I am right afterwards."
I wanted to undress her myself, and she submitted like a lamb. When she
was in bed, she opened the packet, and shewed me her portrait, naked, and
very like the naked portrait of M---- M----. I praised the painter for the
excellence of the copy he had made; nothing was altered but the colour of
the hair and eyes.
"It isn't a copy," she said, "there would not have been time. He only
made the eyes and hair black, and the latter more abundant. Thus you have
in it a portrait of the first and also of the second M---- M----, in whom
you must forget the first. She has also vanished from the clothed
portrait, for you see the nun has black eyes. I could shew this picture
to anyone as my portrait."
"You do not know how precious your present is to me! Tell me, dearest,
how you succeeded in carrying out your plan so well."
"I told the country-woman about it yesterday morning, and she said that
she had a foster-son at Anneci, who was a miniature painter. Through him
she sent the two miniatures to a more skilful painter at Geneva, who made
the change you see for four or five Louis; he was probably able to do it
in two or three hours. I entrusted the two portraits to him, and you see
how well he did his work. The woman has no doubt just received them, and
to-morrow she may be able to tell you more about it."
"She is really a wonderful woman. I will indemnify her for the expense.
But now tell me why you did not want me to see the portrait before you
were in bed?"
"Guess."
"Because I can now see you in the same posture as that in which you are
represented."
"Exactly."
"It is an excellent idea; only love can have given it you. But you must
wait till I am in the same state."
When we were both in a state of nature, exactly like Adam and Eve before
they tasted the fatal apple, I placed her in the position of the
portrait, and guessing my intention from my face she opened her arms for
me to come to her; but I asked her to wait a moment, for I had a little
packet too, which contained something she would like. I then drew from my
pocket-book a little article of transparent skin, about eight inches
long, with one opening, which was ornamented with a red rosette. I gave
her this preventive sheath, and she looked, admired, and laughed loudly,
asking me if I had used such articles with her Venetian sister. "I will
put it on myself; you don't know how I shall enjoy it. Why didn't you use
one last night? How could you have forgotten it? Well, I shall be very
wretched if anything comes of it. What shall I do in four or five months,
when my condition becomes past doubt?"
"Dearest, the only thing to do is not to think of it, for if the damage
is done, there is no cure for it; but from my experience and knowledge of
the laws of nature I expect that our sweet combats of last night will
probably have no troublesome consequences. It has been stated that after
child-birth a woman cannot conceive afresh without having seen something
which I expect you have not seen."
"No, God be thanked!"
"Good. Then let us not give any thought to the dismal future lest we lose
our present bliss."
"I am quite comforted; but I can't understand why you are afraid to-day
of what you were not afraid yesterday; my state is the same."
"The event has sometimes given the lie to the most eminent physicians.
Nature, wiser than they, has exceptions to her rules, let us not defy
them for the future, but let us not trouble ourselves if we have defied
there in the past."
"I like to hear you talk so sagely. Yes, we will be prudent whatever it
costs. There you are, hooded like a mother abbess, but in spite of the
fineness of the sheath I like the little fellow better quite naked. I
think that this covering degrades us both."
"You are right, it does. But let us not dwell on these ideas which will
only spoil our pleasure."
"We will enjoy our pleasure directly; let me be reasonable now, for I
have never thought of these matters before. Love must have invented these
little sheaths, but it must first have listened to the voice of prudence,
and I do not like to see love and prudence allied."
"The correctness of your arguments surprises me, but we will philosophize
another time."
"Wait a minute. I have never seen a man before, and I have never wished
to enjoy the sight as much as now. Ten months ago I should have called
that article an invention of the devil; but now I look upon the inventor
as a benefactor, for if my wretched hump-back had provided himself with
such a sheath he would not have exposed me to the danger of losing my
honour and my life. But, tell me, how is that the makers of these things
remain unmolested; I wonder they are not found out, excommunicated, or
heavily fined, or even punished corporeally, if they are Jews as I
expect. Dear me, the maker of this one must have measured you badly!
Look! it is too large here, and too small there; it makes you into a
regular curve. What a stupid the fellow must be, he can't know his own
trade! But what is that?"
"You make me laugh; it's all your fault. You have been feeling and
fondling, and you see the natural consequence. I knew it would be so."
"And you couldn't keep it back a minute. It is going on now. I am so
sorry; it is a dreadful pity."
"There is not much harm done, so console yourself."
"How can I? you are quite dead. How can you laugh?"
"At your charming simplicity. You shall see in a moment that your charms
will give me new life which I shall not lose so easily."
"Wonderful! I couldn't have believed it!"
I took off the sheath, and gave her another, which pleased her better, as
it seemed to fit me better, and she laughed for joy as she put it on. She
knew nothing of these wonders. Her thoughts had been bound in chains, and
she could not discover the truth before she knew me; but though she was
scarcely out of Egypt she shewed all the eagerness of an enquiring and
newly emancipated spirit. "But how if the rubbing makes the sheath fall
off?" said she. I explained to her that such an accident could scarcely
happen, and also told her of what material the English made these
articles.
After all this talking, of which my ardour began to weary, we abandoned
ourselves to love, then to sleep, then to love again, and so on
alternately till day-break. As I was leaving, the woman of the house told
us that the painter had asked four louis, and that she had give two louis
to her foster-son. I gave her twelve, and went home, where I slept till
morn, without thinking of breakfasting with the Marquis de Prie, but I
think I should have given him some notice of my inability to come. His
mistress sulked with me all dinner-time, but softened when I allowed
myself to be persuaded into making a bank. However, I found she was
playing for heavy stakes, and I had to check her once or twice, which
made her so cross that she went to hide her ill-temper in a corner of the
hall. However, the marquis won, and I was losing, when the taciturn Duke
of Rosebury, his tutor Smith, and two of his fellow-countrymen, arrived
from Geneva. He came up to me and said, "How do you do?" and without
another word began to play, inviting his companions to follow his
example.
Seeing my bank in the last agony I sent Le Duc to my room for the
cash-box, whence I drew out five rolls of a hundred louis each. The
Marquis de Prie said, coolly, that he wouldn't mind being my partner, and
in the same tone I begged to be excused. He continued punting without
seeming to be offended at my refusal and when I put down the cards and
rose from the table he had won two hundred louis; but all the others had
lost, especially one of the Englishmen, so that I had made a profit of a
thousand louis. The marquis asked me if I would give him chocolate in my
room next morning, and I replied that I should be glad to see him. I
replaced my cash-box in my room, and proceeded to the cottage, pleased
with the day's work and feeling inclined to crown it with love.
I found my fair friend looking somewhat sad, and on my enquiring the
reason she told me that a nephew of the country-woman's, who had come
from Chamberi that morning, had told her that he had heard from a
lay-sister of the same convent, whom he knew, that two sisters would
start at day-break in two days' time to fetch her; this sad news, she
said, had made her tears flow fast.
"But the abbess said the sisters could not start before ten days had
expired."
"She must have changed her mind."
"Sorrow intrudes into our happy state. Will you be my wife? Will you
follow me to Rome and receive absolution from your vows. You may be sure
that I shall have a care for your happiness."
"Nay, I have lived long enough; let me return to my tomb."
After supper I told the good woman that if she could rely on her nephew,
she would do well to send him at once to Chamberi with orders to return
directly the lay-sisters started, and to endeavour to reach Aix two hours
before them. She told me that I might reckon on the young man's silence,
and on his carrying out my orders. I quieted in this way the charming
nun's alarm, and got into bed with her, feeling sad though amorous; and
on the pretext that she required rest I left her at midnight, as I wanted
to be at home in the morning since I had an engagement with the marquis.
In due course he arrived with his mistress, two other ladies, and their
husbands or lovers.
I did not limit myself to giving them chocolate; my breakfast consisted
of all the luxuries the place afforded. When I had got rid of my
troublesome company, I told Le Duc to shut my door, and to tell everybody
that I was ill in bed and could not see any visitors. I also warned him
that I should be away for two days, and that he must not leave my room a
moment till I came back. Having made these arrangements, I slipped away
unperceived and went to my mistress, resolved not to leave her till half
an hour before the arrival of the lay-sisters.
When she saw me and heard that I was not going to leave her till she went
away, she jumped for joy; and we conceived the idea of not having any
dinner that we might enjoy our supper the better.
"We will go to bed after supper," said she, "and will not get up till the
messenger brings the fatal news that the lay-sisters have started."
I thought the idea an excellent one, and I called the woman of the house
to tell her of our arrangements, and she promised to see that we were not
disturbed.
We did not find the time long, for two passionate lovers find plenty to
talk about since their talk is of themselves. And besides our caresses,
renewed again and again, there was something so mysterious and solemn in
our situation that our souls and our senses were engaged the whole time.
After a supper which would have pleased a Lucullus, we spent twelve hours
in giving each other proofs, of our passionate love, sleeping after our
amorous struggles, and waking only to renew the fight. The next day we
rose to refresh ourselves, and after a good dinner, mashed down by some
excellent Burgundy, we went to bed again; but at four the country-woman
came to tell us that the lay-sisters would arrive about six. We had
nothing now to look for in the future, the die was cast, and we began our
farewell caresses. I sealed the last with my blood. My first
M---- M---- had seen it, and my second rightly saw it also. She was
frightened, but I calmed her fears. I then rose, and taking a roll
containing fifty louis I begged her to keep them for me, promising to
come for them in two years, and take them from her hands through the
grating of her terrible prison. She spent the last quarter of an hour in
tears, and mine were only restrained lest I should add to her grief. I
cut off a piece of her fleece and a lock of her beautiful hair, promising
her always to bear them next my heart.
I left her, telling the country-woman that she should see me again the
next day, and I went to bed as soon as I got home. Next morning I was on
the way to Chamberi. At a quarter of a league's distance from Aix I saw
my angel slowly walking along. As soon as the lay-sisters were near
enough they asked an alms in the name of God. I gave them a Louis, but my
saint did not look at me.
With a broken heart I went to the good countrywoman, who told me that
M---- M---- had gone at day-break, bidding her to remind me of the convent
grating. I kissed the Worthy woman, and I gave her nephew all the loose
silver I had about me, and returning to the inn I had my luggage put on
to the carriage, and would have started that moment if I had had any
horses. But I had two hours to wait, and I went and bade the marquis
farewell. He was out, but his mistress was in the room by herself. On my
telling her of my departure, she said,
"Don't go, stay with me a couple of days longer."
"I feel the honour you are conferring on me, but business of the greatest
importance obliges me to be gone forthwith."
"Impossible," said the lady, as she went to a glass the better to lace
herself, shewing me a superb breast. I saw her design, but I determined
to baulk her. She then put one foot upon a couch to retie her garter, and
when she put up the other foot I saw beauties more enticing than Eve's
apple. It was nearly all up with me, when the marquis came in. He
proposed a little game of quinze, and his mistress asked me to be her
partner. I could not escape; she sat next to me, and I had lost forty
Louis by dinner-time.
"I owe you twenty," said the lady, as we were going down.
At dessert Le Duc came to tell me that my carriage was at the door, and I
got up, but under the pretence of paying me the twenty louis the
marquis's mistress made me come with her to her room.
When we were there she addressed me in a serious and supplicating voice,
telling me that if I went she would be dishonoured, as everybody knew
that she had engaged to make me stay.
"Do I look worthy of contempt?" said she, making me sit down upon the
sofa.
Then with a repetition of her tactics in the morning she contrived that I
should see everything. Excited by her charms I praised her beauties, I
kissed, I touched; she let herself fall on me, and looked radiant when
her vagrant hand found palpable proof of her powers of attraction.
"I promise to be yours to-morrow, wait till then."
Not knowing how to refuse, I said I would keep her to her word, and would
have my horses taken out. Just then the marquis came in, saying he would
give me my revenge and without answering I went downstairs as if to come
back again, but I ran out of the inn, got into my carriage, and drove
off, promising a good fee to the postillion if he would put his horses at
a gallop.
MEMOIRS OF JACQUES CASANOVA de SEINGALT 1725-1798
VOLUME 4 -- ADVENTURES IN THE SOUTH,
VOLUME 16 -- DEPART SWITZERLAND
[Illustration: Cover 4]
[Illustration: Titlepage 4]
CHAPTER I
The Door--Keeper's Daughters--The Horoscopes--Mdlle. Roman
The idea of the sorry plight in which I had left the Marquis de Prie, his
mistress, and perhaps all the company, who had undoubtedly coveted the
contents of my cash-box, amused me till I reached Chamberi, where I only
stopped to change horses. When I reached Grenoble, where I intended to
stay a week, I did not find my lodging to my liking, and went in my
carriage to the post-office, where I found several letters, amongst
others, one from Madame d'Urfe, enclosing a letter of introduction to an
officer named Valenglard, who, she told me, was a learned man, and would
present me at all the best houses in the town.
I called on this officer and received a cordial welcome. After reading
Madame d'Urfe's letter he said he was ready to be useful to me in
anything I pleased.
He was an amiable, middle aged man, and fifteen years before had been
Madame d'Urfe's friend, and in a much more intimate degree the friend of
her daughter, the Princess de Toudeville. I told him that I was
uncomfortable at the inn, and that the first service I would ask of him
would be to procure me a comfortable lodging. He rubbed his head, and
said,--
"I think I can get you rooms in a beautiful house, but it is outside the
town walls. The door-keeper is an excellent cook, and for the sake of
doing your cooking I am sure he will lodge you for nothing."
"I don't wish that," said I.
"Don't be afraid," said the baron, "he will make it up by means of his
dishes; and besides, the house is for sale and costs him nothing. Come
and see it."
I took a suite of three rooms and ordered supper for two, warning the man
that I was dainty, liked good things, and did not care for the cost. I
also begged M. de Valenglard to sup with me. The doorkeeper said that if
I was not pleased with his cooking I had only to say so, and in that case
I should have nothing to pay. I sent for my carriage, and felt that I had
established myself in my new abode. On the ground floor I saw three
charming girls and the door-keeper's wife, who all bowed profoundly. M.
de Valenglard took me to a concert with the idea of introducing me to
everybody, but I begged him not to do so, as I wished to see the ladies
before deciding which of them I should like to know.
The company was a numerous one, especially where women were concerned,
but the only one to attract my attention was a pretty and modest-looking
brunette, whose fine figure was dressed with great simplicity. Her
charming eyes, after having thrown one glance in my direction,
obstinately refused to look at me again. My vanity made me conclude at
once that she behaved thus only to increase my desire of knowing her, and
to give me plenty of time to examine her side-face and her figure, the
proportions of which were not concealed by her simple attire. Success
begets assurance, and the wish is father to the thought. I cast a hungry
gaze on this young lady without more ado, just as if all the women in
Europe were only a seraglio kept for my pleasures. I told the baron I
should like to know her.
"She is a good girl," said he, "who sees no company, and is quite poor."
"Those are three reasons which make me the more anxious to know her."
"You will really find nothing to do in that quarter."
"Very good."
"There is her aunt, I will introduce you to her as we leave the
concert-room."
After doing me this service, he came to sup with me. The door-keeper and
cook struck me as being very like Lebel. He made his two pretty daughters
wait on me, and I saw that Valenglard was delighted at having lodged me
to my satisfaction, but he grumbled when he saw fifteen dishes.
"He is making a fool of you and me," he said.
"On the contrary, he has guessed my tastes. Don't you think everything
was very good?"
"I don't deny it, but . . . . "
"Don't be afraid; I love spending my money."
"I beg your pardon, I only want you to be pleased."
We had exquisite wines, and at dessert some ratafia superior to the
Turkish 'visnat' I had tasted seventeen years before at Yussuf Ali's.
When my landlord came up at the end of supper, I told him that he ought
to be Louis XV.'s head cook.
"Go on as you have begun, and do better if you can; but let me have your
bill every morning."
"You are quite right; with such an arrangement one can tell how one is
getting on."
"I should like you always to give me ices, and you must let me have two
more lights. But, unless I am mistaken, those are candles that I see. I
am a Venetian, and accustomed to wax lights."
"That is your servant's fault, sir."
"How is that?"
"Because, after eating a good supper, he went to bed, saying he was ill.
Thus I heard nothing as to how you liked things done."
"Very good, you shall learn from my own lips."
"He asked my wife to make chocolate for you tomorrow morning; he gave her
the chocolate, I will make it myself."
When he had left the room M. de Valenglard said, in a manner that was at
the same time pleased and surprised, that Madame d'Urfe had been
apparently joking in telling him to spare me all expense.
"It's her goodness of heart. I am obliged to her all the same. She is an
excellent woman."
We stayed at table till eleven o'clock, discussing in numerable pleasant
topics, and animating our talk with that choice liqueur made at Grenoble,
of which we drank a bottle. It is composed of the juice of cherries,
brandy, sugar, and cinnamon, and cannot be surpassed, I am sure, by the
nectar of Olympus.
I sent home the baron in my carriage, after thanking him for his
services, and begging him to be my companion early and late while I
stayed at Grenoble--a re quest which he granted excepting for those days
on which he was on duty. At supper I had given him my bill of exchange on
Zappata, which I endorsed with the name de Seingalt, which Madame d'Urfe
had given me. He discounted it for me next day. A banker brought me four
hundred louis and I had thirteen hundred in my cash-box. I always had a
dread of penuriousness, and I delighted myself at the thought that M. de
Valenglard would write and tell Madame d'Urfe, who was always preaching
economy to me, what he had seen. I escorted my guest to the carriage, and
I was agreeably surprised when I got back to find the doorkeeper's two
charming daughters.
Le Duc had not waited for me to tell him to find some pretext for not
serving me. He knew my tastes, and that when there were pretty girls in a
house, the less I saw of him the better I was pleased.
The frank eagerness of the two girls to wait on me, their utter freedom
from suspicion or coquetry, made me determine that I would shew myself
deserving of their trust. They took off my shoes and stockings, did my
hair and put on my night-gown with perfect propriety on both sides. When
I was in bed I wished them a goodnight, and told them to shut the door
and bring me my chocolate at eight o'clock next morning.
I could not help confessing that I was perfectly happy as I reflected
over my present condition. I enjoyed perfect health, I was in the prime
of life, I had no calls on me, I was thoroughly independent, I had a rich
store of experience, plenty of money, plenty of luck, and I was a
favourite with women. The pains and troubles I had gone through had been
followed by so many days of happiness that I felt disposed to bless my
destiny. Full of these agreeable thoughts I fell asleep, and all the
night my dreams were of happiness and of the pretty brunette who had
played with me at the concert.
I woke with thoughts of her, and feeling sure that we should become
acquainted I felt curious to know what success I should have with her.
She was discreet and poor; and as I was discreet in my own way she ought
not to despise my friendship.
At eight o'clock, one of the door-keeper's daughters brought me my
chocolate, and told me that Le Duc had got the fever.
"You must take care of the poor fellow."
"My cousin has just taken him some broth."
"What is your name?"
"My name is Rose, and my sister is Manon."
Just then Manon came in with my shirt, on which she had put fresh lace. I
thanked her, and she said with a blush that she did her father's hair
very well.
"I am delighted to hear it, and I shall be very pleased if you will be
kind enough to do the same offices for me till my servant recovers."
"With pleasure, sir."
"And I," said Rose, laughing, "will shave you."
"I should like to see how you do it; get the water."
I rose hastily, while Manon was preparing to do my hair. Rose returned
and shaved me admirably. As soon as she had washed off the lather, I
said,
"You must give me a kiss," presenting my cheek to her. She pretended not
to understand.
"I shall be vexed," said I, gravely but pleasantly, "if you refuse to
kiss me."
She begged to be excused, saying with a little smile, that it was not
customary to do so at Grenoble.
"Well, if you won't kiss me, you shan't shave me."
The father came in at that point, bringing his bill.
"Your daughter has just shaved me admirably," said I, "and she refuses to
kiss me, because it is not the custom at Grenoble."
"You little silly," said he, "it is the custom in Paris. You kiss me fast
enough after you have shaved me, why should you be less polite to this
gentleman?"
She then kissed me with an air of submission to the paternal decree which
made Manon laugh.
"Ah!" said the father, "your turn will come when you have finished doing
the gentleman's hair."
He was a cunning fellow, who knew the best way to prevent me cheapening
him, but there was no need, as I thought his charges reasonable, and as I
paid him in full he went off in great glee.
Manon did my hair as well as my dear Dubois, and kissed me when she had
done without making as many difficulties as Rose. I thought I should get
on well with both of them. They went downstairs when the banker was
announced.
He was quite a young man, and after he had counted me out four hundred
Louis, he observed that I must be very comfortable.
"Certainly," said I, "the two sisters are delightful."
"Their cousin is better. They are too discreet."
"I suppose they are well off."
"The father has two thousand francs a year. They will be able to marry
well-to-do tradesmen."
I was curious to see the cousin who was said to be prettier than the
sisters, and as soon as the banker had gone I went downstairs to satisfy
my curiosity. I met the father and asked him which was Le Duc's room, and
thereon I went to see my fine fellow. I found him sitting up in a
comfortable bed with a rubicund face which did not look as if he were
dangerously ill.
"What is the matter with you?
"Nothing, sir. I am having a fine time of it. Yesterday I thought I would
be ill."
"What made you think that?"
"The sight of the three Graces here, who are made of better stuff than
your handsome housekeeper, who would not let me kiss her. They are making
me wait too long for my broth, however. I shall have to speak severely
about it."
"Le Duc, you are a rascal."
"Do you want me to get well?"
"I want you to put a stop to this farce, as I don't like it." Just then
the door opened, and the cousin came in with the broth. I thought her
ravishing, and I noticed that in waiting on Le Duc she had an imperious
little air which well became her.
"I shall dine in bed," said my Spaniard.
"You shall be attended to," said the pretty girl, and she went out.
"She puts on big airs," said Le Duc, "but that does not impose on me.
Don't you think she is very pretty?"
"I think you are very impudent. You ape your betters, and I don't approve
of it. Get up. You must wait on me at table, and afterwards you will eat
your dinner by yourself, and try to get yourself respected as an honest
man always is, whatever his condition, so long as he does not forget
himself. You must not stay any longer in this room, the doorkeeper will
give you another."
I went out, and on meeting the fair cousin I told her that I was jealous
of the honour which she had done my man, and that I begged her to wait on
him no longer.
"Oh, I am very glad!"
The door-keeper came up, and I gave him my orders, and went back to my
room to write.
Before dinner the baron came and told me that he had just come from the
lady to whom he had introduced me. She was the wife of a barrister named
Morin, and aunt to the young lady who had so interested me.
"I have been talking of you," said the baron, "and of the impression her
niece made on you. She promised to send for her, and to keep her at the
house all day."
After a dinner as good as the supper of the night before, though
different from it in its details, and appetising enough to awaken the
dead, we went to see Madame Morin, who received us with the easy grace of
a Parisian lady. She introduced me to seven children, of whom she was the
mother. Her eldest daughter, an ordinary-looking girl, was twelve years
old, but I should have taken her to be fourteen, and said so. To convince
me of her age the mother brought a book in which the year, the month, the
day, the hour, and even the minute of her birth were entered. I was
astonished at such minute accuracy, and asked if she had had a horoscope
drawn.
"No," said she, "I have never found anybody to do it."
"It is never too late," I replied, "and without doubt God has willed that
this pleasure should be reserved for me."
At this moment M. Morin came in, his wife introduced me, and after the
customary compliments had passed, she returned to the subject of the
horoscope. The barrister sensibly observed that if judicial astrology was
not wholly false, it was, nevertheless, a suspected science; that he had
been so foolish as once to devote a considerable portion of his time to
it, but that on recognizing the inability of man to deal with the future
he had abandoned astrology, contenting himself with the veritable truths
of astronomy. I saw with pleasure that I had to deal with a man of sense
and education, but Valenglard, who was a believer in astrology, began an
argument with him on the subject. During their discussion I quietly
copied out on my tablets the date of Mdlle. Morin's birth. But M. Morin
saw what I was about, and shook his head at me, with a smile. I
understood what he meant, but I did not allow that to disconcert me, as I
had made up my mind fully five minutes ago that I would play the
astrologer on this occasion.
At last the fair niece arrived. Her aunt introduced me to her as Mdlle.
Roman Coupier, her sister's daughter; and then, turning to her, she
informed her how ardently I had been longing to know her since I had seen
her at the concert.
She was then seventeen. Her satin skin by its dazzling whiteness
displayed to greater advantage her magnificent black hair. Her features
were perfectly regular, and her complexion had a slight tinge of red; her
fine eyes were at once sweet and sparkling, her eyebrows were well
arched, her mouth small, her teeth regular and as white as pearls, and
her lips, of an exquisite rosy hue, afforded a seat to the deities of
grace and modesty.
After some moments' conversation, M. Morin was obliged to go out on
business, and a game of quadrille was proposed, at which I was greatly
pitied for having lost a louis. I thought Mdlle. Roman discreet,
judicious, pleasant without being brilliant, and, still better, without
any pretensions. She was high-spirited, even-tempered, and had a natural
art which did not allow her to seem to understand too flattering a
compliment, or a joke which passed in any way the bounds of propriety.
She was neatly dressed, but had no ornaments, and nothing which shewed
wealth; neither ear-rings, rings, nor a watch. One might have said that
her beauty was her only adornment, the only ornament she wore being a
small gold cross hanging from her necklace of black ribbon. Her breast
was well shaped and not too large. Fashion and custom made her shew half
of it as innocently as she shewed her plump white hand, or her cheeks,
whereon the lily and the rose were wedded. I looked at her features to
see if I might hope at all; but I was completely puzzled, and could come
to no conclusion. She gave no sign which made me hope, but on the other
hand she did nothing to make me despair. She was so natural and so
reserved that my sagacity was completely at fault. Nevertheless, a
liberty which I took at supper gave me a gleam of hope. Her napkin fell
down, and in returning it to her I pressed her thigh amorously, and could
not detect the slightest displeasure on her features. Content with so
much I begged everybody to come to dinner with me next day, telling
Madame Morin that I should not be going out, and that I was therefore
delighted to put my carriage at her service.
When I had taken Valenglard home, I went to my lodging building castles
in Spain as to the conquest of Mdlle. Roman.
I warned my landlord that we should be six at dinner and supper the
following day, and then I went to bed. As Le Duc was undressing me he
said,
"Sir, you are punishing me, but what makes me sorry you are punishing
yourself in depriving yourself of the services of those pretty girls."
"You are a rogue."
"I know it, but I serve you with all my heart, and I love your pleasure
as well as my own."
"You plead well for yourself; I am afraid I have spoilt you."
"Shall I do your hair to-morrow?"
"No; you may go out every day till dinner-time."
"I shall be certain to catch it."
"Then I shall send you to the hospital."
"That is a fine prospect, 'por Dios'."
He was impudent, sly, profligate, and a rascally fellow; but also
obedient, devoted, discreet, and faithful, and his good qualities made me
overlook his defects.
Next morning, when Rose brought my chocolate, she told me with a laugh
that my man had sent for a carriage, and after dressing himself in the
height of fashion he had gone off with his sword at his side, to pay
calls, as he said.
"We laughed at him."
"You were quite right, my dear Rose."
As I spoke, Manon came in under some pretext or other. I saw that the two
sisters had an understanding never to be alone with me; I was displeased,
but pretended not to notice anything. I got up, and I had scarcely put on
my dressing-gown when the cousin came in with a packet under her arm.
"I am delighted to see you, and above all to look at your smiling face,
for I thought you much too serious yesterday."
"That's because M. le Duc is a greater gentleman than you are; I should
not have presumed to laugh in his presence; but I had my reward in seeing
him start off this morning in his gilded coach."
"Did he see you laughing at him?"
"Yes, unless he is blind."
"He will be vexed."
"All the better."
"You are really very charming. What have you got in that parcel?"
"Some goods of our own manufacture. Look; they are embroidered gloves."
"They are beautiful; the embroidery is exquisitely done. How much for the
lot?"
"Are you a good hand at a bargain."
"Certainly."
"Then we must take that into account."
After some whisperings together the cousin took a pen, put down the
numbers of gloves, added up and said,
"The lot will cost you two hundred and ten francs."
"There are nine louis; give me six francs change."
"But you told us you would make a bargain."
"You were wrong to believe it."
She blushed and gave me the six francs. Rose and Manon shaved me and did
my hair, giving me a kiss with the best grace imaginable; and when I
offered my cheek to the cousin she kissed me on the mouth in a manner
that told me she would be wholly mine on the first opportunity.
"Shall we have the pleasure of waiting on you at the table?" said Rose.
"I wish you would."
"But we should like to know who is coming to dinner first; as if it is
officers from the garrison we dare not come; they make so free."
"My guests are Madame Morin, her husband, and her niece."
"Very good."
The cousin said, "Mdlle. Roman is the prettiest and the best girl in
Grenoble; but she will find some difficulty in marrying as she has no
money."
"She may meet some rich man who will think her goodness and her beauty
worth a million of money."
"There are not many men of that kind."
"No; but there are a few."
Manon and the cousin went out, and I was left alone with Rose, who stayed
to dress me. I attacked her, but she defended herself so resolutely that
I desisted, and promised it should not occur again. When she had finished
I gave her a louis, thanked her, and sent her away.
As soon as I was alone I locked the door, and proceeded to concoct the
horoscope I had promised to Madame Morin. I found it an easy task to fill
eight pages with learned folly; and I confined myself chiefly to
declaring the events which had already happened to the native. I had
deftly extracted some items of information in the course of conversation,
and filling up the rest according to the laws of probability and dressing
up the whole in astrological diction, I was pronounced to be a seer, and
no doubts were cast on my skill. I did not indeed run much risk, for
everything hung from an if, and in the judicious employment of ifs lies
the secret of all astrology.
I carefully re-read the document, and thought it admirable. I felt in the
vein, and the use of the cabala had made me an expert in this sort of
thing.
Just after noon all my guests arrived, and at one we sat down to table. I
have never seen a more sumptuous or more delicate repast. I saw that the
cook was an artist more in need of restraint than encouragement. Madame
Morin was very polite to the three girls, whom she knew well, and Le Duc
stood behind her chair all the time, looking after her wants, and dressed
as richly as the king's chamberlain. When we had nearly finished dinner
Mdlle. Roman passed a compliment on my three fair waiting-maids, and this
giving me occasion to speak of their talents I got up and brought the
gloves I had purchased from them. Mdlle. Roman praised the quality of the
material and the work. I took the opportunity, and begged leave of the
aunt to give her and her niece a dozen pair apiece. I obtained this
favour, and I then gave Madame Morin the horoscope. Her husband read it,
and though an unbeliever he was forced to admire, as all the deductions
were taken naturally from the position of the heavenly bodies at the
instant of his daughter's birth. We spent a couple of hours in talking
about astrology, and the same time in playing at quadrille, and then we
took a walk in the garden, where I was politely left to enjoy the society
of the fair Roman.
Our dialogue, or rather my monologue, turned solely on the profound
impression she had made on me, on the passion she had inspired, on her
beauty, her goodness, the purity of my intentions, and on my need of
love, lest I should go down to the grave the most hapless of men.
"Sir," said she, at last, "if my destiny points to marriage I do not deny
that I should be happy to find a husband like you."
I was emboldened by this frank declaration, and seizing her hand I
covered it with fiery kisses, saying passionately that I hoped she would
not let me languish long. She turned her head to look for her aunt. It
was getting dark, and she seemed to be afraid of something happening to
her. She drew me gently with her, and on rejoining the other guests we
returned to the dining-room, where I made a small bank at faro for their
amusement. Madame Morin gave her daughter and niece, whose pockets were
empty, some money, and Valenglard directed their play so well that when
we left off to go to supper I had the pleasure of seeing that each of the
three ladies had won two or three louis.
We sat at table till midnight. A cold wind from the Alps stopped my plan
of proposing a short turn in the garden. Madame Morin overwhelmed me with
thanks for my entertainment, and I gave each of my lady-visitors a
respectful kiss.
I heard singing in the kitchen, and on going in I found Le Duc in a high
state of excitement and very drunk. As soon as he saw me he tried to
rise, but he lost his centre of gravity, and fell right under the kitchen
table. He was carried away to bed.
I thought this accident favourable to my desire of amusing myself, and I
might have succeeded if the three Graces had not all been there. Love
only laughs when two are present, and thus it is that the ancient
mythology tells no story of the loves of the Graces, who were always
together. I had not yet found an opportunity of getting my three maids
one after the other, and I dared not risk a general attack, which might
have lost me the confidence of each one. Rose, I saw, was openly jealous
of her cousin, as she kept a keen look-out after her movements. I was not
sorry, for jealousy leads to anger, and anger goes a long way. When I was
in bed I sent them away with a modest good night.
Next morning, Rose came in by herself to ask me for a cake of chocolate,
for, as she said, Le Duc was now ill in real earnest. She brought me the
box, and I gave her the chocolate, and in doing so I took her hand and
shewed her how well I loved her. She was offended, drew back her hand
sharply, and left the room. A moment after Manon came in under the
pretext of shewing me a piece of lace I had torn away in my attempts of
the day before, and of asking me if she should mend it. I took her hand
to kiss it, but she did not give me time, presenting her lips, burning
with desire. I took her hand again, and it was just on the spot when the
cousin came in. Manon held the piece of lace, and seemed to be waiting
for my answer. I told her absently that I should be obliged if she would
mend it when she had time, and with this she went out.
I was troubled by this succession of disasters, and thought that the
cousin would not play me false from the earnest of her affection which
she had given me the day before in that ardent kiss of hers. I begged her
to give me my handkerchief, and gently drew her hand towards me. Her
mouth fastened to mine, and her hand, which she left to my pleasure with
all the gentleness of a lamb, was already in motion when Rose came in
with my chocolate. We regained our composure in a moment, but I was
furious at heart. I scowled at Rose, and I had a right to do so after the
manner in which she had repulsed me a quarter of an hour before. Though
the chocolate was excellent, I pronounced it badly made. I chid her for
her awkwardness in waiting on me, and repulsed her at every step. When I
got up I would not let her shave me; I shaved myself, which seemed to
humiliate her, and then Manon did my hair. Rose and the cousin then went
out, as if to make common cause together, but it was easy to see that
Rose was less angry with her sister than her cousin.
As Manon was finishing my toilette, M. de Valenglard came in. As soon as
we were alone, the officer, who was a man of honour and of much sense, in
spite of his belief in astrology and the occult sciences, said that he
thought me looking rather melancholy, and that if my sadness had any
connection with the fair Roman, he warned me to think no more of her,
unless I had resolved to ask her hand in marriage. I replied that to put
an end to all difficulties I had decided on leaving Grenoble in a few
days. We dined together and we then called on Madame Morin, with whom we
found her fair niece.
Madame Morin gave me a flattering welcome, and Mdlle. Roman received me
so graciously that I was emboldened to kiss her and place her on my knee.
The aunt laughed, the niece blushed, and then slipping into my hand a
little piece of paper made her escape. I read on the paper the year, day,
Hour, and minute of her birth, and guessed what she meant. She meant, I
thought, that I could do nothing with her before I had drawn up her
horoscope. My resolve was soon taken to profit by this circumstance, and
I told her that I would tell her whether I could oblige her or not next
day, if she would come to a ball I was giving. She looked at her aunt and
my invitation was accepted.
Just then the servant announced "The Russian Gentleman." I saw a
well-made man of about my own age, slightly marked with the small-pox,
and dressed as a traveller. He accosted Madame Morin with easy grace, was
welcomed heartily by her, spoke well, scarcely gave me a glance, and did
not say a word to the nieces. In the evening M. Morin came in, and the
Russian gave him a small phial full of a white liquid, and then made as
if he would go, but he was kept to supper.
At table the conversation ran on this marvellous liquid of his. M. Morin
told me that he had cured a young man of a bruise from a billiard ball in
five minutes, by only rubbing it with the liquid. He said modestly that
it was a trifling thing of his own invention, and he talked a good deal
about chemistry to Valenglard. As my attention was taken up by the fair
Mdlle. Roman I could not take part in their conversation; my hope of
succeeding with her on the following day absorbed all my thoughts. As I
was going away with Valenglard he told me that nobody knew who the
Russian was, and that he was nevertheless received everywhere.
"Has he a carriage and servants?"
"He has nothing, no servants and no money."
"Where did he come from?"
"From the skies."
"A fair abode, certainly; how long has he been here?"
"For the last fortnight. He visits, but asks for nothing."
"How does he live?"
"On credit at the inn; he is supposed to be waiting for his carriage and
servants."
"He is probably a vagabond."
"He does not look like one, as you saw for yourself, and his diamonds
contradict that hypothesis."
"Yes, if they are not imitation stones, for it seems to me that if they
were real he would sell them."
When I got home Rose came by herself to attend on me, but she continued
to sulk. I tried to rouse her up, but as I had no success I ordered her
to go and tell her father that I was going to give a ball next day in the
room by the garden, and that supper was to be laid for twenty.
When the door-keeper came to take my orders the following morning, I told
him that I should like his girls to dance if he didn't mind. At this Rose
condescended to smile, and I thought it a good omen. Just as she went out
with her father, Manon came in under the pretext of asking me what lace I
would wear for the day. I found her as gentle as a lamb and as loving as
a dove. The affair was happily consummated, but we had a narrow escape of
being caught by Rose, who came in with Le Duc and begged me to let him
dance, promising that he would behave himself properly. I was glad that
everybody should enjoy themselves and consented, telling him to thank
Rose, who had got him this favour.
I had a note from Madame Morin, asking me if she might bring with her to
the ball two ladies of her acquaintance and their daughters. I replied
that I should be delighted for her to invite not only as many ladies but
as many gentlemen as she pleased, as I had ordered supper for twenty
people. She came to dinner with her niece and Valenglard, her daughter
being busy dressing and her husband being engaged till the evening. She
assured me that I should have plenty of guests.
The fair Mdlle. Roman wore the same dress, but her beauty unadorned was
dazzling. Standing by me she asked if I had thought about her horoscope.
I took her hand, made her sit on my knee, and promised that she should
have it on the morrow. I held her thus, pressing her charming breasts
with my left hand, and imprinting fiery kisses on her lips, which she
only opened to beg me to calm myself. She was more astonished than afraid
to see me trembling, and though she defended herself successfully she did
not lose countenance for a moment, and in spite of my ardent gaze she did
not turn her face away. I calmed myself with an effort, and her eyes
expressed the satisfaction of one who has vanquished a generous enemy by
the force of reason. By my silence I praised the virtue of this celestial
being, in whose destiny I only had a part by one of those caprices of
chance which philosophy seeks to explain in vain.
Madame Morin came up to me, and asked me to explain some points in her
daughter's horoscope. She then told me that if I wanted to have four
beauties at my ball she had only to write a couple of notes.
"I shall only see one beauty," said I, looking at her niece.
"God alone knows," said Valenglard, "what people will say in Grenoble!"
"They will say it is your wedding ball," said Madame Morin to her niece.
"Yes, and they will doubtless talk of my magnificent dress, my lace, and
my diamonds," said the niece, pleasantly.
"They will talk of your beauty, your wit, and your goodness," I replied,
passionately, "goodness which will make your husband a happy man."
There was a silence, because they all thought I was alluding to myself. I
was doing nothing of the sort. I should have been glad to give five
hundred louis for her, but I did not see how the contract was to be drawn
up, and I was not going to throw my money away.
We went to my bedroom, and while Mdlle. Roman was amusing herself with
looking at the jewellry on my toilette-table, her aunt and Valenglard
examined the books on the table by my bedside. I saw Madame Morin going
to the window and looking closely at something she held in her hand. I
remembered I had left out the portrait of the fair nun. I ran to her and
begged her to give me the indecent picture I had so foolishly left about.
"I don't mind the indecency of it," she said, "but what strikes me is the
exact likeness."
I understood everything, and I shuddered at the carelessness of which I
had been guilty.
"Madam," I said, "that is the portrait of a Venetian, lady, of whom I was
very found."
"I daresay, but it's very curious. These two M's, these cast-off robes
sacrificed to love, everything makes my surprise greater."
"She is a nun and named M---- M----."
"And a Welsh niece of mine at Camberi is also named M---- M----, and
belongs to the same order. Nay, more, she has been at Aix, whence you
have come, to get cured of an illness."
"And this portrait is like her?"
"As one drop of water is like another."
"If you go to Chamberi call on her and say you come from me; you will be
welcome and you will be as much surprised as I am."
"I will do so, after I have been in Italy. However, I will not shew her
this portrait, which would scandalize her; I will put it away carefully."
"I beg you not to shew it to anyone."
"You may rely on me."
I was in an ecstasy at having put her off so effectually.
At eight o'clock all my guests arrived, and I saw before me all the
fairest ladies and the noblest gentlemen of Grenoble. The only thing
which vexed me was the compliments they lavished on me, as is customary
in the provinces.
I opened the ball with the lady pointed out to me by M. Valenglard, and
then I danced with all the ladies in succession; but my partner in all
the square dances was the fair Mdlle. Roman, who shone from her
simplicity--at least, in my eyes.
After a quadrille, in which I had exerted myself a good deal, I felt hot
and went up to my room to put on a lighter suit, and as I was doing so,
in came the fair cousin, who asked me if I required anything.
"Yes, you, dearest," I replied, going up to her and taking her in my
arms. "Did anyone see you coming in here?"
"No, I came from upstairs, and my cousins are in the dancing-room."
"That is capital. You are fair as Love himself, and this is an excellent
opportunity for skewing you how much I love you."
"Good heavens! What are you doing? Let me go, somebody might come in.
Well, put out the light!"
I put it out, shut the door, and, my head full of Mdlle. Roman, the
cousin found me as ardent as I should have been with that delightful
person. I confess, too, that the door-keeper's niece was well worthy of
being loved on her own merits. I found her perfect, perhaps better than
Mdlle. Roman, a novice, would have been. In spite of my ardour her
passion was soon appeased, and she begged me to let her go, and I did so;
but it was quite time. I wanted to begin over again, but she was afraid
that our absence would be noticed by her two Argus-eyed cousins, so she
kissed me and left the room.
I went back to the ball-room, and we danced on till the king of
door-keepers came to tell us supper was ready.
A collation composed of the luxuries which the season and the country
afforded covered the table; but what pleased the ladies most was the
number and artistic arrangement of the wax lights.
I sat down at a small table with a few of my guests, and I received the
most pressing invitations to spend the autumn in their town. I am sure
that if I had accepted I should have been treated like a prince, for the
nobility of Grenoble bear the highest character for hospitality. I told
them that if it had been possible I should have had the greatest pleasure
in accepting their invitation, and in that case I should have been
delighted to have made the acquaintance of the family of an illustrious
gentleman, a friend of my father's.
"What name is it?" they asked me, altogether.
"Bouchenu de Valbonnais."
"He was my uncle. Ah! sir, you must come and stay with us. You danced
with my daughter. What was your father's name?"
This story, which I invented, and uttered as I was wont, on the spur of
the moment, turned me into a sort of wonder in the eyes of the worthy
people.
After we had laughed, jested, drank, and eaten, we rose from the table
and began to dance anew.
Seeing Madame Morin, her niece, and Valenglard going into the garden, I
followed them, and as we walked in the moonlight I led the fair Mdlle.
Roman through a covered alley; but all my fine speeches were in vain; I
could do nothing. I held her between my arms, I covered her with burning
kisses, but not one did she return to me, and her hands offered a
successful resistance to my hardy attempts. By a sudden effort, however,
I at last attained the porch of the temple of love, and held her in such
a way that further resistance would have been of no avail; but she
stopped me short by saying in a voice which no man of feeling could have
resisted,--
"Be my friend, sir, and not my enemy and the cause of my ruin."
I knelt before her, and taking her hand begged her pardon, swearing not
to renew my attempts. I then rose and asked her to kiss me as a pledge of
her forgiveness. We rejoined her aunt, and returned to the ball-room, but
with all my endeavours I could not regain my calm.
I sat down in a corner of the room, and I asked Rose, who passed by me,
to get me a glass of lemonade. When she brought it she gently chid me for
not having danced with her, her sister, or her cousin.
"It will give people but a poor opinion of our merits."
"I am tired," said I, "but if you will promise to be kind I will dance a
minuet with you."
"What do want me to do?" said she.
"Go into my bedroom and wait for me there in the dark when you see your
sister and your cousin busy dancing."
"And you will only dance with me."
"I swear!"
"Then you will find me in your room."
I found her passionate, and I had full satisfaction. To keep my word with
her I waited for the closing minuet, for having danced with Rose I felt
obliged in common decency to dance with the other two, especially as I
owed them the same debt.
At day-break the ladies began to vanish, and as I put the Morins into my
carriage I told them that I could not have the pleasure of seeing them
again that day, but that if they would come and spend the whole of the
day after with me I would have the horoscope ready.
I went to the kitchen to thank the worthy door-keeper for having made me
cut such a gallant figure, and I found the three nymphs there, filling
their pockets with sweetmeats. He told them, laughing, that as the master
was there they might rob him with a clear conscience, and I bade them
take as much as they would. I informed the door-keeper that I should not
dine till six, and I then went to bed.
I awoke at noon, and feeling myself well rested I set to work at the
horoscope, and I resolved to tell the fair Mdlle. Roman that fortune
awaited her at Paris, where she would become her master's mistress, but
that the monarch must see her before she had attained her eighteenth
year, as at that time her destiny would take a different turn. To give my
prophecy authority, I told her some curious circumstances which had
hitherto happened to her, and which I had learnt now and again from
herself or Madame Morin without pretending to heed what they said.
With an Ephemeris and another astrological book, I made out and copied in
six hours Mdlle. Roman's horoscope, and I had so well arranged it that it
struck Valenglard and even M. Morin with astonishment, and made the two
ladies quite enthusiastic.
My horoscope must only be known to the young lady and her family, who
would no doubt keep the secret well. After I had put the finishing
touches to it, read it, and read it again, I felt certain that I had made
a masterpiece, and I then dined in bed with my three nymphs. I was polite
and affectionate to them all, and we were all happy together, but I was
the happiest. M. de Valenglard came to see me early the next day, and
informed me that nobody suspected me of being in love with Mdlle. Roman,
but that I was thought to be amorous of my landlord's girls.
"Well, let them think so," said I; "they are worthy of love, though not
to be named in the same breath with one past compare, but who leaves me
no hope."
"Let me tell Madame d'Urfe all about it."
"Certainly; I shall be delighted."
M. and Madame Morin and their niece came at noon, and we spent the hour
before dinner in reading the horoscope. It would be impossible to
describe the four distinct sorts of surprise which I saw before me. The
interesting Mdlle. Roman looked very grave, and, not knowing whether she
had a will of her own, listened to what was said in silence. M. Morin
looked at me now and again, and seeing that I kept a serious countenance
did not dare to laugh. Valenglard shewed fanatic belief in astrology in
every feature. Madame Morin seemed struck as by a miracle, and, far from
thinking the fact prophesied too improbable, remarked that her niece was
much more worthy of becoming her sovereign's wife or mistress than the
bigoted Maintenon had been.
"She would never have done anything," said Madame Morin, "if she had not
left America and come to France; and if my niece does not go to Paris
nobody can say that the horoscope has prophesied falsely. We should
therefore--go to Paris, but how is it to be done? I don't see my way to
it. The prediction of the birth of a son has something divine and
entrancing about it. I don't wish to seem prejudiced, but my niece has
certainly more qualifications for gaining the king's affection than the
Maintenon had: my niece is a good girl and young, while the Maintenon was
no longer as young as she had been, and had led a strange life before she
became a devotee. But we shall never accomplish this journey to Paris."
"Nay," said Valenglard, in a serious tone, which struck me as supremely
ridiculous, "she must go; her fate must be fulfilled."
The fair Mdlle. Roman seemed all amazed. I let them talk on, and we sat
down to dinner.
[The next two paragraphs were misplaced in the original, likely by the
typesetter, and have been inserted here where it seems that they belong.
D.W.]
I hoped I should be asked to take the diamond to Paris myself, and I felt
inclined to grant the request. I flattered myself that they could not do
without me, and that I should get what I wanted, if not for love at any
rate through gratitude; indeed, who knew what might become of the plan?
The monarch would be sure to be caught directly. I had no doubts on that
subject, for where is the man in love who does not think that his beloved
object will win the hearts of all others? For the moment I felt quite
jealous of the king, but, from my thorough knowledge of my own
inconstancy, I felt sure that my jealousy would cease when my love had
been rewarded, and I was aware that Louis XV. did not altogether hold the
opinions of a Turk in such concerns. What gave an almost divine character
to the horoscope was the prediction of a son to be born, who would make
the happiness of France, and could only come from the royal blood and
from a singular vessel of election.
A curious fancy increased my delight, namely, the thought of becoming a
famous astrologer in an age when reason and science had so justly
demolished astrology. I enjoyed the thought of seeing myself sought out
by crowned heads, which are always the more accessible to superstitious
notions. I determined I would be particular to whom I gave my advice. Who
has not made his castles in Spain? If Mdlle. Roman gave birth to a
daughter instead of a son I should be amused, and all would not be lost,
for a son might come afterwards.
At first silence reigned, and then the conversation ran on a thousand
trifles, as is usual in good society, but by degrees, as I had thought,
they returned to the horoscope.
"According to the horoscope," said the aunt, "the king is to fall in love
with my niece in her eighteenth year; she is now close on it. What are we
to do? Where are we to get the hundred louis necessary? And when she gets
to Paris is she to go to the king and say, 'Here I am, your majesty'? And
who is going to take her there? I can't."
"My aunt Roman might," said the young lady, blushing up to her eyes at
the roar of laughter which none of us could restrain.
"Well," said Madame Morin, "there is Madame Varnier, of the Rue de
Richelieu; she is an aunt of yours. She has a good establishment, and
knows everybody."
"See," said Valenglard, "how the ways of destiny are made plain. You talk
of a hundred louis; twelve will be sufficient to take you to Madame
Varnier's. When you get there, leave the rest to your fate, which will
surely favour you."
"If you do go to Paris," said I, "say nothing to Madame Roman or Madame
Varnier about the horoscope."
"I will say nothing to anyone about it; but, after all, it is only a
happy dream. I shall never see Paris, still less Louis XV."
I arose, and going to my cash-box I took out a roll of a hundred and
fifty louis, which I gave to her, saying it was a packet of sweetmeats.
It felt rather heavy, and on opening it she found it to contain fifty
pieces-of-eight, which she took for medals.
"They are gold," said Valenglard.
"And the goldsmith will give you a hundred and fifty louis for them,"
added M. Morin.
"I beg you will keep them; you can give me a bill payable at Paris when
you become rich."
I knew she would refuse to accept my present, although I should have been
delighted if she had kept the money. But I admired her strength of mind
in restraining her tears, and that without disturbing for a moment the
smile on her face.
We went out to take a turn in the garden. Valenglard and Madame Morin
began on the topic of the horoscope anew, and I left them, taking Mdlle.
Roman with me.
"I wish you would tell me," said she, when we were out of hearing of the
others, "if this horoscope is not all a joke."
"No," I answered, "it is quite serious, but it all depends on an if. If
you do not go to Paris the prophecy will never be fulfilled."
"You must think so, certainly, or you would never have offered me those
fifty medals."
"Do me the pleasure of accepting them now; nobody will know anything
about it."
"No, I cannot, though I am much obliged to you. But why should you want
to give me such a large sum?"
"For the pleasure of contributing to your happiness, and in the hope that
you will allow me to love you."
"If you really love met why should I oppose your love? You need not buy
my consent; and to be happy I do not want to possess the King of France,
if you did but know to what my desires are limited."
"Tell me."
"I would fain find a kind husband, rich enough for us not to lack the
necessaries of life."
"But how if you did not love him?"
"If he was a good, kind man how could I help loving him?"
"I see that you do not know what love is."
"You are right. I do not know the love that maddens, and I thank God for
it."
"Well, I think you are wise; may God preserve you from that love."
"You say, that as soon as the king sees me he will fall in love with me,
and to tell you the truth that strikes me as vastly improbable; for
though it is quite possible that he may not think me plain, or he might
even pronounce me pretty, yet I do not think he will become so madly in
love as you say."
"You don't? Let us sit down. You have only got to fancy that the king
will take the same liking to you that I have done; that is all."
"But what do you find in me that you will not find in most girls of my
age? I certainly may have struck you; but that only proves that I was
born to exercise this sway over you, and not at all that I am to rule the
king in like manner. Why should I go and look for the king, if you love
me yourself?"
"Because I cannot give you the position you deserve."
"I should have thought you had plenty of money."
"Then there's another reason: you are not in love with me."
"I love you as tenderly as if I were your wife. I might then kiss you,
though duty now forbids my doing so."
"I am much obliged to you for not being angry with me for being so happy
with you!"
"On the contrary, I am delighted to please you."
"Then you will allow me to call on you at an early hour to-morrow, and to
take coffee at your bedside."
"Do not dream of such a thing. If I would I could not. I sleep with my
aunt, and I always rise at the same time she does. Take away your hand;
you promised not to do it again. In God's name, let me alone."
Alas! I had to stop; there was no overcoming her. But what pleased me
extremely was that in spite of my amorous persecution she did not lose
that smiling calm which so became her. As for myself I looked as if I
deserved that pardon for which I pleaded on my knees, and in her eyes I
read that she was sorry that she could not grant what I required of her.
I could no longer stay beside her, my senses were too excited by her
beauty. I left her and went to my room where I found the kind Manon
busying herself on my cuffs, and she gave me the relief I wanted, and
when we were both satisfied made her escape. I reflected that I should
never obtain more than I had obtained hitherto from young Mdlle.
Roman--at least, unless I gave the lie to my horoscope by marrying her,
and I decided that I would not take any further steps in the matter. I
returned to the garden, and going up to the aunt I begged her to walk
with me. In vain I urged the worthy woman to accept a hundred louis for
her niece's journey from me. I swore to her by all I held sacred that no
one else should ever know of the circumstance. All my eloquence and all
my prayers were in vain. She told me that if her niece's destiny only
depended on that journey all would be well, for she had thought over a
plan which would, with her husband's consent, enable Mdlle. Roman to go
to Paris. At the same time she gave me her sincerest thanks, and said
that her niece was very fortunate to have pleased me so well.
"She pleased me so well," I replied, "that I have resolved to go away
to-morrow to avoid making proposals to you which would bring the great
fortune that awaits her to nought. If it were not for that I should have
been happy to have asked her hand of you."
"Alas! her happiness would, perhaps, be built on a better foundation.
Explain yourself."
"I dare not wage war with fate."
"But you are not going to-morrow?"
"Excuse me, but I shall call to take leave at two o'clock."
The news of my approaching departure saddened the supper-table. Madame
Morin, who, for all I know, may be alive now, was a most kind-hearted
woman. At table she announced her resolve that as I had decided on going,
and as I should only leave my house to take leave of her, she would not
force me to put myself out to such an extent, and ordained that our
farewells should be said that evening.
"At least," I said, "I may have the honour of escorting you to your
door?"
"That will protract our happiness for some minutes." Valenglard went away
on foot, and the fair Mdlle. Roman sat on my knee. I dared to be bold
with her, and contrary to expectation she shewed herself so kind that I
was half sorry I was going; but the die was cast.
A carriage lying overturned on the road outside an inn made my coachman
stop a short while, and this accident which made the poor driver curse
overwhelmed me with joy, for in these few moments I obtained all the
favours that she could possibly give under the circumstances.
Happiness enjoyed alone is never complete. Mine was not until I assured
myself, by looking at my sweetheart's features, that the part she had
taken had not been an entirely passive one; and I escorted the ladies to
their room. There, without any conceit, I was certain that I saw sadness
and love upon that fair creature's face. I could see that she was neither
cold nor insensible, and that the obstacles she had put in my way were
only suggested by fear and virtue. I gave Madame Morin a farewell kiss,
and she was kind enough to tell her niece to give me a similar mark of
friendship, which she did in a way that shewed me how completely she had
shared my ardour.
I left them, feeling amorous and sorry I had obliged myself to go. On
entering my room I found the three nymphs together, which vexed me as I
only wanted one. I whispered my wishes to Rose as she curled my hair, but
she told me it was impossible for her to slip away as they all slept in
one room. I then told them that I was going away the next day, and that
if they would pass the night with me I would give them a present of six
louis each. They laughed at my proposal and said it couldn't possibly be
done. I saw by this they had not made confidantes of one another, as
girls mostly do, and I also saw that they were jealous of each other. I
wished them a good night, and as soon as I was in bed the god of dreams
took me under his care, and made me pass the night with the adorable
Mdlle. Roman.
I rang rather late in the morning, and the cousin came in and said that
Rose would bring my chocolate, and that M. Charles Ivanoff wanted to
speak to me. I guessed that this was the Russian, but as he had not been
introduced to me I thought I might decline to see him.
"Tell him I don't know his name."
Rose went out, and came in again saying he was the gentleman who had had
the honour of supping with me at Madame Morin's.
"Tell him to come in."
"Sir," said he, "I want to speak with you in private."
"I cannot order these young ladies to leave my room, sir. Be kind enough
to wait for me outside till I have put on my dressing-gown, and then I
shall be ready to speak to you."
"If I am troubling you, I will call again to-morrow."
"You would not find me, as I am leaving Grenoble to-day."
"In that case I will wait."
I got up in haste and went out to him.
"Sir," said he, "I must leave this place, and I have not a penny to pay
my landlord. I beg of you to come to my aid. I dare not have recourse to
anyone else in the town for fear of exposing myself to the insult of a
refusal."
"Perhaps I ought to feel myself flattered at the preference you have
shewn me, but without wishing to insult you in any way I am afraid I
shall be obliged to refuse your request."
"If you knew who I am I am sure you would not refuse me some small help."
"If you think so, tell me who you are; you may count on my silence."
"I am Charles, second son of Ivan, Duke of Courland, who is in exile in
Siberia. I made my escape."
"If you go to Genoa you will find yourself beyond the reach of poverty;
for no doubt the brother of your lady-mother would never abandon you."
"He died in Silesia."
"When?"
"Two years ago, I believe."
"You have been deceived, for I saw him at Stuttgart scarcely six months
ago. He is the Baron de Treiden."
It did not cost me much to get wind of the adventurer, but I felt angry
that he had had the impudence to try and dupe me. If it had not been for
that I would willingly have given him six louis, for it would have been
bad form on my part to declare war against adventurers, as I was one
myself, and I ought to have pardoned his lies as nearly all adventurers
are more or less impostors. I gave a glance at his diamond buckles, which
were considered real at Grenoble, and I saw directly that they were
counterfeits of a kind made in Venice, which imitate the facets of the
diamonds in perfection, except to people who are experienced in diamonds.
"You have diamond buckles," said I. "Why don't you sell them?"
"It's the last piece of jewellery I possess out of all my mother gave me,
and I promised her never to part with them."
"I would not shew those buckles if I were you; your pocket would be a
better place for them. I may tell you frankly that I believe the stones
to be counterfeit, and that your lie displeases me."
"Sir, I am not a liar."
"We shall see. Prove that the stones are genuine, and I will give you six
louis. I shall be delighted if I am in the wrong. Farewell."
Seeing M. de Valerlglard coming up to my door, he begged me not to tell
him of what had passed between us; and I promised that I would tell no
one.
Valenglard came to wish me a prosperous journey; he himself was obliged
to go with M. Monteinard. He begged me to correspond constantly with him,
and I had been intending to prefer the same request, as I took too great
an interest in the fair Mdlle. Roman not to wish to hear of her fate, and
the correspondence the worthy officer desired was the best way possible
for me to hear about her. As will be imagined, I promised what he asked
without making any difficulty. He shed tears as he embraced me, and I
promised to be his friend.
CHAPTER II
My Departure from Grenoble--Avignon--The Fountain of
Vaucluse--The False Astrodi and the Humpback--Gaetan Costa--
I Arrive at Marseilles
While the three girls were helping Le Duc to pack my mails my landlord
entered, gave me his bill, and finding everything correct I paid him,
much to his satisfaction. I owed him a compliment, too, at which he
seemed extremely gratified.
"Sir," said I, "I do not wish to leave your house without having the
pleasure of dining with your charming girls, to shew them how I
appreciate the care they have taken of me. Let me have, then, a delicate
repast for four, and also order post horses, that I may start in the
evening."
"Sir," broke in Le Duc, "I entreat you to order a saddle-horse besides; I
was not made for a seat behind a chaise."
The cousin laughed openly at his vain boasting, and to avenge himself the
rascal told her that he was better than she.
"Nevertheless, M. le Duc, you will have to wait on her at table."
"Yes, as she waits on you in bed."
I ran for my stick, but the rogue, knowing what was going to happen,
opened the window and jumped into the courtyard. The girls gave a shriek
of terror, but when we looked out we saw him jumping about and performing
a thousand apish tricks.
Very glad to find that he had not broken a limb, I called out, "Come
back, I forgive you." The girls, and the man himself who escaped so
readily, were as delighted as I. Le Duc came in in high spirits,
observing that he did not know he was such a good jumper.
"Very good, but don't be so impudent another time. Here, take this
watch."
So saying, I gave him a valuable gold watch, which he received, saying,--
"I would jump again for another watch like this."
Such was my Spaniard, whom I had to dismiss two years afterwards. I have
often missed him.
The hours went by with such speed when I was seated at table with the
three girls, whom I vainly endeavoured to intoxicate, that I decided that
I would not leave till the next day. I was tired of making mysteries and
wanted to enjoy them all together, and resolved that the orgy should take
place that night. I told them that if they would pass the night in my
room I would not go till the next day. This proposition was received with
a storm of exclamations and with laughter, as at an impossibility, while
I endeavoured to excite them to grant my request. In the midst of this
the door-keeper came in, advising me not to travel by night, but to go to
Avignon by a boat in which I could ship my carriage.
"You will save time and money," said he.
"I will do so," I answered, "if these girls of yours will keep me company
all night, as I am determined I will not go to bed."
"O Lord!" said he with a laugh, "that's their business."
This decided them and they gave in. The door-keeper sent to order the
boat, and promised to let me have a dainty supper by midnight.
The hours passed by in jests and merriment, and when we sat down to
supper I made the champagne corks fly to such an extent that the girls
began to get rather gay. I myself felt a little heated, and as I held
each one's secret I had the hardihood to tell them that their scruples
were ridiculous, as each of them had shewn no reserve to me in private.
At this they gazed at one another in a kind of blank surprise, as if
indignant at what I had said. Foreseeing that feminine pride might prompt
them to treat my accusation as an idle calumny, I resolved not to give
them time, and drawing Manon on to my knee I embraced her with such
ardour that she gave in and abandoned herself to my passion. Her example
overcame the others, and for five hours we indulged in every kind of
voluptuous enjoyment. At the end of that time we were all in need of
rest, but I had to go. I wanted to give them some jewels, but they said
they would rather I ordered gloves to the amount of thirty louis, the
money to be paid in advance, and the gloves not to be called for.
I went to sleep on board the boat, and did not awake till we got to
Avignon. I was conducted to the inn of "St. Omen" and supped in my room
in spite of the marvellous tales which Le Duc told me of a young beauty
at the public table.
Next morning my Spaniard told me that the beauty and her husband slept in
a room next to mine. At the same time he brought me a bill of the play,
and I saw Company from Paris, with Mdlle. Astrodi, who was to sing and
dance. I gave a cry of wonder, and exclaimed,--
"The famous Astrodi at Avignon--how she will be astonished to see me!"
Not wanting to live in hermit fashion, I went downstairs to dine at the
public table, and I found a score of people sitting down to such a choice
repast that I could not conceive how it could be done for forty sous a
head. The fair stranger drew all eyes, and especially mine, towards her.
She was a young and perfect beauty, silent, her eyes fixed on a napkin,
replying in monosyllables to those who addressed her, and glancing at the
speaker with large blue eyes, the beauty of which it would be difficult
to describe. Her husband was seated at the other end of the table--a man
of a kind that inspires contempt at the first glance. He was young,
marked with the small-pox, a greedy eater, a loud talker, laughing and
speaking at random, and altogether I took him for a servant in disguise.
Feeling sure that such a fellow did not know how to refuse, I sent him a
glass of champagne, which he drank off to my health forthwith. "May I
have the pleasure of sending a glass to your wife?" He replied, with a
roar of laughter, to ask her myself; and with a slight bow she told me
that she never took anything to drink. When the dessert came in she rose,
and her husband followed her to their room.
A stranger who like myself had never seen her before, asked me who she
was. I said I was a newcomer and did not know, and somebody else said
that her husband called himself the Chevalier Stuard, that he came from
Lyons, and was going to Marseilles; he came, it appeared, to Avignon a
week ago, without servants, and in a very poor carriage.
I intended staying at Avignon only as long as might be necessary to see
the Fountain or Fall of Vaucluse, and so I had not got any letters of
introduction, and had not the pretext of acquaintance that I might stay
and enjoy her fine eyes. But an Italian who had read and enjoyed the
divine Petrarch would naturally wish to see the place made divine by the
poet's love for Laura. I went to the theatre, where I saw the vice-legate
Salviati, women of fashion, neither fair nor foul, and a wretched comic
opera; but I neither saw Astrodi nor any other actor from the Comedie
Italienne at Paris.
"Where is the famous Astrodi?" said I, to a young man sitting by me, "I
have not seen her yet."
"Excuse me, she has danced and sang before your eyes."
"By Jove, it's impossible! I know her perfectly, and if she has so
changed as not to be recognized she is no longer herself."
I turned to go, and two minutes after the young man I had addressed came
up and begged me to come back, and he would take me to Astradi's
dressing-room, as she had recognized me. I followed him without saying a
word, and saw a plain-looking girl, who threw her arms round my neck and
addressed me by my name, though I could have sworn I had never seen her
before, but she did not leave me time to speak. Close by I saw a man who
gave himself out as the father of the famous Astrodi, who was known to
all Paris, who had caused the death of the Comte d'Egmont, one of the
most amiable noblemen of the Court of Louis XV. I thought this ugly
female might be her sister, so I sat down and complimented her on her
talents. She asked if I would mind her changing her dress; and in a
moment she was running here and there, laughing and shewing a liberality
which possibly might have been absent if what she had to display had been
worth seeing.
I laughed internally at her wiles, for after my experiences at Grenoble
she would have found it a hard task to arouse my desires if she had been
as pretty as she was ugly. Her thinness and her tawny skin could not
divert my attention from other still less pleasing features about her. I
admired her confidence in spite of her disadvantages. She must have
credited me with a diabolic appetite, but these women often contrive to
extract charms out of their depravity which their delicacy would be
impotent to furnish. She begged me to sup with her, and as she persisted
I was obliged to refuse her in a way I should not have allowed myself to
use with any other woman. She then begged me to take four tickets for the
play the next day, which was to be for her benefit. I saw it was only a
matter of twelve francs, and delighted to be quit of her so cheaply I
told her to give me sixteen. I thought she would have gone mad with joy
when I gave her a double louis. She was not the real Astrodi. I went back
to my inn and had a delicious supper in my own room.
While Le Duc was doing my hair before I went to bed, he told me that the
landlord had paid a visit to the fair stranger and her husband before
supper, and had said in clear terms that he must be paid next morning;
and if he were not, no place would be laid for them at table, and their
linen would be detained.
"Who told you that?"
"I heard it from here; their room is only separated from this by a wooden
partition. If they were in it now, I am sure they could hear all we are
saying."
"Where are they, then?"
"At table, where they are eating for to-morrow, but the lady is crying.
There's a fine chance for you, sir."
"Be quiet; I shan't have anything to do with it. It's a trap, for a woman
of any worth would die rather than weep at a public table."
"Ah, if you saw how pretty she looks in tears! I am only a poor devil,
but I would willingly give her two louis if she would earn them."
"Go and offer her the money."
A moment after the gentleman and his wife came back to their room, and I
heard the loud voice of the one and the sobs of the other, but as he was
speaking Walloon I did not understand what he said.
"Go to bed," said I to Le Duc, "and next morning tell the landlord to get
me another room, for a wooden partition is too thin a barrier to keep off
people whom despair drive to extremities."
I went to bed myself, and the sobs and muttering did not die away till
midnight.
I was shaving next morning, when Le Duc announced the Chevalier Stuard.
"Say I don't know anybody of that name."
He executed my orders, and returned saying that the chevalier on hearing
my refusal to see him had stamped with rage, gone into his chamber, and
come out again with his sword beside him.
"I am going to see," added Le Duc, "that your pistols are well primed for
the future."
I felt inclined to laugh, but none the less I admired the foresight of my
Spaniard, for a man in despair is capable of anything.
"Go," said I, "and ask the landlord to give me another room."
In due course the landlord came himself and told me that he could not
oblige me until the next day.
"If you don't get me another room I shall leave your house on the spot,
because I don't like hearing sobs and reproaches all night."
"Can you hear them, sir?"
"You can hear them yourself now. What do you think of it? The woman will
kill herself, and you will be the cause of her death."
"I, sir? I have only asked them to pay me my just debts."
"Hush! there goes the husband. I am sure he is telling his wife in his
language that you are an unfeeling monster."
"He may tell her what he likes so long as he pays me."
"You have condemned them to die of hunger. How much do they owe you?"
"Fifty francs."
"Aren't you ashamed of making such a row for a wretched sum like that?"
"Sir, I am only ashamed of an ill deed, and I do not commit such a deed
in asking for my own."
"There's your money. Go and tell them that you have been paid, and that
they may eat again; but don't say who gave you the money."
"That's what I call a good action," said the fellow; and he went and told
them that they did not owe him anything, but that they would never know
who paid the money.
"You may dine and sup," he added, "at the public table, but you must pay
me day by day."
After he had delivered this speech in a high voice, so that I could hear
as well as if I had been in the room, he came back to me.
"You stupid fool!" said I, pushing him away, "they will know everything."
So saying I shut my door.
Le Duc stood in front of me, staring stupidly before him.
"What's the matter with you, idiot?" said I.
"That's fine. I see. I am going on the stage. You would do well to become
an actor."
"You are a fool."
"Not so big a fool as you think."
"I am going for a walk; mind you don't leave my room for a moment."
I had scarcely shut the door when the chevalier accosted me and
overwhelmed me with thanks.
"Sir, I don't know to what you are referring."
He thanked me again and left me, and walking by the banks of the Rhone,
which geographers say is the most rapid river in Europe, I amused myself
by looking at the ancient bridge. At dinner-time I went back to the inn,
and as the landlord knew that I paid six francs a meal he treated me to
an exquisite repast. Here, I remember, I had some exceedingly choice
Hermitage. It was so delicious that I drank nothing else. I wished to
make a pilgrimage to Vaucluse and begged the landlord to procure me a
good guide, and after I had dressed I went to the theatre.
I found the Astrodi at the door, and giving her my sixteen tickets, I sat
down near the box of the vice-legate Salviati, who came in a little
later, surrounded by a numerous train of ladies and gentlemen bedizened
with orders and gold lace.
The so-called father of the false Astrodi came and whispered that his
daughter begged me to say that she was the celebrated Astrodi I had known
at Paris. I replied, also in a whisper, that I would not run the risk of
being posted as a liar by bolstering up an imposture. The ease with which
a rogue invites a gentleman to share in a knavery is astonishing; he must
think his confidence confers an honour.
At the end of the first act a score of lackeys in the prince's livery
took round ices to the front boxes. I thought it my duty to refuse. A
young gentleman, as fair as love, came up to me, and with easy politeness
asked me why I had refused an ice.
"Not having the honour to know anyone here, I did not care that anyone
should be able to say that he had regaled one who was unknown to him."
"But you, sir, are a man who needs no introduction."
"You do me too much honour."
"You are staying at the 'St. Omer'!"
"Yes; I am only stopping here to see Vaucluse, where I think of going
to-morrow if I can get a good guide."
"If you would do me the honour of accepting me, I should be delighted. My
name is Dolci, I am son of the captain of the vice-legate's guard."
"I feel the honour you do me, and I accept your obliging offer. I will
put off my start till your arrival."
"I will be with you at seven."
I was astonished at the easy grace of this young Adonis, who might have
been a pretty girl if the tone of his voice had not announced his
manhood. I laughed at the false Astrodi, whose acting was as poor as her
face, and who kept staring at me all the time. While she sang she
regarded me with a smile and gave me signs of an understanding, which
must have made the audience notice me, and doubtless pity my bad taste.
The voice and eyes of one actress pleased me; she was young and tall, but
hunchbacked to an extraordinary degree. She was tall in spite of her
enormous humps, and if it had not been for this malformation she would
have been six feet high. Besides her pleasing eyes and very tolerable
voice I fancied that, like all hunchbacks, she was intelligent. I found
her at the door with the ugly Astrodi when I was leaving the theatre. The
latter was waiting to thank me, and the other was selling tickets for her
benefit.
After the Astrodi had thanked me, the hunchbacked girl turned towards me,
and with a smile that stretched from ear to ear and displayed at least
twenty-four exquisite teeth, she said that she hoped I would honour her
by being present at her benefit.
"If I don't leave before it comes off, I will," I replied.
At this the impudent Astrodi laughed, and in the hearing of several
ladies waiting for their carriages told me that her friend might be sure
of my presence, as she would not let me go before the benefit night.
"Give him sixteen tickets," she added. I was ashamed to refuse, and gave
her two louis. Then in a lower voice the Astrodi said, "After the show we
will come and sup with you, but on the condition that you ask nobody
else, as we want to be alone."
In spite of a feeling of anger, I thought that such a supper-party would
be amusing, and as no one in the town knew me I resolved to stay in the
hope of enjoying a hearty laugh.
I was having my supper when Stuard and his wife went to their room. This
night I heard no sobs nor reproaches, but early next morning I was
surprised to see the chevalier who said, as if we had been old friends,
that he had heard that I was going to Vaucluse, and that as I had taken a
carriage with four places he would be much obliged if I would allow him
and his wife, who wanted to see the fountain, to go with me. I consented.
Le Duc begged to be allowed to accompany me on horseback, saying that he
had been a true prophet. In fact it seemed as if the couple had agreed to
repay me for my expenditure by giving me new hopes. I was not displeased
with the expedition, and it was all to my advantage, as I had had
recourse to no stratagems to obtain it.
Dolci came, looking as handsome as an angel; my neighbours were ready,
and the carriage loaded with the best provisions in food and drink that
were obtainable; and we set off, Dolci seated beside the lady and I
beside the chevalier.
I had thought that the lady's sadness would give place, if not to gaiety,
at least to a quiet cheerfulness, but I was mistaken; for, to all my
remarks, grave or gay, she replied, either in monosyllables or in a
severely laconic style. Poor Dolci, who was full of wit, was stupefied.
He thought himself the cause of her melancholy, and was angry with
himself for having innocently cast a shadow on the party of pleasure. I
relieved him of his fears by telling him that when he offered me his
pleasant society I was not aware that I was to be of service to the fair
lady. I added that when at day-break I received this information, I was
pleased that he would have such good company. The lady did not say a
word. She kept silent and gloomy all the time, and gazed to right and
left like one who does not see what is before his [her] eyes.
Dolci felt at ease after my explanation, and did his best to arouse the
lady, but without success. He talked on a variety of topics to the
husband, always giving her an opportunity of joining in, but her lips
remained motionless. She looked like the statue of Pandora before it had
been quickened by the divine flame.
The beauty of her face was perfect; her eyes were of a brilliant blue,
her complexion a delicate mixture of white and red, her arms were as
rounded as a Grace's, her hands plump and well shaped, her figure was
that of a nymph's, giving delightful hints of a magnificent breast; her
hair was a chestnut brown, her foot small: she had all that constitutes a
beautiful woman save that gift of intellect, which makes beauty more
beautiful, and gives a charm to ugliness itself. My vagrant fancy shewed
me her naked form, all seemed ravishing, and yet I thought that though
she might inspire a passing fancy she could not arouse a durable
affection. She might minister to a man's pleasures, she could not make
him happy. I arrived at the isle resolved to trouble myself about her no
more; she might, I thought, be mad, or in despair at finding herself in
the power of a man whom she could not possibly love. I could not help
pitying her, and yet I could not forgive her for consenting to be of a
party which she knew she must spoil by her morose behaviour.
As for the self-styled Chevalier Stuard, I did not trouble my head
whether he were her husband or her lover. He was young,
commonplace-looking, he spoke affectedly; his manners were not good, and
his conversation betrayed both ignorance and stupidity. He was a beggar,
devoid of money and wits, and I could not make out why he took with him a
beauty who, unless she were over-kind, could add nothing to his means of
living. Perhaps he expected to live at the expense of simpletons, and had
come to the conclusion, in spite of his ignorance, that the world is full
of such; however, experience must have taught him that this plan cannot
be relied on.
When we got to Vaucluse I let Dolci lead; he had been there a hundred
times, and his merit was enhanced in my eyes by the fact that he was a
lover of the lover of Laura. We left the carriage at Apt, and wended our
way to the fountain which was honoured that day with a numerous throng of
pilgrims. The stream pours forth from a vast cavern, the handiwork of
nature, inimitable by man. It is situated at the foot of a rock with a
sheer descent of more than a hundred feet. The cavern is hardly half as
high, and the water pours forth from it in such abundance that it
deserves the name of river at its source. It is the Sorgue which falls
into the Rhone near Avignon. There is no other stream as pure and clear,
for the rocks over which it flows harbour no deposits of any kind. Those
who dislike it on account of its apparent blackness should remember that
the extreme darkness of the cavern gives it that gloomy tinge.
Chiare fresche a dolce aque
Ove le belle membra
Pose colei the sola a me pay donna.
I wished to ascend to that part of the rock where Petrarch's house stood.
I gazed on the remains with tears in my eyes, like Leo Allatius at
Homer's grave. Sixteen years later I slept at Arqua, where Petrarch died,
and his house still remains. The likeness between the two situations was
astonishing, for from Petrarch's study at Arqua a rock can be seen
similar to that which may be viewed at Vaucluse; this was the residence
of Madonna Laura.
"Let us go there," said I, "it is not far off."
I will not endeavour to delineate my feelings as I contemplated the ruins
of the house where dwelt the lady whom the amorous Petrarch immortalised
in his verse--verse made to move a heart of stone:
"Morte bella parea nel suo bel viso"
I threw myself with arms outstretched upon the ground as if I would
embrace the very stones. I kissed them, I watered them with my tears, I
strove to breathe the holy breath they once contained. I begged Madame
Stuard's pardon for having left her arm to do homage to the spirit of a
woman who had quickened the profoundest soul that ever lived.
I say soul advisedly, for after all the body and the senses had nothing
to do with the connection.
"Four hundred years have past and gone," said I to the statue of a woman
who gazed at me in astonishment, "since Laura de Sade walked here;
perhaps she was not as handsome as you, but she was lively, kindly,
polite, and good of heart. May this air which she breathed and which you
breathe now kindle in you the spark of fire divine; that fire that
coursed through her veins, and made her heart beat and her bosom swell.
Then you would win the worship of all worthy men, and from none would you
receive the least offence. Gladness, madam, is the lot of the happy, and
sadness the portion of souls condemned to everlasting pains. Be cheerful,
then, and you will do something to deserve your beauty."
The worthy Dolci was kindled by my enthusiasm. He threw himself upon me,
and kissed me again and again; the fool Stuard laughed; and his wife, who
possibly thought me mad, did not evince the slightest emotion. She took
my arm, and we walked slowly towards the house of Messer Francesco
d'Arezzo, where I spent a quarter of an hour in cutting my name. After
that we had our dinner.
Dolci lavished more attention on the extraordinary woman than I did.
Stuard did nothing but eat and drink, and despised the Sorgue water,
which, said he, would spoil the Hermitage; possibly Petrarch may have
been of the same opinion. We drank deeply without impairing our reason,
but the lady was very temperate. When we reached Avignon we bade her
farewell, declining the invitation of her foolish husband to come and
rest in his rooms.
I took Dolci's arm and we walked beside the Rhone as the sun went down.
Among other keen and witty observations the young man said,--
"That woman is an old hand, infatuated with a sense of her own merit. I
would bet that she has only left her own country because her charms, from
being too freely displayed, have ceased to please there. She must be sure
of making her fortune out of anybody she comes across. I suspect that the
fellow who passes for her husband is a rascal, and that her pretended
melancholy is put on to drive a persistent lover to distraction. She has
not yet succeeded in finding a dupe, but as she will no doubt try to
catch a rich man, it is not improbable that she is hovering over you.".
When a young man of Dolci's age reasons like that, he is bound to become
a great master. I kissed him as I bade him good-night, thanked him for
his kindness, and we agreed that we would see more of one another.
As I came back to my inn I was accosted by a fine-looking man of middle
age, who greeted me by name and asked with great politeness if I had
found Vaucluse as fine as I had expected. I was delighted to recognize
the Marquis of Grimaldi, a Genoese, a clever and good-natured man, with
plenty of money, who always lived at Venice because he was more at
liberty to enjoy himself there than in his native country; which shews
that there is no lack of freedom at Venice.
After I had answered his question I followed him into his room, where
having exhausted the subject of the fountain he asked me what I thought
of my fair companion.
"I did not find her satisfactory in all respects," I answered; and
noticing the reserve with which I spoke, he tried to remove it by the
following confession:
"There are some very pretty women in Genoa, but not one to compare with
her whom you took to Vaucluse to-day. I sat opposite to her at table
yesterday evening, and I was struck with her perfect beauty. I offered
her my arm up the stair; I told her that I was sorry to see her so sad,
and if I could do anything for her she had only to speak. You know I was
aware she had no money. Her husband, real or pretended, thanked me for my
offer, and after I had wished them a good night I left them.
"An hour ago you left her and her husband at the door of their apartment,
and soon afterwards I took the liberty of calling. She welcomed me with a
pretty bow, and her husband went out directly, begging me to keep her
company till his return. The fair one made no difficulty in sitting next
to me on a couch, and this struck me as a good omen, but when I took her
hand she gently drew it away. I then told, her, in as few words as I
could, that her beauty had made me in love with her, and that if she
wanted a hundred louis they were at her service, if she would drop her
melancholy, and behave in a manner suitable to the feelings with which
she had inspired me. She only replied by a motion of the head, which
shewed gratitude, but also an absolute refusal of my offer. 'I am going
to-morrow,' said I. No answer. I took her hand again, and she drew it
back with an air of disdain which wounded me. I begged her to excuse me,
and I left the room without more ado.
"That's an account of what happened an hour ago. I am not amorous of her,
it was only a whim; but knowing, as I do, that she has no money, her
manner astonished me. I fancied that you might have placed her in a
position to despise my offer, and this would explain her conduct, in a
measure; otherwise I can't understand it at all. May I ask you to tell me
whether you are more fortunate than I?"
I was enchanted with the frankness of this noble gentleman, and did not
hesitate to tell him all, and we laughed together at our bad fortune: I
had to promise to call on him at Genoa, and tell him whatever happened
between us during the two days I purposed to remain at Avignon. He asked
me to sup with him and admire the fair recalcitrant.
"She has had an excellent dinner," said I, "and in all probability she
will not have any supper."
"I bet she will," said the marquis; and he was right, which made me see
clearly that the woman was playing a part. A certain Comte de Bussi, who
had just come, was placed next to her at table. He was a good-looking
young man with a fatuous sense of his own superiority, and he afforded us
an amusing scene.
He was good-natured, a wit, and inclined to broad jokes, and his manner
towards women bordered on the impudent. He had to leave at midnight and
began to make love to his fair neighbour forthwith, and teased her in a
thousand ways; but she remained as dumb as a statue, while he did all the
talking and laughing, not regarding it within the bounds of possibility
that she might be laughing at him.
I looked at M. Grimaldi, who found it as difficult to keep his
countenance as I did. The young roue was hurt at her silence, and
continued pestering her, giving her all the best pieces on his plate
after tasting them first. The lady refused to take them, and he tried to
put them into her mouth, while she repulsed him in a rage. He saw that no
one seemed inclined to take her part, and determined to continue the
assault, and taking her hand he kissed it again and again. She tried to
draw it away, and as she rose he put his arm round her waist and made her
sit down on his knee; but at this point the husband took her arm and led
her out of the room. The attacking party looked rather taken aback for a
moment as he followed her with his eyes, but sat down again and began to
eat and laugh afresh, while everybody else kept a profound silence. He
then turned to the footman behind his chair and asked him if his sword
was upstairs. The footman said no, and then the fatuous young man turned
to an abbe who sat near me, and enquired who had taken away his mistress:
"It was her husband," said the abbe.
"Her husband! Oh, that's another thing; husbands don't fight--a man of
honour always apologises to them."
With that he got up, went upstairs, and came down again directly,
saying,--
"The husband's a fool. He shut the door in my face, and told me to
satisfy my desires somewhere else. It isn't worth the trouble of
stopping, but I wish I had made an end of it."
He then called for champagne, offered it vainly to everybody, bade the
company a polite farewell and went upon his way.
As M. Grimaldi escorted me to my room he asked me what I had thought of
the scene we had just witnessed. I told him I would not have stirred a
finger, even if he had turned up her clothes.
"No more would I," said he, "but if she had accepted my hundred louis it
would have been different. I am curious to know the further history of
this siren, and I rely upon you to tell me all about it as you go through
Genoa."
He went away at day-break next morning.
When I got up I received a note from the false Astrodi, asking me if I
expected her and her great chum to supper. I had scarcely replied in the
affirmative, when the sham Duke of Courland I had left at Grenoble
appeared on the scene. He confessed in a humble voice that he was the son
of clock-maker at Narva, that his buckles were valueless, and that he had
come to beg an alms of me. I gave him four Louis, and he asked me to keep
his secret. I replied that if anyone asked me about him that I should say
what was absolutely true, that I knew him nothing about him. "Thank you;
I am now going to Marseilles." "I hope you will have a prosperous
journey." Later on my readers will hear how I found him at Genoa. It is
a good thing to know something about people of his kind, of whom there
are far too many in the world.
I called up the landlord and told him I wanted a delicate supper for
three in my own room.
He told me that I should have it, and then said, "I have just had a row
with the Chevalier Stuard."
"What about?"
"Because he has nothing to pay me with, and I am going to turn them out
immediately, although the lady is in bed in convulsions which are
suffocating her."
"Take out your bill in her charms."
"Ah, I don't care for that sort of thing! I am getting on in life, and I
don't want any more scenes to bring discredit on my house."
"Go and tell her that from henceforth she and her husband will dine and
sup in their own room and that I will pay for them as long as I remain
here."
"You are very generous, sir, but you know that meals in a private room
are charged double."
"I know they are."
"Very good."
I shuddered at the idea of the woman being turned out of doors without
any resources but her body, by which she refused to profit. On the other
hand I could not condemn the inn-keeper who, like his fellows, was not
troubled with much gallantry. I had yielded to an impulse of pity without
any hopes of advantage for myself. Such were my thoughts when Stuard came
to thank me, begging me to come and see his wife and try and persuade her
to behave in a different manner.
"She will give me no answers, and you know that that sort of thing is
rather tedious."
"Come, she knows what you have done for her; she will talk to you, for
her feelings . . . ."
"What business have you to talk about feelings after what happened
yesterday evening?"
"It was well for that gentleman that he went away at midnight, otherwise
I should have killed him this morning."
"My dear sir, allow me to tell you that all that is pure braggadocio.
Yesterday, not to-day, was the time to kill him, or to throw your plate
at his head, at all events. We will now go and see your wife."
I found her in bed, her face to the wall, the coverlet right up to her
chin, and her body convulsed with sobs. I tried to bring her to reason,
but as usual got no reply. Stuard wanted to leave me, but I told him that
if he went out I would go too, as I could do nothing to console her, as
he might know after her refusing the Marquis of Grimaldi's hundred louis
for a smile and her hand to kiss.
"A hundred Louis!" cried the fellow with a sturdy oath; "what folly! We
might have been at home at Liege by now. A princess allows one to kiss
her hand for nothing, and she.... A hundred Louis! Oh, damnable!"
His exclamations, very natural under the circumstances, made me feel
inclined to laugh. The poor devil swore by all his gods, and I was about
to leave the room, when all at once the wretched woman was seized with
true or false convulsions. With one hand she seized a water-bottle and
sent it flying into the middle of the room, and with the other she tore
the clothes away from her breast. Stuard tried to hold her, but her
disorder increased in violence, and the coverlet was disarranged to such
a degree that I could see the most exquisite naked charms imaginable. At
last she grew calm, and her eyes closed as if exhausted; she remained in
the most voluptuous position that desire itself could have invented. I
began to get very excited. How was I to look on such beauties without
desiring to possess them? At this point her wretched husband left the
room, saying he was gone to fetch some water. I saw the snare, and my
self-respect prevented my being caught in it. I had an idea that the
whole scene had been arranged with the intent that I should deliver
myself up to brutal pleasure, while the proud and foolish woman would be
free to disavow all participation in the fact. I constrained myself, and
gently veiled what I would fain have revealed in all its naked beauty. I
condemned to darkness these charms which this monster of a woman only
wished me to enjoy that I might be debased.
Stuard was long enough gone. When he came back with the water-bottle
full, he was no doubt surprised to find me perfectly calm, and in no
disorder of any kind, and a few minutes afterwards I went out to cool
myself by the banks of the Rhone.
I walked along rapidly, feeling enraged with myself, for I felt that the
woman had bewitched me. In vain I tried to bring myself to reason; the
more I walked the more excited I became, and I determined that after what
I had seen the only cure for my disordered fancy was enjoyment, brutal or
not. I saw that I should have to win her, not by an appeal to sentiment
but by hard cash, without caring what sacrifices I made. I regretted my
conduct, which then struck me in the light of false delicacy, for if I
had satisfied my desires and she chose to turn prude, I might have
laughed her to scorn, and my position would have been unassailable. At
last I determined on telling the husband that I would give him
twenty-five louis if he could obtain me an interview in which I could
satisfy my desires.
Full of this idea I went back to the inn, and had my dinner in my own
room without troubling to enquire after her. Le Duc told me that she was
dining in her room too, and that the landlord had told the company that
she would not take her meals in public any more. This was information I
possessed already.
After dinner I called on the good-natured Dolci, who introduced me to his
father, an excellent man, but not rich enough to satisfy his son's desire
of travelling. The young man was possessed of considerable dexterity, and
performed a number of very clever conjuring tricks. He had an amiable
nature, and seeing that I was curious to know about his love affairs he
told me numerous little stories which shewed me that he was at that happy
age when one's inexperience is one's sole misfortune.
There was a rich lady for whom he did not care, as she wanted him to give
her that which he would be ashamed to give save for love, and there was a
girl who required him to treat her with respect. I thought I could give
him a piece of good advice, so I told him to grant his favours to the
rich woman, and to fail in respect now and again to the girl, who would
be sure to scold and then forgive. He was no profligate, and seemed
rather inclined to become a Protestant. He amused himself innocently with
his friends of his own age, in a garden near Avignon, and a sister of the
gardener's wife was kind to him when they were alone.
In the evening I went back to the inn, and I had not long to wait for the
Astrodi and the Lepi (so the hunchbacked girl was named); but when I saw
these two caricatures of women I felt stupefied. I had expected them, of
course, but the reality confounded me. The Astrodi tried to
counterbalance her ugliness by an outrageous freedom of manners; while
the Lepi, who though a hunchback was very talented and an excellent
actress, was sure of exciting desire by the rare beauty of her eyes and
teeth, which latter challenged admiration from her enormous mouth by
their regularity and whiteness. The Astrodi rushed up to me and gave me
an Italian embrace, to which, willy nilly, I was obliged to submit. The
quieter Lepi offered me her cheek, which I pretended to kiss. I saw that
the Astrodi was in a fair way to become intolerable, so I begged her to
moderate her transports, because as a novice at these parties I wanted to
get accustomed to them by degrees. She promised that she would be very
good.
While we were waiting for supper I asked her, for the sake of something
to say, whether she had found a lover at Avignon.
"Only the vice-legate's auditor," she replied; "and though he makes me
his pathic he is good-natured and generous. I have accustomed myself to
his taste easily enough, though I should have thought such a thing
impossible a year ago, as I fancied the exercise a harmful one, but I was
wrong."
"So the auditor makes a boy of you?"
"Yes. My sister would have adored him, as that sort of love is her
passion."
"But your sister has such fine haunches."
"So have I! Look here, feel me."
"You are right; but wait a bit, it is too soon for that kind of thing
yet."
"We will be wanton after supper."
"I think you are wanton now," said the Lepi.
"Why?"
"Why? Ought you to shew your person like that?"
"My dear girl, you will be shewing yourself soon. When one is in good
company, one is in the golden age."
"I wonder at your telling everyone what sort of a connection you have
with the auditor," said I.
"Nonsense! I don't tell everyone, but everyone tells me and congratulates
me too. They know the worthy man never cared for women, and it would be
absurd to deny what everybody guesses. I used to be astonished at my
sister, but the best plan in this world is to be astonished at nothing.
But don't you like that?"
"No, I only like this."
As I spoke I laid hands on the Lepi, on the spot where one usually finds
what I called "this;" but the Astrodi, seeing that I found nothing, burst
into a roar of laughter, and taking my hand put it just under her front
hump, where at last I found what I wanted. The reader will guess my
surprise. The poor creature, too ashamed to be prudish, laughed too. My
spirits also begin to rise, as I thought of the pleasure I should get out
of this new discovery after supper.
"Have you never had a lover?" said I to the Lepi.
"No," said the Astrodi, "she is still a maid."
"No, I am not," replied the Lepi, in some confusion, "I had a lover at
Bordeaux, and another at Montpellier."
"Yes, I know, but you are still as you were born."
"I can't deny it."
"What's that? Two lovers and still a maid! I don't understand; please
tell me about it, for I have never heard of such a thing."
"Before I satisfied my first lover which happened when I was only twelve,
I was just the same as I am now."
"It's wonderful. And what did he say when he saw it?"
"I swore that he was my first, and he believed me, putting it down to the
peculiar shape of my body."
"He was a man of spirit; but didn't he hurt you?"
"Not a bit; but then he was very gentle."
"You must have a try after supper," said the Astrodi to me, "that would
be fine fun."
"No, no," said the Lepi, "the gentleman would be too big for me."
"Nonsense! You don't want to take in all of him. I will show you how it
is."
With these words the impudent hussy proceeded to exhibit me, and I let
her do what she liked.
"That's just what I should have thought," cried the Lepi; "it could never
be done."
"Well, he is rather big," answered the Astrodi; "but there's a cure for
everything, and he will be content with half-measures."
"It's not the length, my dear, but the thickness which frightens me; I am
afraid the door is too narrow."
"All the better for you, for you can sell your maidenhead after having
had two lovers."
This conversation, not devoid of wit, and still more the simplicity of
the hunchback, had made me resolve to verify things for myself.
Supper came up, and I had the pleasure of seeing the two nymphs eat like
starving savages, and drink still better. When the Hermitage had done its
work the Astrodi proposed that we should cast off the clothes which
disfigure nature.
"Certainly," said I; "and I will turn away while you are getting ready."
I went behind the curtains, took off my clothes, and went to bed with my
back to them. At last the Astrodi told me that they were ready, and when
I looked the Lepi took up all my attention. In spite of her double
deformity she was a handsome woman. My glances frightened her, for she
was doubtless taking part in an orgy for the first time. I gave her
courage, however, by dint of praising those charms which the white and
beautiful hands could not hide, and at last I persuaded her to come and
lie beside me. Her hump prevented her lying on her back, but the
ingenious Astrodi doubled up the pillows and succeeded in placing her in
a position similar to that of a ship about to be launched. It was also by
the tender care of the Astrodi that the introduction of the knife was
managed, to the great delight of priest and victim. After the operation
was over she got up and kissed me, which she could not do before, for her
mouth reached to the middle of my chest, while my feet were scarcely down
to her knees. I would have given ten louis to have been able to see the
curious sight we must have presented at work.
"Now comes my turn," said the Astrodi; "but I don't want you to infringe
on the rights of my auditor, so come and look round and see where the
path lies. Take that."
"What am I to do with this slice of lemon?"
"I want you to try whether the place is free from infection, or whether
it would be dangerous for you to pay it a visit."
"Is that a sure method?"
"Infallible; if everything were not right I could not bear the smart."
"There you are. How's that?"
"All right; but don't deceive me, I want no half measures. My reputation
would be made if I became with child."
I ask my reader's leave to draw a veil over some incidents of this truly
scandalous orgy, in which the ugly woman taught me some things I did not
know before. At last, more tired than exhausted, I told them to begone,
but the Astrodi insisted on finishing up with a bowl of punch. I agreed,
but not wishing to have anything more to do with either of them I dressed
myself again. However, the champagne punch excited them to such an extent
that at last they made me share their transports. The Astrodi placed her
friend in such a singular position that the humps were no longer visible,
and imagining that I had before me the high priestess of Jove, I paid her
a long sacrifice, in which death and resurrection followed one another in
succession. But I felt disgusted with myself, and drew away from their
lascivious frenzies, and gave them ten Louis to get rid of them. The
Astrodi fell on her knees, blessed me, thanked me, called me her god; and
the Lepi wept and laughed for joy at the same time; and thus for a
quarter of an hour I was treated to a scene of an extraordinary kind.
I had them taken home in my carriage, and slept till ten o'clock next
morning. Just as I was going out for a walk Stuard came to my room and
told me, with an air of despair, that if I did not give him the means of
going away before I left he would throw himself in the Rhine.
"That's rather tragic," said I, "but I can find a cure. I will disburse
twenty-five Louis, but it is your wife who must receive them; and the
only condition is that she must receive me alone for an hour, and be
entirely kind."
"Sir, we need just that sum; my wife is disposed to receive you; go and
talk to her. I shall not be in till noon."
I put twenty-five Louis in a pretty little purse, and left my room
thinking that the victory was won. I entered her room and approached her
bed respectfully. When she heard me she sat up in bed without taking the
trouble to cover her breast, and before I could wish her good-day she
spoke to me as follows:
"I am ready, sir, to pay with my body for the wretched twenty-five Louis
of which my husband is in need. You can do what you like with me; but
remember that in taking advantage of my position to assuage your brutal
lust you are the viler of the two, for I only sell myself so cheaply
because necessity compels me to do so. Your baseness is more shameful
than mine. Come on; here I am."
With this flattering address she threw off the coverlet with a vigorous
gesture, and displayed all her beauties, which I might have gazed on with
such different feelings from those which now filled my breast. For a
moment I was silent with indignation. All my passion had evaporated; in
those voluptuous rounded limbs I saw now only the covering of a wild
beast's soul. I put back the coverlet with the greatest calmness, and
addressed her in a tone of cold contempt:
"No, madam, I shall not leave this room degraded because you have told me
so, but I shall leave it after imparting to you a few degrading truths,
of which you cannot be ignorant if you are a woman of any decency
whatever. Here are twenty-five louis, a wretched sum to give a virtuous
woman in payment of her favours, but much more than you deserve. I am not
brutal, and to convince you of the fact I am going to leave you in the
undisturbed possession of your charms, which I despise as heartily as I
should have admired them if your behaviour had been different. I only
give you the money from a feeling of compassion which I cannot overcome,
and which is the only feeling I now have for you. Nevertheless, let me
tell you that whether a woman sells herself for twenty-five louis or
twenty-five million louis she is as much a prostitute in the one case as
in the other, if she does not give her love with herself, or at all
events the semblance of love. Farewell."
I went back to my room, and in course of time Stuard came to thank me.
"Sir," said I, "let me alone; I wish to hear no more about your wife."
They went away the next day for Lyons, and my readers will hear of them
again at Liege.
In the afternoon Dolci took me to his garden that I might see the
gardener's sister. She was pretty, but not so pretty as he was. He soon
got her into a good humour, and after some trifling objection she
consented to be loved by him in my presence. I saw that this Adonis had
been richly dowered by nature, and I told him that with such a physical
conformation he had no need of emptying his father's purse to travel, and
before long he took my advice. This fair Ganymede might easily have
turned me into Jove, as he struggled amorously with the gardener's
sister.
As I was going home I saw a young man coming out of a boat; he was from
twenty to twenty-five years old, and looked very sad. Seeing me looking
at him, he accosted me, and humbly asked for alms, shewing me a document
authorizing him to beg, and a passport stating he had left Madrid six
weeks before. He came from Parma, and was named Costa. When I saw Parma
my national prejudice spoke in his favour, and I asked him what
misfortune had reduced him to beggary.
"Only lack of money to return to my native country," said he.
"What were you doing at Madrid, and why did you leave?"
"I was there four years as valet to Dr. Pistoria, physician to the King
of Spain, but on my health failing I left him. Here is a certificate
which will shew you that I gave satisfaction."
"What can you do?"
"I write a good hand, I can assist a gentleman as his secretary, and I
intend being a scribe when I get home. Here are some verses I copied
yesterday."
"You write well; but can you write correctly without a book?"
"I can write from dictation in French, Latin, and Spanish."
"Correctly?"
"Yes, sir, if the dictation is done properly, for it is the business of
the one who dictates to see that everything is correct."
I saw that Master Gaetan Costa was an ignoramus, but in spite of that I
took him to my room and told Le Duc to address him in Spanish. He
answered well enough, but on my dictating to him in Italian and French I
found he had not the remotest ideas on orthography.
"But you can't write," said I to him. However, I saw he was mortified at
this, and I consoled him by saying that I would take him to his own
country at my expense. He kissed my hand, and assured me that I should
find a faithful servant in him.
This young fellow took my fancy by his originality; he had probably
assumed it to distinguish himself from the blockheads amongst whom he had
hitherto lived, and now used it in perfect good faith with everybody. He
thought that the art of a scribe solely consisted in possessing a good
hand, and that the fairest writer would be the best scribe. He said as
much while he was examining a paper I had written, and as my writing was
not as legible as his he tacitly told me I was his inferior, and that I
should therefore treat him with some degree of respect. I laughed at this
fad, and, not thinking him incorrigible I took him into my service. If it
had not been for that odd notion of his I should probably have merely
given him a louis, and no more. He said that spelling was of no
consequence, as those who knew how to spell could easily guess the words,
while those who did not know were unable to pick out the mistakes. I
laughed, but as I said nothing he thought the laugh signified approval.
In the dictation I gave him the Council of Trent happened to occur.
According to his system he wrote Trent by a three and a nought. I burst
out laughing; but he was not in the least put out, only remarking that
the pronunciation being the same it was of no consequence how the word
was spelt. In point of fact this lad was a fool solely through his
intelligence, matched with ignorance and unbounded self-confidence. I was
pleased with his originality and kept him, and was thus the greater fool
of the two, as the reader will see.
I left Avignon next day, and went straight to Marseilles, not troubling
to stop at Aix. I halted at the "Treize Cantons," wishing to stay for a
week at least in this ancient colony of the Phocaeans, and to do as I
liked there. With this idea I took no letter of introduction; I had
plenty of money, and needed nobody's help. I told my landlord to give me
a choice fish dinner in my own room, as I was aware that the fish in
those parts is better than anywhere else.
I went out the next morning with a guide, to take me back to the inn when
I was tired of walking. Not heeding where I went, I reached a fine quay;
I thought I was at Venice again, and I felt my bosom swell, so deeply is
the love of fatherland graven on the heart of every good man. I saw a
number of stalls where Spanish and Levantine wines were kept, and a
number of people drinking in them. A crowd of business men went hither
and thither, running up against each other, crossing each other's paths,
each occupied with his own business, and not caring whose way he got
into. Hucksters, well dressed and ill dressed, women, pretty and plain,
women who stared boldly at everyone, modest maidens with downcast eyes,
such was the picture I saw.
The mixture of nationalities, the grave Turk and the glittering
Andalusian, the French dandy, the gross Negro, the crafty Greek, the dull
Hollander; everything reminded me of Venice, and I enjoyed the scene.
I stopped a moment at a street corner to read a playbill, and then I went
back to the inn and refreshed my weary body with a delicious dinner,
washed down with choice Syracusan wine. After dinner I dressed and took a
place in the amphitheatre of the theatre.
CHAPTER III
Rosalie--Toulon--Nice--I Arrive at Genoa--M. Grimaldi--
Veronique and Her Sister
I noticed that the four principal boxes on both sides of the proscenium
were adorned with pretty women, but not a single gentleman. In the
interval between the first and second acts I saw gentlemen of all classes
paying their devoirs to these ladies. Suddenly I heard a Knight of Malta
say to a girl, who was the sole occupant of a box next to me,
"I will breakfast with you to-morrow."
This was enough for me. I looked at her more closely and finding her to
be a dainty morsel I said, as soon as the knight had gone--
"Will you give me my supper?"
"With pleasure; but I have been taken in so often that I shan't expect
you without an earnest."
"How can I give you an earnest? I don't understand."
"You must be a new-comer here."
"Just arrived."
She laughed, called the knight, and said,--
"Be pleased to explain to this gentleman, who has just asked me for
supper, the meaning of the word 'earnest.'"
The good-natured knight explained, with a smile, that the lady, fearing
lest my memory should prove defective, wanted me to pay for my supper in
advance. I thanked him, and asked her if a louis would be enough; and on
her replying in the affirmative, I gave her the Louis and asked for her
address. The knight told me politely that he would take me there himself
after the theatre, adding,--
"She's the wantonest wench in all Marseilles."
He then asked me if I knew the town, and when I told him that I had only
come that day he said he was glad to be the first to make my
acquaintance. We went to the middle of, the amphitheatre and he pointed
out a score of girls to right and left, all of them ready to treat the
first comer to supper. They are all on the free list, and the manager
finds they serve his ends as respectable women will not sit in their
boxes, and they draw people to the theatre. I noticed five or six of a
better type than the one I had engaged, but I resolved to stick to her
for the evening, and to make the acquaintance of the others another time.
"Is your favourite amongst them?" I said to the knight.
"No, I keep a ballet-girl, and I will introduce you to her, as I am glad
to say that I am free from all jealousy."
When the play came to an end he took me to my nymph's lodging, and we
parted with the understanding that we were to see more of one another.
I found the lady in undress--a circumstance which went against her, for
what I saw did not please me. She gave me a capital supper, and enlivened
me by some witty and wanton sallies which made me regard her in a more
favourable light. When we had supper she got into bed, and asked me to
follow her example; but I told her that I never slept out. She then
offered me the English article which brings peace to the soul, but I did
not accept the one she offered as I thought it looked of a common make.
"I have finer ones, but they are three francs each, and the maker only
sells them by the dozen," she said. "I will take a dozen if they are
really good," I replied.
She rang the bell, and a young, charming, and modest-looking girl came
in. I was struck with her.
"You have got a nice maid," I remarked, when the girl had gone for the
protective sheaths.
"She is only fifteen," she said, "and won't do anything, as she is new to
it."
"Will you allow me to see for myself?"
"You may ask her if you like, but I don't think she will consent."
The girl came back with the packet, and putting myself in a proper
position I told her to try one on. She proceeded to do so with a sulky
air and with a kind of repugnance which made me feel interested in her.
Number one would not go on, so she had to try on a second, and the result
was that I besprinkled her plentifully. The mistress laughed, but she was
indignant, threw the whole packet in my face, and ran away in a rage. I
wanted nothing more after this, so I put the packet in my pocket, gave
the woman two Louis, and left the room. The girl I had treated so
cavalierly came to light me downstairs, and thinking I owed her an
apology I gave her a Louis and begged her pardon. The poor girl was
astonished, kissed my hand, and begged me to say nothing to her mistress.
"I will not, my dear, but tell me truly whether you are still a 'virgo
intacta'."
"Certainly, sir!"
"Wonderful! but tell me why you wouldn't let me see for myself?"
"Because it revolted me."
"Nevertheless you will have to do so, for otherwise, in spite of your
prettiness, people will not know what to make of you. Would you like to
let me try?"
"Yes, but not in this horrible house."
"Where, then?"
"Go to my mother's to-morrow, I will be there. Your guide knows where she
lives."
When I got outside, I asked the man if he knew her. He replied in the
affirmative, and said he believed her to be an honest girl.
"You will take me to-morrow to see her mother," I said.
Next morning he took me to the end of the town, to a poor house, where I
found a poor woman and poor children living on the ground floor, and
eating hard black bread.
"What do you want?" said she.
"Is you daughter here?"
"No, and what if she were? I am not her bawd."
"No, of course not, my good woman."
Just then the girl came in, and the enraged mother flung an old pot which
came handy, at her head. Luckily it missed, but she would not have
escaped her mother's talons if I had not flung myself between them.
However, the old woman set up a dismal shriek, the children imitated her,
and the poor girl began to cry. This hubbub made my man come in.
"You hussy!" screamed the mother, "you are bringing disgrace on me; get
out of my house. You are no longer my daughter!"
I was in a difficult position. The man begged her not to make such a
noise, as it would draw all the neighbours about the house; but the
enraged woman answered only by abuse. I drew six francs from my pocket
and gave them to her, but she flung them in my face. At last I went out
with the daughter, whose hair she attempted to pull out by the roots,
which project was defeated by the aid of my man. As soon as we got
outside, the mob which the uproar had attracted hooted me and followed
me, and no doubt I should have been torn to pieces if I had not escaped
into a church, which I left by another door a quarter of an hour later.
My fright saved me, for I knew the ferocity of the Provencals, and I took
care not to reply a word to the storm of abuse which poured on me. I
believe that I was never in greater danger than on that day.
Before I got back to my inn I was rejoined by the servant and the girl.
"How could you lead me into such a dangerous position?" said I. "You must
have known your mother was savage."
"I hoped she would behave respectfully to you."
"Be calm; don't weep any more. Tell me how I can serve you."
"Rather than return to that horrible house I was in yesterday I would
throw myself into the sea."
"Do you know of any respectable house where I can keep her?" said I to
the man.
He told me he did know a respectable individual who let furnished
apartments.
"Take me to it, then."
The man was of an advanced age, and he had rooms to let on all the
floors.
"I only want a little nook," said the girl; and the old man took us to
the highest story, and opened the door of a garret, saying--
"This closet is six francs a month, a month's rent to be paid in advance,
and I may tell you that my door is always shut at ten o'clock, and that
nobody can come and pass the night with you."
The room held a bed with coarse sheets, two chairs, a little table, and a
chest of drawers.
"How much will you board this young woman for?" said I.
He asked twenty sous, and two sous for the maid who would bring her meals
and do her room.
"That will do," said the girl, and she paid the month's rent and the
day's board. I left her telling her I would come back again.
As I went down the stairs I asked the old man to shew me a room for
myself. He skewed me a very nice one at a Louis a month, and I paid in
advance. He then gave me a latch-key, that I might go and come when I
liked.
"If you wish to board here," said he, "I think I could give
satisfaction."
Having done this good work, I had my dinner by myself, and then went to a
coffee-house where I found the amiable Knight of Malta who was playing.
He left the game as soon as he saw me, put the fistfull of gold he had
won into his pocket, accosted me with the politeness natural to a
Frenchman, and asked me how I had liked the lady who had given me my
supper. I told him what had happened, at which he laughed, and asked me
to come and see his ballet-girl. We found her under the hairdresser's
hands, and she received me with the playful familiarity with which one
greets an old acquaintance. I did not think much of her, but I pretended
to be immensely struck, with the idea of pleasing the good-natured
knight.
When the hairdresser left her, it was time for her to get ready for the
theatre, and she dressed herself, without caring who was present. The
knight helped her to change her chemise, which she allowed him to do as a
matter of course, though indeed she begged me to excuse her.
As I owed her a compliment, I could think of nothing better than to tell
her that though she had not offended me she had made me feel very
uncomfortable.
"I don't believe you," said she.
"It's true all the same."
She came up to me to verify the fact, and finding I had deceived her, she
said half crossly,
"You are a bad fellow."
The women of Marseilles are undoubtedly the most profligate in France.
They not only pride themselves on never refusing, but also on being the
first to propose. This girl skewed me a repeater, for which she had got
up a lottery at twelve francs a ticket. She had ten tickets left; I took
them all, and so delighted was she to touch my five Louis that she came
and kissed me, and told the knight that her unfaithfulness to him rested
only with me.
"I am charmed to hear it," said the Maltese. He asked me to sup with her,
and I accepted the invitation, but the sole pleasure I had was looking at
the knight at work. He was far inferior to Dolci!
I wished them good night, and went to the house where I had placed the
poor girl. The maid skewed me to my room, and I asked her if I might go
to the garret. She took the light, I followed her up, and Rosalie, as the
poor girl was named, heard my voice and opened the door. I told the maid
to wait for me in my room, and I went in and sat down on the bed.
"Are you contented, dear?" I said.
"I am quite happy."
"Then I hope you will be kind, and find room for me in your bed."
"You may come if you like, but I must tell you that you will not find me
a maid, as I have had one lover."
"You told me a lie, then?"
"Forgive me, I could not guess you would be my lover."
"I forgive you willingly; all the more so as I am no great stickler for
maidenheads."
She was as gentle as a lamb, and allowed me to gaze on all those charms
of which my hands and my lips disputed the possession; and the notion
that I was master of all these treasures put fire in all my veins, but
her submissive air distressed me.
"How is it you do not partake my desires?" said I.
"I dare not, lest you take me for a pretender."
Artifice or studied coquetry might have prompted such an answer, but the
real timidity and the frankness with which these words were uttered could
not have been assumed. Impatient to gain possession of her I took off my
clothes, and on getting into bed to her I was astonished to find her a
maid.
"Why did you tell me you had a lover?" said I. "I never heard of a girl
telling a lie of that sort before."
"All the same I did not tell a lie, but I am very glad that I seem as if
I had done so."
"Tell me all about it."
"Certainly I will, for I want to win your confidence. This is the story:
"Two years ago my mother, though she was hot-tempered, still loved me. I
was a needle-woman, and earned from twenty to thirty sous a day. Whatever
I earned I gave my mother. I had never had a lover, never thought of such
a thing, and when my goodness was praised I felt inclined to laugh. I had
been brought up from a child never to look at young men when I met them
in the street, and never to reply to them when they addressed any
impudence to me.
"Two months ago a fine enough looking young man, a native of Genoa, and a
merchant in a small way, came to my mother to get her to wash some very
fine cotton stockings which the sea-water had stained. When he saw me he
was very complimentary, but in an honest way. I liked him, and, no doubt
seeing it, he came and came again every evening. My mother was always
present at our interviews, and he looked at me and talked to me, but did
not so much as ask to kiss my hand. My mother was very pleased to notice
that the young man liked me, and often scolded me because I was not
polite enough to him. In time he had to go to Genoa in a small ship which
belonged to him, and which was laden with goods. He assured us that he
would return again the next spring and declare his intentions. He said he
hoped he should find me as good as ever, and still without any lover.
This was enough; my mother looked upon him as my betrothed, and let us
talk together at the door till midnight. When he went I would shut the
door and lie down beside my mother, who was always asleep.
"Four or five days before his departure, he took my arm and got me to go
with him to a place about fifty paces from the house to drink a glass of
Muscat at a Greek's, who kept his tavern open all night. We were only
away for half an hour, and then it was that he first kissed me. When I
got home I found my mother awake, and told her all; it seemed so harmless
to me.
"Next day, excited by the recollection of what had happened the night
before, I went with him again, and love began to gain ground. We indulged
in caresses which were no longer innocent, as we well knew. However, we
forgave each other, as we had abstained from the chief liberty.
"The day after, my lover--as he had to journey in the night--took leave
of my mother, and as soon as she was in bed I was not longer in granting
what I desired as much as he. We went to the Greek's, ate and drank, and
our heated senses gained love's cause; we forgot our duty, and fancied
our misdemeanour a triumph.
"Afterwards we fell asleep, and when we awoke we saw our fault in the
clear, cold light of day. We parted sorrowful rather than rejoicing, and
the reception my mother gave me was like that you witnessed this morning.
I assured her that marriage would take away the shame of my sin, and with
this she took up a stick and would have done for me, if I had not taken
to my heels, more from instinct than from any idea of what I was doing.
"Once in the street I knew not where to turn, and taking refuge in a
church I stayed there like one in a dream till noon. Think of my
position. I was hungry, I had no refuge, nothing but the clothes I wore,
nothing that would get me a morsel of bread. A woman accosted me in the
street. I knew her and I also knew that she kept a servants' agency. I
asked her forthwith if she could get me a place.
"'I had enquiries about a maid this morning,' said she, 'but it is for a
gay woman, and you are pretty. You would have a good deal of difficulty
in remaining virtuous.'
"'I can keep off the infection,' I answered, 'and in the position I am in
I cannot pick and choose.'
"She thereupon took me to the lady, who was delighted to see me, and
still more delighted when I told her that I had never had anything to do
with a man. I have repented of this lie bitterly enough, for in the week
I spent at that profligate woman's house I have had to endure the most
humiliating insults that an honest girl ever suffered. No sooner did the
men who came to the house hear that I was a maid than they longed to
slake their brutal lust upon me, offering me gold if I would submit to
their caresses. I refused and was reviled, but that was not all. Five or
six times every day I was obliged to remain a witness of the disgusting
scenes enacted between my mistress and her customers, who, when I was
compelled to light them about the house at night, overwhelmed me with
insults, because I would not do them a disgusting service for a
twelve-sous piece. I could not bear this sort of life much longer, and I
was thinking of drowning myself. When you came you treated me so
ignominiously that my resolve to die was strengthened, but you were so
kind and polite as you went away that I fell in love with you directly,
thinking that Providence must have sent you to snatch me away from the
abyss. I thought your fine presence might calm my mother and persuade her
to take me back till my lover came to marry me. I was undeceived, and I
saw that she took me for a prostitute. Now, if you like, I am altogether
yours, and I renounce my lover of whom I am no longer worthy. Take me as
your maid, I will love you and you only; I will submit myself to you and
do whatever you bid me."
Whether it were weakness or virtue on my part, this tale of woe and a
mother's too great severity drew tears from my eyes, and when she saw my
emotion she wept profusely, for her heart was in need of some relief.
"I think, my poor Rosalie, you have only one chemise."
"Alas! that is all."
"Comfort yourself, my dear; all your wants shall be supplied tomorrow, and
in the evening you shall sup with me in my room on the second floor. I
will take care of you."
"You pity me, then?"
"I fancy there is more love than pity in it."
"Would to God it were so!"
This "would to God," which came from the very depths of her soul, sent me
away in a merry mood. The servant who had been waiting for me for two
hours, and was looking rather glum, relaxed when she saw the colour of a
crown which I gave her by way of atonement.
"Tell your master," said I, "that Rosalie will sup with me to-morrow; let
us have a fasting dinner, but let it be a good one."
I returned to my inn quite in love with Rosalie, and I congratulated
myself on having at last heard a true tale from a pretty mouth. She
appeared to me so well disposed that her small failing seemed to make her
shine the more. I resolved never to abandon her, and I did so in all
sincerity; was I not in love?
After I had had my chocolate next morning I went out with a guide to the
shops, where I got the necessary articles, paying a good but not an
excessive price. Rosalie was only fifteen, but with her figure, her
well-formed breasts, and her rounded arms, she would have been taken for
twenty. Her shape was so imprinted on my brain that everything I got for
her fitted as if she had been measured for it. This shopping took up all
the morning, and in the afternoon the man took her a small trunk
containing two dresses, chemises, petticoats, handkerchiefs, stockings,
gloves, caps, a pair of slippers, a fan, a work-bag, and a mantle. I was
pleased at giving her such a delightful surprise, and I longed for
suppertime that I might enjoy the sight of her pleasure.
The Knight of Malta came to dine with me without ceremony, and I was
charmed to see him. After we had dined he persuaded me to go to the
theatre, as in consequence of the suspense of the subscription
arrangements the boxes would be filled with all the quality in
Marseilles.
"There will be no loose women in the amphitheatre," said he, "as
everybody has to pay."
That decided me and I went. He presented me to a lady with an excellent
connection, who asked me to come and see her. I excused myself on the
plea that I was leaving so shortly. Nevertheless she was very useful to
me on my second visit to Marseilles. Her name was Madame Audibert.
I did not wait for the play to end, but went where love called me. I had
a delightful surprise when I saw Rosalie; I should not have known her.
But I cannot resist the pleasure of recalling her picture as she stood
before me then, despite the years that have rolled by since that happy
moment.
Rosalie was an enticing-looking brunette, above the middle height. Her
face was a perfect oval, and exquisitely proportioned. Two fine black
eyes shed a soft and ravishing light around. Her eyebrows were arched,
and she had a wealth of hair, black and shining as ebony; her skin was
while and lightly tinged with colour. On her chin was a dimple, and her
slightest smile summoned into being two other dimples, one on each cheek.
Her mouth was small, disclosing two rows of fairest orient pearls, and
from her red lips flowed forth an indefinable sweetness. The lower lip
projected ever so lightly, and seemed designed to hold a kiss. I have
spoken of her arms, her breast, and her figure, which left nothing to be
desired, but I must add to this catalogue of her charms, that her hand
was exquisitely shaped, and that her foot was the smallest I have ever
seen. As to her other beauties, I will content myself with saying that
they were in harmony with those I have described.
To see her at her best, one had to see her smiling; and hitherto she had
been sad or vexed--states of mind which detract from a woman's
appearance. But now sadness was gone, and gratitude and pleasure had
taken its place. I examined her closely, and felt proud, as I saw what a
transformation I had effected; but I concealed my surprise, lest she
should think I had formed an unfavourable impression of her. I proceeded,
therefore, to tell her that I should expose myself to ridicule if I
attempted to keep a beauty like herself for a servant.
"You shall be my mistress," I said, "and my servants shall respect you as
if you were my wife."
At this Rosalie, as if I had given her another being, began to try and
express her gratitude for what I had done. Her words, which passion made
confused, increased my joy; here was no art nor deceit, but simple
nature.
There was no mirror in her garret, so she had dressed by her sense of
touch, and I could see that she was afraid to stand up and look at
herself in the mirror in my room. I knew the weak spot in all women's
hearts (which men are very wrong in considering as matter for reproach),
and I encouraged her to admire herself, whereupon she could not restrain
a smile of satisfaction.
"I think I must be in disguise," said she, "for I have never seen myself
so decked out before."
She praised the tasteful simplicity of the dress I had chosen, but was
vexed at the thought that her mother would still be displeased.
"Think no more of your mother, dearest one. You look like a lady of
quality, and I shall be quite proud when the people at Genoa ask me if
you are my daughter."
"At Genoa?"
"Yes, at Genoa. Why do you blush?"
"From surprise; perhaps I may see there one whom I have not yet
forgotten."
"Would you like to stay here better?"
"No, no! Love me and be sure that I love you and for your own sake, not
from any thought of my own interests."
"You are moved, my angel; let me wipe away your tears with kisses."
She fell into my arms, and she relieved the various feelings of which her
heart was full by weeping for some time. I did not try to console her,
for she had not grief; she wept as tender souls, and women, more
especially, often will. We had a delicious supper to which I did honour
for two, for she ate nothing. I asked her if she was so unfortunate as
not to care for good food.
"I have as good an appetite as anyone," she replied, "and an excellent
digestion. You shall see for yourself when I grow more accustomed to my
sudden happiness."
"At least you can drink; this wine is admirable. If you prefer Greek
muscat I will send for some. It will remind you of your lover."
"If you love me at all, I beg you will spare me that mortification."
"You shall have no more mortification from me, I promise you. It was only
a joke, and I beg your pardon for it."
"As I look upon you I feel in despair at not having known you first."
"That feeling of yours, which wells forth from the depths of your open
soul, is grand. You are beautiful and good, for you only yielded to the
voice of love with the prospect of becoming his wife; and when I think
what you are to me I am in despair at not being sure you love me. An evil
genius whispers in my ear that you only bear with me because I had the
happiness of helping you."
"Indeed, that is an evil genius. To be sure, if I had met you in the
street I should not have fallen head over ears in love with you, like a
wanton, but you would certainly have pleased me. I am sure I love you,
and not for what you have done for me; for if I were rich and you were
poor, I would do anything in the world for you. But I don't want it to be
like that, for I had rather be your debtor than for you to be mine. These
are my real feelings, and you can guess the rest."
We were still talking on the same subject when midnight struck, and my
old landlord came and asked me if I were pleased.
"I must thank you," I replied, "I am delighted. Who cooked this delicious
supper?"
"My daughter."
"She understands her craft; tell her I thought it excellent."
"Yes, sir, but it is dear."
"Not too dear for me. You shall be pleased with me as I with you, and
take care to have as good a supper to-morrow evening, as I hope the lady
will be well enough to do justice to the products of your daughter's
culinary skill."
"Bed is a capital place to get an appetite. Ah! it is sixty years since I
have had anything to do with that sort of thing. What are you laughing
at, mademoiselle?"
"At the delight with which you must recollect it."
"You are right, it is a pleasant recollection; and thus I am always ready
to forgive young folks the peccadilloes that love makes them commit."
"You are a wise old man," said I, "everyone should sympathise with the
tenderest of all our mortal follies."
"If the old man is wise," said Rosalie, when he had left the room, "my
mother must be very foolish."
"Would you like me to take you to the play to-morrow?"
"Pray do not. I will come if you like, but it will vex me very much. I
don't want to walk out with you or to go to the theatre with you here.
Good heavens! What would people say. No, neither at Marseilles; but
elsewhere, anything you please and with all my heart."
"Very good, my dear, just as you please. But look at your room; no more
garret for you; and in three days we will start."
"So soon?"
"Yes; tell me to-morrow what you require for the journey, for I don't
want you to lack for anything, and if you leave it all to me I might
forget something which would vex me."
"Well, I should like another cloak, a cloak with a lining, some boots, a
night-cap, and a prayer-book."
"You know how to read, do you?"
"Certainly; and I can write fairly well."
"I am glad to hear it. Your asking me so freely for what you want is a
true proof of your love; where confidence dwells not there is no love. I
will not forget anything, but your feet are so small that I should advise
you to get your boots yourself."
Our talk was so pleasant, and I experienced such delight in studying her
disposition, that we did not go to bed till five o'clock. In the arms of
love and sleep we spent seven delicious hours, and when we rose at noon
we were fast lovers. She called me thou, talked of love and not of
gratitude, and, grown more familiar with her new estate, laughed at her
troubles. She kissed me at every opportunity, called me her darling boy,
her joy, and as the present moment is the only real thing in this life, I
enjoyed her love, I was pleased with her caresses, and put away all ideas
of the dreadful future, which has only one certainty--death, 'ultima
linea rerum'.
The second night was far sweeter than the first; she had made a good
supper, and drunk well, though moderately; thus she was disposed to
refine on her pleasure, and to deliver herself with greater ardour to all
the voluptuous enjoyments which love inspires.
I gave her a pretty watch and a gold shuttle for her to amuse herself
with.
"I wanted it," said she, "but I should never have dared to ask for it."
I told her that this fear of my displeasure made me doubt once more
whether she really loved me. She threw herself into my arms, and promised
that henceforth she would shew me the utmost confidence.
I was pleased to educate this young girl, and I felt that when her mind
had been developed she would be perfect.
On the fourth day I warned her to hold herself in readiness to start at a
moment's notice. I had said nothing about my plans to Costa or Le Duc,
but Rosalie knew that I had two servants, and I told her that I should
often make them talk on the journey for the sake of the laughter their
folly would afford me.
"You, my dear," I had said to her, "must be very reserved with them, and
not allow them to take the slightest liberty. Give them your orders as a
mistress, but without pride, and you will be obeyed and respected. If
they forget themselves in the slightest particular, tell me at once."
I started from the hotel of the "Treize Cantons" with four post-horses,
Le Duc and Costa sitting on the coachman's seat. The guide, whom I had
paid well for his services, took us to Rosalie's door. I got out of the
carriage, and after thanking the kindly old landlord, who was sorry to
lose so good a boarder, I made her get in, sat down beside her, and
ordered the postillions to go to Toulon, as I wished to see that fine
port before returning to Italy. We got to Toulon at five o'clock.
My Rosalie behaved herself at supper like the mistress of a house
accustomed to the best society. I noticed that Le Duc as head man made
Costa wait upon her, but I got over him by telling my sweetheart that he
would have the honour of doing her hair, as he could do it as well as the
best barber in Paris. He swallowed the golden pill, and gave in with a
good grace, and said, with a profound bow, that he hoped to give madam
satisfaction.
We went out next morning to see the port, and were shewn over the place
by the commandant, whose acquaintance we made by a lucky chance. He
offered his arm to Rosalie, and treated her with the consideration she
deserved for her appearance and the good sense of her questions. The
commandant accepted my invitation to dinner, at which Rosalie spoke to
the point though not to excess, and received the polite compliments of
our worthy guest with much grace. In the afternoon he took us over the
arsenal, and after having him to dinner could not refuse his invitation
to supper. There was no difficulty about Rosalie; the commandant
introduced her immediately to his wife, his daughter, and his son. I was
delighted to see that her manner with ladies even surpassed her manner
with gentlemen. She was one of Nature's own ladies. The commandant's wife
and daughter caressed her again and again, and she received their
attentions with that modest sensibility which is the seal of a good
education.
They asked me to dinner the next day, but I was satisfied with what I had
seen, so I took leave, intending to start on the morrow.
When we got back to the inn I told her how pleased I was with her, and
she threw her arms round my neck for joy.
"I am always afraid," said she, "of being asked who I am."
"You needn't be afraid, dearest; in France no gentleman or lady would
think of asking such a question."
"But if they did, what ought I to do?"
"You should make use of an evasion."
"What's an evasion?"
"A way of escaping from a difficulty without satisfying impertinent
curiosity."
"Give me an example."
"Well, if such a question were asked you, you might say, 'You had better
ask this gentleman.'"
"I see, the question is avoided; but is not that impolite?"
"Yes; but not so impolite as to ask an embarrassing question."
"And what would you say if the question was passed on to you?"
"Well, my answer would vary in a ratio with the respect in which I held
the questioner. I would not tell the truth, but I should say something.
And I am glad to see you attentive to my lessons. Always ask questions,
and you will always find me ready to answer, for I want to teach you. And
now let us to bed; we have to start for Antibes at an early hour, and
love will reward you for the pleasure you have given me to-day."
At Antibes I hired a felucca to take me to Genoa, and as I intended to
return by the same route I had my carriage warehoused for a small monthly
payment. We started early with a good wind, but the sea becoming rough,
and Rosalie being mortally afraid, I had the felucca rowed into
Villafranca, where I engaged a carriage to take me to Nice. The weather
kept us back for three days, and I felt obliged to call on the
commandant, an old officer named Peterson.
He gave me an excellent reception, and after the usual compliments had
passed, said,--
"Do you know a Russian who calls himself Charles Ivanoff?"
"I saw him once at Grenoble."
"It is said that he has escaped from Siberia, and that he is the younger
son of the Duke of Courland."
"So I have heard, but I know no proof of his claim to the title."
"He is at Genoa, where it is said a banker is to give him twenty thousand
crowns. In spite of that, no one would give him a sou here, so I sent him
to Genoa at my own expense, to rid the place of him."
I felt very glad that the Russian had gone away before my arrival. An
officer named Ramini, who was staying at the same inn as myself, asked if
I would mind taking charge of a packet which M. de St. Pierre, the
Spanish consul, had to send to the Marquis Grimaldi, at Genoa. It was the
nobleman I had just seen at Avignon, and I was pleased to execute the
commission. The same officer asked me whether I had ever seen a certain
Madame Stuard.
"She came here a fortnight ago with a man who calls himself her husband.
The poor devils hadn't a penny, and she, a great beauty, enchanted
everybody, but would give no one a smile or a word."
"I have both seen and know her," I answered. "I furnished her with the
means to come here. How could she leave Nice without any money?"
"That's just what no one can understand. She went off in a carriage, and
the landlord's bill was paid. I was interested in the woman. The Marquis
Grimaldi told me that she had refused a hundred louis he offered her, and
that a Venetian of his acquaintance had fared just as badly. Perhaps that
is you?"
"It is, and I gave her some money despite my treatment."
M. Peterson came to see me, and was enchanted with Rosalie's amiable
manner. This was another conquest for her, and I duly complimented her
upon it.
Nice is a terribly dull place, and strangers are tormented by the midges,
who prefer them to the inhabitants. However, I amused myself at a small
bank at faro, which was held at a coffee-house, and at which Rosalie,
whose play I directed, won a score of Piedmontese pistoles. She put her
little earnings into a purse, and told me she liked to have some money of
her own. I scolded her for not having told me so before, and reminded her
of her promise.
"I don't really want it," said she, "it's only my thoughtlessness."
We soon made up our little quarrel.
In such ways did I make this girl my own, in the hope that for the
remnant of my days she would be mine, and so I should not be forced to
fly from one lady to another. But inexorable fate ordained it otherwise.
The weather grew fine again, and we got on board once more, and the next
day arrived at Genoa, which I had never seen before. I put up at "St.
Martin's Inn," and for decency's sake took two rooms, but they were
adjoining one another. The following day I sent the packet to M.
Grimaldi, and a little later I left my card at his palace.
My guide took me to a linen-draper's, and I bought some stuff for
Rosalie, who was in want of linen. She was very pleased with it.
We were still at table when the Marquis Grimaldi was announced; he kissed
me and thanked me for bringing the parcel. His next remark referred to
Madame Stuard. I told him what had happened, and he laughed, saying that
he was not quite sure what he would have done under the circumstances.
I saw him looking at Rosalie attentively, and I told him she was as good
as she was beautiful.
"I want to find her a maid," I said, "a good seamstress, who could go out
with her, and above all who could talk Italian to her, for I want her to
learn the language that I may take her into society at Florence, Rome and
Naples."
"Don't deprive Genoa of the pleasure of entertaining her," said the
marquis. "I will introduce her under whatever name she pleases, and in my
own house to begin with."
"She has good reasons for preserving her incognito here."
"Ah, I see!--Do you think of staying here long?"
"A month, or thereabouts, and our pleasures will be limited to seeing the
town and its surroundings and going to the theatre. We shall also enjoy
the pleasures of the table. I hope to eat champignons every day, they are
better here than anywhere else."
"An excellent plan. I couldn't suggest a better. I am going to see what I
can do in the way of getting you a maid, mademoiselle."
"You sir? How can I deserve such great kindness?"
"My interest in you is the greater, as I think you come from Marseilles."
Rosalie blushed. She was not aware that she lisped, and that this
betrayed her. I extricated her from her confusion by telling the marquis
his conjecture was well founded.
I asked him how I could get the Journal de Savans, the Mercure de France,
and other papers of the same description. He promised to send me a man
who would get me all that kind of thing. He added that if I would allow
him to send me some of his excellent chocolate he would come and
breakfast with us. I said that both gift and guest were vastly agreeable
to me.
As soon as he had gone Rosalie asked me to take her to a milliner's.
"I want ribbons and other little things," said she, "but I should like to
bargain for them and pay for them out of my own money, without your
having anything to do with it."
"Do whatever you like, my dear, and afterwards we will go to the play."
The milliner to whom we went proved to be a Frenchwoman. It was a
charming sight to see Rosalie shopping. She put on an important air,
seemed to know all about it, ordered bonnets in the latest fashion,
bargained, and contrived to spend five or six louis with great grandeur.
As we left the shop I told her that I had been taken for her footman, and
I meant to be revenged. So saying, I made her come into a jeweller's,
where I bought her a necklace, ear-rings, and brooches in imitation
diamonds, and without letting her say a word I paid the price and left
the shop.
"You have bought me some beautiful things," said she, "but you are too
lavish with your money; if you had bargained you might have saved four
louis at least."
"Very likely, dearest, but I never was any hand at a bargain."
I took her to the play, but as she did not understand the language she
got dreadfully tired, and asked me to take her home at the end of the
first act, which I did very willingly. When we got in I found a box
waiting for me from M. Grimaldi. It proved to contain twenty-four pounds
of chocolate. Costa, who had boasted of his skill in making chocolate in
the Spanish fashion, received orders to make us three cups in the
morning.
At nine o'clock the marquis arrived with a tradesman, who sold me some
beautiful oriental materials. I gave them to Rosalie to make two
'mezzaro' for herself. The 'mezzaro' is a kind of hooded cloak worn by
the Genoese women, as the 'cendal' is worn at Venice, and the 'mantilla'
at Madrid.
I thanked M. Grimaldi for the chocolate, which was excellent; Costa was
quite proud of the praise the marquis gave him. Le Duc came in to
announce a woman, whose name I did not know.
"It's the mother of the maid I have engaged," said M. Grimaldi.
She came in, and I saw before me a well-dressed woman, followed by a girl
from twenty to twenty-four years old, who pleased me at the first glance.
The mother thanked the marquis, and presented her daughter to Rosalie,
enumerating her good qualities, and telling her that she would serve her
well, and walk with her when she wished to go out.
"My daughter," she added, "speaks French, and you will find her a good,
faithful, and obliging girl."
She ended by saying that her daughter had been in service lately with a
lady, and that she would be obliged if she could have her meals by
herself.
The girl was named Veronique. Rosalie told her that she was a good girl,
and that the only way to be respected was to be respectable. Veronique
kissed her hand, the mother went away, and Rosalie took the girl into her
room to begin her work.
I did not forget to thank the marquis, for he had evidently chosen a maid
more with a view to my likings than to those of my sweetheart. I told him
that I should not fail to call on him, and he replied that he would be
happy to see me at any hour, and that I should easily find him at his
casino at St. Pierre d'Arena, where he often spent the night.
VOLUME 17 -- RETURN TO ITALY
GENOA--TUSCANY--ROME
CHAPTER IV
The Play--The Russian--Petri--Rosalie at the Convent
When the marquis had gone, seeing Rosalie engaged with Veronique, I set
myself to translate the 'Ecossaise' for the actors at Genoa, who seemed
pretty good ones, to play.
I thought Rosalie looking sad at dinner, and said,
"What is the matter, dearest? You know I do not like to see you looking
melancholy."
"I am vexed at Veronique's being prettier than I."
"I see what you mean; I like that! But console your self, Veronique is
nothing compared to you, in my eyes at all events. You are my only
beauty; but to reassure you I will ask M. de Grimaldi to tell her mother
to come and fetch her away, and to get me another maid as ugly as
possible."
"Oh, no! pray do not do so; he will think I am jealous, and I wouldn't
have him think so for the world."
"Well, well, smile again if you do not wish to vex me."
"I shall soon do that, if, as you assure me, she will not make me lose
your love. But what made the old gentleman get me a girl like that? Do
you think he did it out of mischief?"
"No, I don't think so. I am sure, on the other hand, that he wanted to
let you know that you need not fear being compared with anybody. Are you
pleased with her in other respects?"
"She works well, and she is very respectful. She does not speak four
words without addressing me as signora, and she is careful to translate
what she says from Italian into French. I hope that in a month I shall
speak well enough for us to dispense with her services when we go to
Florence. I have ordered Le Duc to clear out the room I have chosen for
her, and I will send her her dinner from our own table. I will be kind to
her, but I hope you will not make me wretched."
"I could not do so; and I do not see what there can be in common between
the girl and myself."
"Then you will pardon my fears."
"The more readily as they shew your love."
"I thank you, but keep my secret."
I promised never to give a glance to Veronique, of whom I was already
afraid, but I loved Rosalie and would have done anything to save her the
least grief.
I set to at my translation after dinner; it was work I liked. I did not
go out that day, and I spent the whole of the next morning with M. de
Grimaldi.
I went to the banker Belloni and changed all my gold into gigliati
sequins. I made myself known after the money was changed, and the head
cashier treated me with great courtesy. I had bills on this banker for
forty thousand Roman crowns, and on Lepri bills for twenty thousand.
Rosalie did not want to go to the play again, so I got her a piece of
embroidery to amuse her in the evening. The theatre was a necessity for
me; I always went unless it interfered with some still sweeter pleasure.
I went by myself, and when I got home I found the marquis talking to my
mistress. I was pleased, and after I had embraced the worthy nobleman I
complimented Rosalie on having kept him till my arrival, adding gently
that she should have put down her work.
"Ask him," she replied, "if he did not make me keep on. He said he would
go if I didn't, so I gave in to keep him."
She then rose, stopped working, and in the course of an interesting
conversation she succeeded in making the marquis promise to stay to
supper, thus forestalling my intention. He was not accustomed to take
anything at that hour, and ate little; but I saw he was enchanted with my
treasure, and that pleased me, for I did not think I had anything to fear
from a man of sixty; besides, I was glad at the opportunity of
accustoming Rosalie to good society. I wanted her to be a little
coquettish, as a woman never pleases in society unless she shews a desire
to please.
Although the position was quite a strange one for her, she made me admire
the natural aptitude of women, which may be improved or spoiled by art
but which exists more or less in them all, from the throne to the
milk-pail. She talked to M. de Grimaldi in a way that seemed to hint she
was willing to give a little hope. As our guest did not eat, she said
graciously that he must come to dinner some day that she might have an
opportunity of seeing whether he really had any appetite.
When he had gone I took her on my knee, and covering her with kisses
asked her where she had learnt to talk to great people so well.
"It's an easy matter," she replied. "Your eyes speak to my soul, and tell
me what to do and what to say."
A professed rhetorician could not have answered more elegantly or more
flatteringly.
I finished the translation; I had it copied out by Costa and took it to
Rossi, the manager, who said he would put it on directly, when I told him
I was going to make him a present of the play. I named the actors of my
choice, and asked him to bring them to dine with me at my inn, that I
might read the play and distribute the parts.
As will be guessed, my invitation was accepted, and Rosalie enjoyed
dining with the actors and actresses, and especially hearing herself
called Madame Casanova every moment. Veronique explained everything she
did not understand.
When my actors were round me in a ring, they begged me to tell them their
parts, but I would not give in on this point.
"The first thing to be done," said I, "is for you to listen attentively
to the whole piece without minding about your parts. When you know the
whole play I will satisfy your curiosity."
I knew that careless or idle actors often pay no attention to anything
except their own parts, and thus a piece, though well played in its
parts, is badly rendered as a whole.
They submitted with a tolerably good grace, which the high and mighty
players of the Comedie Francaise would certainly not have done. Just as I
was beginning my heading the Marquis de Grimaldi and the banker Belloni
came in to call on me. I was glad for them to be present at the trial,
which only lasted an hour and a quarter.
After I had heard the opinion of the actors, who by their praise of
various situations shewed me that they had taken in the plot, I told
Costa to distribute the parts; but no sooner was this done than the first
actor and the first actress began to express their displeasure; she,
because I had given her the part of Lady Alton; he, because I had not
given him Murray's part; but they had to bear it as it was my will. I
pleased everybody by asking them all to dinner for the day after the
morrow, after dinner the piece to be rehearsed for the first time.
The banker Belloni asked me to dinner for the following day, including my
lady, who excused herself with great politeness, in the invitation; and
M. Grimaldi was glad to take my place at dinner at her request.
When I got to M. Belloni's, I was greatly surprised to see the impostor
Ivanoff, who instead of pretending not to know me, as he ought to have
done, came forward to embrace me. I stepped back and bowed, which might
be put down to a feeling of respect, although my coldness and scant
ceremony would have convinced any observant eye of the contrary. He was
well dressed, but seemed sad, though he talked a good deal, and to some
purpose, especially on politics. The conversation turned on the Court of
Russia, where Elizabeth Petrovna reigned; and he said nothing, but sighed
and turned away pretending to wipe the tears from his eyes. At dessert,
he asked me if I had heard anything of Madame Morin, adding, as if to
recall the circumstance to my memory, that we had supped together there:
"I believe she is quite well," I answered.
His servant, in yellow and red livery, waited on him at table. After
dinner he contrived to tell me that he had a matter of the greatest
importance he wanted to discuss with me.
"My only desire sir, is to avoid all appearance of knowing anything about
you."
"One word from you will gain me a hundred thousand crowns, and you shall
have half."
I turned my back on him, and saw him no more at Genoa.
When I got back to the inn I found M. de Grimaldi giving Rosalie a lesson
in Italian.
"She has given me an exquisite dinner," said he, "you must be very happy
with her."
In spite of his honest face, M. Grimaldi was in love with her, but I
thought I had nothing to fear. Before he went she invited him to come to
the rehearsal next day.
When the actors came I noticed amongst them a young man whose face I did
not know, and on my enquiring Rossi told me he was the prompter.
"I won't have any prompter; send him about his business."
"We can't get on without him."
"You'll have to; I will be the prompter."
The prompter was dismissed, but the three actresses began to complain.
"If we knew our parts as well as the 'pater noster' we should be certain
to come to a dead stop if the prompter isn't in his box."
"Very good," said I to the actress, who was to play Lindane, "I will
occupy the box myself, but I shall see your drawers."
"You would have some difficulty in doing that," said the first actor,
"she doesn't wear any."
"So much the better."
"You know nothing about it," said the actress.
These remarks put us all in high spirits, and the ministers of Thalia
ended by promising that they would dispense with a prompter. I was
pleased with the way the piece was read, and they said they would be
letter-perfect in three days. But something happened.
On the day fixed for the rehearsal they came without the Lindane and
Murray. They were not well, but Rossi said they would not fail us
eventually. I took the part of Murray, and asked Rosalie to be the
Lindane.
"I don't read Italian well enough," she whispered, "and I don't wish to
have the actors laughing at me; but Veronique could do it."
"Ask if she will read the part."
However, Veronique said that she could repeat it by heart.
"All the better," said I to her, laughing internally, as I thought of
Soleure, for I saw that I should thus be obliged to make love to the girl
to whom I had not spoken for the fortnight she had been with us. I had
not even had a good look at her face. I was so afraid of Rosalie (whom I
loved better every day) taking fright.
What I had feared happened. When I took Veronique's hand, and said, "Si,
bella Lindana, debbe adorarvi!" everybody clapped, because I gave the
words their proper expression; but glancing at Rosalie I saw a shadow on
her face, and I was angry at not having controlled myself better.
Nevertheless, I could not help feeling amazed at the way Veronique played
the part. When I told her that I adored her she blushed up to her eyes;
she could not have played the love-sick girl better.
We fixed a day for the dress-rehearsal at the theatre, and the company
announced the first night a week in advance to excite public curiosity.
The bills ran:
"We shall give Voltaire's Ecossaise, translated by an anonymous author:
no prompter will be present."
I cannot give the reader any idea of the trouble I had to quiet Rosalie.
She refused to be comforted; wept incessantly, and touched my heart by
gentle reproaches.
"You love Veronique," said she, "and you only translated that piece to
have an opportunity of declaring your love."
I succeeded in convincing her that she wronged me, and at last after I
had lavished caresses on her she suffered herself to be calmed. Next
morning she begged pardon for her jealousy, and to cure it insisted on my
speaking constantly to Veronique. Her heroism went farther. She got up
before me and sent me my coffee by Veronique, who was as astonished as I
was.
At heart Rosalie was a great creature, capable of noble resolves, but
like all women she gave way to sudden emotions. From that day she gave me
no more signs of jealousy, and treated her maid with more kindness than
ever. Veronique was an intelligent and well-mannered girl, and if my
heart had not been already occupied she would have reigned there.
The first night of the play I took Rosalie to a box, and she would have
Veronique with her. M. de Grimaldi did not leave her for a moment. The
play was praised to the skies; the large theatre was full of the best
people in Genoa. The actors surpassed themselves, though they had no
prompter, and were loudly applauded. The piece ran five nights and was
performed to full houses. Rossi, hoping perhaps that I would make him a
present of another play, asked my leave to give my lady a superb pelisse
of lynx-fur, which pleased her immensely.
I would have done anything to spare my sweetheart the least anxiety, and
yet from my want of thought I contrived to vex her. I should never have
forgiven myself if Providence had not ordained that I should be the cause
of her final happiness.
"I have reason to suspect," she said one day, "that I am with child, and
I am enchanted at the thought of giving you a dear pledge of my love."
"If it comes at such a time it will be mine, and I assure you I shall
love it dearly."
"And if it comes two or three weeks sooner you will not be sure that you
are the parent?"
"Not quite sure; but I shall love it just as well, and look upon it as my
child as well as yours."
"I am sure you must be the father. It is impossible the child can be
Petri's, who only knew me once, and then very imperfectly, whilst you and
I have lived in tender love for so long a time."
She wept hot tears.
"Calm yourself, dearest, I implore you! You are right; it cannot be
Petri's child. You know I love you, and I cannot doubt that you are with
child by me and by me alone. If you give me a baby as pretty as yourself,
it will be mine indeed. Calm yourself."
"How can I be calm when you can have such a suspicion?"
We said no more about it; but in spite of my tenderness, my caresses, and
all the trifling cares which bear witness to love, she was often sad and
thoughtful. How many times I reproached myself bitterly for having let
out my silly calculations.
A few days later she gave me a sealed letter, saying,--
"The servant has given me this letter when you were away. I am offended
by his doing so, and I want you to avenge me."
I called the man, and said,--
"Where did you get this letter?"
"From a young man, who is unknown to me. He gave me a crown, and begged
me to give the letter to the lady without your seeing me, and he promised
to give me two crowns more if I brought him a reply tomorrow. I did not
think I was doing wrong, sir, as the lady was at perfect liberty to tell
you."
"That's all very well, but you must go, as the lady, who gave me the
letter unopened, as you can see for yourself, is offended with you."
I called Le Duc, who paid the man and sent him away. I opened the letter,
and found it to be from Petri. Rosalie left my side, not wishing to read
the contents. The letter ran as follows:
"I have seen you, my dear Rosalie. It was just as you were coming out of
the theatre, escorted by the Marquis de Grimaldi, who is my godfather. I
have not deceived you; I was still intending to come and marry you at
Marseilles next spring, as I promised. I love you faithfully, and if you
are still my good Rosalie I am ready to marry you here in the presence of
my kinfolk. If you have done wrong I promise never to speak of it, for I
know that it was I who led you astray. Tell me, I entreat you, whether I
may speak to the Marquis de Grimaldi with regard to you. I am ready to
receive you from the hands of the gentleman with whom you are living,
provided you are not his wife. Be sure, if you are still free, that you
can only recover your honour by marrying your seducer."
"This letter comes from an honourable man who is worthy of Rosalie," I
thought to myself, "and that's more than I shall be, unless I marry her
myself. But Rosalie must decide."
I called her to me, gave her the letter, and begged her to read it
attentively. She did so, and gave it me back, asking me if I advised her
to accept Petri's offer.
"If you do dear Rosalie, I shall die of grief; but if I do not yield you,
my honour bids me marry you, and that I am quite ready to do."
At this the charming girl threw herself on my breast, crying in the voice
of true love, "I love you and you alone, darling; but it is not true that
your honour bids you marry me. Ours is a marriage of the heart; our love
is mutual, and that is enough for my happiness."
"Dear Rosalie, I adore you, but I am the best judge of my own honour. If
Petri is a well-to-do man and a man who would make you happy, I must
either give you up or take you myself."
"No, no; there is no hurry to decide. If you love me I am happy, for I
love you and none other. I shall not answer the letter, and I don't want
to hear anything more of Petri."
"You may be sure that I will say no more of him, but I am sure that the
marquis will have a hand in it."
"I daresay, but he won't speak to me twice on the subject."
After this treaty--a more sincere one than the Powers of Europe usually
make--I resolved to leave Genoa as soon as I got some letters for
Florence and Rome. In the meanwhile all was peace and love between myself
and Rosalie. She had not the slightest shadow of jealousy in her soul,
and M. de Grimaldi was the sole witness of our happiness.
Five or six days later I went to see the marquis at his casino at St.
Pierre d'Arena, and he accosted me by saying that he was happy to see me
as he had an important matter he wished to discuss with me. I guessed
what it would be, but begged him to explain himself. He then spoke as
follows:
"A worthy merchant of the town brought his nephew, a young man named
Petri, to see me two days ago. He told me that the young man is my
godson, and he asked me to protect him. I answered that as his godfather
I owed him my protection, and I promised to do what I could.
"He left my godson to talk it over with me, and he informed me that he
knew your mistress before you did at Marseilles, that he had promised to
marry her next spring, that he had seen her in my company, and that
having followed us he found out that she lived with you. He was told that
she was your wife, but not believing it, wrote her a letter saying that
he was ready to marry her; but this letter fell into your hands, and he
has had no reply to it.
"He could not make up his mind to lose a hope which made his happiness,
so he resolved to ascertain, through my good offices, whether Rosalie
would accept his proposition. He flatters himself that on his informing
me of his prosperous condition, I can tell you that he is a likely man to
make his wife happy. I told him that I knew you, and would speak to you
on the matter, and afterwards inform him of the result of our interview.
"I have made enquires into his condition, and find that he has already
amassed a considerable sum of money. His credit, morals, and reputation,
are all excellent; besides, he is his uncle's sole heir, and the uncle
passes for a man very comfortably off. And now, my dear M. Casanova, tell
me what answer I am to make."
"Tell him that Rosalie is much obliged to him, and begs him to forget
her. We are going away in three or four days. Rosalie loves me, and I
her, and I am ready to marry her whenever she likes."
"That's plain speaking; but I should have thought a man like you would
prefer freedom to a woman, however beautiful, to whom you would be bound
by indissoluble ties. Will you allow me to speak to Rosalie myself about
it?"
"You need not ask, my leave; speak to her, but in your own person and not
as representing my opinions. I adore her, and would not have her think
that I could cherish the thought of separating from her."
"If you don't want me to meddle in the matter, tell me so frankly."
"On the contrary, I wish you to see for yourself that I am not the tyrant
of the woman I adore."
"I will talk to her to-night."
I did not come home till supper-time, that the marquis might say what he
had to say in perfect freedom. The noble Genoese supped with us, and the
conversation turned on indifferent subjects. After he had gone, my
sweetheart told me what had passed between them. He had spoken to her in
almost the same words that he had addressed to me, and our replies were
nearly identical, though she had requested the marquis to say no more
about his godson, to which request he had assented.
We thought the matter settled, and busied ourselves with preparations for
our departure; but three or four days after, the marquis (who we imagined
had forgotten all about his godson) came and asked us to dine with him at
St. Pierre d'Arena, where Rosalie had never been.
"I want you to see my beautiful garden before you go," said M. Grimaldi
to her; "it will be one more pleasant recollection of your stay for me."
We went to see him at noon the next day. He was with an elderly man and
woman, to whom he introduced us. He introduced me by name, and Rosalie as
a person who belonged to me.
We proceeded to walk in the garden, where the two old people got Rosalie
between them, and overwhelmed her with politeness and complimentary
remarks. She, who was happy and in high spirits, answered in Italian, and
delighted them by her intelligence, and the grace which she gave to her
mistakes in grammar.
The servants came to tell us that dinner was ready, and what was my
astonishment on entering the room to see the table laid for six. I did
not want much insight now to see through the marquis's trick, but it was
too late. We sat down, and just then a young man came in.
"You are a little late," said the marquis; and then, without waiting for
his apology, he introduced him to me as M. Petri, his godson, and nephew
to his other guests, and he made him sit down at his left hand, Rosalie
being on his right. I sat opposite to her, and seeing that she turned as
pale as death the blood rushed to my face; I was terribly enraged. This
small despot's plot seemed disgraceful to me; it was a scandalous insult
to Rosalie and myself--an insult which should be washed away in blood. I
was tempted to stab him at his table, but in spite of my agitation I
constrained myself. What could I do? Take Rosalie's arm, and leave the
room with her? I thought it over, but foreseeing the consequences I could
not summon up courage.
I have never spent so terrible an hour as at that fatal dinner. Neither
Rosalie nor myself ate a morsel, and the marquis who helped all the
guests was discreet enough not to see that we left one course after
another untouched. Throughout dinner he only spoke to Petri and his
uncle, giving them opportunities for saying how large a trade they did.
At dessert the marquis told the young man that he had better go and look
after his affairs, and after kissing his hand he withdrew with a bow to
which nobody replied.
Petri was about twenty-four, of a moderate height, with ordinary but yet
good-natured and honest features; respectful in his manner, and sensible
though not witty in what he said. After all was said and done, I thought
him worthy of Rosalie, but I shuddered at the thought that if she became
his wife she was lost to me forever. After he had gone, the marquis said
he was sorry he had not known him before as he might be of use to him in
his business.
"However, we will see to that in the future," said he, meaningly, "I mean
to make his fortune."
At this the uncle and aunt, who no doubt knew what to say, began to laud
and extol their nephew, and ended by saying that as they had no children
they were delighted that Petri, who would be their heir, was to have his
excellency's patronage.
"We are longing," they added, "to see the girl from Marseilles he is
going to marry. We should welcome her as a beloved daughter."
Rosalie whispered to me that she could bear it no longer, and begged me
to take her away. We rose, and after we had saluted the company with cold
dignity we left the room. The marquis was visibly disconcerted. As he
escorted us to the door he stammered out compliments, for the want of
something to say, telling Rosalie that he should not have the honour of
seeing her that evening, but that he hoped to call on her the next day.
When we were by ourselves we seemed to breathe again, and spoke to one
another to relieve ourselves of the oppression which weighed on our
minds.
Rosalie thought, as well as I, that the marquis had played us a shameful
trick, and she told me I ought to write him a note, begging him not to
give himself the trouble of calling on us again.
"I will find some means of vengeance," said I; "but I don't think it
would be a good plan to write to him. We will hasten our preparations for
leaving, and receive him to-morrow with that cold politeness which bears
witness to indignation. Above all, we will not make the slightest
reference to his godson."
"If Petri really loves me," said she, "I pity him. I think he is a good
fellow, and I don't feel angry with him for being present at dinner, as
he may possibly be unaware that leis presence was likely to give me
offence. But I still shudder when I think of it: I thought I should have
died when our eyes met! Throughout dinner he could not see my eyes, as I
kept them nearly shut, and indeed he could hardly see me. Did he look at
me while he was talking?"
"No, he only looked at me. I am as sorry for him as you are, for, as you
say, he looks an honest fellow."
"Well, it's over now, and I hope I shall make a good supper. Did you
notice what the aunt said? I am sure she was in the plot. She thought she
would gain me over by saying she was ready to treat me like her own
child. She was a decent-looking woman, too."
We made a good supper, and a pleasant night inclined us to forget the
insult the marquis had put upon us. When we woke up in the morning we
laughed at it. The marquis came to see us in the evening, and greeting me
with an air of mingled confusion and vexation, he said that he knew he
had done wrong in surprising me as he had, but that he was ready to do
anything in his power by way of atonement, and to give whatever
satisfaction I liked.
Rosalie did not give me time to answer. "If you really feel," said she,
"that you have insulted us, that is enough; we are amply avenged. But all
the same, sir, we shall be on our guard against you for the future,
though that will be for a short while, as we are just leaving."
With this proud reply she made him a low bow and left the room.
When he was left alone with me M. Grimaldi addressed me as follows:
"I take a great interest in your mistress's welfare; and as I feel sure
that she cannot long be happy in her present uncertain position, while I
am sure that she would make my godson an excellent wife, I was determined
that both of you should make his acquaintance, for Rosalie herself knows
very little of him. I confess that the means I employed were
dishonourable, but you will pardon the means for the sake of the
excellent end I had in view. I hope you will have a pleasant journey, and
that you may live for a long time in uninterrupted happiness with your
charming mistress. I hope you will write to me, and always reckon on my
standing your friend, and doing everything in my power for you. Before I
go, I will tell you something which will give you an idea of the
excellent disposition of young Petri, to whose happiness Rosalie seems
essential.
"He only told me the following, after I had absolutely refused to take
charge of a letter he had written to Rosalie, despairing of being able to
send it any other way. After assuring me that Rosalie had loved him, and
that consequently she could not have any fixed aversion for him, he added
that if the fear of being with child was the reason why she would not
marry him he would agree to put off the marriage till after the child was
born, provided that she would agree to stay in Genoa in hiding, her
presence to be unknown to all save himself. He offers to pay all the
expenses of her stay. He made a remarkably wise reflection when we were
talking it over.
"'If she gave birth to a child too soon after our marriage,' said he,
'both her honour and mine would suffer hurt; she might also lose the
liking of my relations, and if Rosalie is to be my wife I want her to be
happy in everything."'
At this Rosalie, who had no doubt been listening at the door after the
manner of her sex, burst into the room, and astonished me by the
following speech:
"If M. Petri chid not tell you that it was possible that I might be with
child by him, he is a right honest man, but now I tell you so myself. I
do not think it likely, but still it is possible. Tell him, sir, that I
will remain at Genoa until the child is born, in the case of my being
pregnant, of which I have no certain knowledge, or until I am quite sure
that I am not with child. If I do have a child the truth will be made
known. In the case of there being no doubt of M. Petri's being the
parent, I am ready to marry him; but if he sees for himself that the
child is not his I hope he will be reasonable enough to let me alone for
the future. As to the expenses and my lodging at Genoa, tell him that he
need not trouble himself about either."
I was petrified. I saw the consequence of my own imprudent words, and my
heart seemed broken. The marquis asked me if this decision was given with
my authority, and I replied that as my sweetheart's will was mine he
might take her words for law. He went away in high glee, for he foresaw
that all would go well with his plans when once he was able to exert his
influence on Rosalie. The absent always fare ill.
"You want to leave me, then, Rosalie?" said I, when we were alone.
"Yes, dearest, but it will not be for long."
"I think we shall never see each other again."
"Why not, dearest? You have only to remain faithful to me. Listen to me.
Your honour and my own make it imperative that I should convince Petri
that I am not with child by him, and you that I am with child by you."
"I never doubted it, dear Rosalie."
"Yes, dear, you doubted it once and that is enough. Our parting will cost
me many a bitter tear, but these pangs are necessary to my future
happiness. I hope you will write to me, and after the child is born it
will be for you to decide on how I shall rejoin you. If I am not pregnant
I will rejoin you in a couple of months at latest."
"Though I may grieve at your resolve I will not oppose it, for I promised
I would never cross you. I suppose you will go into a convent; and the
marquis must find you a suitable one, and protect you like a father.
Shall I speak to him on the subject? I will leave you as much money as
you will want."
"That will not be much. As for M. de Grimaldi, he is bound in honour to
procure me an asylum. I don't think it will be necessary for you to speak
to him about it."
She was right, and I could not help admiring the truly astonishing tact
of this girl.
In the morning I heard that the self-styled Ivanoff had made his escape
an hour before the police were to arrest him at the suit of the banker,
who had found out that one of the bills he had presented was forged. He
had escaped on foot, leaving all his baggage behind him.
Next day the marquis came to tell Rosalie that his godson had no
objection to make to her plan. He added that the young man hoped she
would become his wife, whether the child proved to be his or not.
"He may hope as much as he likes," said Rosalie, with a smile.
"He also hopes that you will allow him to call on you now and then. I
have spoken to my kinswoman, the mother-superior of convent. You are to
have two rooms, and a very good sort of woman is to keep you company,
wait on you, and nurse you when the time comes. I have paid the amount
you are to pay every month for your board. Every morning I will send you
a confidential man, who will see your companion and will bring me your
orders. And I myself will come and see you at the grating as often as you
please."
It was then my sad duty, which the laws of politeness enjoined, to thank
the marquis for his trouble.
"'Tis to you, my lord," said I, "I entrust Rosalie. I am placing her, I
am sure, in good hands. I will go on my way as soon as she is in the
convent; I hope you will write a letter to the mother-superior for her to
take."
"I will write it directly," said he.
And as Rosalie had told him before that she would pay for everything
herself, he gave her a written copy of the agreement he had made.
"I have resolved," said Rosalie to the marquis, "to go into the convent
to-morrow, and I shall be very glad to have a short visit from you the
day after."
"I will be there," said the marquis, "and you may be sure that I will do
all in my power to make your stay agreeable."
The night was a sad one for both of us. Love scarcely made a pause amidst
our alternate complaints and consolations. We swore to be faithful for
ever, and our oaths were sincere, as ardent lovers' oaths always are. But
they are as nought unless they are sealed by destiny, and that no mortal
mind may know.
Rosalie, whose eyes were red and wet with tears, spent most of the
morning in packing up with Veronique, who cried too. I could not look at
her, as I felt angry with myself for thinking how pretty she was. Rosalie
would only take two hundred sequins, telling me that if she wanted more
she could easily let me know.
She told Veronique to look after me well for the two or three days I
should spend at Genoa, made me a mute curtsy, and went out with Costa to
get a sedan-chair. Two hours after, a servant of the marquis's came to
fetch her belongings, and I was thus left alone and full of grief till
the marquis came and asked me to give him supper, advising that Veronique
should be asked in to keep us company.
"That's a rare girl," said he, "you really don't know her, and you ought
to know her better."
Although I was rather surprised, I did not stop to consider what the
motives of the crafty Genoese might be, and I went and asked Veronique to
come in. She replied politely that she would do so, adding that she knew
how great an honour I did her.
I should have been the blindest of men if I had not seen that the clever
marquis had succeeded in his well-laid plans, and that he had duped me as
if I had been the merest freshman. Although I hoped with all my heart
that I should get Rosalie back again, I had good reasons for suspecting
that all the marquis's wit would be employed to seduce her, and I could
not help thinking that he would succeed.
Nevertheless, in the position I was in, I could only keep my fears to
myself and let him do his utmost.
He was nearly sixty, a thorough disciple of Epicurus, a heavy player,
rich, eloquent, a master of state-craft, highly popular at Genoa, and
well acquainted with the hearts of men, and still more so with the hearts
of women. He had spent a good deal of time at Venice to be more at
liberty, and to enjoy the pleasures of life at his ease. He had never
married, and when asked the reason would reply that he knew too well that
women would be either tyrants or slaves, and that he did not want to be a
tyrant to any woman, nor to be under any woman's orders. He found some
way of returning to his beloved Venice, in spite of the law forbidding
any noble who has filled the office of doge to leave his native soil.
Though he behaved to me in a very friendly manner he knew how to maintain
an air of superiority which imposed on me. Nothing else could have given
him the courage to ask me to dinner when Petri was to be present. I felt
that I had been tricked, and I thought myself in duty bound to make him
esteem me by my behaviour for the future. It was gratitude on his part
which made him smooth the way to my conquest of Veronique, who doubtless
struck him as a fit and proper person to console me for the loss of
Rosalie.
I did not take any part in the conversation at supper, but the marquis
drew out Veronique, and she shone. It was easy for me to see that she had
more wit and knowledge of the world than Rosalie, but in my then state of
mind this grieved rather than rejoiced me. M. de Grimaldi seemed sorry to
see me melancholy, and forced me, as it were, to join in the
conversation. As he was reproaching me in a friendly manner for my
silence, Veronique said with a pleasing smile that I had a good reason to
be silent after the declaration of love I had made to her, and which she
had received so ill. I was astonished at this, and said that I did not
remember having ever made her such a declaration; but she made me laugh
in spite of myself, when she said that her name that day was Lindane.
"Ah, that's in a play," said I, "in real life the man who declares his
love in words is a simpleton; 'tis with deeds the true lover shews his
love."
"Very true, but your lady was frightened all the same."
"No, no, Veronique; she is very fond of you."
"I know she is; but I have seen her jealous of me."
"If so, she was quite wrong."
This dialogue, which pleased me little, fell sweetly on the marquis's
ears; he told me that he was going to call on Rosalie next morning, and
that if I liked to give him a supper, he would come and tell me about her
in the evening. Of course I told him that he would be welcome.
After Veronique had lighted me to my room, she asked me to let my
servants wait on me, as if she did so now that my lady was gone, people
might talk about her.
"You are right," said I, "kindly send Le Duc to me."
Next morning I had a letter from Geneva. It came from my Epicurean
syndic, who had presented M. de Voltaire with my translation of his play,
with an exceedingly polite letter from me, in which I begged his pardon
for having taken the liberty of travestying his fine French prose in
Italian. The syndic told me plainly that M. de Voltaire had pronounced my
translation to be a bad one.
My self-esteem was so wounded by this, and by his impoliteness in not
answering my letter, with which he could certainly find no fault,
whatever his criticism of my translation might be, that I became the
sworn enemy of the great Voltaire. I have censured him in all the works I
have published, thinking that in wronging him I was avenging myself, to
such an extent did passion blind me. At the present time I feel that even
if my works survive, these feeble stings of mine can hurt nobody but
myself. Posterity will class me amongst the Zoiluses whose own impotence
made them attack this great man to whom civilization and human happiness
owe so much. The only crime that can truthfully be alleged against
Voltaire is his attacks on religion. If he had been a true philosopher he
would never have spoken on such matters, for, even if his attacks were
based on truth, religion is necessary to morality, without which there
can be no happiness.
CHAPTER V
I Fall in Love With Veronique--Her Sister--Plot Against
Plot--My Victory--Mutual Disappointment
I have never liked eating by myself, and thus I have never turned hermit,
though I once thought of turning monk; but a monk without renouncing all
the pleasures of life lives well in a kind of holy idleness. This dislike
to loneliness made me give orders that the table should be laid for two,
and indeed, after supping with the marquis and myself, Veronique had some
right to expect as much, to say nothing of those rights which her wit and
beauty gave her.
I only saw Costa, and asked him what had become of Le Duc. He said he was
ill. "Then go behind the lady's chair," said I. He obeyed, but smiled as
he did so. Pride is a universal failing, and though a servant's pride is
the silliest of all it is often pushed to the greatest extremes.
I thought Veronique prettier than before. Her behaviour, now free and now
reserved, as the occasion demanded, shewed me that she was no new hand,
and that she could have played the part of a princess in the best
society. Nevertheless (so strange a thing is the heart of man), I was
sorry to find I liked her, and my only consolation was that her mother
would come and take her away before the day was over. I had adored
Rosalie, and my heart still bled at the thought of our parting.
The girl's mother came while we were still at table. She was astounded at
the honour I shewed her daughter, and she overwhelmed me with thanks.
"You owe me no gratitude," said I to her; "your daughter is clever, good,
and beautiful."
"Thank the gentleman for his compliment," said the mother, "for you are
really stupid, wanton, and ugly;" and then she added, "But how could you
have the face to sit at table with the gentleman in a dirty chemise?"
"I should blush, mother, if I thought you were right; but I put a clean
one on only two hours ago."
"Madam," said I to the mother, "the chemise cannot look white beside your
daughter's whiter skin."
This made the mother laugh, and pleased the girl immensely. When the
mother told her that she was come to take her back, Veronique said, with
a sly smile,--
"Perhaps the gentleman won't be pleased at my leaving him twenty-four
hours before he goes away."
"On the contrary," said I, "I should be very vexed."
"Well; then, she can stay, sir," said the mother; "but for decency's sake
I must send her younger sister to sleep with her."
"If you please," I rejoined. And with that I left them.
The thought of Veronique troubled me, as I knew I was taken with her, and
what I had to dread was a calculated resistance.
The mother came into my room where I was writing, and wished me a
pleasant journey, telling me for the second time that she was going to
send her daughter Annette. The girl came in the evening, accompanied by a
servant, and after lowering her mezzaro, and kissing my hand
respectfully, she ran gaily to kiss her sister.
I wanted to see what she was like, and called for candles; and on their
being brought I found she was a blonde of a kind I had never before seen.
Her hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes were the colour of pale gold, fairer
almost than her skin, which was extremely delicate. She was very
short-sighted, but her large pale blue eyes were wonderfully beautiful.
She had the smallest mouth imaginable, but her teeth, though regular,
were not so white as her skin. But for this defect Annette might have
passed for a perfect beauty.
Her shortness of sight made too brilliant a light painful to her, but as
she stood before me she seemed to like me looking at her. My gaze fed
hungrily on the two little half-spheres, which were not yet ripe, but so
white as to make me guess how ravishing the rest of her body must be.
Veronique did not shew her breasts so freely. One could see that she was
superbly shaped, but everything was carefully hidden from the gaze. She
made her sister sit down beside her and work, but when I saw that she was
obliged to hold the stuff close to her face I told her that she should
spare her eyes, for that night at all events, and with that she
obediently put the work down.
The marquis came as usual, and like myself he thought Annette, whom he
had never seen before, an astonishing miniature beauty. Taking advantage
of his age and high rank, the voluptuous old man dared to pass his hand
over her breast, and she, who was too respectful to cross my lord, let
him do it without making the slightest objection. She was a compound of
innocence and coquetry.
The woman who shewing little succeeds in making a man want to see more,
has accomplished three-fourths of the task of making him fall in love
with her; for is love anything else than a kind of curiosity? I think
not; and what makes me certain is that when the curiosity is satisfied
the love disappears. Love, however, is the strongest kind of curiosity in
existence, and I was already curious about Annette.
M. Grimaldi told Veronique that Rosalie wished her to stay with me till I
left Genoa, and she was as much astonished at this as I was.
"Be kind enough to tell her," said I to the marquis, "that Veronique has
anticipated her wishes and has got her sister Annette to stay with her."
"Two are always better than one, my dear fellow," replied the crafty
Genoese.
After these remarks we left the two sisters together and went into my
room, where he said,--
"Your Rosalie is contented, and you ought to congratulate yourself on
having made her happy, as I am sure she will be. The only thing that
vexes me is that you can't go and see her yourself with any decency."
"You are in love with her, my lord."
"I confess that I am, but I am an old man, and it vexes me."
"That's no matter, she will love you tenderly; and if Petri ever becomes
her husband, I am sure she will never be anything more than a good friend
to him. Write to me at Florence and tell me how she receives him."
"Stay here for another three days; the two beauties there will make the
time seem short."
"It's exactly for that reason that I want to go tomorrow. I am afraid of
Veronique."
"I shouldn't have thought that you would have allowed any woman to
frighten you."
"I am afraid she has cast her fatal nets around me, and when the time
comes she will be strictly moral. Rosalie is my only love."
"Well, here's a letter from her."
I went apart to read the letter, the sight of which made my heart beat
violently; it ran as follows:
"Dearest,--I see you have placed me in the hands of one who
will care for me like a father. This is a new kindness which
I owe to the goodness of your heart. I will write to you at
whatever address you send me. If you like Veronique, my
darling, do not fear any jealousy from me; I should be wrong
to entertain such a feeling in my present position. I expect
that if you make much of her she will not be able to resist,
and I shall be glad to hear that she is lessening your
sadness. I hope you will write me a few lines before you
go."
I went up to the marquis and told him to read it. He seemed greatly
moved.
"Yes," said he, "the dear girl will find in me her friend and father, and
if she marries my godson and he does not treat her as he ought, he will
not possess her long. I shall remember her in my will, and thus when I am
dead my care will still continue. But what do you think of her advice as
to Veronique? I don't expect she is exactly a vestal virgin, though I
have never heard anything against her."
I had ordered that the table should be laid for four, so Annette sat down
without our having to ask her. Le Duc appeared on the scene, and I told
him that if he were ill he might go to bed.
"I am quite well," said he.
"I am glad to hear it; but don't trouble now, you shall wait on me when I
am at Leghorn."
I saw that Veronique was delighted at my sending him away, and I resolved
then and there to lay siege to her heart. I began by talking to her in a
very meaning manner all supper-time, while the marquis entertained
Annette. I asked him if he thought I could get a felucca next day to take
me to Lerici.
"Yes," said he, "whenever you like and with as many oarsmen as you
please; but I hope you will put off your departure for two or three
days."
"No," I replied, ogling Veronique, "the delay might cost me too dear."
The sly puss answered with a smile that shewed she understood my meaning.
When we rose from the table I amused myself with Annette, and the marquis
with Veronique. After a quarter of an hour he came and said to me,--
"Certain persons have asked me to beg you to stay a few days longer, or
at least to sup here to-morrow night."
"Very good. We will talk of the few days more at supper to-morrow."
"Victory!" said the marquis; and Veronique seemed very grateful to me for
granting her request. When our guest was gone, I asked my new housekeeper
if I might send Costa to bed.
"As my sister is with me, there can be no ground for any suspicion."
"I am delighted that you consent; now I am going to talk to you."
She proceeded to do my hair, but she gave no answer to my soft speeches.
When I was on the point of getting into bed she wished me good night, and
I tried to kiss her by way of return. She repulsed me and ran to the
door, much to my surprise. She was going to leave the room, when I
addressed her in a voice of grave politeness.
"I beg you will stay; I want to speak to you; come and sit by me. Why
should you refuse me a pleasure which after all is a mere mark of
friendship?"
"Because, things being as they are, we could not remain friends, neither
could we be lovers."
"Lovers! why not, we are perfectly free."
"I am not free; I am bound by certain prejudices which do not trouble
you."
"I should have thought you were superior to prejudices."
"There are some prejudices which a woman ought to respect. The
superiority you mention is a pitiful thing; always the dupe of itself.
What would become of me, I should like to know, if I abandoned myself to
the feelings I have for you?"
"I was waiting for you to say that, dear Veronique. What you feel for me
is not love. If it were so, you would feel as I do, and you would soon
break the bonds of prejudice."
"I confess that my head is not quite turned yet, but still I feel that I
shall grieve at your departure."
"If so, that is no fault of mine. But tell me what I can do for you
during my short stay here."
"Nothing; we do not know one another well enough."
"I understand you, but I would have you know that I do not intend to
marry any woman who is not my friend."
"You mean you will not marry her till you have ceased to be her lover?"
"Exactly."
"You would like to finish where I would begin."
"You may be happy some day, but you play for high stakes."
"Well, well, it's a case of win all or lose all."
"That's as may be. But without further argument it seems to me that we
could safely enjoy our love, and pass many happy moments undisturbed by
prejudice."
"Possibly, but one gets burnt fingers at that game, and I shudder at the
very thought of it. No, no; leave me alone, there is my sister who will
wonder why I am in your arms."
"Very good; I see I was mistaken, and Rosalie too."
"Why what did she think about me?"
"She wrote and told me that she thought you would be kind."
"I hope she' mayn't have to repent for having been too kind herself."
"Good bye, Veronique."
I felt vexed at having made the trial, for in these matters one always
feels angry at failure. I decided I would leave her and her precepts,
true or false, alone; but when I awoke in the morning and saw her coming
to my bed with a pleasant smile on her face, I suddenly changed my mind.
I had slept upon my anger and I was in love again. I thought she had
repented, and that I should be victorious when I attacked her again. I
put on a smile myself and breakfasted gaily with her and her sister. I
behaved in the same way at dinner; and the general high spirits which M.
de Grimaldi found prevailing in the evening, made him think, doubtless,
that we were getting on well, and he congratulated us. Veronique behaved
exactly as if the marquis had guessed the truth, and I felt sure of
having her after supper, and in the ecstasy of the thought I promised to
stay for four days longer.
"Bravo, Veronique!" said the marquis, "that's the way. You are intended
by nature to rule your lovers with an absolute sway."
I thought she would say something to diminish the marquis's certainty
that there was an agreement between us, but she did nothing of the sort,
seeming to enjoy her triumph which made her appear more beautiful than
ever; whilst I looked at her with the submissive gaze of a captive who
glories in, his chain. I took her behaviour as an omen of my approaching
conquest, and did not speak to M. de Grimaldi alone lest he might ask me
questions which I should not care to answer. He told us before he went
away that he was engaged on the morrow, and so could not come to see us
till the day after.
As soon as we were alone Veronique said to me, "You see how I let people
believe what they please; I had rather be thought kind, as you call it,
than ridiculous, as an honest girl is termed now-a-days. Is it not so?"
"No, dear Veronique, I will never call you ridiculous, but I shall think
you hate me if you make me pass another night in torture. You have
inflamed me."
"Oh, pray be quiet! For pity's sake leave me alone! I will not inflame
you any more. Oh! Oh!"
I had enraged her by thrusting a daring hand into the very door of the
sanctuary. She repulsed me and fled. Three or four minutes later her
sister came to undress me. I told her gently to go to bed as I had to
write for three or four hours; but not caring that she should come on a
bootless errand I opened a box and gave her a watch. She took it
modestly, saying,--
"This is for my sister, I suppose?"
"No, dear Annette, it's for you."
She gave a skip of delight, and I could not prevent her kissing my hand.
I proceeded to write Rosalie a letter of four pages. I felt worried and
displeased with myself and everyone else. I tore up my letter without
reading it over, and making an effort to calm myself I wrote her another
letter more subdued than the first, in which I said nothing of Veronique,
but informed my fair recluse that I was going on the day following.
I did not go to bed till very late, feeling out of temper with the world.
I considered that I had failed in my duty to Veronique, whether she loved
me or not, for I loved her and I was a man of honour. I had a bad night,
and when I awoke it was noon, and on ringing Costa and Annette appeared.
The absence of Veronique shewed how I had offended her. When Costa had
left the room I asked Annette after her sister, and she said that she was
working. I wrote her a note, in which I begged her pardon, promising that
I would never offend her again, and begging her to forget everything and
to be just the same as before. I was taking my coffee when she came into
my room with an expression of mortification which grieved me excessively.
"Forget everything, I beg, and I will trouble you no more. Give me my
buckles, as I am going for a country walk, and I shall not be in till
suppertime. I shall doubtless get an excellent appetite, and as you have
nothing more to fear you need not trouble to send me Annette again."
I dressed myself in haste, and left the town by the first road that came
in my way, and I walked fast for two hours with the intention of tiring
myself, and of thus readjusting the balance between mind and body. I have
always found that severe exercise and fresh air are the best cure for any
mental perturbation.
I had walked for more than three leagues when hunger and weariness made
me stop at a village inn, where I had an omelette cooked. I ate it
hungrily with brown bread and wine, which seemed to me delicious though
it was rather sharp.
I felt too tired to walk back to Genoa, so I asked for a carriage; but
there was no such thing to be had. The inn-keeper provided me with a
sorry nag and a man to guide me. Darkness was coming on, and we had more
than six miles to do. Fine rain began to fall when I started, and
continued all the way, so that I got home by eight o'clock wet to the
skin, shivering with cold, dead tired, and in a sore plight from the
rough saddle, against which my satin breeches were no protection. Costa
helped me to change my clothes, and as he went out Annette came in.
"Where is your sister?"
"She is in bed with a bad headache. She gave me a letter for you; here it
is."
"I have been obliged to go to bed on account of a severe headache to
which I am subject. I feel better already, and I shall be able to wait on
you to-morrow. I tell you as much, because I do not wish you to think
that my illness is feigned. I am sure that your repentance for having
humiliated me is sincere, and I hope in your turn that you will forgive
me or pity me, if my way of thinking prevents me from conforming to
yours."
"Annette dear, go and ask your sister if she would like us to sup in her
room."
She soon came back telling me that Veronique was obliged, but begged me
to let her sleep.
I supped with Annette, and was glad to see that, though she only drank
water, her appetite was better than mine. My passion for her sister
prevented me thinking of her, but I felt that Annette would otherwise
have taken my fancy. When we were taking dessert, I conceived the idea of
making her drunk to get her talk of her sister, so I gave her a glass of
Lunel muscat.
"I only drink water, sir."
"Don't you like wine?"
"Yes, but as I am not used to it I am afraid of its getting into my
head."
"Then you can go to bed; you will sleep all the better."
She drank the first glass, which she enjoyed immensely, then a second,
and then a third. Her little brains were in some confusion when she had
finished the third glass. I made her talk about her sister, and in
perfect faith she told me all the good imaginable.
"Then you are very fond of Veronique?" said I.
"Oh, yes! I love her with all my heart, but she will not let me caress
her."
"No doubt she is afraid of your ceasing to love her. But do you think she
ought to make me suffer so?"
"No, but if you love her you ought to forgive her."
Annette was still quite reasonable. I made her drink a fourth glass of
muscat, but an instant after she told me that she could not see anything,
and we rose from the table. Annette began to please me a little too much,
but I determined not to make any attempts upon her for fear of finding
her too submissive. A little resistance sharpens the appetite, while
favours granted with too much ease lose a great deal of their charm.
Annette was only fourteen, she had a soft heart, no knowledge of the
world or her own rights, and she would not have resisted my embraces for
fear of being rude. That sort of thing would only please a rich and
voluptuous Turk.
I begged her to do my hair, intending to dismiss her directly after, but
when she had finished I asked her to give me the ointment.
"What do you want it for?"
"For the blisters that cursed saddle on which I rode six miles gave me."
"Does the ointment do them good?"
"Certainly; it takes away the smart, and by to-morrow I shall be cured,
but you must send Costa to me, as I cannot put it on myself."
"Can't I do it?"
"Yes, but I am afraid that would be an abuse of your kindness."
"I guess why; but as I am short-sighted, how shall I see the blisters?"
"If you want to do it for me, I will place myself so that it will be
easier for you. Stay, put the candle on this table."
"There you are, but don't let Costa put it on again to-morrow, or he will
guess that I or my sister did it to-night."
"You will do me the same service, then, to-morrow?"
"I or my sister, for she will get up early."
"Your sister! No, my dear; she would be afraid of giving me too much
pleasure by touching me so near."
"And I am only afraid of hurting you. Is that right? Good heavens! what a
state your skin is in!"
"You have not finished yet."
"I am so short-sighted; turn round."
"With pleasure. Here I am."
The little wanton could not resist laughing at what she saw, doubtless,
for the first time. She was obliged to touch it to continue rubbing the
ointment in, and I saw that she liked it, as she touched it when she had
no need, and not being able to stand it any longer I took hold of her
hand and made her stop her work in favour of a pleasanter employment.
When she had finished I burst out laughing to hear her ask, in the most
serious way, the pot of ointment still in her left hand,
"Did I do it right!"
"Oh, admirably, dear Annette! You are an angel, and I am sure you know
what pleasure you gave me. Can you come and spend an hour with me?"
"Wait a bit."
She went out and shut the door, and I waited for her to return; but my
patience being exhausted I opened the door slightly, and saw her
undressing and getting into bed with her sister. I went back to my room
and to bed again, without losing all hope. I was not disappointed, for in
five minutes back she came, clad in her chemise and walking on tip-toe.
"Come to my arms, my love; it is very cold."
"Here I am. My sister is asleep and suspects nothing; and even if she
awoke the bed is so large that she would not notice my absence."
"You are a divine creature, and I love you with all my heart."
"So much the better. I give myself up to you; do what you like with me,
on the condition that you think of my sister no more."
"That will not cost me much. I promise that I will not think of her."
I found Annette a perfect neophyte, and though I saw no blood on the
altar of love next morning I did not suspect her on that account. I have
often seen such cases, and I know by experience that the effusion of
blood or its absence proves nothing. As a general rule a girl cannot be
convicted of having had a lover unless she be with child.
I spent two hours of delight with this pretty baby, for she was so small,
so delicate, and so daintily shaped all over, that I can find no better
name for her. Her docility did not detract from the piquancy of the
pleasure, for she was voluptuously inclined.
When I rose in the morning she came to my room with Veronique, and I was
glad to see that while the younger sister was radiant with happiness the
elder looked pleasant and as if she desired to make herself agreeable. I
asked her how she was, and she told me that diet and sleep had completely
cured her. "I have always found them the best remedy for a headache."
Annette had also cured me of the curiosity I had felt about her. I
congratulated myself on my achievement.
I was in such high spirits at supper that M. de Grimaldi thought I had
won everything from Veronique, and I let him think so. I promised to dine
with him the next day, and I kept my word. After dinner I gave him a long
letter for Rosalie, whom I did not expect to see again except as Madame
Petri, though I took care not to let the marquis know what I thought.
In the evening I supped with the two sisters, and I made myself equally
agreeable to both of them. When Veronique was alone with me, putting my
hair into curl-papers, she said that she loved me much more now that I
behaved discreetly.
"My discretion," I replied, "only means that I have given up the hope of
winning you. I know how to take my part."
"Your love was not very great, then?"
"It sprang up quickly, and you, Veronique, could have made it increase to
a gigantic size."
She said nothing, but bit her lip, wished me good night and left the
room. I went to bed expecting a visit from Annette, but I waited in vain.
When I rang the next morning the dear girl appeared looking rather sad. I
asked her the reason.
"Because my sister is ill, and spent the whole night in writing," said
she.
Thus I learnt the reason of her not having paid me a visit.
"Do you know what she was writing about?"
"Oh, no! She does not tell me that kind of thing, but here is a letter
for you."
I read through the long and well-composed letter, but as it bore marks of
craft and dissimulation it made me laugh. After several remarks of no
consequence she said that she had repulsed me because she loved me so
much and that she was afraid that if she satisfied my fancy she might
lose me.
"I will be wholly yours," she added, "if you will give me the position
which Rosalie enjoyed. I will travel in your company, but you must give
me a document, which M. de Grimaldi will sign as a witness, in which you
must engage to marry me in a year, and to give me a portion of fifty
thousand francs; and if at the end of a year you do not wish to marry me,
that sum to be at my absolute disposal."
She stipulated also that if she became a mother in the course of a year
the child should be hers in the event of our separating. On these
conditions she would become my mistress, and would have for me all
possible love and kindness.
This proposal, cleverly conceived, but foolishly communicated to me,
shewed me that Veronique had not the talent of duping others. I saw
directly that M. de Grimaldi had nothing to do with it, and I felt sure
that he would laugh when I told him the story.
Annette soon came back with the chocolate, and told me that her sister
hoped I would answer her letter.
"Yes, dear," said I, "I will answer her when I get up."
I took my chocolate, put on my dressing-gown, and went to Veronique's
room. I found her sitting up in bed in a negligent attire that might have
attracted me if her letter had not deprived her of my good opinion. I sat
on the bed, gave her back the letter, and said,--
"Why write, when we can talk the matter over?"
"Because one is often more at ease in writing than in speaking."
"In diplomacy and business that will pass, but not in love. Love makes no
conditions. Let us have no documents, no safeguards, but give yourself up
to me as Rosalie did, and begin to-night without my promising anything.
If you trust in love, you will make him your prisoner. That way will
honour us and our pleasures, and if you like I will consult M. de
Grimaldi on the subject. As to your plan, if it does not injure your
honour, it does small justice to your common sense, and no one but a fool
would agree to it. You could not possibly love the man to whom you make
such a proposal, and as to M. de Grimaldi, far from having anything to do
with it, I am sure he would be indignant at the very idea."
This discourse did not put Veronique out of countenance. She said she did
not love me well enough to give herself to me unconditionally; to which I
replied that I was not sufficiently taken with her charms to buy them at
the price she fixed, and so I left her.
I called Costa, and told him to go and warn the master of the felucca
that I was going the next day, and with this idea I went to bid good-bye
to the marquis, who informed me that he had just been taking Petri to see
Rosalie, who had received him well enough. I told him I was glad to hear
it, and said that I commended to him the care of her happiness, but such
commendations were thrown away.
It is one of the most curious circumstances of my history, that in one
year two women whom I sincerely loved and whom I might have married were
taken from me by two old men, whose affections I had fostered without
wishing to do so. Happily these gentlemen made my mistresses' fortunes,
but on the other hand they did me a still greater service in relieving me
of a tie which I should have found very troublesome in course of time. No
doubt they both saw that my fortune, though great in outward show, rested
on no solid basis, which, as the reader will see, was unhappily too true.
I should be happy if I thought that my errors or rather follies would
serve as a warning to the readers of these Memoirs.
I spent the day in watching the care with which Veronique and Annette
packed up my trunks, for I would not let my two servants help in any way.
Veronique was neither sad nor gay. She looked as if she had made up her
mind, and as if there had never been any differences between us. I was
very glad, for as I no longer cared for her I should have been annoyed to
find that she still cared for me.
We supped in our usual manner, discussing only commonplace topics, but
just as I was going to bed Annette shook my hand in a way that told me to
prepare for a visit from her. I admired the natural acuteness of young
girls, who take their degrees in the art of love with so much ease and at
such an early age. Annette, almost a child, knew more than a young man of
twenty. I decided on giving her fifty sequins without letting Veronique
see me, as I did not intend to be so liberal towards her. I took a roll
of ducats and gave them to her as soon as she came.
She lay down beside me, and after a moment devoted to love she said that
Veronique was asleep, adding,--
"I heard all you said to my sister, and I am sure you love her."
"If I did, dear Annette, I should not have made my proposal in such plain
terms."
"I should like to believe that, but what would you have done if she had
accepted your offer? You would be in one bed by this, I suppose?"
"I was more than certain, dearest, that her pride would hinder her
receiving me."
We had reached this point in our conversation when we were surprised by
the sudden appearance of Veronique with a lighted candle, and wearing
only her chemise. She laughed at her sister to encourage her, and I
joined in the laughter, keeping a firm hold on the little one for fear of
her escaping. Veronique looked ravishing in her scanty attire, and as she
laughed I could not be angry with her. However, I said,--
"You have interrupted our enjoyment, and hurt your sister's feelings;
perhaps you will despise her for the future?"
"On the contrary, I shall always love her."
"Her feelings overcame her, and she surrendered to me without making any
terms."
"She has more sense than I."
"Do you mean that?"
"I do, really."
"I am astonished and delighted to hear it; but as it is so, kiss your
sister."
At this invitation Veronique put down the candle, and covered Annette's
beautiful body with kisses. The scene made me feel very happy.
"Come, Veronique," said I, "you will die of cold; come and lie down."
I made room for her, and soon there were three of us under the same
sheet. I was in an ecstasy at this group, worthy of Aretin's pencil.
"Dearest ones," said I, "you have played me a pretty trick; was it
premeditated? And was Veronique false this morning, or is she false now?"
"We did not premeditate anything, I was true this morning, and I am true
now. I feel that I and my plan were very silly, and I hope you will
forgive me, since I have repented and have had my punishment. Now I think
I am in my right senses, as I have yielded to the feelings with which you
inspired me when I saw you first, and against which I have fought too
long."
"What you say pleases me extremely."
"Well, forgive me and finish my punishment by shewing that you are not
angry with me."
"How am I to do that?"
"By telling me that you are vexed no longer, and by continuing to give my
sister proofs of your love."
"I swear to you that so far from being angry with you I am very fond of
you; but would you like us to be fond in your presence?"
"Yes, if you don't mind me."
Feeling excited by voluptuous emotions, I saw that my part could no
longer be a passive one.
"What do you say," said I to my blonde, "will you allow your heroic
sister to remain a mere looker-on at our sweet struggles? Are you not
generous enough to let me make her an actress in the drama?"
"No; I confess I do not feel as if I could be so generous to-night, but
next night, if you will play the same part, we will change. Veronique
shall act and I will look on."
"That would do beautifully," said Veronique, with some vexation in her
manner, "if the gentleman was not going to-morrow morning."
"I will stay, dear Veronique, if only to prove how much I love you."
I could not have wished for plainer speech on her part, and I should have
liked to shew her how grateful I felt on the spot; but that would have
been at Annette's expense, as I had no right to make any alteration in
the piece of which she was the author and had a right to expect all the
profits. Whenever I recall this pleasant scene I feel my heart beat with
voluptuous pleasure, and even now, with the hand of old age upon me, I
can not recall it without delight.
Veronique resigned herself to the passive part which her younger sister
imposed on her, and turning aside she leant her head on her hand,
disclosing a breast which would have excited the coldest of men, and bade
me begin my attack on Annette. It was no hard task she laid upon me, for
I was all on fire, and I was certain of pleasing her as long as she
looked at me. As Annette was short-sighted, she could not distinguish in
the heat of the action which way I was looking, and I succeeded in
getting my right hand free, without her noticing me, and I was thus
enabled to communicate a pleasure as real though not as acute as that
enjoyed by her sister. When the coverlet was disarranged, Veronique took
the trouble to replace it, and thus offered me, as if by accident, a new
spectacle. She saw how I enjoyed the sight of her charms, and her eye
brightened. At last, full of unsatisfied desire, she shewed me all the
treasures which nature had given her, just as I had finished with Annette
for the fourth time. She might well think that I was only rehearsing for
the following night, and her fancy must have painted her coming joys in
the brightest colours. Such at all events were my thoughts, but the fates
determined otherwise. I was in the middle of the seventh act, always
slower and more pleasant for the actress than the first two or three,
when Costa came knocking loudly at my door, calling out that the felucca
was ready. I was vexed at this untoward incident, got up in a rage, and
after telling him to pay the master for the day, as I was not going till
the morrow, I went back to bed, no longer, however, in a state to
continue the work I begun. My two sweethearts were delighted with me, but
we all wanted rest, though the piece should not have finished with an
interruption. I wanted to get some amusement out of the interval, and
proposed an ablution, which made Annette laugh and which Veronique
pronounced to be absolutely necessary. I found it a delicious hors
d'oeuvre to the banquet I had enjoyed. The two sisters rendered each
other various services, standing in the most lascivious postures, and I
found my situation as looker-on an enviable one.
When the washing and the laughter it gave rise to were over, we returned
to the stage where the last act should have been performed. I longed to
begin again, and I am sure I should have succeeded if I had been well
backed up by my partner; but Annette, who was young and tired out with
the toils of the night, forgot her part, and yielded to sleep as she had
yielded to love. Veronique began to laugh when she saw her asleep, and I
had to do the same, when I saw that she was as still as a corpse.
"What a pity!" said Veronique's eyes; but she said it with her eyes
alone, while I was waiting for these words to issue from her lips. We
were both of us wrong: she for not speaking, and I for waiting for her to
speak. It was a favourable moment, but we let it pass by, and love
punished us. I had, it is true, another reason for abstaining. I wished
to reserve myself for the night. Veronique went to her own bed to quiet
her excited feelings, and I stayed in bed with my sleeping beauty till
noon, when I wished her good morning by a fresh assault which was
completed neither on her side nor on mine to the best of my belief.
The day was spent in talking about ourselves, and determined to eat only
one meal, we did not sit down to table till night began to fall. We spent
two hours in the consumption of delicate dishes, and in defying Bacchus
to make us feel his power. We rose as we saw Annette falling asleep, but
we were not much annoyed at the thought that she would not see the
pleasures we promised each other. I thought that I should have enough to
do to contemplate the charms of the one nymph without looking at
Annette's beauties. We went to bed, our arms interlaced, our bodies tight
together, and lip pressed on lip, but that was all. Veronique saw what
prevented me going any further, and she was too polite and modest to
complain. She dissembled her feelings and continued to caress me, while I
was in a frenzy of rage. I had never had such a misfortune, unless as the
result of complete exhaustion, or from a strong mental impression capable
of destroying my natural faculties. Let my readers imagine what I
suffered; in the flower of my age, with a strong constitution, holding
the body of a woman I had ardently desired in my arms, while she tenderly
caressed me, and yet I could do nothing for her. I was in despair; one
cannot offer a greater insult to a woman.
At last we had to accept the facts and speak reasonably, and I was the
first to bewail my misfortune.
"You tired yourself too much yesterday," said she, "and you were not
sufficiently temperate at supper. Do not let it trouble you, dearest, I
am sure you love me. Do not try to force nature, you will only weaken
yourself more. I think a gentle sleep would restore your manly powers
better than anything. I can't sleep myself, but don't mind me. Sleep, we
will make love together afterwards."
After those excellent and reasonable suggestions, Veronique turned her
back to me and I followed her example, but in vain did I endeavour to
obtain a refreshing slumber; nature which would not give me the power of
making her, the loveliest creature, happy, envied me the power of repose
as well. My amorous ardour and my rage forbade all thoughts of rest, and
my excited passions conspired against that which would enable them to
satisfy their desires. Nature punished me for having distrusted her, and
because I had taken stimulants fit only for the weak. If I had fasted, I
should have done great things, but now there was a conflict between the
stimulants and nature, and by my desire for enjoyment I had deprived
myself of the power to enjoy. Thus nature, wise like its Divine Author,
punishes the ignorance and presumption of poor weak mortals.
Throughout this terrible and sleepless night my mind roamed abroad, and
amidst the reproaches with which I overwhelmed myself I found a certain
satisfaction in the thought that they were not wholly undeserved. This is
the sole enjoyment I still have when I meditate on my past life and its
varied adventures. I feel that no misfortune has befallen me save by my
own fault, whilst I attribute to natural causes the blessings, of which I
have enjoyed many. I think I should go mad if in my soliloquies I came
across any misfortune which I could not trace to my own fault, for I
should not know where to place the reason, and that would degrade me to
the rank of creatures governed by instinct alone. I feel that I am
somewhat more than a beast. A beast, in truth, is a foolish neighbour of
mine, who tries to argue that the brutes reason better than we do.
"I will grant," I said, "that they reason better than you, but I can go
no farther; and I think every reasonable man would say as much."
This reply has made me an enemy, although he admits the first part of the
thesis.
Happier than I, Veronique slept for three hours; but she was disagreeably
surprised on my telling her that I had not been able to close an eye, and
on finding me in the same state of impotence as before. She began to get
angry when I tried to convince her rather too forcibly that my misfortune
was not due to my want of will, and then she blamed herself as the cause
of my impotence; and mortified by the idea, she endeavoured to destroy
the spell by all the means which passion suggested, and which I had
hitherto thought infallible; but her efforts and mine were all thrown
away. My despair was as great as hers when at last, wearied, ashamed, and
degraded in her own eyes, she discontinued her efforts, her eyes full of
tears. She went away without a word, and left me alone for the two or
three hours which had still to elapse before the dawn appeared.
At day-break Costa came and told me that the sea being rough and a
contrary wind blowing, the felucca would be in danger of perishing.
"We will go as soon as the weather improves," said I; "in the mean time
light me a fire."
I arose, and proceeded to write down the sad history of the night. This
occupation soothed me, and feeling inclined to sleep I lay down again and
slept for eight hours. When I awoke I felt better, but still rather sad.
The two sisters were delighted to see me in good health, but I thought I
saw on Veronique's features an unpleasant expression of contempt.
However, I had deserved it, and I did not take the trouble of changing
her opinion, though if she had been more caressing she might easily have
put me in a state to repair the involuntary wrongs I had done her in the
night. Before we sat down to table I gave her a present of a hundred
sequins, which made her look a little more cheerful. I gave an equal
present to my dear Annette, who had not expected anything, thinking
herself amply recompensed by my first gift and by the pleasure I had
afforded her.
At midnight the master of the felucca came to tell me that the wind had
changed, and I took leave of the sisters. Veronique shed tears, but I
knew to what to attribute them. Annette kissed me affectionately; thus
each played her own part. I sailed for Lerici, where I arrived the next
day, and then posted to Leghorn. Before I speak of this town I think I
shall interest my readers by narrating a circumstance not unworthy of
these Memoirs.
CHAPTER VI
A Clever Cheat--Passano--Pisa--Corilla--My Opinion of
Squinting Eyes--Florence--I See Therese Again--My Son--
Corticelli
I was standing at some distance from my carriage into which they were
putting four horses, when a man accosted me and asked me if I would pay
in advance or at the next stage. Without troubling to look at him I said
I would pay in advance, and gave him a coin requesting him to bring me
the change.
"Directly, sir," said he, and with that he went into the inn.
A few minutes after, just as I was going to look after my change, the
post-master came up and asked me to pay for the stage.
"I have paid already, and I am waiting for my change. Did I not give the
money to you?"
"Certainly not, sir."
"Whom did I give it to, then?"
"I really can't say; but you will be able to recognize the man,
doubtless."
"It must have been you or one of your people."
I was speaking loud, and all the men came about me.
"These are all the men in my employ," said the master, and he asked if
any of them had received the money from me.
They all denied the fact with an air of sincerity which left no room for
suspicion. I cursed and swore, but they let me curse and swear as much as
I liked. At last I discovered that there was no help for it, and I paid a
second time, laughing at the clever rascal who had taken me in so
thoroughly. Such are the lessons of life; always full of new experiences,
and yet one never knows enough. From that day I have always taken care
not to pay for posting except to the proper persons.
In no country are knaves so cunning as in Italy, Greece ancient and
modern excepted.
When I got to the best inn at Leghorn they told me that there was a
theatre, and my luck made me go and see the play. I was recognized by an
actor who accosted me, and introduced me to one of his comrades, a
self-styled poet, and a great enemy of the Abbe Chiari, whom I did not
like, as he had written a biting satire against me, and I had never
succeeded in avenging myself on him. I asked them to come and sup with
me--a windfall which these people are not given to refusing. The
pretended poet was a Genoese, and called himself Giacomo Passano. He
informed me that he had written three hundred sonnets against the abbe,
who would burst with rage if they were ever printed. As I could not
restrain a smile at the good opinion the poet had of his works, he
offered to read me a few sonnets. He had the manuscript about him, and I
could not escape the penance. He read a dozen or so, which I thought
mediocre, and a mediocre sonnet is necessarily a bad sonnet, as this form
of poetry demands sublimity; and thus amongst the myriads of sonnets to
which Italy gives birth very few can be called good.
If I had given myself time to examine the man's features, I should, no
doubt, have found him to be a rogue; but I was blinded by passion, and
the idea of three hundred sonnets against the Abbe Chiari fascinated me.
I cast my eyes over the title of the manuscript, and read, "La Chiareide
di Ascanio Pogomas."
"That's an anagram of my Christian name and my surname; is it not a happy
combination?"
This folly made me smile again. Each of the sonnets was a dull diatribe
ending with "l'abbate Chiari e un coglione." He did not prove that he was
one, but he said so over and over again, making use of the poet's
privilege to exaggerate and lie. What he wanted to do was to annoy the
abbe, who was by no means what Passano called him, but on the contrary, a
wit and a poet; and if he had been acquainted with the requirements of
the stage he would have written better plays than Goldoni, as he had a
greater command of language.
I told Passano, for civility's sake, that he ought to get his Chiareide
printed.
"I would do so," said he, "if I could find a publisher, for I am not rich
enough to pay the expenses, and the publishers are a pack of ignorant
beggars. Besides, the press is not free, and the censor would not let the
epithet I give to my hero pass. If I could go to Switzerland I am sure it
could be managed; but I must have six sequins to walk to Switzerland, and
I have not got them."
"And when you got to Switzerland, where there are no theatres, what would
you do for a living?"
"I would paint in miniature. Look at those."
He gave me a number of small ivory tablets, representing obscene
subjects, badly drawn and badly painted.
"I will give you an introduction to a gentleman at Berne," I said; and
after supper I gave him a letter and six sequins. He wanted to force some
of his productions on me, but I would not have them.
I was foolish enough to give him a letter to pretty Sara's father, and I
told him to write to me at Rome, under cover of the banker Belloni.
I set out from Leghorn the next day and went to Pisa, where I stopped two
days. There I made the acquaintance of an Englishman, of whom I bought a
travelling carriage. He took me to see Corilla, the celebrated poetess.
She received me with great politeness, and was kind enough to improvise
on several subjects which I suggested. I was enchanted, not so much with
her grace and beauty, as by her wit and perfect elocution. How sweet a
language sounds when it is spoken well and the expressions are well
chosen. A language badly spoken is intolerable even from a pretty mouth,
and I have always admired the wisdom of the Greeks who made their nurses
teach the children from the cradle to speak correctly and pleasantly. We
are far from following their good example; witness the fearful accents
one hears in what is called, often incorrectly, good society.
Corilla was 'straba', like Venus as painted by the ancients--why, I
cannot think, for however fair a squint-eyed woman may be otherwise, I
always look upon her face as distorted. I am sure that if Venus had been
in truth a goddess, she would have made the eccentric Greek, who first
dared to paint her cross-eyed, feel the weight of her anger. I was told
that when Corilla sang, she had only to fix her squinting eyes on a man
and the conquest was complete; but, praised be God! she did not fix them
on me.
At Florence I lodged at the "Hotel Carrajo," kept by Dr. Vannini, who
delighted to confess himself an unworthy member of the Academy Della
Crusca. I took a suite of rooms which looked out on the bank of the Arno.
I also took a carriage and a footman, whom, as well as a coachman, I clad
in blue and red livery. This was M. de Bragadin's livery, and I thought I
might use his colours, not with the intention of deceiving anyone, but
merely to cut a dash.
The morning after my arrival I put on my great coat to escape
observation, and proceeded to walk about Florence. In the evening I went
to the theatre to see the famous harlequin, Rossi, but I considered his
reputation was greater than he deserved. I passed the same judgment on
the boasted Florentine elocution; I did not care for it at all. I enjoyed
seeing Pertici; having become old, and not being able to sing any more,
he acted, and, strange to say, acted well; for, as a rule, all singers,
men and women, trust to their voice and care nothing for acting, so that
an ordinary cold entirely disables them for the time being.
Next day I called on the banker, Sasso Sassi, on whom I had a good letter
of credit, and after an excellent dinner I dressed and went to the opera
an via della Pergola, taking a stage box, not so much for the music, of
which I was never much of an admirer, as because I wanted to look at the
actress.
The reader may guess my delight and surprise when I recognised in the
prima donna Therese, the false Bellino, whom I had left at Rimini in the
year 1744; that charming Therese whom I should certainly have married if
M. de Gages had not put me under arrest. I had not seen her for seventeen
years, but she looked as beautiful and ravishing as ever as she came
forward on the stage. It seemed impossible. I could not believe my eyes,
thinking the resemblance must be a coincidence, when, after singing an
air, she fixed her eyes on mine and kept them there. I could no longer
doubt that it was she; she plainly recognized me. As she left the stage
she stopped at the wings and made a sign to me with her fan to come and
speak to her.
I went out with a beating heart, though I could not explain my
perturbation, for I did not feel guilty in any way towards Therese, save
in that I had not answered the last letter she had written me from
Naples, thirteen years ago. I went round the theatre, feeling a greater
curiosity as to the results of our interview than to know what had
befallen her during the seventeen years which seemed an age to me.
I came to the stage-door, and I saw Therese standing at the top of the
stair. She told the door-keeper to let me pass; I went up and we stood
face to face. Dumb with surprise I took her hand and pressed it against
my heart.
"Know from that beating heart," said I, "all that I feel."
"I can't follow your example," said she, "but when I saw you I thought I
should have fainted. Unfortunately I am engaged to supper. I shall not
shut my eyes all night. I shall expect you at eight o'clock to-morrow
morning. Where are you staying?"
"At Dr. Vannini's."
"Under what name?"
"My own."
"How long have you been here?"
"Since yesterday."
"Are you stopping long in Florence?"
"As long as you like."
"Are you married?"
"No."
"Cursed be that supper! What an event! You must leave me now, I have to
go on. Good-bye till seven o'clock to-morrow."
She had said eight at first, but an hour sooner was no harm. I returned
to the theatre, and recollected that I had neither asked her name or
address, but I could find out all that easily. She was playing Mandane,
and her singing and acting were admirable. I asked a well-dressed young
man beside me what that admirable actress's name was.
"You have only come to Florence to-day, sir?"
"I arrived yesterday."
"Ah! well, then it's excusable. That actress has the same name as I have.
She is my wife, and I am Cirillo Palesi, at your service."
I bowed and was silent with surprise. I dared not ask where she lived,
lest he might think my curiosity impertinent. Therese married to this
handsome young man, of whom, of all others, I had made enquiries about
her! It was like a scene in a play.
I could bear it no longer. I longed to be alone and to ponder over this
strange adventure at my ease, and to think about my visit to Therese at
seven o'clock the next morning. I felt the most intense curiosity to see
what the husband would do when he recognized me, and he was certain to do
so, for he had looked at me attentively as he spoke. I felt that my old
flame for Therese was rekindled in my heart, and I did not know whether I
was glad or sorry at her being married.
I left the opera-house and told my footman to call my carriage.
"You can't have it till nine o'clock, sir; it was so cold the coachman
sent the horses back to the stable."
"We will return on foot, then."
"You will catch a cold."
"What is the prima donna's name?"
"When she came here, she called herself Lanti, but for the last two
months she has been Madame Palesi. She married a handsome young man with
no property and no profession, but she is rich, so he takes his ease and
does nothing."
"Where does she live?"
"At the end of this street. There's her house, sir; she lodges on the
first floor."
This was all I wanted to know, so I said no more, but took note of the
various turnings, that I might be able to find my way alone the next day.
I ate a light supper, and told Le Duc to call me at six o'clock.
"But it is not light till seven."
"I know that."
"Very good."
At the dawn of day, I was at the door of the woman I had loved so
passionately. I went to the first floor, rang the bell, and an old woman
came out and asked me if I were M. Casanova. I told her that I was,
whereupon she said that the lady had informed her I was not coming till
eight.
"She said seven."
"Well, well, it's of no consequence. Kindly walk in here. I will go and
awake her."
In five minutes, the young husband in his night-cap and dressing-gown
came in, and said that his wife would not be long. Then looking at me
attentively with an astounded stare, he said,
"Are you not the gentleman who asked me my wife's name last night?"
"You are right, I did. I have not seen your wife for many years, but I
thought I recognized her. My good fortune made me enquire of her husband,
and the friendship which formerly attached me to her will henceforth
attach me to you."
As I uttered this pretty compliment Therese, as fair as love, rushed into
the room with open arms. I took her to my bosom in a transport of
delight, and thus we remained for two minutes, two friends, two lovers,
happy to see one another after a long and sad parting. We kissed each
other again and again, and then bidding her husband sit down she drew me
to a couch and gave full course to her tears. I wept too, and my tears
were happy ones. At last we wiped our eyes, and glanced towards the
husband whom we had completely forgotten. He stood in an attitude of
complete astonishment, and we burst out laughing. There was something so
comic in his surprise that it would have taxed all the talents of the
poet and the caricaturist to depict his expression of amazement. Therese,
who knew how to manage him, cried in a pathetic an affectionate voice,--
"My dear Palesi, you see before you my father--nay, more than a father,
for this is my generous friend to whom I owe all. Oh, happy moment for
which my heart has longed for these ten years past."
At the word "father" the unhappy husband fixed his gaze on me, but I
restrained my laughter with considerable difficulty. Although Therese was
young for her age, she was only two years younger than I; but friendship
gives a new meaning to the sweet name of father.
"Yes, sir," said I, "your Therese is my daughter, my sister, my cherished
friend; she is an angel, and this treasure is your wife."
"I did not reply to your last letter," said I, not giving him time to
come to himself.
"I know all," she replied. "You fell in love with a nun. You were
imprisoned under the Leads, and I heard of your almost miraculous flight
at Vienna. I had a false presentiment that I should see you in that town.
Afterwards I heard of you in Paris and Holland, but after you left Paris
nobody could tell me any more about you. You will hear some fine tales
when I tell you all that has happened to me during the past ten years.
Now I am happy. I have my dear Palesi here, who comes from Rome. I
married him a couple of months ago. We are very fond of each other, and I
hope you will be as much his friend as mine."
At this I arose and embraced the husband, who cut such an extraordinary
figure. He met me with open arms, but in some confusion; he was, no
doubt, not yet quite satisfied as to the individual who was his wife's
father, brother, friend, and perhaps lover, all at once. Therese saw this
feeling in his eyes, and after I had done she came and kissed him most
affectionately, which confused me in my turn, for I felt all my old love
for her renewed, and as ardent as it was when Don Sancio Pico introduced
me to her at Ancona.
Reassured by my embrace and his wife's caress, M. Palesi asked me if I
would take a cup of chocolate with them, which he himself would make. I
answered that chocolate was my favourite breakfast-dish, and all the more
so when it was made by a friend. He went away to see to it. Our time had
come.
As soon as we were alone Therese threw herself into my arms, her face
shining with such love as no pen can describe.
"Oh, my love! whom I shall love all my life, clasp me to your breast! Let
us give each other a hundred embraces on this happy day, but not again,
since my fate has made me another's bride. To-morrow we will be like
brother and sister; to-day let us be lovers."
She had not finished this speech before my bliss was crowned. Our
transports were mutual, and we renewed them again and again during the
half hour in which we had no fear of an interruption. Her negligent
morning dress and my great coat were highly convenient under the
circumstances.
After we had satiated in part our amorous ardour we breathed again and
sat down. There was a short pause, and then she said,
"You must know that I am in love with my husband and determined not to
deceive him. What I have just done was a debt I had to pay to the
remembrance of my first love. I had to pay it to prove how much I love
you; but let us forget it now. You must be contented with the thought of
my great affection for you--of which you can have no doubt--and let me
still think that you love me; but henceforth do not let us be alone
together, as I should give way, and that would vex me. What makes you
look so sad?"
"I find you bound, while I am free. I thought we had met never to part
again; you had kindled the old fires. I am the same to you as I was at
Ancona. I have proved as much, and you can guess how sad I feel at your
decree that I am to enjoy you no more. I find that you are not only
married but in love with your husband. Alas! I have come too late, but if
I had not stayed at Genoa I should not have been more fortunate. You
shall know all in due time, and in the meanwhile I will be guided by you
in everything. I suppose your husband knows nothing of our connection,
and my best plan will be to be reserved, will it not?"
"Yes, dearest, for he knows nothing of my affairs, and I am glad to say
he shews no curiosity respecting them. Like everybody else, he knows I
made my fortune at Naples; I told him I went there when I was ten years
old. That was an innocent lie which hurts nobody; and in my position I
find that inconvenient truths have to give way to lies. I give myself out
as only twenty-four, how do you think I look?"
"You look as if you were telling the truth, though I know you must be
thirty-two."
"You mean thirty-one, for when I knew you I couldn't have been more than
fourteen."
"I thought you were fifteen at least."
"Well, I might admit that between ourselves; but tell me if I look more
than twenty-four."
"I swear to you you don't look as old, but at Naples . . . ."
"At Naples some people might be able to contradict me, but nobody would
mind them. But I am waiting for what ought to be the sweetest moment of
your life."
"What is that, pray?"
"Allow me to keep my own counsel, I want to enjoy your surprise. How are
you off? If you want money, I can give you back all you gave me, and with
compound interest. All I have belongs to me; my husband is not master of
anything. I have fifty thousand ducats at Naples, and an equal sum in
diamonds. Tell me how much you want--quick! the chocolate is coming."
Such a woman was Therese. I was deeply moved, and was about to throw my
arms about her neck without answering when the chocolate came. Her
husband was followed by a girl of exquisite beauty, who carried three
cups of chocolate on a silver-gilt dish. While we drank it Palesi amused
us by telling us with much humour how surprised he was when he recognized
the man who made him rise at such an early hour as the same who had asked
him his wife's name the night before. Therese and I laughed till our
sides ached, the story was told so wittily and pleasantly. This Roman
displeased me less than I expected; his jealousy seemed only put on for
form's sake.
"At ten o'clock," said Theresa, "I have a rehearsal here of the new
opera. You can stay and listen if you like. I hope you will dine with us
every day, and it will give me great pleasure if you will look upon my
house as yours."
"To-day," said I, "I will stay with you till after supper, and then I
will leave you with your fortunate husband."
As I pronounced these words M. Palesi embraced me with effusion, as if to
thank me for not objecting to his enjoying his rights as a husband.
He was between the ages of twenty and twenty-two, of a fair complexion,
and well-made, but too pretty for a man. I did not wonder at Therese
being in love with him, for I knew too well the power of a handsome face;
but I thought that she had made a mistake in marrying him, for a husband
acquires certain rights which may become troublesome.
Therese's pretty maid came to tell me that my carriage was at the door.
"Will you allow me," said I to her, "to have my footman in?"
"Rascal," said I, as soon as he came in, "who told you to come here with
my carriage?"
"Nobody, sir, but I know my duty."
"Who told you that I was here?"
"I guessed as much."
"Go and fetch Le Duc, and come back with him."
When they arrived I told Le Duc to pay the impertinent fellow three days'
wages, to strip him of his livery, and to ask Dr. Vannini to get me a
servant of the same build, not gifted with the faculty of divination, but
who knew how to obey his master's orders. The rascal was much perturbed
at the result of his officiousness, and asked Therese to plead for him;
but, like a sensible woman, she told him that his master was the best
judge of the value of his services.
At ten o'clock all the actors and actresses arrived, bringing with them a
mob of amateurs who crowded the hall. Therese received their greetings
graciously, and I could see she enjoyed a great reputation. The rehearsal
lasted three hours, and wearied me extremely. To relieve my boredom I
talked to Palesi, whom I liked for not asking me any particulars of my
acquaintance with his wife. I saw that he knew how to behave in the
position in which he was placed.
A girl from Parma, named Redegonde, who played a man's part and sang very
well, stayed to dinner. Therese had also asked a young Bolognese, named
Corticelli. I was struck with the budding charms of this pretty dancer,
but as I was just then full of Therese, I did not pay much attention to
her. Soon after we sat down I saw a plump abbe coming in with measured
steps. He looked to me a regular Tartuffe, after nothing but Therese. He
came up to her as soon as he saw her, and going on one knee in the
Portuguese fashion, kissed her hand tenderly and respectfully. Therese
received him with smiling courtesy and put him at her right hand; I was
at their left. His voice, manner, and all about him told me that I had
known him, and in fact I soon recognized him as the Abbe Gama, whom I had
left at Rome seventeen years before with Cardinal Acquaviva; but I
pretended not to recognize him, and indeed he had aged greatly. This
gallant priest had eyes for no one but Therese, and he was too busy with
saying a thousand soft nothings to her to take notice of anybody else in
the company. I hoped that in his turn he would either not recognize me or
pretend not to do so, so I was continuing my trifling talk with the
Corticelli, when Therese told me that the abbe wanted to know whether I
did not recollect him. I looked at his face attentively, and with the air
of a man who is trying to recollect something, and then I rose and asked
if he were not the Abbe Gama, with whose acquaintance I was honoured.
"The same," said he, rising, and placing his arms round my neck he kissed
me again and again. This was in perfect agreement with his crafty
character; the reader will not have forgotten the portrait of him
contained in the first volume of these Memoirs.
After the ice had been thus broken it will be imagined that we had a long
conversation. He spoke of Barbaruccia, of the fair Marchioness G----, of
Cardinal S---- C----, and told me how he had passed from the Spanish to
the Portuguese service, in which he still continued. I was enjoying his
talk about numerous subjects which had interested me in my early youth,
when an unexpected sight absorbed all my thinking faculties. A young man
of fifteen or sixteen, as well grown as Italians usually are at that age,
came into the room, saluted the company with easy grace, and kissed
Therese. I was the only person who did not know him, but I was not the
only one who looked surprised. The daring Therese introduced him to me
with perfect coolness with the words:--
"That is my brother."
I greeted him as warmly as I could, but my manner was slightly confused,
as I had not had time to recover my composure. This so-called brother of
Therese was my living image, though his complexion was rather clearer
than mine. I saw at once that he was my son; nature had never been so
indiscreet as in the amazing likeness between us. This, then, was the
surprise of which Therese had spoken; she had devised the pleasure of
seeing me at once astounded and delighted, for she knew that my heart
would be touched at the thought of having left her such a pledge of our
mutual love. I had not the slightest foreknowledge in the matter, for
Therese had never alluded to her being with child in her letters. I
thought, however, that she should not have brought about this meeting in
the presence of a third party, for everyone has eyes in their head, and
anyone with eyes must have seen that the young man was either my son or
my brother. I glanced at her, but she avoided meeting my eye, while the
pretended brother was looking at me so attentively that he did not hear
what was said to him. As to the others, they did nothing but look first
at me and then at him, and if they came to the conclusion that he was my
son they would be obliged to suppose that I had been the lover of
Therese's mother, if she were really his sister, for taking into
consideration the age she looked and gave herself out to be she could not
possibly be his mother. It was equally impossible that I could be
Therese's father, as I did not look any older than she did.
My son spoke the Neapolitan dialect perfectly, but he also spoke Italian
very well, and in whatever he said I was glad to recognize taste, good
sense, and intelligence. He was well-informed, though he had been brought
up at Naples, and his manners were very distinguished. His mother made
him sit between us at table.
"His favourite amusement," she said to me, "is music. You must hear him
on the clavier, and though I am eight years older I shall not be
surprised if you pronounce him the better performer."
Only a woman's delicate instinct could have suggested this remark; men
hardly ever approach women in this respect.
Whether from natural impulses or self-esteem, I rose from the table so
delighted with my son that I embraced him with the utmost tenderness, and
was applauded by the company. I asked everybody to dine with me the next
day, and my invitation was joyfully accepted; but the Corticelli said,
with the utmost simplicity,
"May I come, too?"
"Certainty; you too."
After dinner the Abbe Gama asked me to breakfast with him, or to have him
to breakfast the next morning, as he was longing for a good talk with me.
"Come and breakfast with me," said I, "I shall be delighted to see you."
When the guests had gone Don Cesarino, as the pretended brother of
Therese was called, asked me if I would walk with him. I kissed him, and
replied that my carriage was at his service, and that he and his
brother-in-law could drive in it, but that I had resolved not to leave
his sister that day. Palesi seemed quite satisfied with the arrangement,
and they both went away.
When we were alone, I gave Therese an ardent embrace, and congratulated
her on having such a brother.
"My dear, he is the fruit of our amours; he is your son. He makes me
happy, and is happy himself, and indeed he has everything to make him
so."
"And I, too, am happy, dear Therese. You must have seen that I recognized
him at once."
"But do you want to give him a brother? How ardent you are!"
"Remember, beloved one, that to-morrow we are to be friends, and nothing
more."
By this my efforts were crowned with success, but the thought that it was
the last time was a bitter drop in the cup of happiness.
When we had regained our composure, Therese said,--
"The duke who took me from Rimini brought up our child; as soon as I knew
that I was pregnant I confided my secret to him. No one knew of my
delivery, and the child was sent to nurse at Sorrento, and the duke had
him baptized under the name of Caesar Philip Land. He remained at
Sorrento till he was nine, and then he was boarded with a worthy man, who
superintended his education and taught him music. From his earliest
childhood he has known me as his sister, and you cannot think how happy I
was when I saw him growing so like you. I have always considered him as a
sure pledge of our final union. I was ever thinking what would happen
when we met, for I knew that he would have the same influence over you as
he has over me. I was sure you would marry me and make him legitimate."
"And you have rendered all this, which would have made me happy, an
impossibility."
"The fates decided so; we will say no more about it. On the death of the
duke I left Naples, leaving Cesarino at the same boarding school, under
the protection of the Prince de la Riccia, who has always looked upon him
as a brother. Your son, though he does not know it, possesses the sum of
twenty thousand ducats, of which I receive the interest, but you may
imagine that I let him want for nothing. My only regret is that I cannot
tell him I am his mother, as I think he would love me still more if he
knew that he owed his being to me. You cannot think how glad I was to see
your surprise to-day, and how soon you got to love him."
"He is wonderfully like me."
"That delights me. People must think that you were my mother's lover. My
husband thinks that our friendship is due to the connection between you
and my mother. He told me yesterday that Cesarino might be my brother on
the mother's side, but not on my father's; as he had seen his father in
the theatre, but that he could not possibly be my father, too. If I have
children by Palesi all I have will go to them, but if not Cesarino will
be my heir. My property is well secured, even if the Prince de Riccia
were to die."
"Come," said she, drawing me in the direction of her bed-room. She opened
a large box which contained her jewels and diamonds, and shares to the
amount of fifty thousand ducats. Besides that she had a large amount of
plate, and her talents which assured her the first place in all the
Italian theatres.
"Do you know whether our dear Cesarino has been in love yet?" said I.
"I don't think so, but I fancy my pretty maid is in love with him. I
shall keep my eyes open."
"You mustn't be too strict."
"No, but it isn't a good thing for a young man to engage too soon in that
pleasure which makes one neglect everything else."
"Let me have him, I will teach him how to live."
"Ask all, but leave me my son. You must know that I never kiss him for
fear of my giving way to excessive emotion. I wish you knew how good and
pure he is, and how well he loves me, I could not refuse him anything."
"What will people say in Venice when they see Casanova again, who escaped
from The Leads and has become twenty years younger?"
"You are going to Venice, then, for the Ascensa?"
"Yes, and you are going to Rome?"
"And to Naples, to see my friend the Duke de Matalone."
"I know him well. He has already had a son by the daughter of the Duke de
Bovino, whom he married. She must be a charming woman to have made a man
of him, for all Naples knew that he was impotent."
"Probably, she only knew the secret of making him a father."
"Well, it is possible."
We spent the time by talking with interest on various topics till
Cesarino and the husband came back. The dear child finished his conquest
of me at supper; he had a merry random wit, and all the Neapolitan
vivacity. He sat down at the clavier, and after playing several pieces
with the utmost skill he began to sing Neapolitan songs which made us all
laugh. Therese only looked at him and me, but now and again she embraced
her husband, saying, that in love alone lies happiness.
I thought then, and I think now, that this day was one of the happiest I
have ever spent.
CHAPTER VII
The Corticelli--The Jew Manager Beaten--The False Charles
Ivanoff and the Trick He Played Me--I Am Ordered to Leave
Tuscany--I Arrive at Rome--My Brother Jean
[Illustration: Chapter 7]
At nine o'clock the next morning, the Abbe Gama was announced. The first
thing he did was to shed tears of joy (as he said) at seeing me so well
and prosperous after so many years. The reader will guess that the abbe
addressed me in the most flattering terms, and perhaps he may know that
one may be clever, experienced in the ways of the world, and even
distrustful of flattery, but yet one's self-love, ever on the watch,
listens to the flatterer, and thinks him pleasant. This polite and
pleasant abbe, who had become extremely crafty from having lived all his
days amongst the high dignitaries at the court of the 'Servus Servorum
Dei' (the best school of strategy), was not altogether an ill-disposed
man, but both his disposition and his profession conspired to make him
inquisitive; in fine, such as I have depicted him in the first volume of
these Memoirs. He wanted to hear my adventures, and did not wait for me
to ask him to tell his story. He told me at great length the various
incidents in his life for the seventeen years in which we had not seen
one another. He had left the service of the King of Spain for that of the
King of Portugal, he was secretary of embassy to the Commander Almada,
and he had been obliged to leave Rome because the Pope Rezzonico would
not allow the King of Portugal to punish certain worthy Jesuit assassins,
who had only broken his arm as it happened, but who had none the less
meant to take his life. Thus, Gama was staying in Italy corresponding
with Almada and the famous Carvalho, waiting for the dispute to be
finished before he returned to Rome. In point of fact this was the only
substantial incident in the abbe's story, but he worked in so many
episodes of no consequence that it lasted for an hour. No doubt he wished
me to shew my gratitude by telling him all my adventures without reserve;
but the upshot of it was that we both shewed ourselves true diplomatists,
he in lengthening his story, I in shortening mine, while I could not help
feeling some enjoyment in baulking the curiosity of my cassocked friend.
"What are you going to do in Rome?" said he, indifferently.
"I am going to beg the Pope to use his influence in my favour with the
State Inquisitors at Venice."
It was not the truth, but one lie is as good as another, and if I had
said I was only going for amusement's sake he would not have believed me.
To tell the truth to an unbelieving man is to prostitute, to murder it.
He then begged me to enter into a correspondence with him, and as that
bound me to nothing I agreed to do so.
"I can give you a mark of my friendship," said he, "by introducing you to
the Marquis de Botta-Adamo, Governor of Tuscany; he is supposed to be a
friend of the regent's."
I accepted his offer gratefully, and he began to sound me about Therese,
but found my lips as tightly closed as the lid of a miser's coffer. I
told him she was a child when I made the acquaintance of her family at
Bologna, and that the resemblance between her brother and myself was a
mere accident--a freak of nature. He happened to catch sight of a
well-written manuscript on the table, and asked me if that superb writing
was my secretary's. Costa, who was present, answered in Spanish that he
wrote it. Gama overwhelmed him with compliments, and begged me to send
Costa to him to copy some letters. I guessed that he wanted to pump him
about me, and said that I needed his services all the day.
"Well, well," said the abbe, "another time will do." I gave him no
answer. Such is the character of the curious.
I am not referring to that curiosity which depends on the occult
sciences, and endeavours to pry into the future--the daughter of
ignorance and superstition, its victims are either foolish or ignorant.
But the Abbe Gama was neither; he was naturally curious, and his
employment made him still more so, for he was paid to find out
everything. He was a diplomatist; if he had been a little lower down in
the social scale he would have been treated as a spy.
He left me to pay some calls, promising to be back by dinner-time.
Dr. Vannini brought me another servant, of the same height as the first,
and engaged that he should obey orders and guess nothing. I thanked the
academician and inn-keeper, and ordered him to get me a sumptuous dinner.
The Corticelli was the first to arrive, bringing with her her brother, an
effeminate-looking young man, who played the violin moderately well, and
her mother, who informed me that she never allowed her daughter to dine
out without herself and her son.
"Then you can take her back again this instant," said I, "or take this
ducat to dine somewhere else, as I don't want your company or your
son's."
She took the ducat, saying that she was sure she was leaving her daughter
in good hands.
"You may be sure of that," said I, "so be off."
The daughter made such witty observations on the above dialogue that I
could not help laughing, and I began to be in love with her. She was only
thirteen, and was so small that she looked ten. She was well-made,
lively, witty, and fairer than is usual with Italian women, but to this
day I cannot conceive how I fell in love with her.
The young wanton begged me to protect her against the manager of the
opera, who was a Jew. In the agreement she had made with him he had
engaged to let her dance a 'pas de deux' in the second opera, and he had
not kept his word. She begged me to compel the Jew to fulfil his
engagement, and I promised to do so.
The next guest was Redegonde, who came from Parma. She was a tall,
handsome woman, and Costa told me she was the sister of my new footman.
After I had talked with her for two or three minutes I found her remarks
well worthy of attention.
Then came the Abbe Gama, who congratulated me on being seated between two
pretty girls. I made him take my place, and he began to entertain them as
if to the manner born; and though the girls were laughing at him, he was
not in the least disconcerted. He thought he was amusing them, and on
watching his expression I saw that his self-esteem prevented him seeing
that he was making a fool of himself; but I did not guess that I might
make the same mistake at his age.
Wretched is the old man who will not recognize his old age; wretched
unless he learn that the sex whom he seduced so often when he was young
will despise him now if he still attempts to gain their favour.
My fair Therese, with her husband and my son, was the last to arrive. I
kissed Therese and then my son, and sat down between them, whispering to
Therese that such a dear mysterious trinity must not be parted; at which
Therese smiled sweetly. The abbe sat down between Redegonde and the
Corticelli, and amused us all the time by his agreeable conversation.
I laughed internally when I observed how respectfully my new footman
changed his sister's plate, who appeared vain of honours to which her
brother could lay no claim. She was not kind; she whispered to me, so
that he could not hear,--
"He is a good fellow, but unfortunately he is rather stupid."
I had put in my pocket a superb gold snuff-box, richly enamelled and
adorned with a perfect likeness of myself. I had had it made at Paris,
with the intention of giving it to Madame d'Urfe, and I had not done so
because the painter had made me too young. I had filled it with some
excellent Havana snuff which M. de Chavigny had given me, and of which
Therese was very fond; I was waiting for her to ask me for a pinch before
I drew it out of my pocket.
The Abbe Gama, who had some exceedingly good snuff in an Origonela box,
sent a pinch to Therese, and she sent him her snuff in a tortoise-shell
box encrusted with gold in arabesques--an exquisite piece of workmanship.
Gama criticised Therese's snuff, while I said that I found it delicious
but that I thought I had some better myself. I took out my snuff-box, and
opening it offered her a pinch. She did not notice the portrait, but she
agreed that my snuff was vastly superior to hers.
"Well, would you like to make an exchange?" said I. "Certainly, give me
some paper."
"That is not requisite; we will exchange the snuff and the snuff-boxes."
So saying, I put Therese's box in my pocket and gave her mine shut. When
she saw the portrait, she gave a cry which puzzled everybody, and her
first motion was to kiss the portrait.
"Look," said she to Cesarino, "here is your portrait."
Cesarino looked at it in astonishment, and the box passed from hand to
hand. Everybody said that it was my portrait, taken ten years ago, and
that it might pass for a likeness of Cesarino. Therese got quite excited,
and swearing that she would never let the box out of her hands again, she
went up to her son and kissed him several times. While this was going on
I watched the Abbe Gama, and I could see that he was making internal
comments of his own on this affecting scene.
The worthy abbe went away towards the evening, telling me that he would
expect me to breakfast next morning.
I spent the rest of the day in making love to Redegonde, and Therese, who
saw that I was pleased with the girl, advised me to declare myself, and
promised that she would ask her to the house as often as I liked. But
Therese did not know her.
Next morning Gama told me that he had informed Marshal Botta that I would
come and see him, and he would present me at four o'clock. Then the
worthy abbe, always the slave of his curiosity, reproached me in a
friendly manner for not having told him anything about my fortune.
"I did not think it was worth mentioning, but as you are interested in
the subject I may tell you that my means are small, but that I have
friends whose purses are always open to me."
"If you have true friends you are a rich man, but true friends are
scarce."
I left the Abbe Gama, my head full of Redegonde, whom I preferred to the
young Corticelli, and I went to pay her a visit; but what a reception!
She received me in a room in which were present her mother, her uncle,
and three or four dirty, untidy little monkeys: these were her brothers.'
"Haven't you a better room to receive your friends in?" said I.
"I have no friends, so I don't want a room."
"Get it, my dear, and you will find the friends come fast enough. This is
all very well for you to welcome your relations in, but not persons like
myself who come to do homage to your charms and your talents."
"Sir," said the mother, "my daughter has but few talents, and thinks
nothing of her charms, which are small."
"You are extremely modest, and I appreciate your feelings; but everybody
does not see your daughter with the same eyes, and she pleased me
greatly."
"That is an honour for her, and we are duly sensible of it, but not so as
to be over-proud. My daughter will see you as often as you please, but
here, and in no other place."
"But I am afraid of being in the way here."
"An honest man is never in the way."
I felt ashamed, for nothing so confounds a libertine as modesty in the
mouth of poverty; and not knowing what to answer I took my leave.
I told Therese of my unfortunate visit, and we both, laughed at it; it
was the best thing we could do.
"I shall be glad to see you at the opera," said she, "and you can get
into my dressing-room if you give the door-keeper a small piece of
money."
The Abbe Gama came as he promised, to take me to Marshal Botta, a man of
high talents whom the affair of Genoa had already rendered famous. He was
in command of the Austrian army when the people, growing angry at the
sight of the foreigners, who had only come to put them under the Austrian
yoke, rose in revolt and made them leave the town. This patriotic riot
saved the Republic. I found him in the midst of a crowd of ladies and
gentlemen, whom he left to welcome me. He talked about Venice in a way
that shewed he understood the country thoroughly, and I conversed to him
on France, and, I believe, satisfied him. In his turn he spoke of the
Court of Russia, at which he was staying when Elizabeth Petrovna, who was
still reigning at the period in question, so easily mounted the throne of
her father, Peter the Great. "It is only in Russia," said he, "that
poison enters into politics."
At the time when the opera began the marshal left the room, and everybody
went away. On my way the abbe assured me, as a matter of course, that I
had pleased the governor, and I afterwards went to the theatre, and
obtained admission to Therese's dressing-room for a tester. I found her
in the hands of her pretty chamber-maid, and she advised me to go to
Redegonde's dressing-room, as she played a man's part, and might,
perhaps, allow me to assist in her toilette.
I followed her advice, but the mother would not let me come in, as her
daughter was just going to dress. I assured her that I would turn my back
all the time she was dressing, and on this condition she let me in, and
made me sit down at a table on which stood a mirror, which enabled me to
see all Redegonde's most secret parts to advantage; above all, when she
lifted her legs to put on her breeches, either most awkwardly or most
cleverly, according to her intentions. She did not lose anything by what
she shewed, however, for I was so pleased, that to possess her charms I
would have signed any conditions she cared to impose upon me.
"Redegonde must know," I said to myself, "that I could see everything in
the glass;" and the idea inflamed me. I did not turn round till the
mother gave me leave, and I then admired my charmer as a young man of
five feet one, whose shape left nothing to be desired.
Redegonde went out, and I followed her to the wings.
"My dear," said I, "I am going to talk plainly to you. You have inflamed
my passions and I shall die if you do not make me happy."
"You do not say that you will die if you chance to make me unhappy."
"I could not say so, because I cannot conceive such a thing as possible.
Do not trifle with me, dear Redegonde, you must be aware that I saw all
in the mirror, and I cannot think that you are so cruel as to arouse my
passions and then leave me to despair."
"What could you have seen? I don't know what you are talking about."
"May be, but know that I have seen all your charms. What shall I do to
possess you?"
"To possess me? I don't understand you, sir; I'm an honest girl."
"I dare say; but you wouldn't be any less honest after making me happy.
Dear Redegonde, do not let me languish for you, but tell me my fate now
this instant."
"I do not know what to tell you, but you can come and see me whenever you
like."
"When shall I find you alone?"
"Alone! I am never alone."
"Well, well, that's of no consequence; if only your mother is present,
that comes to the same thing. If she is sensible, she will pretend not to
see anything, and I will give you a hundred ducats each time."
"You are either a madman, or you do not know what sort of people we are."
With these words she went on, and I proceeded to tell Therese what had
passed.
"Begin," said she, "by offering the hundred ducats to the mother, and if
she refuses, have no more to do with them, and go elsewhere."
I returned to the dressing-room, where I found the mother alone, and
without any ceremony spoke as follows:--
"Good evening, madam, I am a stranger here; I am only staying a week, and
I am in love with your daughter. If you like to be obliging, bring her to
sup with me. I will give you a hundred sequins each time, so you see my
purse is in your power."
"Whom do you think you are talking to, sir? I am astonished at your
impudence. Ask the townsfolk what sort of character I bear, and whether
my daughter is an honest girl or not! and you will not make such
proposals again."
"Good-bye, madam."
"Good-bye, sir."
As I went out I met Redegonde, and I told her word for word the
conversation I had had with her mother. She burst out laughing.
"Have I done well or ill?" said I.
"Well enough, but if you love me come and see me."
"See you after what your mother said?"
"Well, why not, who knows of it?"
"Who knows? You don't know me, Redegonde. I do not care to indulge myself
in idle hopes, and I thought I had spoken to you plainly enough."
Feeling angry, and vowing to have no more to do with this strange girl, I
supped with Therese, and spent three delightful hours with her. I had a
great deal of writing to do the next day and kept in doors, and in the
evening I had a visit from the young Corticelli, her mother and brother.
She begged me to keep my promise regarding the manager of the theatre,
who would not let her dance the 'pas de deux' stipulated for in the
agreement.
"Come and breakfast with me to-morrow morning," said I, "and I will speak
to the Israelite in your presence--at least I will do so if he comes."
"I love you very much," said the young wanton, "can't I stop a little
longer here."
"You may stop as long as you like, but as I have got some letters to
finish, I must ask you to excuse my entertaining you."
"Oh! just as you please."
I told Costa to give her some supper.
I finished my letters and felt inclined for a little amusement, so I made
the girl sit by me and proceeded to toy with her, but in such a way that
her mother could make no objection. All at once the brother came up and
tried to join in the sport, much to my astonishment.
"Get along with you," said I, "you are not a girl."
At this the young scoundrel proceeded to shew me his sex, but in such an
indecent fashion that his sister, who was sitting on my knee, burst out
laughing and took refuge with her mother, who was sitting at the other
end of the room in gratitude for the good supper I had given her. I rose
from my chair, and after giving the impudent pederast a box on the ear I
asked the mother with what intentions she had brought the young rascal to
my house. By way of reply the infamous woman said,--
"He's a pretty lad, isn't he?"
I gave him a ducat for the blow I had given him, and told the mother to
begone, as she disgusted me. The pathic took my ducat, kissed my hand,
and they all departed.
I went to bed feeling amused at the incident, and wondering at the
wickedness of a mother who would prostitute her own son to the basest of
vices.
Next morning I sent and asked the Jew to call on me. The Corticelli came
with her mother, and the Jew soon after, just as we were going to
breakfast.
I proceeded to explain the grievance of the young dancer, and I read the
agreement he had made with her, telling him politely that I could easily
force him to fulfil it. The Jew put in several excuses, of which the
Corticelli demonstrated the futility. At last the son of Judah was forced
to give in, and promised to speak to the ballet-master the same day, in
order that she might dance the 'pas' with the actor she named.
"And that, I hope, will please your excellency," he added, with a low
bow, which is not often a proof of sincerity, especially among Jews.
When my guests had taken leave I went to the Abbe Gama, to dine with
Marshal Botta who had asked us to dinner. I made the acquaintance there
of Sir Mann, the English ambassador, who was the idol of Florence, very
rich, of the most pleasing manners although an Englishman; full of wit,
taste, and a great lover of the fine arts. He invited me to come next day
and see his house and garden. In this home he had made--furniture,
pictures, choice books--all shewed the man of genius. He called on me,
asked me to dinner, and had the politeness to include Therese, her
husband, and Cesarino in the invitation. After dinner my son sat down at
the clavier and delighted the company by his exquisite playing. While we
were talking of likenesses, Sir Mann shewed us some miniatures of great
beauty.
Before leaving, Therese told me that she had been thinking seriously of
me.
"In what respect?" I asked.
"I have told Redegonde that I am going to call for her, that I will keep
her to supper, and have her taken home. You must see that this last
condition is properly carried out. Come to supper too, and have your
carriage in waiting. I leave the rest to you. You will only be a few
minutes with her, but that's something; and the first step leads far."
"An excellent plan. I will sup with you, and my carriage shall be ready.
I will tell you all about it to-morrow."
I went to the house at nine o'clock, and was welcomed as an unexpected
guest. I told Redegonde that I was glad to meet her, and she replied that
she had not hoped to have the pleasure of seeing me. Redegonde was the
only one who had any appetite; she ate capitally, and laughed merrily at
the stories I told her.
After supper Therese asked her if she would like to have a sedan-chair
sent for, or if she would prefer to be taken back in my carriage.
"If the gentleman will be so kind," said she, "I need not send for a
chair."
I thought this reply of such favourable omen that I no longer doubted of
my success. After she had wished the others good night, she took my arm,
pressing it as she did so; we went down the stairs, and she got into the
carriage. I got in after her, and on attempting to sit down I found the
place taken.
"Who is that?" I cried.
Redegonde burst out laughing, and informed me it was her mother.
I was done; I could not summon up courage to pass it off as a jest. Such
a shock makes a man stupid; for a moment it numbs all the mental
faculties, and wounded self-esteem only gives place to anger.
I sat down on the front seat and coldly asked the mother why she had not
come up to supper with us. When the carriage stopped at their door, she
asked me to come in, but I told her I would rather not. I felt that for a
little more I would have boxed her ears, and the man at the house door
looked very like a cut-throat.
I felt enraged and excited physically as well as mentally, and though I
had never been to see the Corticelli, told the coachman to drive there
immediately, as I felt sure of finding her well disposed. Everybody was
gone to bed. I knocked at the door till I got an answer, I gave my name,
and I was let in, everything being in total darkness. The mother told me
she would light a candle, and that if she had expected me she would have
waited up in spite of the cold. I felt as if I were in the middle of an
iceberg. I heard the girl laughing, and going up to the bed and passing
my hand over it I came across some plain tokens of the masculine gender.
I had got hold of her brother. In the meanwhile the mother had got a
candle, and I saw the girl with the bedclothes up to her chin, for, like
her brother, she was as naked as my hand. Although no Puritan, I was
shocked.
"Why do you allow this horrible union?" I said to the mother.
"What harm is there? They are brother and sister."
"That's just what makes it a criminal matter."
"Everything is perfectly innocent."
"Possibly; but it's not a good plan."
The pathic escaped from the bed and crept into his mother's, while the
little wanton told me there was really no harm, as they only loved each
other as brother and sister, and that if I wanted her to sleep by herself
all I had to do was to get her a new bed. This speech, delivered with
arch simplicity, in her Bolognese jargon, made me laugh with all my
heart, for in the violence of her gesticulations she had disclosed half
her charms, and I saw nothing worth looking at. In spite of that, it was
doubtless decreed that I should fall in love with her skin, for that was
all she had.
If I had been alone I should have brought matters to a crisis on the
spot, but I had a distaste to the presence of her mother and her
scoundrelly brother. I was afraid lest some unpleasant scenes might
follow. I gave her ten ducats to buy a bed, said good night, and left the
house. I returned to my lodging, cursing the too scrupulous mothers of
the opera girls.
I passed the whole of the next morning with Sir Mann, in his gallery,
which contained some exquisite paintings, sculptures, mosaics, and
engraved gems. On leaving him, I called on Therese and informed her of my
misadventure of the night before. She laughed heartily at my story, and I
laughed too, in spite of a feeling of anger due to my wounded
self-esteem.
"You must console yourself," said she; "you will not find much difficulty
in filling the place in your affections."
"Ah! why are you married?"
"Well, it's done; and there's no helping it. But listen to me. As you
can't do without someone, take up with the Corticelli; she's as good as
any other woman, and won't keep you waiting long."
On my return to my lodging, I found the Abbe Gama, whom I had invited to
dinner, and he asked me if I would accept a post to represent Portugal at
the approaching European Congress at Augsburg. He told me that if I did
the work well, I could get anything I liked at Lisbon.
"I am ready to do my best," said I; "you have only to write to me, and I
will tell you where to direct your letters." This proposal made me long
to become a diplomatist.
In the evening I went to the opera-house and spoke to the ballet-master,
the dancer who was to take part in the 'pas de deux', and to the Jew, who
told me that my protegee should be satisfied in two or three days, and
that she should perform her favourite 'pas' for the rest of the carnival.
I saw the Corticelli, who told me she had got her bed, and asked me to
come to supper. I accepted the invitation, and when the opera was over I
went to her house.
Her mother, feeling sure that I would pay the bill, had ordered an
excellent supper for four, and several flasks of the best Florence wine.
Besides that, she gave me a bottle of the wine called Oleatico, which I
found excellent. The three Corticellis unaccustomed to good fare and
wine, ate like a troop, and began to get intoxicated. The mother and son
went to bed without ceremony, and the little wanton invited me to follow
their example. I should have liked to do so, but I did not dare. It was
very cold and there was no fire in the room, there was only one blanket
on the bed, and I might have caught a bad cold, and I was too fond of my
good health to expose myself to such a danger. I therefore satisfied
myself by taking her on my knee, and after a few preliminaries she
abandoned herself to my transports, endeavouring to persuade me that I
had got her maidenhead. I pretended to believe her, though I cared very
little whether it were so or not.
I left her after I had repeated the dose three or four times, and gave
her fifty sequins, telling her to get a good wadded coverlet and a large
brazier, as I wanted to sleep with her the next night.
Next morning I received an extremely interesting letter from Grenoble. M.
de Valenglard informed me that the fair Mdlle. Roman, feeling convinced
that her horoscope would never come true unless she went to Paris, had
gone to the capital with her aunt.
Her destiny was a strange one; it depended on the liking I had taken to
her and my aversion to marriage, for it lay in my power to have married
the handsomest woman in France, and in that case it is not likely that
she would have become the mistress of Louis XV. What strange whim could
have made me indicate in her horoscope the necessity of her journeying to
Paris; for even if there were such a science as astrology I was no
astrologer; in fine, her destiny depended on my absurd fancy. And in
history, what a number of extraordinary events would never have happened
if they had not been predicted!
In the evening I went to the theatre, and found my Corticelli clad in a
pretty cloak, while the other girls looked at me contemptuously, for they
were enraged at the place being taken; while the proud favourite caressed
me with an air of triumph which became her to admiration.
In the evening I found a good supper awaiting me, a large brazier on the
hearth, and a warm coverlet on the bed. The mother shewed me all the
things her daughter had bought, and complained that she had not got any
clothes for her brother. I made her happy by giving her a few louis.
When I went to bed I did not find my mistress in any amorous transports,
but in a wanton and merry mood. She made me laugh, and as she let me do
as I liked I was satisfied. I gave her a watch when I left her, and
promised to sup with her on the following night. She was to have danced
the pas de deux, and I went to see her do it, but to my astonishment she
only danced with the other girls.
When I went to supper I found her in despair. She wept and said that I
must avenge her on the Jew, who had excused himself by putting the fault
on somebody else, but that he was a liar. I promised everything to quiet
her, and after spending several hours in her company I returned home,
determined to give the Jew a bad quarter of an hour. Next morning I sent
Costa to ask him to call on me, but the rascal sent back word that he was
not coming, and if the Corticelli did not like his theatre she might try
another.
I was indignant, but I knew that I must dissemble, so I only laughed.
Nevertheless, I had pronounced his doom, for an Italian never forgets to
avenge himself on his enemy; he knows it is the pleasure of the gods.
As soon as Costa had left the room, I called Le Duc and told him the
story, saying that if I did not take vengeance I should be dishonoured,
and that it was only he who could procure the scoundrel a good thrashing
for daring to insult me.
"But you know, Le Duc, the affair must be kept secret."
"I only want twenty-four hours to give you an answer."
I knew what he meant, and I was satisfied.
Next morning Le Duc told me he had spent the previous day in learning the
Jew's abode and habits, without asking anybody any questions.
"To-day I will not let him go out of my sight. I shall find out at what
hour he returns home, and to-morrow you shall know the results."
"Be discreet," said I, "and don't let anybody into your plans."
"Not I!"
Next day, he told me that if the Jew came home at the same time and by
the same way as before, he would have a thrashing before he got to bed.
"Whom have you chosen for this expedition?"
"Myself. These affairs ought to be kept secret, and a secret oughtn't to
be known to more than two people. I am sure that everything will turn out
well, but when you are satisfied that the ass's hide has been well
tanned, will there be anything to be picked up?"
"Twenty-five sequins."
"That will do nicely. When I have done the trick I shall put on my great
coat again and return by the back door. If necessary Costa himself will
be able to swear that I did not leave the house, and that therefore I
cannot have committed the assault. However, I shall put my pistols in my
pocket in case of accidents, and if anybody tries to arrest me I shall
know how to defend myself."
Next morning he came coolly into my room while Costa was putting on my
dressing-gown, and when we were alone he said,--
"The thing's done. Instead of the Jew's running away when he received the
first blow he threw himself on to the ground. Then I tanned his skin for
him nicely, but on hearing some people coming up I ran off. I don't know
whether I did for him, but I gave him two sturdy blows on the head. I
should be sorry if he were killed, as then he could not see about the
dance."
This jest did not arouse my mirth; the matter promised to be too serious.
Therese had asked me to dine with the Abbe Gama and M. Sassi, a worthy
man, if one may prostitute the name of man to describe a being whom
cruelty has separated from the rest of humanity; he was the first
castrato of the opera. Of course the Jew's mishap was discussed.
"I am sorry for him," said I, "though he is a rascally fellow."
"I am not at all sorry for him myself," said Sassi, "he's a knave."
"I daresay that everybody will be putting down his wooden baptism to my
account."
"No," said the abbe, "people say that M. Casanova did the deed for good
reasons of his own."
"It will be difficult to pitch on the right man," I answered, "the rascal
has pushed so many worthy people to extremities that he must have a great
many thrashings owing him."
The conversation then passed to other topics, and we had a very pleasant
dinner.
In a few days the Jew left his bed with a large plaster on his nose, and
although I was generally regarded as the author of his misfortune the
matter was gradually allowed to drop, as there were only vague suspicions
to go upon. But the Corticelli, in an ecstasy of joy, was stupid enough
to talk as if she were sure it was I who had avenged her, and she got
into a rage when I would not admit the deed; but, as may be guessed, I
was not foolish enough to do so, as her imprudence might have been a
hanging matter for me.
I was well enough amused at Florence, and had no thoughts of leaving,
when one day Vannini gave me a letter which someone had left for me. I
opened it in his presence, and found it contained a bill of exchange for
two hundred Florentine crowns on Sasso Sassi. Vannini looked at it and
told me it was a good one. I went into my room to read the letter, and I
was astonished to find it signed "Charles Ivanoff." He dated it from
Pistoia, and told me that in his poverty and misfortune he had appealed
to an Englishman who was leaving Florence for Lucca, and had generously
given him a bill of exchange for two hundred crowns, which he had written
in his presence. It was made payable to bearer.
"I daren't cash it in Florence," said he, "as I am afraid of being
arrested for my unfortunate affair at Genoa. I entreat you, then, to have
pity on me, to get the bill cashed, and to bring me the money here, that
I may pay my landlord and go."
It looked like a very simple matter, but I might get into trouble, for
the note might be forged; and even if it were not I should be declaring
myself a friend or a correspondent, at all events, of a man who had been
posted. In this dilemma I took the part of taking the bill of exchange to
him in person. I went to the posting establishment, hired two horses, and
drove to Pistoia. The landlord himself took me to the rascal's room, and
left me alone with him.
I did not stay more than three minutes, and all I said was that as Sassi
knew me I did not wish him to think that there was any kind of connection
between us.
"I advise you," I said, "to give the bill to your landlord, who will cash
it at M. Sassi's and bring you your change."
"I will follow your advice," he said, and I therewith returned to
Florence.
I thought no more of it, but in two days' time I received a visit from M.
Sassi and the landlord of the inn at Pistoia. The banker shewed me the
bill of exchange, and said that the person who had given it me had
deceived me, as it was not in the writing of the Englishman whose name it
bore, and that even if it were, the Englishman not having any money with
Sassi could not draw a bill of exchange.
"The inn-keeper here," said he, "discounted the bill, the Russian has
gone off, and when I told him that it was a forgery he said that he knew
Charles Ivanoff had it of you, and that thus he had made no difficulty in
cashing it; but now he wants you to return him two hundred crowns."
"Then he will be disappointed!"
I told all the circumstances of the affair to Sassi; I shewed him the
rascal's letter; I made Dr. Vannini, who had given it me, come up, and he
said he was ready to swear that he had seen me take the bill of exchange
out of the letter, that he had examined it, and had thought it good.
On this the banker told the inn-keeper that he had no business to ask me
to pay him the money; but he persisted in his demand, and dared to say
that I was an accomplice of the Russian's.
In my indignation I ran for my cane, but the banker held me by the arm,
and the impertinent fellow made his escape without a thrashing.
"You had a right to be angry," said M. Sassi, "but you must not take any
notice of what the poor fellow says in his blind rage."
He shook me by the hand and went out.
Next day the chief of police, called the auditor at Florence, sent me a
note begging me to call on him. There was no room for hesitation, for as
a stranger I felt that I might look on this invitation as an intimation.
He received me very politely, but he said I should have to repay the
landlord his two hundred crowns, as he would not have discounted the bill
if he had not seen me bring it. I replied that as a judge he could not
condemn me unless he thought me the Russian's accomplice, but instead of
answering he repeated that I would have to pay.
"Sir," I replied, "I will not pay."
He rang the bell and bowed, and I left him, walking towards the banker's,
to whom I imparted the conversation I had had from the auditor. He was
extremely astonished, and at my request called on him to try and make him
listen to reason. As we parted I told him that I was dining with the Abbe
Gama.
When I saw the abbe I told him what had happened, and he uttered a loud
exclamation of astonishment.
"I foresee," he said, "that the auditor will not let go his hold, and if
M. Sassi does not succeed with him I advise you to speak to Marshal
Botta."
"I don't think that will be necessary; the auditor can't force me to
pay."
"He can do worse."
"What can he do?".
"He can make you leave Florence."
"Well, I shall be astonished if he uses his power in this case, but
rather than pay I will leave the town. Let us go to the marshal."
We called on him at four o'clock, and we found the banker there, who had
told him the whole story.
"I am sorry to tell you," said M. Sassi, "that I could do nothing with
the auditor, and if you want to remain in Florence you will have to pay."
"I will leave as soon as I receive the order," said I; "and as soon as I
reach another state I will print the history of this shameful perversion
of justice."
"It's an incredible, a monstrous sentence," said the marshal, "and I am
sorry I cannot interfere. You are quite right," he added, "to leave the
place rather than pay."
Early the next morning a police official brought me a letter from the
auditor, informing me that as he could not, from the nature of the case,
oblige me to pay, he was forced to warn me to leave Florence in three
days, and Tuscany in seven. This, he added, he did in virtue of his
office; but whenever the Grand Duke, to whom I might appeal, had quashed
his judgment I might return.
I took a piece of paper and wrote upon it, "Your judgment is an
iniquitous one, but it shall be obeyed to the letter."
At that moment I gave orders to pack up and have all in readiness for my
departure. I spent three days of respite in amusing myself with Therese.
I also saw the worthy Sir Mann, and I promised the Corticelli to fetch
her in Lent, and spend some time with her in Bologna. The Abbe Gama did
not leave my side for three days, and shewed himself my true friend. It
was a kind of triumph for me; on every side I heard regrets at my
departure, and curses of the auditor. The Marquis Botta seemed to approve
my conduct by giving me a dinner, the table being laid for thirty, and
the company being composed of the most distinguished people in Florence.
This was a delicate attention on his part, of which I was very sensible.
I consecrated the last day to Therese, but I could not find any
opportunity to ask her for a last consoling embrace, which she would not
have refused me under the circumstances, and which I should still fondly
remember. We promised to write often to one another, and we embraced each
other in a way to make her husband's heart ache. Next day I started on my
journey, and got to Rome in thirty-six hours.
It was midnight when I passed under the Porta del Popolo, for one may
enter the Eternal City at any time. I was then taken to the custom-house,
which is always open, and my mails were examined. The only thing they are
strict about at Rome is books, as if they feared the light. I had about
thirty volumes, all more or less against the Papacy, religion, or the
virtues inculcated thereby. I had resolved to surrender them without any
dispute, as I felt tired and wanted to go to bed, but the clerk told me
politely to count them and leave them in his charge for the night, and he
would bring them to my hotel in the morning. I did so, and he kept his
word. He was well enough pleased when he touched the two sequins with
which I rewarded him.
I put up at the Ville de Paris, in the Piazza di Spagna. It is the best
inn in the town. All the world, I found, was drowned in sleep, but when
they let me in they asked me to wait on the ground floor while a fire was
lighted in my room. All the seats were covered with dresses, petticoats,
and chemises, and I heard a small feminine voice begging me to sit on her
bed. I approached and saw a laughing mouth, and two black eyes shining
like carbuncles.
"What splendid eyes!" said I, "let me kiss them."
By way of reply she hid her head under the coverlet, and I slid a hasty
hand under the sheets; but finding her quite naked, I drew it back and
begged pardon. She put out her head again, and I thought I read gratitude
for my moderation in her eyes.
"Who are you, my angel?"
"I am Therese, the inn-keeper's daughter, and this is my sister." There
was another girl beside her, whom I had not seen, as her head was under
the bolster.
"How old are you?"
"Nearly seventeen."
"I hope I shall see you in my room to-morrow morning."
"Have you any ladies with you?"
"No."
"That's a pity, as we never go to the gentlemen's rooms."
"Lower the coverlet a little; I can't hear what you say."
"It's too cold."
"Dear Therese, your eyes make me feel as if I were in flames."
She put back her head at this, and I grew daring, and after sundry
experiments I was more than ever charmed with her. I caressed her in a
somewhat lively manner, and drew back my hand, again apologizing for my
daring, and when she let me see her face I thought I saw delight rather
than anger in her eyes and on her cheeks, and I felt hopeful with regard
to her. I was just going to begin again, for I felt on fire; when a
handsome chambermaid came to tell me that my room was ready and my fire
lighted.
"Farewell till to-morrow," said I to Therese, but she only answered by
turning on her side to go to sleep.
I went to bed after ordering dinner for one o'clock, and I slept till
noon, dreaming of Therese. When I woke up, Costa told me that he had
found out where my brother lived, and had left a note at the house. This
was my brother Jean, then about thirty, and a pupil of the famous Raphael
Mengs. This painter was then deprived of his pension on account of a war
which obliged the King of Poland to live at Warsaw, as the Prussians
occupied the whole electorate of Saxe. I had not seen my brother for ten
years, and I kept our meeting as a holiday. I was sitting down to table
when he came, and we embraced each other with transport. We spent an hour
in telling, he his small adventures, and I my grand ones, and he told me
that I should not stay at the hotel, which was too dear, but come and
live at the Chevalier Mengs's house, which contained an empty room, where
I could stay at a much cheaper rate.
"As to your table, there is a restaurant in the house where one can get a
capital meal."
"Your advice is excellent," said I, "but I have not the courage to follow
it, as I am in love with my landlord's daughter;" and I told him what had
happened the night before.
"That's a mere nothing," said he, laughing; "you can cultivate her
acquaintance without staying in the house."
I let myself be persuaded, and I promised to come to him the following
day; and then we proceeded to take a walk about Rome.
I had many interesting memories of my last visit, and I wanted to renew
my acquaintance with those who had interested me at that happy age when
such impressions are so durable because they touch the heart rather than
the mind; but I had to make up my mind to a good many disappointments,
considering the space of time that had elapsed since I had been in Rome.
I went to the Minerva to find Donna Cecilia; she was no more in this
world. I found out where her daughter Angelica lived, and I went to see
her, but she gave me a poor reception, and said that she really scarcely
remembered me.
"I can say the same," I replied, "for you are not the Angelica I used to
know. Good-bye, madam!"
The lapse of time had not improved her personal appearance. I found out
also where the printer's son, who had married Barbaruccia, lived, but--I
put off the pleasure of seeing him till another time, and also my visit
to the Reverend Father Georgi, who was a man of great repute in Rome.
Gaspar Vivaldi had gone into the country.
My brother took me to Madame Cherubini. I found her mansion to be a
splendid one, and the lady welcomed me in the Roman manner. I thought her
pleasant and her daughters still more so, but I thought the crowd of
lovers too large and too miscellaneous. There was too much luxury and
ceremony, and the girls, one of whom was as fair as Love himself, were
too polite to everybody. An interesting question was put to me, to which
I answered in such a manner as to elicit another question, but to no
purpose. I saw that the rank of my brother, who had introduced me,
prevented my being thought a person of any consequence, and on hearing an
abbe say, "He's Casanova's brother," I turned to him and said,--
"That's not correct; you should say Casanova's my brother."
"That comes to the same thing."
"Not at all, my dear abbe."
I said these words in a tone which commanded attention, and another abbe
said,--
"The gentleman is quite right; it does not come to the same thing."
The first abbe made no reply to this. The one who had taken my part, and
was my friend from that moment, was the famous Winckelmann, who was
unhappily assassinated at Trieste twelve years afterwards.
While I was talking to him, Cardinal Alexander Albani arrived.
Winckelmann presented me to his eminence, who was nearly blind. He talked
to me a great deal, without saying anything worth listening to. As soon
as he heard that I was the Casanova who had escaped from The Leads, he
said in a somewhat rude tone that he wondered I had the hardihood to come
to Rome, where on the slightest hint from the State Inquisitors at Venice
an 'ordine sanctissimo' would re-consign me to my prison. I was annoyed
by this unseemly remark, and replied in a dignified voice,--
"It is not my hardihood in coming to Rome that your eminence should
wonder at, but a man of any sense would wonder at the Inquisitors if they
had the hardihood to issue an 'ordine sanctissimo' against me; for they
would be perplexed to allege any crime in me as a pretext for thus
infamously depriving me of my liberty."
This reply silenced his eminence. He was ashamed at having taken me for a
fool, and to see that I thought him one. Shortly after I left and never
set foot in that house again.
The Abbe Winckelmann went out with my brother and myself, and as he came
with me to my hotel he did me the honour of staying to supper.
Winckelmann was the second volume of the celebrated Abbe de Voisenon. He
called for me next day, and we went to Villa Albani to see the Chevalier
Mengs, who was then living there and painting a ceiling.
My landlord Roland (who knew my brother) paid me a visit at supper.
Roland came from Avignon and was fond of good living. I told him I was
sorry to be leaving him to stay with my brother, because I had fallen in
love with his daughter Therese, although I had only spoken to her for a
few minutes, and had only seen her head.
"You saw her in bed, I will bet!"
"Exactly, and I should very much like to see the rest of her. Would you
be so kind as to ask her to step up for a few minutes?"
"With all my heart."
She came upstairs, seeming only too glad to obey her father's summons.
She had a lithe, graceful figure, her eyes were of surpassing brilliancy,
her features exquisite, her mouth charming; but taken altogether I did
not like her so well as before. In return, my poor brother became
enamoured of her to such an extent that he ended by becoming her slave.
He married her next year, and two years afterwards he took her to
Dresden. I saw her five years later with a pretty baby; but after ten
years of married life she died of consumption.
I found Mengs at the Villa Albani; he was an indefatigable worker, and
extremely original in his conceptions. He welcomed me, and said he was
glad to be able to lodge me at his house in Rome, and that he hoped to
return home himself in a few days, with his whole family.
I was astonished with the Villa Albani. It had been built by Cardinal
Alexander, and had been wholly constructed from antique materials to
satisfy the cardinal's love for classic art; not only the statues and the
vases, but the columns, the pedestals--in fact, everything was Greek. He
was a Greek himself, and had a perfect knowledge of antique work, and had
contrived to spend comparatively little money compared with the
masterpiece he had produced. If a sovereign monarch had had a villa like
the cardinal's built, it would have cost him fifty million francs, but
the cardinal made a much cheaper bargain.
As he could not get any ancient ceilings, he was obliged to have them
painted, and Mengs was undoubtedly the greatest and the most laborious
painter of his age. It is a great pity that death carried him off in the
midst of his career, as otherwise he would have enriched the stores of
art with numerous masterpieces. My brother never did anything to justify
his title of pupil of this great artist. When I come to my visit to Spain
in 1767, I shall have some more to say about Mengs.
As soon as I was settled with my brother I hired a carriage, a coachman,
and a footman, whom I put into fancy livery, and I called on Monsignor
Cornaro, auditor of the 'rota', with the intention of making my way into
good society, but fearing lest he as a Venetian might get compromised, he
introduced me to Cardinal Passionei, who spoke of me to the sovereign
pontiff.
Before I pass on to anything else, I will inform my readers of what took
place on the occasion of my second visit to this old cardinal, a great
enemy of the Jesuits, a wit, and man of letters.
VOLUME 18--RETURN TO NAPLES
ROME--NAPLES--BOLOGNA
CHAPTER VIII
Cardinal Passianei--The Pope--Masiuccia--I Arrive At Naples
[Illustration: Chapter 8]
Cardinal Passionei received me in a large hall where he was writing. He
begged me to wait till he had finished, but he could not ask me to take a
seat as he occupied the only chair that his vast room contained.
When he had put down his pen, he rose, came to me, and after informing me
that he would tell the Holy Father of my visit, he added,--
"My brother Cornaro might have made a better choice, as he knows the Pope
does not like me."
"He thought it better to choose the man who is esteemed than the man who
is merely liked."
"I don't know whether the Pope esteems me, but I am sure he knows I don't
esteem him. I both liked and esteemed him before he was pope, and I
concurred in his election, but since he has worn the tiara it's a
different matter; he has shewn himself too much of a 'coglione'."
"The conclave ought to have chosen your eminence."
"No, no; I'm a root-and-branch reformer, and my hand would not have been
stayed for fear of the vengeance of the guilty, and God alone knows what
would have come of that. The only cardinal fit to be pope was Tamburini;
but it can't be helped now. I hear people coming; good-bye, come again
to-morrow."
What a delightful thing to have heard a cardinal call the Pope a fool,
and name Tamburini as a fit person. I did not lose a moment in noting
this pleasant circumstance down: it was too precious a morsel to let
slip. But who was Tamburini? I had never heard of him. I asked
Winckelmann, who dined with me.
"He's a man deserving of respect for his virtues, his character, his
firmness, and his farseeing intelligence. He has never disguised his
opinion of the Jesuits, whom he styles the fathers of deceits, intrigues,
and lies; and that's what made Passionei mention him. I think, with him,
that Tamburini would be a great and good pope."
I will here note down what I heard at Rome nine years later from the
mouth of a tool of the Jesuits. The Cardinal Tamburini was at the last
gasp, and the conversation turned upon him, when somebody else said,--
"This Benedictine cardinal is an impious fellow after all; he is on his
death-bed, and he has asked for the viaticum, without wishing to purify
his soul by confession."
I did not make any remark, but feeling as if I should like to know the
truth of the matter I asked somebody about it next day, my informant
being a person who must have known the truth, and could not have had any
motive for disguising the real facts of the case. He told me that the
cardinal had said mass three days before, and that if he had not asked
for a confessor it was doubtless because he had nothing to confess.
Unfortunate are they that love the truth, and do not seek it out at its
source. I hope the reader will pardon this digression, which is not
without interest.
Next day I went to see Cardinal Passionei, who told me I was quite right
to come early, as he wanted to learn all about my escape from The Leads,
of which he had heard some wonderful tales told.
"I shall be delighted to satisfy your eminence, but the story is a long
one."
"All the better; they say you tell it well."
"But, my lord, am I to sit down on the floor?"
"No, no; your dress is too good for that."
He rang his bell, and having told one of his gentlemen to send up a seat,
a servant brought in a stool. A seat without a back and without arms! It
made me quite angry. I cut my story short, told it badly, and had
finished in a quarter of an hour.
"I write better than you speak," said he.
"My lord, I never speak well except when I am at my ease."
"But you are not afraid of me?"
"No, my lord, a true man and a philosopher can never make me afraid; but
this stool of yours . . . ."
"You like to be at your ease, above all things."
"Take this, it is the funeral oration of Prince Eugene; I make you a
present of it. I hope you will approve of my Latinity. You can kiss the
Pope's feet tomorrow at ten o'clock."
When I got home, as I reflected on the character of this strange
cardinal--a wit, haughty, vain, and boastful, I resolved to make him a
fine present. It was the 'Pandectarum liber unicus' which M. de F. had
given me at Berne, and which I did not know what to do with. It was a
folio well printed on fine paper, choicely bound, and in perfect
preservation. As chief librarian the present should be a valuable one to
him, all the more as he had a large private library, of which my friend
the Abbe Winckelmann was librarian. I therefore wrote a short Latin
letter, which I enclosed in another to Winckelmann, whom I begged to
present my offering to his eminence.
I thought it was as valuable as his funeral oration at any rate, and I
hoped that he would give me a more comfortable chair for the future.
Next morning, at the time appointed, I went to Monte Cavallo, which ought
to be called Monte Cavalli, as it gets its name from two fine statues of
horses standing on a pedestal in the midst of the square, where the Holy
Father's palace is situated.
I had no real need of being presented to the Pope by anyone, as any
Christian is at liberty to go in when he sees the door open. Besides I
had known His Holiness when he was Bishop of Padua; but I had preferred
to claim the honor of being introduced by a cardinal.
After saluting the Head of the Faithful, and kissing the holy cross
embroidered on his holy slipper, the Pope put his right hand on my left
shoulder, and said he remembered that I always forsook the assembly at
Padua, when he intoned the Rosary.
"Holy Father, I have much worse sins than that on my conscience, so I
come prostrate at your foot to receive your absolution."
He then gave me his benediction, and asked me very graciously what he
could do for me.
"I beg Your Holiness to plead for me, that I may be able to return to
Venice."
"We will speak of it to the ambassador, and then we will speak again to
you on the matter."
"Do you often go and see Cardinal Passionei?"
"I have been three times. He gave me his funeral oration on Prince
Eugene, and in return I sent him the 'Pandects'."
"Has he accepted them?"
"I think so, Holy Father."
"If he has, he will send Winckelmann to pay you for them."
"That would be treating me like a bookseller; I will not receive any
payment."
"Then he will return the volume of the 'Pandects'; we are sure of it, he
always does so."
"If his eminence returns me the 'Pandects', I will return him his funeral
oration."
At this the Pope laughed till his sides shook.
"We shall be pleased to hear the end of the story without anyone being
informed of our innocent curiosity."
With these words, a long benediction delivered with much unction informed
me that my audience was at an end.
As I was leaving His Holiness's palace, I was accosted by an old abbe,
who asked me respectfully if I were not the M. Casanova who had escaped
from The Leads.
"Yes," said I, "I am the man."
"Heaven be praised, worthy sir, that I see you again in such good
estate!"
"But whom have I the honour of addressing?"
"Don't you recollect me? I am Momolo, formerly gondolier at Venice."
"Have you entered holy orders, then?"
"Not at all, but here everyone wears the cassock. I am the first
scopatore (sweeper) of His Holiness the Pope."
"I congratulate you on your appointment, but you mustn't mind me
laughing."
"Laugh as much as you like. My wife and daughters laugh when I put on the
cassock and bands, and I laugh myself, but here the dress gains one
respect. Come and see us."
"Where do you live?"
"Behind the Trinity of Monti; here's my address."
"I will come to-night."
I went home delighted with this meeting, and determined to enjoy the
evening with my Venetian boatman. I got my brother to come with me, and I
told him how the Pope had received me.
The Abbe Winckelmann came in the afternoon and informed me that I was
fortunate enough to be high in favour with his cardinal, and that the
book I had sent him was very valuable; it was a rare work, and in much
better condition than the Vatican copy.
"I am commissioned to pay you for it."
"I have told his eminence that it was a present."
"He never accepts books as presents, and he wants yours for his own
library; and as he is librarian of the Vatican Library he is afraid lest
people might say unpleasant things."
"That's very well, but I am not a bookseller; and as this book only cost
me the trouble of accepting it, I am determined only to sell it at the
same price. Pray ask the cardinal to honour me by accepting it."
"He is sure to send it back to you."
"He can if he likes, but I will send back his funeral oration, as I am
not going to be under an obligation to anyone who refuses to take a
present from me."
Next morning the eccentric cardinal returned me my Pandects, and I
immediately returned his funeral oration, with a letter in which I
pronounced it a masterpiece of composition, though I laid barely glanced
over it in reality. My brother told me I was wrong, but I did not trouble
what he said, not caring to guide myself by his rulings.
In the evening my brother and I went to the 'scopatore santissimo', who
was expecting me, and had announced me to his family as a prodigy of a
man. I introduced my brother, and proceeded to a close scrutiny of the
family. I saw an elderly woman, four girls, of whom the eldest was
twenty-four, two small boys, and above all universal ugliness. It was not
inviting for a man of voluptuous tastes, but I was there, and the best
thing was to put a good face on it; so I stayed and enjoyed myself.
Besides the general ugliness, the household presented the picture of
misery, for the 'scopatore santissimo' and his numerous family were
obliged to live on two hundred Roman crowns a year, and as there are no
perquisites attached to the office of apostolic sweeper, he was compelled
to furnish all needs out of this slender sum. In spite of that Momolo was
a most generous man. As soon as he saw me seated he told me he should
have liked to give me a good supper, but there was only pork chops and a
polenta.
"They are very nice," said I; "but will you allow me to send for half a
dozen flasks of Orvieto from my lodging?"
"You are master here."
I wrote a note to Costa, telling him to bring the six flasks directly,
with a cooked ham. He came in half an hour, and the four girls cried when
they saw him, "What a fine fellow!" I saw Costa was delighted with this
reception, and said to Momolo,
"If you like him as well as your girls I will let him stay."
Costa was charmed with such honour being shewn him, and after thanking me
went into the kitchen to help the mother with the polenta.
The large table was covered with a clean cloth, and soon after they
brought in two huge dishes of polenta and an enormous pan full of chops.
We were just going to begin when a knocking on the street door was heard.
"'Tis Signora Maria and her mother," said one of the boys.
At this announcement I saw the four girls pulling a wry face. "Who asked
them?" said one. "What do they want?" said another. "What troublesome
people they are!" said a third. "They might have stayed at home," said
the fourth. But the good, kindly father said, "My children, they are
hungry, and they shall share what Providence has given us."
I was deeply touched with the worthy man's kindness. I saw that true
Christian charity is more often to be found in the breasts of the poor
than the rich, who are so well provided for that they cannot feel for the
wants of others.
While I was making these wholesome reflections the two hungry ones came
in. One was a young woman of a modest and pleasant aspect, and the other
her mother, who seemed very humble and as if ashamed of their poverty.
The daughter saluted the company with that natural grace which is a gift
of nature, apologizing in some confusion for her presence, and saying
that she would not have taken the liberty to come if she had known there
was company. The worthy Momolo was the only one who answered her, and he
said, kindly, that she had done quite right to come, and put her a chair
between my brother and myself. I looked at her and thought her a perfect
beauty.
Then the eating began and there was no more talking. The polenta was
excellent, the chops delicious, and the ham perfect, and in less than an
hour the board was as bare as if there had been nothing on it; but the
Orvieto kept the company in good spirts. They began to talk of the
lottery which was to be drawn the day after next, and all the girls
mentioned the numbers on which they had risked a few bajocchi.
"If I could be sure of one number," said I, "I would stake something on
it."
Mariuccia told me that if I wanted a number she could give me one. I
laughed at this offer, but in the gravest way she named me the number 27.
"Is the lottery still open?" I asked the Abbe Momolo.
"Till midnight," he replied, "and if you like I will go and get the
number for you."
"Here are fifty crowns," said I, "put twenty-five crowns on 27-this for
these five young ladies; and the other twenty-five on 27 coming out the
fifth number, and this I will keep for myself."
He went out directly and returned with the two tickets.
My pretty neighbour thanked me and said she was sure of winning, but that
she did not think I should succeed as it was not probable that 27 would
come out fifth.
"I am sure of it," I answered, "for you are the fifth young lady I saw in
this house." This made everybody laugh. Momolo's wife told me I would
have done much better if I had given the money to the poor, but her
husband told her to be quiet, as she did not know my intent. My brother
laughed, and told me I had done a foolish thing. "I do, sometimes," said
I, "but we shall see how it turns out, and when one plays one is obliged
either to win or lose."
I managed to squeeze my fair neighbour's hand, and she returned the
pressure with all her strength. From that time I knew that my fate with
Mariuccia was sealed. I left them at midnight, begging the worthy Momolo
to ask me again in two days' time, that we might rejoice together over
our gains. On our way home my brother said I had either become as rich as
Croesus or had gone mad. I told him that both suppositions were
incorrect, but that Mariuccia was as handsome as an angel, and he agreed.
Next day Mengs returned to Rome, and I supped with him and his family. He
had an exceedingly ugly sister, who for all that, was a good and talented
woman. She had fallen deeply in love with my brother, and it was easy to
see that the flame was not yet extinguished, but whenever she spoke to
him, which she did whenever she could get an opportunity, he looked
another way.
She was an exquisite painter of miniatures, and a capital hand at
catching a likeness. To the best of my belief she is still living at Rome
with Maroni her husband. She often used to speak of my brother to me, and
one day she said that he must be the most thankless of men or he would
not despise her so. I was not curious enough to enquire what claim she
had to his gratitude.
Mengs's wife was a good and pretty woman, attentive to her household
duties and very submissive to her husband, though she could not have
loved him, for he was anything but amiable. He was obstinate and fierce
in his manner, and when he dined at home he made a point of not leaving
the table before he was drunk; out of his own house he was temperate to
the extent of not drinking anything but water. His wife carried her
obedience so far as to serve as his model for all the nude figures he
painted. I spoke to her one day about this unpleasant obligation, and she
said that her confessor had charged her to fulfil it, "for," said he, "if
your husband has another woman for a model he will be sure to enjoy her
before painting her, and that sin would be laid to your charge."
After supper, Winckelmann, who was as far gone as all the other male
guests, played with Mengs's children. There was nothing of the pedant
about this philosopher; he loved children and young people, and his
cheerful disposition made him delight in all kinds of enjoyment.
Next day, as I was going to pay my court to the Pope, I saw Momolo in the
first ante-chamber, and I took care to remind him of the polenta for the
evening.
As soon as the Pope saw me, he said,--
"The Venetian ambassador has informed us that if you wish to return to
your native land, you must go and present yourself before the secretary
of the Tribunal."
"Most Holy Father, I am quite ready to take this step, if Your Holiness
will grant me a letter of commendation written with your own hand.
Without this powerful protection I should never dream of exposing myself
to the risk of being again shut up in a place from which I escaped by a
miracle and the help of the Almighty."
"You are gaily dressed; you do not look as if you were going to church."
"True, most Holy Father, but neither am I going to a ball."
"We have heard all about the presents being sent back. Confess that you
did so to gratify your pride."
"Yes, but also to lower a pride greater than mine."
The Pope smiled at this reply, and I knelt down and begged him to permit
me to present the volume of Pandects to the Vatican Library. By way of
reply he gave me his blessing, which signifies, in papal language, "Rise;
your request is granted."
"We will send you," said he, "a mark of our singular affection for you
without your having to pay any fees."
A second blessing bid me begone. I have often felt what a good thing it
would be if this kind of dismissal could be employed in general society
to send away importunate petitioners, to whom one does not dare say,
"Begone."
I was extremely curious to know what the Pope had meant by "a mark of our
singular affection." I was afraid that it would be a blessed rosary, with
which I should not have known what to do.
When I got home I sent the book by Costa to the Vatican, and then I went
to dine with Mengs. While we were eating the soup the winning numbers
from the lottery were brought in. My brother glanced at them and looked
at me with astonishment. I was not thinking of the subject at that
moment, and his gaze surprised me.
"Twenty-seven," he cried, "came out fifth."
"All the better," said I, "we shall have some amusement out of it."
I told the story to Mengs, who said,--
"It's a lucky folly for you this time; but it always is a folly."
He was quite right, and I told him that I agreed with him; but I added
that to make a worthy use of the fifteen hundred roman crowns which
fortune had given me, I should go and spend fifteen days at Naples.
"I will come too," said the Abbe Alfani. "I will pass for your
secretary."
"With all my heart," I answered, "I shall keep you to your word."
I asked Winckelmann to come and eat polenta with the scopatore
santissimo, and told my brother to shew him the way; and I then called on
the Marquis Belloni, my banker, to look into my accounts, and to get a
letter of credit on the firm at Naples, who were his agents. I still had
two hundred thousand francs: I had jewellery worth thirty thousand
francs, and fifty thousand florins at Amsterdam.
I got to Momolo's in the dusk of the evening, and I found Winckelmann and
my brother already there; but instead of mirth reigning round the board I
saw sad faces on all sides.
"What's the matter with the girls?" I asked Momolo.
"They are vexed that you did not stake for them in the same way as you
did for yourself."
"People are never satisfied. If I had staked for them as I did for
myself, and the number had come out first instead of fifth, they would
have got nothing, and they would have been vexed then. Two days ago they
had nothing, and now that they have twenty-seven pounds apiece they ought
to be contented."
"That's just what I tell them, but all women are the same."
"And men too, dear countryman, unless they are philosophers. Gold does
not spell happiness, and mirth can only be found in hearts devoid of
care. Let us say no more about it, but be happy."
Costa placed a basket containing ten packets of sweets, upon the table.
"I will distribute them," said I, "when everybody is here."
On this, Momolo's second daughter told me that Mariuccia and her mother
were not coming, but that they would send them the sweets.
"Why are they not coming?"
"They had a quarrel yesterday," said the father, "and Mariuccia, who was
in the right, went away saying that she would never come here again."
"You ungrateful girls!" said I, to my host's daughters, "don't you know
that it is to her that you owe your winnings, for she gave me the number
twenty-seven, which I should never have thought of. Quick! think of some
way to make her come, or I will go away and take all the sweets with me."
"You are quite right," said Momolo.
The mortified girls looked at one another and begged their father to
fetch her.
"Ira," said he, "that won't do; you made her say that she would never
come here again, and you must make up the quarrel."
They held a short consultation, and then, asking Costa to go with them,
they went to fetch her.
In half an hour they returned in triumph, and Costa was quite proud of
the part he had taken in the reconciliation. I then distributed the
sweets, taking care to give the two best packets to the fair Mary.
A noble polenta was placed upon the board, flanked by two large dishes of
pork chops. But Momolo, who knew my tastes, and whom I had made rich in
the person of his daughters, added to the feast some delicate dishes and
some excellent wine. Mariuccia was simply dressed, but her elegance and
beauty and the modesty of her demeanour completely seduced me.
We could only express our mutual flames by squeezing each other's hands;
and she did this so feelingly that I could not doubt her love. As we were
going out I took care to go downstairs beside her and asked if I could
not meet her by herself, to which she replied by making an appointment
with me far the next day at eight o'clock at the Trinity of Monti.
Mariuccia was tall and shapely, a perfect picture, as fair as a white
rose, and calculated to inspire voluptuous desires. She had beautiful
light brown hair, dark blue eyes, and exquisitely arched eyelids. Her
mouth, the vermilion of her lips, and her ivory teeth were all perfect.
Her well-shaped forehead gave her an air approaching the majestic.
Kindness and gaiety sparkled in her eyes; while her plump white hands,
her rounded finger-tips, her pink nails, her breast, which the corset
seemed scarcely able to restrain, her dainty feet, and her prominent
hips, made her worthy of the chisel of Praxiteles. She was just on her
eighteenth year, and so far had escaped the connoisseurs. By a lucky
chance I came across her in a poor and wretched street, and I was
fortunate enough to insure her happiness.
It may easily be believed that I did not fail to keep the appointment,
and when she was sure I had seen her she went out of the church. I
followed her at a considerable distance: she entered a ruined building,
and I after her. She climbed a flight of steps which seemed to be built
in air, and when she had reached the top she turned.
"No one will come and look for me here," said she, "so we can talk freely
together."
I sat beside her on a stone, and I then declared my passionate love for
her.
"Tell me," I added, "what I can do to make you happy; for I wish to
possess you, but first to shew my deserts."
"Make me happy, and I will yield to your desires, for I love you."
"Tell me what I can do."
"You can draw me out of the poverty and misery which overwhelm me. I live
with my mother, who is a good woman, but devout to the point of
superstition; she will damn my soul in her efforts to save it. She finds
fault with my keeping myself clean, because I have to touch myself when I
wash, and that might give rise to evil desires.
"If you had given me the money you made me win in the lottery as a simple
alms she would have made me refuse it, because you might have had
intentions. She allows me to go by myself to mass because our confessor
told her she might do so; but I dare not stay away a minute beyond the
time, except on feast days, when I am allowed to pray in the church for
two or three hours. We can only meet here, but if you wish to soften my
lot in life you can do so as follows:
"A fine young man, who is a hairdresser, and bears an excellent
character, saw me at Momolo's a fortnight ago, and met me at the church
door next day and gave me a letter. He declared himself my lover, and
said that if I could bring him a dowry of four hundred crowns, he could
open a shop, furnish it, and marry me.
"'I am poor,' I answered, 'and I have only a hundred crowns in charity
tickets, which my confessor keeps for me.' Now I have two hundred crowns,
for if I marry, my mother will willingly give me her share of the money
you made us gain. You can therefore make me happy by getting me tickets
to the amount of two hundred crowns more. Take the tickets to my
confessor, who is a very good man and fond of me; he will not say
anything to my mother about it."
"I needn't go about seeking for charity tickets, my angel. I will take
two hundred piastres to your confessor to-morrow, and you must manage the
rest yourself. Tell me his name, and to-morrow I will tell you what I
have done, but not here, as the wind and the cold would be the death of
me. You can leave me to find out a room where we shall be at our ease,
and without any danger of people suspecting that we have spent an hour
together. I will meet you at the church to-morrow at the same hour and
when you see me follow me."
Mariuccia told me her confessor's name, and allowed me all the caresses
possible in our uncomfortable position. The kisses she gave me in return
for mine left no doubt in my mind, as to her love for me. As nine o'clock
struck I left her, perishing with cold, but burning with desire; my only
thought being where to find a room in which I might possess myself of the
treasure the next day.
On leaving the ruined palace, instead of returning to the Piazza di
Spagna I turned to the left and passed along a narrow and dirty street
only inhabited by people of the lowest sort. As I slowly walked along, a
woman came out of her house and asked me politely if I were looking for
anybody.
"I am looking for a room to let."
"There are none here, sir, but, you will find a hundred in the square."
"I know it, but I want the room to be here, not for the sake of the
expense, but that I may be sure of being able to spend an hour or so of a
morning with a person in whom I am interested. I am ready to pay
anything."
"I understand what you mean, and you should have a room in my house if I
had one to spare, but a neighbour of mine has one on the ground floor,
and if you will wait a moment I will go and speak to her."
"You will oblige me very much."
"Kindly step in here."
I entered a poor room, where all seemed wretchedness, and I saw two
children doing their lessons. Soon after, the good woman came back and
asked me to follow her. I took several pieces of money from my pocket,
and put them down on the only table which this poor place contained. I
must have seemed very generous, for the poor mother came and kissed my
hand with the utmost gratitude. So pleasant is it to do good, that now
when I have nothing left the remembrance of the happiness I have given to
others at small cost is almost the only pleasure I enjoy.
I went to a neighbouring house where a woman received me in an empty
room, which she told me she would let cheaply if I would pay three months
in advance, and bring in my own furniture.
"What do you ask for the three months' rent?"
"Three Roman crowns."
"If you will see to the furnishing of the room this very day I will give
you twelve crowns."
"Twelve crowns! What furniture do you want?"
"A good clean bed, a small table covered with a clean cloth, four good
chairs, and a large brazier with plenty of fire in it, for I am nearly
perishing of cold here. I shall only come occasionally in the morning,
and I shall leave by noon at the latest."
"Come at three o'clock, then, to-day, and you will find everything to
your satisfaction."
From there I went to the confessor. He was a French monk, about sixty, a
fine and benevolent-looking man, who won one's respect and confidence.
"Reverend father," I began, "I saw at the house of Abbe Momolo, 'scoptore
santissimo', a young girl named Mary, whose confessor you are. I fell in
love with her, and offered her money to try and seduce her. She replied
that instead of trying to lead her into sin I would do better to get her
some charity tickets that she might be able to marry a young man who
loved her, and would make her happy. I was touched by what she said, but
my passion still remained. I spoke to her again, and said that I would
give her two hundred crowns for nothing, and that her mother should keep
them.
"'That would be my ruin,' said she; 'my mother would think the money was
the price of sin, and would not accept it. If you are really going to be
so generous, take the money to my confessor, and ask him to do what he
can for my marriage.'"
"Here, then, reverend father, is the sum of money for the good girl; be
kind enough to take charge of it, and I will trouble her no more. I am
going to Naples the day after to-morrow, and I hope when I come back she
will be married."
The good confessor took the hundred sequins and gave me a receipt,
telling me that in interesting myself on behalf of Mariuccia I was making
happy a most pure and innocent dove, whom he had confessed since she was
five years old, and that he had often told her that she might communicate
without making her confession because he knew she was incapable of mortal
sin.
"Her mother," he added, "is a sainted woman, and as soon as I have
enquired into the character of the future husband I will soon bring the
marriage about. No one shall ever know from whom this generous gift
comes."
After putting this matter in order I dined with the Chevalier Mengs, and
I willingly consented to go with the whole family to the Aliberti Theatre
that evening. I did not forget, however, to go and inspect the room I had
taken. I found all my orders executed, and I gave twelve crowns to the
landlady and took the key, telling her to light the fire at seven every
morning.
So impatient did I feel for the next day to come that I thought the opera
detestable, and the night for me was a sleepless one.
Next morning I went to the church before the time, and when Mariuccia
came, feeling sure that she had seen me, I went out. She followed me at a
distance, and when I got to the door of the lodging I turned for her to
be sure that it was I, and then went in and found the room well warmed.
Soon after Mariuccia came in, looking timid, confused, and as if she were
doubtful of the path she was treading. I clasped her to my arms, and
reassured her by my tender embraces; and her courage rose when I shewed
her the confessor's receipt, and told her that the worthy man had
promised to care for her marriage. She kissed my hand in a transport of
delight, assuring me that she would never forget my kindness. Then, as I
urged her to make me a happy man, she said,--
"We have three hours before us, as I told my mother I was going to give
thanks to God for having made me a winner in the lottery."
This reassured me, and I took my time, undressing her by degrees, and
unveiling her charms one by one, to my delight, without the slightest
attempt at resistance on her part. All the time she kept her eyes fixed
on mine, as if to soothe her modesty; but when I beheld and felt all her
charms I was in an ecstasy. What a body; what beauties! Nowhere was there
the slightest imperfection. She was like Venus rising from the foam of
the sea. I carried her gently to the bed, and while she strove to hide
her alabaster breasts and the soft hair which marked the entrance to the
sanctuary, I undressed in haste, and consummated the sweetest of
sacrifices, without there being the slightest doubt in my mind of the
purity of the victim. In the first sacrifice no doubt the young priestess
felt some pain, but she assured me out of delicacy that she had not been
hurt, and at the second assault she shewed that she shared my flames. I
was going to immolate the victim for the third time when the clock struck
ten. She began to be restless, and hurriedly put on our clothes. I had to
go to Naples, but I assured her that the desire of embracing her once
more before her marriage would hasten my return to Rome. I promised to
take another hundred crowns to her confessor, advising her to spend the
money she had won in the lottery on her trousseau.
"I shall be at Monolo's to-night, dearest, and you must come, too; but we
must appear indifferent to each other, though our hearts be full of joy,
lest those malicious girls suspect our mutual understanding."
"It is all the more necessary to be cautious," she replied, "as I have
noticed that they suspect that we love each other."
Before we parted she thanked me for what I had done for her, and begged
me to believe that, her poverty notwithstanding, she had given herself
for love alone.
I was the last to leave the house, and I told my landlady that I should
be away for ten or twelve days. I then went to the confessor to give him
the hundred crowns I had promised my mistress. When the good old
Frenchman heard that I had made this fresh sacrifice that Mariuccia might
be able to spend her lottery winnings on her clothes, he told me that he
would call on the mother that very day and urge her to consent to her
daughter's marriage, and also learn where the young man lived. On my
return from Naples I heard that he had faithfully carried out his
promise.
I was sitting at table with Mengs when a chamberlain of the Holy Father
called. When he came in he asked M. Mengs if I lived there, and on that
gentleman pointing me out, he gave me, from his holy master, the Cross of
the Order of the Golden Spur with the diploma, and a patent under the
pontifical seal, which, in my quality as doctor of laws, made me a
prothonotary-apostolic 'extra urbem'.
I felt that I had been highly honoured, and told the bearer that I would
go and thank my new sovereign and ask his blessing the next day. The
Chevalier Mengs embraced me as a brother, but I had the advantage over
him in not being obliged to pay anything, whereas the great artist had to
disburse twenty-five Roman crowns to have his diploma made out. There is
a saying at Rome, 'Sine efusione sanguinis non fit remissio', which may
be interpreted, Nothing without money; and as a matter of fact, one can
do anything with money in the Holy City.
Feeling highly flattered at the favour the Holy Father had shewn me, I
put on the cross which depended from a broad red ribbon-red being the
colour worn by the Knights of St. John of the Lateran, the companions of
the palace, 'comites palatini', or count-palatins. About the same time
poor Cahusac, author of the opera of Zoroaster, went mad for joy on the
receipt of the same order. I was not so bad as that, but I confess, to my
shame, that I was so proud of my decoration that I asked Winckelmann
whether I should be allowed to have the cross set with diamonds and
rubies. He said I could if I liked, and if I wanted such a cross he could
get me one cheap. I was delighted, and bought it to make a show at
Naples, but I had not the face to wear it in Rome. When I went to thank
the Pope I wore the cross in my button-hole out of modesty. Five years
afterwards when I was at Warsaw, Czartoryski, a Russian prince-palatine,
made me leave it off by saying,--
"What are you doing with that wretched bauble? It's a drug in the market,
and no one but an impostor would wear it now."
The Popes knew this quite well, but they continued to give the cross to
ambassadors while they also gave it to their 'valets de chambre'. One has
to wink at a good many things in Rome.
In the evening Momolo gave me a supper by way of celebrating my new
dignity. I recouped him for the expense by holding a bank at faro, at
which I was dexterous enough to lose forty crowns to the family, without
having the slightest partiality to Mariuccia who won like the rest. She
found the opportunity to tell me that her confessor had called on her,
that she had told him where her future husband lived, and that the worthy
monk had obtained her mother's consent to the hundred crowns being spent
on her trousseau.
I noticed that Momolo's second daughter had taken a fancy to Costa, and I
told Momolo that I was going to Naples, but that I would leave my man in
Rome, and that if I found a marriage had been arranged on my return I
would gladly pay the expenses of the wedding.
Costa liked the girl, but he did not marry her then for fear of my
claiming the first-fruits. He was a fool of a peculiar kind, though fools
of all sorts are common enough. He married her a year later after robbing
me, but I shall speak of that again.
Next day, after I had breakfasted and duly embraced my brother, I set out
in a nice carriage with the Abbe Alfani, Le Duc preceding me on
horseback, and I reached Naples at a time when everybody was in a state
of excitement because an eruption of Vesuvius seemed imminent. At the
last stage the inn-keeper made me read the will of his father who had
died during the eruption of 1754. He said that in the year 1761 God would
overwhelm the sinful town of Naples, and the worthy host consequently
advised me to return to Rome. Alfani took the thing seriously, and said
that we should do well to be warned by so evident an indication of the
will of God. The event was predicted, therefore it had to happen. Thus a
good many people reason, but as I was not of the number I proceeded on my
way.
CHAPTER IX
My Short But Happy Stay at Naples--The Duke de Matalone My
Daughter--Donna Lucrezia--My Departure
I shall not, dear reader, attempt the impossible, however much I should
like to describe the joy, the happiness, I may say the ecstasy, which I
experienced in returning to Naples, of which I had such pleasant
memories, and where, eighteen years ago, I had made my first fortune in
returning from Mataro. As I had come there for the second time to keep a
promise I had made to the Duke de Matalone to come and see him at Naples,
I ought to have visited this nobleman at once; but foreseeing that from
the time I did so I should have little liberty left me, I began by
enquiring after all my old friends.
I walked out early in the morning and called on Belloni's agent. He
cashed my letter of credit and gave me as many bank-notes as I liked,
promising that nobody should know that we did business together. From the
bankers I went to see Antonio Casanova, but they told me he lived near
Salerno, on an estate he had bought which gave him the title of marquis.
I was vexed, but I had no right to expect to find Naples in the statu quo
I left it. Polo was dead, and his son lived at St. Lucia with his wife
and children; he was a boy when I saw him last, and though I should have
much liked to see him again I had no time to do so.
It may be imagined that I did not forget the advocate, Castelli, husband
of my dear Lucrezia, whom I had loved so well at Rome and Tivoli. I
longed to see her face once more, and I thought of the joy with which we
should recall old times that I could never forget. But Castelli had been
dead for some years, and his widow lived at a distance of twenty miles
from Naples. I resolved not to return to Rome without embracing her. As
to Lelio Caraffa, he was still alive and residing at the Matalone Palace.
I returned, feeling tired with my researches, dressed with care, and
drove to the Matalone Palace, where they told me that the duke was at
table. I did not care for that but had my name sent in, and the duke came
out and did me the honour of embracing me and thouing me, and then
presented me to his wife, a daughter of the Duke de Bovino, and to the
numerous company at table. I told him I had only come to Naples in
fulfillment of the promise I had made him at Paris.
"Then," said he, "you must stay with me;" and, without waiting for my
answer, ordered my luggage to be brought from the inn, and my carriage to
be placed in his coach-house. I accepted his invitation.
One of the guests, a fine-looking man, on hearing my name announced, said
gaily,--
"If you bear my name, you must be one of my father's bastards."
"No," said I, directly, "one of your mother's."
This repartee made everybody laugh, and the gentleman who had addressed
me came and embraced me, not in the least offended. The joke was
explained to me. His name was Casalnovo, not Casanova, and he was duke
and lord of the fief of that name.
"Did you know," said the Duke de Matalone, "that I had a son?"
"I was told so, but did not believe it, but now I must do penance for my
incredulity, for I see before me an angel capable of working this
miracle."
The duchess blushed, but did not reward my compliment with so much as a
glance; but all the company applauded what I had said, as it was
notorious that the duke had been impotent before his marriage. The duke
sent for his son, I admired him, and told the father that the likeness
was perfect. A merry monk, who sat at the right hand of the duchess,
said, more truthfully, that there was no likeness at all. He had scarcely
uttered the words when the duchess coolly gave him a box on the ear,
which the monk received with the best grace imaginable.
I talked away to the best of my ability, and in half an hour's time I had
won everybody's good graces, with the exception of the duchess, who
remained inflexible. I tried to make her talk for two days without
success; so as I did not care much about her I left her to her pride.
As the duke was taking me to my room he noticed my Spaniard, and asked
where my secretary was, and when he saw that it was the Abbe Alfani, who
had taken the title so as to escape the notice of the Neapolitans, he
said,--
"The abbe is very wise, for he has deceived so many people with his false
antiques that he might have got into trouble."
He took me to his stables where he had some superb horses, Arabs,
English, and Andalusians; and then to his gallery, a very fine one; to
his large and choice library; and at last to his study, where he had a
fine collection of prohibited books.
I was reading titles and turning over leaves, when the duke said,--
"Promise to keep the most absolute secrecy on what I am going to shew
you."
I promised, without making any difficulty, but I expected a surprise of
some sort. He then shewed me a satire which I could not understand, but
which was meant to turn the whole Court into ridicule. Never was there a
secret so easily kept.
"You must come to the St. Charles Theatre," said he, "and I will present
you to the handsomest ladies in Naples, and afterwards you can go when
you like, as my box is always open to my friends. I will also introduce
you to my mistress, and she, I am sure, will always be glad to see you."
"What! you have a mistress, have you?"
"Yes, but only for form's sake, as I am very fond of my wife. All the
same, I am supposed to be deeply in love with her, and even jealous, as I
never introduce anyone to her, and do not allow her to receive any
visitors."
"But does not your young and handsome duchess object to your keeping a
mistress?"
"My wife could not possibly be jealous, as she knows that I am
impotent--except, of course, with her."
"I see, but it seems strange; can one be said to have a mistress whom one
does not love?"
"I did not say I loved her not; on the contrary, I am very fond of her;
she has a keen and pleasant wit, but she interests my head rather than my
heart."
"I see; but I suppose she is ugly?"
"Ugly? You shall see her to-night, and you can tell me what you think of
her afterwards. She is a handsome and well-educated girl of seventeen."
"Can she speak French?"
"As well as a Frenchwoman."
"I am longing to see her."
When we got to the theatre I was introduced to several ladies, but none
of them pleased me. The king, a mere boy, sat in his box in the middle of
the theatre, surrounded by his courtiers, richly but tastefully dressed.
The pit was full and the boxes also. The latter were ornamented with
mirrors, and on that occasion were all illuminated for some reason or
other. It was a magnificent scene, but all this glitter and light put the
stage into the background.
After we had gazed for some time at the scene, which is almost peculiar
to Naples, the duke took me to his private box and introduced me to his
friends, who consisted of all the wits in the town.
I have often laughed on hearing philosophers declare that the
intelligence of a nation is not so much the result of the climate as of
education. Such sages should be sent to Naples and then to St.
Petersburg, and be told to reflect, or simply to look before them. If the
great Boerhaave had lived at Naples he would have learnt more about the
nature of sulphur by observing its effects on vegetables, and still more
on animals. In Naples, and Naples alone, water, and nothing but water,
will cure diseases which are fatal elsewhere, despite the doctors'
efforts.
The duke, who had left me to the wits for a short time, returned and took
me to the box of his mistress, who was accompanied by an old lady of
respectable appearance. As he went in he said, "'Leonilda mia, ti
presento il cavalier Don Giacomo Casanova, Veneziano, amico mio'."
She received me kindly and modestly, and stopped listening to the music
to talk to me.
When a woman is pretty, one recognizes her charms instantaneously; if one
has to examine her closely, her beauty is doubtful. Leonilda was
strikingly beautiful. I smiled and looked at the duke, who had told me
that he loved her like a daughter, and that he only kept her for form's
sake. He understood the glance, and said,--
"You may believe me."
"It's credible," I replied.
Leonilda no doubt understood what we meant, and said, with a shy smile,--
"Whatever is possible is credible."
"Quite so," said I, "but one may believe, or not believe, according to
the various degrees of possibility."
"I think it's easier to believe than to disbelieve. You came to Naples
yesterday; that's true and yet incredible."
"Why incredible?"
"Would any man suppose that a stranger would come to Naples at a time
when the inhabitants are wishing themselves away?"
"Indeed, I have felt afraid till this moment, but now I feel quite at my
ease, since, you being here, St. Januarius will surely protect Naples."
"Why?"
"Because I am sure he loves you; but you are laughing at me."
"It is such a funny idea. I am afraid that if I had a lover like St.
Januarius I should not grant him many favours."
"Is he very ugly, then?"
"If his portrait is a good likeness, you can see for yourself by
examining his statue."
Gaiety leads to freedom, and freedom to friendship. Mental graces are
superior to bodily charms.
Leonilda's frankness inspired my confidence, and I led the conversation
to love, on which she talked like a past mistress.
"Love," said she, "unless it leads to the possession of the beloved
object, is a mere torment; if bounds are placed to passion, love must
die."
"You are right; and the enjoyment of a beautiful object is not a true
pleasure unless it be preceded by love."
"No doubt if love precedes it accompanies, but I do not think it
necessarily follows, enjoyment."
"True, it often makes love to cease."
"She is a selfish daughter, then, to kill her father; and if after
enjoyment love still continue in the heart of one, it is worse than
murder, for the party in which love still survives must needs be
wretched."
"You are right; and from your strictly logical arguments I conjecture
that you would have the senses kept in subjection: that is too hard!"
"I would have nothing to do with that Platonic affection devoid of love,
but I leave you to guess what my maxim would be."
"To love and enjoy; to enjoy and love. Turn and turn about."
"You have hit the mark."
With this Leonilda burst out laughing, and the duke kissed her hand. Her
governess, not understanding French, was attending to the opera, but I
was in flames.
Leonilda was only seventeen, and was as pretty a girl as the heart could
desire.
The duke repeated a lively epigram of Lafontaine's on "Enjoyment," which
is only found in the first edition of his works. It begins as follows:--
"La jouissance et les desirs
Sont ce que l'homme a de plus rare;
Mais ce ne sons pas vrais plaisirs
Des le moment qu'on les separe."
I have translated this epigram into Italian and Latin; in the latter
language I was almost able to render Lafontaine line for line; but I had
to use twenty lines of Italian to translate the first ten lines of the
French. Of course this argues nothing as to the superiority of the one
language over the other.
In the best society at Naples one addresses a newcomer in the second
person singular as a peculiar mark of distinction. This puts both parties
at their ease without diminishing their mutual respect for one another.
Leonilda had already turned my first feeling of admiration into something
much warmer, and the opera, which lasted for five hours, seemed over in a
moment.
After the two ladies had gone the duke said, "Now we must part, unless
you are fond of games of chance."
"I don't object to them when I am to play with good hands."
"Then follow me; ten or twelve of my friends will play faro, and then sit
down to a cold collation, but I warn you it is a secret, as gaming is
forbidden. I will answer for you keeping your own counsel, however."
"You may do so."
He took me to the Duke de Monte Leone's. We went up to the third floor,
passed through a dozen rooms, and at last reached the gamester's chamber.
A polite-looking banker, with a bank of about four hundred sequins, had
the cards in his hands. The duke introduced me as his friend, and made me
sit beside him. I was going to draw out my purse, but I was told that
debts were not paid for twenty-four hours after they were due. The banker
gave me a pack of cards, with a little basket containing a thousand
counters. I told the company that I should consider each counter as a
Naples ducat. In less than two hours my basket was empty. I stopped
playing and proceeded to enjoy my supper. It was arranged in the
Neapolitan style, and consisted of an enormous dish of macaroni and ten
or twelve different kinds of shellfish which are plentiful on the
Neapolitan coasts. When we left I took care not to give the duke time to
condole with me on my loss, but began to talk to him about his delicious
Leonilda.
Early next day he sent a page to my room to tell me that if I wanted to
come with him and kiss the king's hand I must put on my gala dress. I put
on a suit of rose-coloured velvet, with gold spangles, and I had the
great honour of kissing a small hand, covered with chilblains, belonging
to a boy of nine. The Prince de St. Nicander brought up the young king to
the best of his ability, but he was naturally a kindly, just, and
generous monarch; if he had had more dignity he would have been an ideal
king; but he was too unceremonious, and that, I think, is a defect in one
destined to rule others.
I had the honour of sitting next the duchess at dinner, and she deigned
to say that she had never seen a finer dress. "That's my way," I said,
"of distracting attention from my face and figure." She smiled, and her
politeness to me during my stay were almost limited to these few words.
When we left the table the duke took me to the apartment occupied by his
uncle, Don Lelio, who recognized me directly. I kissed the venerable old
man's hand, and begged him to pardon me for the freaks of my youth. "It's
eighteen years ago," said he, "since I chose M. Casanova as the companion
of your studies." I delighted him by giving him a brief account of my
adventures in Rome with Cardinal Acquaviva. As we went out, he begged me
to come and see him often.
Towards the evening the duke said,--
"If you go to the Opera Buffa you will please Leonilda."
He gave me the number of her box, and added,--
"I will come for you towards the close, and we will sup together as
before."
I had no need to order my horses to be put in, as there was always a
carriage ready for me in the courtyard.
When I got to the theatre the opera had begun. I presented myself to
Leonilda, who received me with the pleasant words, "Caro Don Giacomo, I
am so pleased to see you again."
No doubt she did not like to thou me, but the expression of her eyes and
the tone of her voice were much better than the to which is often used
lavishly at Naples.
The seductive features of this charming girl were not altogether unknown
to me, but I could not recollect of what woman she reminded me. Leonilda
was certainly a beauty, and something superior to a beauty, if possible.
She had splendid light chestnut hair, and her black and brilliant eyes,
shaded by thick lashes, seemed to hear and speak at the same time. But
what ravished me still more was her expression, and the exquisite
appropriateness of the gestures with which she accompanied what she was
saying. It seemed as if her tongue could not give speech to the thoughts
which crowded her brain. She was naturally quick-witted, and her
intellect had been developed by an excellent education.
The conversation turned upon Lafontaine's epigram, of which I had only
recited the first ten verses, as the rest is too licentious; and she
said,--
"But I suppose it is only a poet's fancy, at which one could but smile."
"Possibly, but I did not care to wound your ears."
"You are very good," said she, using the pleasant tu, "but all the same,
I am not so thin-skinned, as I have a closet which the duke has had
painted over with couples in various amorous attitudes. We go there
sometimes, and I assure you that I do not experience the slightest
sensation."
"That may be through a defect of temperament, for whenever I see
well-painted voluptuous pictures I feel myself on fire. I wonder that
while you and the duke look at them, you do not try to put some of them
into practice."
"We have only friendship for one another."
"Let him believe it who will."
"I am sure he is a man, but I am unable to say whether he is able to give
a woman any real proofs of his love."
"Yet he has a son."
"Yes, he has a child who calls him father; but he himself confesses that
he is only able to shew his manly powers with his wife."
"That's all nonsense, for you are made to give birth to amorous desires,
and a man who could live with you without being able to possess you ought
to cease to live."
"Do you really think so?"
"Dear Leonilda, if I were in the duke's place I would shew you what a man
who really loves can do."
"Caro Don Giacomo, I am delighted to hear you love me, but you will soon
forget me, as you are leaving Naples."
"Cursed be the gaming-table, for without it we might spend some
delightful hour together."
"The duke told me that you lost a thousand ducats yesterday evening like
a perfect gentleman. You must be very unlucky."
"Not always, but when I play on a day in which I have fallen in love I am
sure to lose."
"You will win back your money this evening."
"This is the declaration day; I shall lose again."
"Then don't play."
"People would say I was afraid, or that all my money was gone."
"I hope at all events that you will win sometimes, and that you will tell
me of your good luck. Come and see me to-morrow with the duke."
The duke came in at that moment, and asked me if I had liked the opera.
Leonilda answered for me,
"We have been talking about love all the time, so we don't know what has
been going on the stage."
"You have done well."
"I trust you will bring M. Casanova to see me tomorrow morning, as I hope
he will bring me news that he has won."
"It's my turn to deal this evening, dearest, but whether he wins or loses
you shall see him to-morrow. You must give us some breakfast."
"I shall be delighted."
We kissed her hand, and went to the same place as the night before. The
company was waiting for the duke. There were twelve members of the club,
and they all held the bank in turn. They said that this made the chances
more equal; but I laughed at this opinion, as there is nothing more
difficult to establish than equality between players.
The Duke de Matalone sat down, drew out his purse and his pocket-book,
and put two thousand ducats in the bank, begging pardon of the others for
doubling the usual sum in favour of the stranger. The bank never exceeded
a thousand ducats.
"Then," said I, "I will hazard two thousand ducats also and not more, for
they say at Venice that a prudent player never risks more than he can
win. Each of my counters will be equivalent to two ducats." So saying, I
took ten notes of a hundred ducats each from my pocket, and gave them to
the last evening's banker who had won them from me.
Play began; and though I was prudent, and only risked my money on a
single card, in less than three hours my counters were all gone. I
stopped playing, though I had still twenty-five thousand ducats; but I
had said that I would not risk more than two thousand, and I was ashamed
to go back from my word.
Though I have always felt losing my money, no one has ever seen me put
out, my natural gaiety was heightened by art on such occasions, and
seemed to be more brilliant than ever. I have always found it a great
advantage to be able to lose pleasantly.
I made an excellent supper, and my high spirits furnished me with such a
fund of amusing conversation that all the table was in a roar. I even
succeeded in dissipating the melancholy of the Duke de Matalone, who was
in despair at having won such a sum from his friend and guest. He was
afraid he had half ruined me, and also that people might say he had only
welcomed me for the sake of my money.
As we returned to the palace the conversation was affectionate on his
side and jovial on mine, but I could see he was in some trouble, and
guessed what was the matter. He wanted to say that I could pay the money
I owed him whenever I liked, but was afraid of wounding my feelings; but
as soon as he got in he wrote me a friendly note to the effect that if I
wanted money his banker would let me have as much as I required. I
replied directly that I felt the generosity of his offer, and if I was in
need of funds I would avail myself of it.
Early next morning I went to his room, and after an affectionate embrace
I told him not to forget that we were going to breakfast with his fair
mistress. We both put on great coats and went to Leonilda's pretty house.
We found her sitting up in bed, negligently but decently dressed, with a
dimity corset tied with red ribbons. She looked beautiful, and her
graceful posture added to her charms. She was reading Crebillon's Sopha.
The duke sat down at the bottom of the bed, and I stood staring at her in
speechless admiration, endeavouring to recall to my memory where I had
seen such another face as hers. It seemed to me that I had loved a woman
like her. This was the first time I had seen her without the deceitful
glitter of candles. She laughed at my absent-mindedness, and told me to
sit down on a chair by her bedside.
The duke told her that I was quite pleased at having lost two thousand
ducats to his bank, as the loss made me sure she loved me.
"Caro mio Don Giacomo, I am sorry to hear that! You would have done
better not to play, for I should have loved you all the same, and you
would have been two thousand ducats better off."
"And I two thousand ducats worse off," said the duke, laughing.
"Never mind, dear Leonilda, I shall win this evening if you grant me some
favour to-day. If you do not do so, I shall lose heart, and you will
mourn at my grave before long."
"Think, Leonilda, what you can do for my friend."
"I don't see that I can do anything."
The duke told her to dress, that we might go and breakfast in the painted
closet. She began at once, and preserved a just mean in what she let us
see and what she concealed, and thus set me in flames, though I was
already captivated by her face, her wit, and her charming manners. I cast
an indiscreet glance towards her beautiful breast, and thus added fuel to
the fire. I confess that I only obtained this satisfaction by a species
of larceny, but I could not have succeeded if she had not been well
disposed towards me. I pretended to have seen nothing.
While dressing she maintained with much ingenuity that a wise girl will
be much more chary of her favours towards a man she loves than towards a
man she does not love, because she would be afraid to lose the first,
whereas she does not care about the second.
"It will not be so with me, charming Leonilda," said I.
"You make a mistake, I am sure."
The pictures with which the closet where we breakfasted was adorned were
admirable more from the colouring and the design than from the amorous
combats they represented.
"They don't make any impression on me," said the duke, and he shewed us
that it was so.
Leonilda looked away, and I felt shocked, but concealed my feelings.
"I am in the same state as you," said I, "but I will not take the trouble
of convincing you."
"That can't be," said he; and passing his hand rapidly over me he assured
himself that it was so. "It's astonishing," he cried; "you must be as
impotent as I am."
"If I wanted to controvert that assertion one glance into Leonilda's eyes
would be enough."
"Look at him, dearest Leonilda, that I may be convinced."
Leonilda looked tenderly at me, and her glance produced the result I had
expected.
"Give me your hand," said I, to the poor duke, and he did so.
"I was in the wrong," he exclaimed, but when he endeavoured to bring the
surprising object to light I resisted. He persisted in his endeavours,
and I determined to play on him a trick. I took Leonilda's hand and
pressed my lips to it, and just as the duke thought he had triumphed I
besprinkled him, and went off into a roar of laughter. He laughed too,
and went to get a napkin.
The girl could see nothing of all this, as it went on under the table;
and while my burning lips rested on her hand, my eyes were fixed on hers
and our breath mingled. This close contact had enabled me to baptise the
duke, but when she took in the joke we made a group worthy of the pen of
Aretin.
It was a delightful breakfast, though we passed certain bounds which
decency ought to have proscribed to us, but Leonilda was wonderfully
innocent considering her position. We ended the scene by mutual embraces,
and when I took my burning lips from Leonilda's I felt consumed with a
fire which I could not conceal.
When we left I told the duke that I would see his mistress no more,
unless he would give her up to me, declaring that I would marry her and
give her a dower of five thousand ducats.
"Speak to her, and if she consents I will not oppose it. She herself will
tell you what property she has."
I then went to dress for dinner. I found the duchess in the midst of a
large circle, and she told me kindly that she was very sorry to hear of
my losses.
"Fortune is the most fickle of beings, but I don't complain of my
loss--nay, when you speak thus I love it, and I even think that you will
make me win this evening."
"I hope so, but I am afraid not; you will have to contend against Monte
Leone, who is usually very lucky."
In considering the matter after dinner, I determined for the future to
play with ready money and not on my word of honour, lest I should at any
time be carried away by the excitement of play and induced to stake more
than I possessed. I thought, too, that the banker might have his doubts
after the two heavy losses I had sustained, and I confess that I was also
actuated by the gambler's superstition that by making a change of any
kind one changes the luck.
I spent four hours at the theatre in Leonilda's box, where I found her
more gay and charming than I had seen her before.
"Dear Leonilda," I said, "the love I feel for you will suffer no delay
and no rivals, not even the slightest inconstancy. I have told the duke
that I am ready to marry you, and that I will give you a dower of five
thousand ducats."
"What did he say?"
"That I must ask you, and that he would offer no opposition."
"Then we should leave Naples together."
"Directly, dearest, and thenceforth death alone would part us."
"We will talk of it to-morrow, dear Don Giacomo, and if I can make you
happy I am sure you will do the same by me."
As she spoke these delightful words the duke came in.
"Don Giacomo and I are talking of marrying," said she.
"Marriage, mia carissima," he replied, "ought to be well considered
beforehand."
"Yes, when one has time; but my dear Giacomo cannot wait, and we shall
have plenty of time to think it over afterwards."
"As you are going to marry," said the duke, "you can put off your
departure, or return after the wedding."
"I can neither put it off nor return, my dear duke. We have made up our
minds, and if we repent we have plenty of time before us."
He laughed and said we would talk it over next day. I gave my future
bride a kiss which she returned with ardour, and the duke and I went to
the club, where we found the Duke de Monte Leone dealing.
"My lord," said I, "I am unlucky playing on my word of honour, so I hope
you will allow me to stake money."
"Just as you please; it comes to the same thing, but don't trouble
yourself. I have made a bank of four thousand ducats that you may be able
to recoup yourself for your losses."
"Thanks, I promise to break it or to lose as much."
I drew out six thousand ducats, gave two thousand ducats to the Duke de
Matalone, and began to punt at a hundred ducats. After a short time the
duke left the table, and I finally succeeded in breaking the bank. I went
back to the place by myself, and when I told the duke of my victory the
next day, he embraced me with tears of joy, and advised me to stake money
for the future.
As the Princess de Vale was giving a great supper, there was no play that
evening. This was some respite. We called on Leonilda, and putting off
talking of our marriage till the day after we spent the time in viewing
the wonders of nature around Naples. In the evening I was introduced by a
friend at the princess's supper, and saw all the highest nobility of the
place.
Next morning the duke told me that he had some business to do, and that I
had better go and see Leonilda, and that he would call for me later on. I
went to Leonilda, but as the duke did not put in an appearance we could
not settle anything about our marriage. I spent several hours with her,
but I was obliged to obey her commands, and could only shew myself
amorous in words. Before leaving I repeated that it only rested with her
to unite our lives by indissoluble ties, and to leave Naples almost
immediately.
When I saw the duke he said,--
"Well, Don Giacomo, you have spent all the morning with my mistress; do
you still wish to marry her?"
"More than ever; what do you mean?"
"Nothing; and as you have passed this trial to which I purposely
subjected you, we will discuss your union tomorrow, and I hope you will
make this charming woman happy, for she will be an excellent wife."
"I agree with you."
When we went to Monte Leone's in the evening, we saw a banker with a good
deal of gold before him. The duke told me he was Don Marco Ottoboni. He
was a fine-looking man, but he held the cards so closely together in his
left hand that I could not see them. This did not inspire me with
confidence, so I only punted a ducat at a time. I was persistently
unlucky, but I only lost a score of ducats. After five or six deals the
banker, asked me politely why I staked such small sums against him.
"Because I can't see half the pack," I replied, "and I am afraid of
losing."
Some of the company laughed at my answer.
Next night I broke the bank held by the Prince the Cassaro, a pleasant
and rich nobleman, who asked me to give him revenge, and invited me to
supper at his pretty house at Posilipo, where he lived with a virtuosa of
whom he had become amorous at Palermo. He also invited the Duke de
Matalone and three or four other gentlemen. This was the only occasion on
which I held the bank while I was at Naples, and I staked six thousand
ducats after warning the prince that as it was the eve of my departure I
should only play for ready money.
He lost ten thousand ducats, and only rose from the table because he had
no more money. Everybody left the room, and I should have done the same
if the prince's mistress had not owed me a hundred ducats. I continued to
deal in the hope that she would get her money back, but seeing that she
still lost I put down the cards, and told her that she must pay me at
Rome. She was a handsome and agreeable woman, but she did not inspire me
with any passions, no doubt because my mind was occupied with another,
otherwise I should have drawn a bill on sight, and paid myself without
meddling with her purse. It was two o'clock in the morning when I got to
bed.
Both Leonilda and myself wished to see Caserta before leaving Naples, and
the duke sent us there in a carriage drawn by six mules, which went
faster than most horses. Leonilda's governess accompanied us.
The day after, we settled the particulars of our marriage in a
conversation which lasted for two hours.
"Leonilda," began the duke, "has a mother, who lives at a short distance
from here, on an income of six hundred ducats, which I have given her for
life, in return for an estate belonging to her husband; but Leonilda does
not depend on her. She gave her up to me seven years ago, and I have
given her an annuity of five hundred ducats, which she will bring to you,
with all her diamonds and an extensive trousseau. Her mother gave her up
to me entirely, and I gave my word of honour to get her a good husband. I
have taken peculiar care of her education, and as her mind has developed
I have put her on her guard against all prejudices, with the exception of
that which bids a woman keep herself intact for her future husband. You
may rest assured that you are the first man whom Leonilda (who is a
daughter to me) has pressed to her heart."
I begged the duke to get the contract ready, and to add to her dower the
sum of five thousand ducats, which I would give him when the deed was
signed.
"I will mortgage them," said he, "on a house which is worth double."
Then turning to Leonilda, who was shedding happy tears, he said,--
"I am going to send for your mother, who will be delighted to sign the
settlement, and to make the acquaintance of your future husband."
The mother lived at the Marquis Galiani's, a day's journey from Naples.
The duke said he would send a carriage for her the next day, and that we
could all sup together the day after.
"The law business will be all done by then, and we shall be able to go to
the little church at Portici, and the priest will marry you. Then we will
take your mother to St. Agatha and dine with her, and you can go your way
with her maternal blessing."
This conclusion gave me an involuntary shudder, and Leonilda fell
fainting in the duke's arms. He called her dear child, cared for her
tenderly, and brought her to herself.
We all had to wipe our eyes, as we were all equally affected.
I considered myself as a married man and under obligation to alter my way
of living, and I stopped playing. I had won more than fifteen thousand
ducats, and this sum added to what I had before and Leonilda's dowry
should have sufficed for an honest livelihood.
Next day, as I was at supper with the duke and Leonilda, she said,--
"What will my mother say to-morrow evening, when she sees you?"
"She will say that you are silly to marry a stranger whom you have only
known for a week. Have you told her my name, my nation, my condition, and
my age?"
"I wrote to her as follows:
"'Dear mamma, come directly and sign my marriage contract with a
gentleman introduced to me by the duke, with whom I shall be leaving for
Rome on Monday next.'"
"My letter ran thus," said the duke,
"'Come without delay, and sign your daughter's marriage contract, and
give her your blessing. She has wisely chosen a husband old enough to be
her father; he is a friend of mine.'"
"That's not true," cried Leonilda, rushing to my arms, "she will think
you are really old, and I am sorry."
"Is your mother an elderly woman?"
"She's a charming Woman," said the duke, "full of wit, and not
thirty-eight yet."
"What has she got to do with Galiani?"
"She is an intimate friend of the marchioness's, and she lives with the
family but pays for her board."
Next morning, having some business with my banker to attend to, I told
the duke that I should not be able to see Leonilda till supper-time. I
went there at eight o'clock and I found the three sitting in front of the
fire.
"Here he is!" cried the duke.
As soon as the mother saw me she screamed and fell nearly fainting on a
chair. I looked at her fixedly for a minute, and exclaimed,--
"Donna Lucrezia! I am fortunate indeed!"
"Let us take breath, my dear friend. Come and sit by me. So you are going
to marry my daughter, are you?"
I took a chair and guessed it all. My hair stood on end, and I relapsed
into a gloomy silence.
The stupefied astonishment of Leonilda and the duke cannot be described.
They could see that Donna Lucrezia and I knew each other, but they could
not get any farther. As for myself, as I pondered gloomily and compared
Leonilda's age with the period at which I had been intimate with Lucrezia
Castelli, I could see that it was quite possible that she might be my
daughter; but I told myself that the mother could not be certain of the
fact, as at the time she lived with her husband, who was very fond of her
and not fifty years of age. I could bear the suspense no longer, so,
taking a light and begging Leonilda and the duke to excuse me, I asked
Lucrezia to come into the next room with me.
As soon as she was seated, she drew me to her and said,--
"Must I grieve my dear one when I have loved so well? Leonilda is your
daughter, I am certain of it. I always looked upon her as your daughter,
and my husband knew it, but far from being angry, he used to adore her. I
will shew you the register of her birth, and you can calculate for
yourself. My husband was at Rome, and did not see me once, and my
daughter did not come before her time. You must remember a letter which
my mother should have given you, in which I told you I was with child.
That was in January, 1744, and in six months my daughter will be
seventeen. My late husband gave her the names of Leonilda Giacomina at
the baptismal font, and when he played with her he always called her by
the latter name. This idea of your marrying her horrifies me, but I
cannot oppose it, as I am ashamed to tell the reason. What do you think?
Have you still the courage to marry her? You seem to hesitate. Have you
taken any earnest of the marriage-bed?"
"No, dear Lucrezia, your daughter is as pure as a lily."
"I breathe again."
"Ah, yes! but my heart is torn asunder."
"I am grieved to see you thus."
"She has no likeness to me."
"That proves nothing; she has taken after me. You are weeping, dearest,
you will break my heart."
"Who would not weep in my place? I will send the duke to you; he must
know all."
I left Lucrezia, and I begged the duke to go and speak to her. The
affectionate Leonilda came and sat on my knee, and asked me what the
dreadful mystery was. I was too much affected to be able to answer her;
she kissed me, and we began to weep. We remained thus sad and silent till
the return of the duke and Donna Lucrezia, who was the only one to keep
her head cool.
"Dear Leonilda," said she, "you must be let into the secret of this
disagreeable mystery, and your mother is the proper person to enlighten
you. Do you remember what name my late husband used to call you when he
petted you?"
"He used to call me his charming Giacomina."
"That is M. Casanova's name; it is the name of your father. Go and kiss
him; his blood flows in your veins; and if he has been your lover, repent
of the crime which was happily quite involuntary."
The scene was a pathetic one, and we were all deeply moved. Leonilda
clung to her mother's knees, and in a voice that struggled with sobs
exclaimed,--
"I have only felt what an affectionate daughter might feel for a father."
At this point silence fell on us, a silence that was only broken by the
sobs of the two women, who held each other tightly embraced; while the
duke and I sat as motionless as two posts, our heads bent and our hands
crossed, without as much as looking at each other.
Supper was served, and we sat at table for three hours, talking sadly
over this dramatic recognition, which had brought more grief than joy;
and we departed at midnight full of melancholy, and hoping that we should
be calmer on the morrow, and able to take the only step that now remained
to us.
As we were going away the duke made several observations on what moral
philosophers call prejudices. There is no philosopher who would maintain
or even advance the thesis that the union of a father and daughter is
horrible naturally, for it is entirely a social prejudice; but it is so
widespread, and education has graven it so deeply in our hearts, that
only a man whose heart is utterly depraved could despise it. It is the
result of a respect for the laws, it keeps the social scheme together; in
fact, it is no longer a prejudice, it is a principle.
I went to bed, but as usual, after the violent emotion I had undergone, I
could not sleep. The rapid transition from carnal to paternal love cast
my physical and mental faculties into such a state of excitement that I
could scarcely withstand the fierce struggle that was taking place in my
heart.
Towards morning I fell asleep for a short time, and woke up feeling as
exhausted as two lovers who have been spending a long and voluptuous
winter's night.
When I got up I told the duke that I intended to set out from Naples the
next day; and he observed that as everybody knew I was on the eve of my
departure, this haste would make people talk.
"Come and have some broth with me," said he; "and from henceforth look
upon this marriage project as one of the many pranks in which you have
engaged. We will spend the three or four days pleasantly together, and
perhaps when we have thought over all this for some time we shall end by
thinking it matter for mirth and not sadness. Believe me the mother's as
good as the daughter; recollection is often better than hope; console
yourself with Lucrezia. I don't think you can see any difference between
her present appearance and that of eighteen years ago, for I don't see
how she can ever have been handsomer than she is now."
This remonstrance brought me to my senses. I felt that the best thing I
could do would be to forget the illusion which had amused me for four or
five days, and as my self-esteem was not wounded it ought not to be a
difficult task; but yet I was in love and unable to satisfy my love.
Love is not like merchandise, where one can substitute one thing for
another when one cannot have what one wants. Love is a sentiment, only
the object who has kindled the flame can soothe the heat thereof.
We went to call on my daughter, the duke in his usual mood, but I looking
pale, depressed, weary, and like a boy going to receive the rod. I was
extremely surprised when I came into the room to find the mother and
daughter quite gay, but this helped on my cure. Leonilda threw her arms
round my neck, calling me dear papa, and kissing me with all a daughter's
freedom. Donna Lucrezia stretched out her hand, addressing me as her dear
friend. I regarded her attentively, and I was forced to confess that the
eighteen years that had passed away had done little ill to her charms.
There was the same sparkling glance, that fresh complexion, those perfect
shapes, those beautiful lips--in fine, all that had charmed my youthful
eyes.
We mutely caressed each other. Leonilda gave and received the tenderest
kisses without seeming to notice what desires she might cause to arise;
no doubt she knew that as her father I should have strength to resist,
and she was right. One gets used to everything, and I was ashamed to be
sad any longer.
I told Donna Lucrezia of the curious welcome her sister had given me in
Rome, and she went off into peals of laughter. We reminded each other of
the night at Tivoli, and these recollections softened our hearts. From
these softened feelings to love is but a short way; but neither place nor
time were convenient, so we pretended not to be thinking of it.
After a few moments of silence I told her that if she cared to come to
Rome with me to pay a visit to her sister Angelique, I would take her
back to Naples at the beginning of Lent. She promised to let me know
whether she could come on the following day.
I sat between her and Leonilda at dinner; and as I could no longer think
of the daughter, it was natural that my old flame for Lucrezia should
rekindle; and whether from the effect of her gaiety and beauty, or from
my need of someone to love, or from the excellence of the wine, I found
myself in love with her by the dessert, and asked her to take the place
which her daughter was to have filled.
"I will marry you," said I, "and we will all of us go to Rome on Monday,
for since Leonilda is my daughter I do not like to leave her at Naples."
At this the three guests looked at each other and said nothing. I did not
repeat my proposal, but led the conversation to some other topic.
After dinner I felt sleepy and lay down on a bed, and did not wake till
eight o'clock, when to my surprise I found that my only companion was
Lucrezia, who was writing. She heard me stir, and came up to me and said
affectionately,--
"My dear friend, you have slept for five hours; and as I did not like to
leave you alone I would not go with the duke and our daughter to the
opera."
The memory of former loves awakens when one is near the once beloved
object, and desires rapidly become irresistible if the beauty still
remain. The lovers feel as if they were once more in possession of a
blessing which belongs to them, and of which they have been long deprived
by unfortunate incidents. These were our feelings, and without delay,
without idle discussion, and above all, without false modesty, we
abandoned ourselves to love, the only true source of nature.
In the first interval, I was the first to break the silence; and if a man
is anything of a wit, is he the less so at that delicious moment of
repose which follows on an amorous victory?
"Once again, then," said I, "I am in this charming land which I entered
for the first time to the noise of the drum and the rattle of musket
shots."
This remark made her laugh, and recalled past events to her memory. We
recollected with delight all the pleasures we had enjoyed at Testaccio,
Frascati, and Tivoli. We reminded each other of these events, only to
make each other laugh; but with two lovers, what is laughter but a
pretext for renewing the sweet sacrifice of the goddess of Cythera?
At the end of the second act, full of the enthusiasm of the fortunate
lover, I said,--
"Let us be united for life; we are of the same age, we love each other,
our means are sufficient for us, we may hope to live a happy life, and to
die at the same moment."
"Tis the darling wish of my heart," Lucrezia replied, "but let us stay at
Naples and leave Leonilda to the duke. We will see company, find her a
worthy husband, and our happiness will be complete."
"I cannot live at Naples, dearest, and you know that your daughter
intended to leave with me."
"My daughter! Say our daughter. I see that you are still in love with
her, and do not wish to be considered her father."
"Alas, yes! But I am sure that if I live with you my passion for her will
be stilled, but otherwise I cannot answer for myself. I shall fly, but
flight will not bring me happiness. Leonilda charms me still more by her
intelligence than by her beauty. I was sure that she loved me so well
that I did not attempt to seduce her, lest thereby I should weaken my
hold on her affections; and as I wanted to make her happy I wished to
deserve her esteem. I longed to possess her, but in a lawful manner, so
that our rights should have been equal. We have created an angel,
Lucrezia, and I cannot imagine how the duke . . ."
"The duke is completely impotent. Do you see now how I was able to trust
my daughter to his care?"
"Impotent? I always thought so myself, but he has a son."
"His wife might possibly be able to explain that mystery to you, but you
may take it for granted that the poor duke will die a virgin in spite of
himself; and he knows that as well as anybody."
"Do not let us say any more about it, but allow me to treat you as at
Tivoli."
"Not just now, as I hear carriage wheels."
A moment after the door opened, and Leonilda laughed heartily to see her
mother in my arms, and threw herself upon us, covering us with kisses.
The duke came in a little later, and we supped together very merrily. He
thought me the happiest of men when I told him I was going to pass the
night honourably with my wife and daughter; and he was right, for I was
so at that moment.
As soon as the worthy man left us we went to bed, but here I must draw a
veil over the most voluptuous night I have ever spent. If I told all I
should wound chaste ears, and, besides, all the colours of the painter
and all the phrases of the poet could not do justice to the delirium of
pleasure, the ecstasy, and the license which passed during that night,
while two wax lights burnt dimly on the table like candles before the
shrine of a saint.
We did not leave the stage, which I watered with my blood, till long
after the sun had risen. We were scarcely dressed when the duke arrived.
Leonilda gave him a vivid description of our nocturnal labours, but in
his unhappy state of impotence he must have been thankful for his
absence.
I was determined to start the next day so as to be at Rome for the last
week of the carnival and I begged the duke to let me give Leonilda the
five thousand ducats which would have been her dower if she had become my
bride.
"As she is your daughter," said he, "she can and ought to take this
present from her father, if only as a dowry for her future husband."
"Will you accept it, then, my dear Leonilda?"
"Yes, papa dear," she said, embracing me, "on the condition that you will
promise to come and see me again as soon as you hear of my marriage."
I promised to do so, and I kept my word.
"As you are going to-morrow," said the duke, "I shall ask all the
nobility of Naples to meet you at supper. In the meanwhile I leave you
with your daughter; we shall see each other again at suppertime."
He went out and I dined with my wife and daughter in the best of spirits.
I spent almost the whole afternoon with Leonilda, keeping within the
bounds of decency, less, perhaps, out of respect to morality, than
because of my labours of the night before. We did not kiss each other
till the moment of parting, and I could see that both mother and daughter
were grieved to lose me.
After a careful toilette I went to supper, and found an assembly of a
hundred of the very best people in Naples. The duchess was very
agreeable, and when I kissed her hand to take leave, she said,
"I hope, Don Giacomo, that you have had no unpleasantness during your
short stay at Naples, and that you will sometimes think of your visit
with pleasure."
I answered that I could only recall my visit with delight after the
kindness with which she had deigned to treat me that evening; and, in
fact, my recollections of Naples were always of the happiest description.
After I had treated the duke's attendants with generosity, the poor
nobleman, whom fortune had favoured, and whom nature had deprived of the
sweetest of all enjoyments, came with me to the door of my carriage and I
went on my way.
CHAPTER X
My Carriage Broken--Mariuccia's Wedding-Flight of Lord
Lismore--My Return to Florence, and My Departure with the
Corticelli
My Spaniard was going on before us on horseback, and I was sleeping
profoundly beside Don Ciccio Alfani in my comfortable carriage, drawn by
four horses, when a violent shock aroused me. The carriage had been
overturned on the highway, at midnight, beyond Francolisa and four miles
from St. Agatha.
Alfani was beneath me and uttered piercing shrieks, for he thought he had
broken his left arm. Le Duc rode back and told me that the postillions
had taken flight, possibly to give notice of our mishap to highwaymen,
who are very common in the States of the Church and Naples.
I got out of the carriage easily enough, but poor old Alfani, who was
unwieldly with fat, badly hurt, and half dead with fright, could not
extricate himself without assistance. It took us a quarter of an hour to
get him free. The poor wretch amused me by the blasphemies which he
mingled with prayers to his patron saint, St. Francis of Assisi.
I was not without experience of such accidents and was not at all hurt,
for one's safety depends a good deal on the position one is in. Don
Ciccio had probably hurt his arm by stretching it out just as the
accident took place.
I took my sword, my musket, and my horse-pistols out of the carriage, and
I made them and my pockets pistols ready so as to offer a stiff
resistance to the brigands if they came; and I then told Le Duc to take
some money and ride off and see if he could bring some peasants to our
assistance.
Don Ciccio groaned over the accident, but I, resolving to sell my money
and my life dearly, made a rampart of the carriage and four horses, and
stood sentry, with my arms ready.
I then felt prepared for all hazards, and was quite calm, but my
unfortunate companion continued to pour forth his groans, and prayers,
and blasphemies, for all that goes together at Naples as at Rome. I could
do nothing but compassionate him; but in spite of myself I could not help
laughing, which seemed to vex the poor abbe, who looked for all the world
like a dying dolphin as he rested motionless against the bank. His
distress may be imagined, when the nearest horse yielded to the call of
nature, and voided over the unfortunate man the contents of its bladder.
There was nothing to be done, and I could not help roaring with laughter.
Nevertheless, a strong northerly wind rendered our situation an extremely
unpleasant one. At the slightest noise I cried, "Who goes there?"
threatening to fire on anyone who dared approach. I spent two hours in
this tragic-comic position, until at last Le Duc rode up and told me that
a band of peasants, all armed and provided with lanterns, were
approaching to our assistance.
In less than an hour, the carriage, the horses, and Alfani were seen to.
I kept two of the country-folk to serve as postillions, and I sent the
others away well paid for the interruption of their sleep. I reached St.
Agatha at day-break, and I made the devil's own noise at the door of the
postmaster, calling for an attorney to take down my statement, and
threatening to have the postillions who had overturned and deserted me,
hanged.
A wheelwright inspected my coach and pronounced the axle-tree broken, and
told me I should have to remain for a day at least.
Don Ciccio, who stood in need of a surgeon's aid, called on the Marquis
Galliani without telling me anything about it. However, the marquis
hastened to beg me to stay at his home till I could continue my journey.
I accepted the invitation with great pleasure, and with this my ill
humour, which was really only the result of my desire to make a great
fuss like a great man, evaporated.
The marquis ordered my carriage to be taken to his coach-house, took me
by the arm, and led me to his house. He was as learned as he was polite,
and a perfect Neapolitan--i.e., devoid of all ceremony. He had not the
brilliant wit of his brother, whom I had known at Paris as secretary of
embassy under the Count Cantillana Montdragon, but he possessed a
well-ordered judgment, founded on study and the perusal of ancient and
modern classics. Above all, he was a great mathematician, and was then
preparing an annotated edition of Vitruvius, which was afterwards
published.
The marquis introduced me to his wife, whom I knew as the intimate friend
of my dear Lucrezia. There was something saint-like in her expression,
and to see her surrounded by her little children was like looking at a
picture of the Holy Family.
Don Ciccio was put to bed directly, and a surgeon sent for, who consoled
him by saying that it was only a simple luxation, and that he would be
well again in a few days.
At noon a carriage stopped at the door, and Lucrezia got down. She
embraced the marchioness, and said to me in the most natural manner, as
we shook hands,--
"What happy chance brings you hear, dear Don Giacomo?"
She told her friend that I was a friend of her late husband's, and that
she had recently seen me again with great pleasure at the Duke de
Matalone's.
After dinner, on finding myself alone with this charming woman, I asked
her if it were not possible for us to pass a happy night together, but
she shewed me that it was out of the question, and I had to yield. I
renewed my offer to marry her.
"Buy a property," said she, "in the kingdom of Naples, and I will spend
the remainder of my days with you, without asking a priest to give us his
blessing, unless we happen to have children."
I could not deny that Lucrezia spoke very sensibly, and I could easily
have bought land in Naples, and lived comfortably on it, but the idea of
binding myself down to one place was so contrary to my feelings that I
had the good sense to prefer my vagabond life to all the advantages which
our union would have given me, and I do not think that Lucrezia
altogether disapproved of my resolution.
After supper I took leave of everybody, and I set out at day-break in
order to get to Rome by the next day. I had only fifteen stages to do,
and the road was excellent.
As we were getting into Carillano, I saw one of the two-wheeled
carriages, locally called mantice, two horses were being put into it,
while my carriage required four. I got out, and on hearing myself called
I turned round. I was not a little surprised to find that the occupants
of the mantice were a young and pretty girl and Signora Diana, the Prince
de Sassaro's mistress, who owed me three hundred ounces. She told me that
she was going to Rome, and that she would be glad if we could make the
journey together.
"I suppose you don't mind stopping for the night at Piperno?"
"No," said I, "I am afraid that can't be managed; I don't intend to break
my journey."
"But you would get to Rome by to-morrow."
"I know that, but I sleep better in my carriage than in the bad beds they
give you in the inns."
"I dare not travel by night."
"Well, well, madam, I have no doubt we shall see each other at Rome."
"You are a cruel man. You see I have only a stupid servant, and a maid
who is as timid as I am, besides it is cold and my carriage is open. I
will keep you company in yours."
"I really can't take you in, as all the available space is taken up by my
old secretary, who broke his arm yesterday."
"Shall we dine together at Terracino? We could have a little talk."
"Certainly."
We made good cheer at this small town, which is the frontier of the
States of the Church. We should not reach Piperno till far on in the
night, and the lady renewed and redoubled her efforts to keep me till
daybreak; but though young and pretty she did not take my fancy; she was
too fair and too fat. But her maid, who was a pretty brunette, with a
delicious rounded form and a sparkling eye, excited all my feelings of
desire. A vague hope of possessing the maid won me over, and I ended by
promising the signora to sup with her, and not to continue my journey
without giving notice to the landlord.
When we got to Piperno, I succeeded in telling the pretty maid that if
she would let me have her quietly I would not go any further. She
promised to wait for me, and allowed me to take such liberties as are
usually the signs of perfect complaisance.
We had our supper, and I wished the ladies good night and escorted them
to their room, where I took note of the relative positions of their beds
so that there should be no mistake. I left them and came back in a
quarter of an hour. Finding the door open I felt sure of success, and I
got into bed; but as I found out, it was the signora and not the maid who
received me. Evidently the little hussy had told her mistress the story,
and the mistress had thought fit to take the maid's place. There was no
possibility of my being mistaken, for though I could not see I could
feel.
For a moment I was undecided, should I remain in bed and make the best of
what I had got, or go on my way to Rome immediately? The latter counsel
prevailed. I called Le Duc, gave my orders, and started, enjoying the
thought of the confusion of the two women, who must have been in a great
rage at the failure of their plans. I saw Signora Diana three or four
times at Rome, and we bowed without speaking; if I had thought it likely
that she would pay me the four hundred louis she owed me I might have
taken the trouble to call on her, but I know that your stage queens are
the worst debtors in the world.
My brother, the Chevalier Mengs, and the Abbe Winckelmann were all in
good health and spirits. Costa was delighted to see me again. I sent him
off directly to His Holiness's 'scopatore maggiore' to warn him that I
was coming to take polenta with him, and all he need do was to get a good
supper for twelve. I was sure of finding Mariuccia there, for I knew that
Momolo had noticed her presence pleased me.
The carnival began the day after my arrival, and I hired a superb landau
for the whole week. The Roman landaus seat four people and have a hood
which may be lowered at pleasure. In these landaus one drives along the
Corso with or without masks from nine to twelve o'clock during the
carnival time.
From time immemorial the Corso at Rome has presented a strange and
diverting spectacle during the carnival. The horses start from the Piazza
del Popolo, and gallop along to the Column of Trajan, between two lines
of carriages drawn up beside two narrow pavements which are crowded with
maskers and people of all classes. All the windows are decorated. As soon
as the horses have passed the carriages begin to move, and the maskers on
foot and horseback occupy the middle of the street. The air is full of
real and false sweetmeats, pamphlets, pasquinades, and puns. Throughout
the mob, composed of the best and worst classes of Rome, liberty reigns
supreme, and when twelve o'clock is announced by the third report of the
cannon of St. Angelo the Corso begins to clear, and in five minutes you
would look in vain for a carriage or a masker. The crowd disperses
amongst the neighbouring streets, and fills the opera houses, the
theatres, the rope-dancers' exhibitions, and even the puppet-shows. The
restaurants and taverns are not left desolate; everywhere you will find
crowds of people, for during the carnival the Romans only think of
eating, drinking, and enjoying themselves.
I banked my money with M. Belloni and got a letter of credit on Turin,
where I expected to find the Abbe Gama and to receive a commission to
represent the Portuguese Court at the Congress of Augsburg, to which all
Europe was looking forward, and then I went to inspect my little room,
where I hoped to meet Mariuccia the next day. I found everything in good
order.
In the evening Momolo and his family received me with joyful
exclamations. The eldest daughter said with a smile that she was sure she
would please me by sending for Mariuccia.
"You are right," said I, "I shall be delighted to see the fair
Mariuccia."
A few minutes after she entered with her puritanical mother, who told me
I must not be surprised to see her daughter better dressed, as she was
going to be married in a few days. I congratulated her, and Momolo's
daughters asked who was the happy man. Mariuccia blushed and said
modestly, to one of them,--
"It is somebody whom you know, So and so, he saw me here, and we are
going to open a hair-dresser's shop."
"The marriage was arranged by good Father St. Barnabe," added the mother.
"He has in his keeping my daughter's dower of four hundred Roman crowns."
"He's a good lad," said Momolo. "I have a high opinion of him; he would
have married one of my daughters if I could have given him such a dowry."
At these words the girl in question blushed and lowered her eyes.
"Never mind, my dear," said I, "your turn will come in time."
She took my words as seriously meant, and her face lit up with joy. She
thought I had guessed her love for Costa, and her idea was confirmed when
I told him to get my landau the next day and take out all Momolo's
daughters, well masked, as it would not do for them to be recognized in a
carriage I meant to make use of myself. I also bade him hire some
handsome costumes from a Jew, and paid the hire-money myself. This put
them all in a good humour.
"How about Signora Maria?" said the jealous sister.
"As Signora Maria is going to be married," I replied, "she must not be
present at any festivity without her future husband."
The mother applauded this decision of mine, and sly Mariuccia pretended
to feel mortified. I turned to Momolo and begged him to ask Mariuccia's
future husband to meet me at supper, by which I pleased her mother
greatly.
I felt very tired, and having nothing to keep me after seeing Mariuccia,
I begged the company to excuse me, and after wishing them a good appetite
I left them.
I walked out next morning at an early hour. I had no need of going into
the church, which I reached at seven o'clock, for Mariuccia saw me at
some distance off and followed me, and we were soon alone together in the
little room, which love and voluptuous pleasure had transmuted into a
sumptuous place. We would gladly have talked to each other, but as we had
only an hour before us, we set to without even taking off our clothes.
After the last kiss which ended the third assault, she told me that she
was to be married on the eve of Shrove Tuesday, and that all had been
arranged by her confessor. She also thanked me for having asked Momolo to
invite her intended.
"When shall we see each other again, my angel?"
"On Sunday, the eve of my wedding, we shall be able to spend four hours
together."
"Delightful! I promise you that when you leave me you will be in such a
state that the caresses of your husband won't hurt you."
She smiled and departed, and I threw myself on the bed where I rested for
a good hour.
As I was going home I met a carriage and four going at a great speed. A
footman rode in front of the carriage, and within it I saw a young
nobleman. My attention was arrested by the blue ribbon on his breast. I
gazed at him, and he called out my name and had the carriage stopped. I
was extremely surprised when I found it was Lord O'Callaghan, whom I had
known at Paris at his mother's, the Countess of Lismore, who was
separated from her husband, and was the kept mistress of M. de St. Aubin,
the unworthy successor of the good and virtuous Fenelon in the
archbishopric of Cambrai. However, the archbishop owed his promotion to
the fact that he was a bastard of the Duc d'Orleans, the French Regent.
Lord O'Callaghan was a fine-looking young man, with wit and talent, but
the slave of his unbridled passions and of every species of vice. I knew
that if he were lord in name he was not so in fortune, and I was
astonished to see him driving such a handsome carriage, and still more so
at his blue ribbon. In a few words he told me that he was going to dine
with the Pretender, but that he would sup at home. He invited me to come
to supper, and I accepted.
After dinner I took a short walk, and then went to enliven myself at the
theatre, where I saw Momolo's girls strutting about with Costa;
afterwards I went to Lord O'Callaghan, and was pleasantly surprised to
meet the poet Poinsinet. He was young, short, ugly, full of poetic fire,
a wit, and dramatist. Five or six years later the poor fellow fell into
the Guadalquivir and was drowned. He had gone to Madrid in the hope of
making his fortune. As I had known him at Paris I addressed him as an old
acquaintance.
"What are you doing at Rome? Where's my Lord O'Callaghan?"
"He's in the next room, but as his father is dead his title is now Earl
of Lismore. You know he was an adherent of the Pretender's. I left Paris
with him, well enough pleased at being able to come to Rome without its
costing me anything."
"Then the earl is a rich man now?"
"Not exactly; but he will be, as he is his father's heir, and the old
earl left an immense fortune. It is true that it is all confiscated, but
that is nothing, as his claims are irresistible."
"In short, he is rich in claims and rich in the future; but how did he
get himself made a knight of one of the French king's orders?"
"You're joking. That is the blue ribbon of the Order of St. Michael, of
which the late Elector of Cologne was grand master. As you know, my lord
plays exquisitely on the violin, and when he was at Bonn he played the
Elector a concerto by Tartini. The prince could not find words in which
to express the pleasure of my lord's performance, and gave him the ribbon
you have seen."
"A fine present, doubtless."
"You don't know what pleasure it gave my lord, for when we go back to
Paris everybody will take it for the Order of the Holy Ghost."
We passed into a large room, where we found the earl with the party he
had asked to supper. As soon as he saw me he embraced me, called me his
dear friend, and named his guests. There were seven or eight girls, all
of them pretty, three or four castrati who played women's parts in the
Roman theatre, and five or six abbes, the husband of every wife and the
wives of every husband, who boasted of their wickedness, and challenged
the girls to be more shameless than they. The girls were not common
courtezans, but past mistresses of music, painting, and vice considered
as a fine art. The kind of society may be imagined when I say that I
found myself a perfect novice amongst them.
"Where are you going, prince?" said the earl to a respectable-looking man
who was making for the door.
"I don't feel well, my lord. I think I must go out."
"What prince is that?" said I.
"The Prince de Chimai. He is a sub-deacon, and is endeavouring to gain
permission to marry, lest his family should become extinct."
"I admire his prudence or his delicacy, but I am afraid I should not
imitate him."
There were twenty-four of us at table, and it is no exaggeration to say
that we emptied a hundred bottles of the choicest wines. Everybody was
drunk, with the exception of myself and the poet Poinsinet, who had taken
nothing but water. The company rose from table, and then began a foul
orgy which I should never have conceived possible, and which no pen could
describe, though possibly a seasoned profligate might get some idea of
it.
A castrato and a girl of almost equal height proposed to strip in an
adjoining room, and to lie on their backs, in the same bed with their
faces covered. They challenged us all to guess which was which.
We all went in and nobody could pronounce from sight which was male and
which was female, so I bet the earl fifty crowns that I would point out
the woman.
He accepted the wager, and I guessed correctly, but payment was out of
the question.
This first act of the orgy ended with the prostitution of the two
individuals, who defied everybody to accomplish the great act. All, with
the exception of Poinsinet and myself, made the attempt, but their
efforts were in vain.
The second act displayed four or five couples reversed, and here the
abbes shone, both in the active and passive parts of this lascivious
spectacle. I was the only person respected.
All at once, the earl, who had hitherto remained perfectly motionless,
attacked the wretched Poinsinet, who in vain attempted to defend himself.
He had to strip like my lord, who was as naked as the others. We stood
round in a circle. Suddenly the earl, taking his watch, promised it to
the first who succeeded in giving them a sure mark of sensibility. The
desire of gaining the prize excited the impure crowd immensely, and the
castrati, the girls, and the abbes all did their utmost, each one
striving to be the first. They had to draw lots. This part interested me
most, for throughout this almost incredible scene of debauchery I did not
experience the slightest sensation, although under other circumstances
any of the girls would have claimed my homage, but all I did was to
laugh, especially to see the poor poet in terror of experiencing the lust
of the flesh, for the profligate nobleman swore that if he made him lose
he would deliver him up to the brutal lust of all the abbes. He escaped,
probably through fear of the consequences.
The orgy came to an end when nobody had any further hopes of getting the
watch. The secret of the Lesbians was only employed, however, by the
abbes and the castrata. The girls, wishing to be able to despise those
who made use of it, refrained from doing so. I suspect they were actuated
by pride rather than shame, as they might possibly have employed it
without success.
This vile debauch disgusted me, and yet gave me a better knowledge of
myself. I could not help confessing that my life had been endangered, for
the only arm I had was my sword, but I should certainly have used it if
the earl had tried to treat me like the others, and as he had treated
poor Poinsinet. I never understood how it was that he respected me, for
he was quite drunk, and in a kind of Bacchic fury.
As I left, I promised to come and see him as often as he pleased, but I
promised myself never to set foot in his house again.
Next day, he came to see me in the afternoon, and asked me to walk with
him to the Villa Medici.
I complimented him on the immense wealth he had inherited to enable him
to live so splendidly, but he laughed and told me that he did not possess
fifty piastres, that his father had left nothing but debts, and that he
himself already owed three or four thousand crowns.
"I wonder people give you credit, then."
"They give me credit because everybody knows that I have drawn a bill of
exchange on Paris to the tune of two hundred thousand francs. But in four
or five days the bill will be returned protested, and I am only waiting
for that to happen to make my escape."
"If you are certain of its being protested, I advise you to make your
escape to-day; for as it is so large a sum it may be taken up before it
is due."
"No, I won't do that; I have one hope left. I have written to tell my
mother that I shall be undone if she does not furnish the banker, on whom
I have drawn the bill, with sufficient funds and if she does that, the
bill will be accepted. You know my mother is very fond of me."
"Yes, but I also know that she is far from rich."
"True, but M. de St. Aubin is rich enough, and between you and me I think
he is my father. Meanwhile, my creditors are almost as quiet as I am. All
those girls you saw yesterday would give me all they have if I asked
them, as they are all expecting me to make them a handsome present in the
course of the week, but I won't abuse their trust in me. But I am afraid
I shall be obliged to cheat the Jew, who wants me to give him three
thousand sequins for this ring, as I know it is only worth one thousand."
"He will send the police after you."
"I defy him to do whatever he likes."
The ring was set with a straw-coloured diamond of nine or ten carats. He
begged me to keep his secret as we parted. I did not feel any sentiments
of pity for this extravagant madman, as I only saw in him a man
unfortunate by his own fault, whose fate would probably make him end his
days in a prison unless he had the courage to blow his brains out.
I went to Momolo's in the evening, and found the intended husband of my
fair Mariuccia there, but not the lady herself. I heard she had sent word
to the 'scopatore santissimo' that, as her father had come from
Palestrina to be present at her wedding, she could not come to supper. I
admired her subtlety. A young girl has no need of being instructed in
diplomacy, nature and her own heart are her teachers, and she never
blunders. At supper I studied the young man, and found him eminently
suitable for Mariuccia; he was handsome, modest, and intelligent, and
whatever he said was spoken frankly and to the point.
He told me before Momolo's daughter, Tecla, that he would have married
her if she had possessed means to enable him to open his shop, and that
he had reason to thank God for having met Maria, whose confessor had been
such a true spiritual father to her. I asked him where the wedding
festivities were to take place, and he told me they were to be at his
father's house, on the other side of the Tiber. As his father, who kept a
garden, was poor, he had furnished him with ten crowns to defray the
expenses.
I wanted to give him the ten crowns, but how was I to do it? It would
have betrayed me.
"Is your father's garden a pretty one?" I asked.
"Not exactly pretty, but very well kept. As he owns the land, he has
separated a plot which he wants to sell; it would bring in twenty crowns
a year, and I should be as happy as a cardinal if I could buy it."
"How much will it cost?"
"It's a heavy price; two hundred crowns."
"Why, that's cheap! Listen to me. I have met your future bride at this
house, and I have found her all worthy of happiness. She deserves an
honest young fellow like you for a husband. Now what would you do
supposing I were to make you a present of two hundred crowns to buy the
garden?"
"I should put it to my wife's dowry."
"Then here are the two hundred crowns. I shall give them to Momolo, as I
don't know you well enough, though I think you are perfectly to be
trusted. The garden is yours, as part of your wife's dowry."
Momolo took the money, and promised to buy the garden the following day,
and the young man shedding tears of joy and gratitude fell on his knees
and kissed my hand. All the girls wept, as I myself did, for there's a
contagion in such happy tears. Nevertheless, they did not all proceed
from the same source; some were virtuous and some vicious, and the young
man's were the only ones whose source was pure and unalloyed. I lifted
him from the ground, kissed him, and wished him a happy marriage. He made
bold to ask me to his wedding, but I refused, thanking him kindly. I told
him that if he wanted to please me, he must come and sup at Momolo's on
the eve of his wedding, and I begged the good scopatore to ask Mariuccia,
her father and mother as well. I was sure of seeing her for the last time
on the Sunday morning.
At seven o'clock on the Sunday morning we were in each other's arms, with
four hours before us. After the first burst of mutual ardour she told me
that all arrangements had been made in her house the evening before, in
the presence of her confessor and of Momolo; and that on the receipt for
the two hundred crowns being handed in the notary had put the garden into
the settlement, and that the good father had made her a present of twenty
piastres towards defraying the notary's fees and the wedding expenses.
"Everything is for the best, and I am sure I shall be happy. My intended
adores you, but you did wisely not to accept his invitation, for you
would have found everything so poor, and besides tongues might have been
set wagging to my disadvantage."
"You are quite right, dearest, but what do you intend to do if your
husband finds that the door has been opened by someone else, for possibly
he expects you to be a maid."
"I expect he will know no more about it than I did the first time you
knew me; besides, I do not feel that you have defiled me, and my clean
conscience will not allow me to think of the matter; and I am sure that
he will not think of it any more than I."
"Yes, but if he does?"
"It would not be delicate on his part, but what should prevent me from
replying that I don't know what he means?"
"You are right; that's the best way. But have you told your confessor of
our mutual enjoyment?"
"No, for as I did not give myself up to you with any criminal intention,
I do not think I have offended God."
"You are an angel, and I admire the clearness of your reasoning. But
listen to me; it's possible that you are already with child, or that you
may become so this morning; promise to name the child after me."
"I will do so."
The four hours sped rapidly away. After the sixth assault we were wearied
though not satiated. We parted with tears, and swore to love each other
as brother and sister ever after.
I went home, bathed, slept an hour, rose, dressed, and dined pleasantly
with the family. In the evening I took the Mengs family for a drive in my
landau, and we then went to the theatre, where the castrato who played
the prima donna was a great attraction. He was the favourite pathic of
Cardinal Borghese, and supped every evening with his eminence.
This castrato had a fine voice, but his chief attraction was his beauty.
I had seen him in man's clothes in the street, but though a fine-looking
fellow, he had not made any impression on me, for one could see at once
that he was only half a man, but on the stage in woman's dress the
illusion was complete; he was ravishing.
He was enclosed in a carefully-made corset and looked like a nymph; and
incredible though it may seem, his breast was as beautiful as any
woman's; it was the monster's chiefest charm. However well one knew the
fellow's neutral sex, as soon as one looked at his breast one felt all
aglow and quite madly amorous of him. To feel nothing one would have to
be as cold and impassive as a German. As he walked the boards, waiting
for the refrain of the air he was singing, there was something grandly
voluptuous about him; and as he glanced towards the boxes, his black
eyes, at once tender and modest, ravished the heart. He evidently wished
to fan the flame of those who loved him as a man, and probably would not
have cared for him if he had been a woman.
Rome the holy, which thus strives to make all men pederasts, denies the
fact, and will not believe in the effects of the glamour of her own
devising.
I made these reflections aloud, and an ecclesiastic, wishing to blind me
to the truth, spoke as follows:--
"You are quite right. Why should this castrato be allowed to shew his
breast, of which the fairest Roman lady might be proud, and yet wish
everyone to consider him as a man and not a woman? If the stage is
forbidden to the fair sex lest they excite desires, why do they seek out
men-monsters made in the form of women, who excite much more criminal
desires? They keep on preaching that pederasty is comparatively unknown
and entraps only a few, but many clever men endeavour to be entrapped,
and end by thinking it so pleasant that they prefer these monsters to the
most beautiful women."
"The Pope would be sure of heaven if he put a stop to this scandalous
practice."
"I don't agree with you. One could not have a pretty actress to supper
without causing a scandal, but such an invitation to a castrato makes
nobody talk. It is of course known perfectly well that after supper both
heads rest on one pillow, but what everybody knows is ignored by all. One
may sleep with a man out of mere friendship, it is not so with a woman."
"True, monsignor, appearances are saved, and a sin concealed is half
pardoned, as they say in Paris."
"At Rome we say it is pardoned altogether. 'Peccato nascosto non
offende'."
His jesuitical arguments interested me, for I knew that he was an avowed
partisan of the forbidden fruit.
In one of the boxes I saw the Marchioness Passarini (whom I had known at
Dresden) with Don Antonio Borghese, and I went to pay my addresses to
them. The prince, whom I had known at Paris ten years before, recognized
me, and asked me to dine with him on the following day. I went, but my
lord was not at home. A page told me that my place was laid at table, and
that I could dine just as if the prince was there, on which I turned my
back on him and went away. On Ash Wednesday he sent his man to ask me to
sup with him and the marchioness, who was his mistress, and I sent word
that I would not fail to come; but he waited for me in vain. Pride is the
daughter of folly, and always keeps its mother's nature.
After the opera I went to Momolo's, where I found Mariuccia, her father,
her mother, and her future husband. They were anxiously expecting me. It
is not difficult to make people happy when one selects for one's bounty
persons who really deserve happiness. I was amidst poor but honest
people, and I can truly say that I had a delightful supper. It may be
that some of my enjoyment proceeded from a feeling of vanity, for I knew
that I was the author of the happiness depicted on the faces of the bride
and bridegroom and of the father and mother of Mariuccia; but when vanity
causes good deeds it is a virtue. Nevertheless, I owe it to myself to
tell my readers that my pleasure was too pure to have in it any admixture
of vice.
After supper I made a small bank at faro, making everybody play with
counters, as nobody had a penny, and I was so fortunate as to make
everyone win a few ducats.
After the game we danced in spite of the prohibition of the Pope, whom no
Roman can believe to be infallible, for he forbids dancing and permits
games of chance. His successor Ganganelli followed the opposite course,
and was no better obeyed. To avoid suspicion I did not give the pair any
present, but I gave up my landau to them that they might enjoy the
carnival on the Corso, and I told Costa to get them a box at the
Capranica Theatre. Momolo asked me to supper on Shrove Tuesday.
I wished to leave Rome on the second day of Lent, and I called on the
Holy Father at a time when all Rome was on the Corso. His Holiness
welcomed me most graciously, and said he was surprised that I had not
gone to see the sights on the Corso like everybody else. I replied that
as a lover of pleasure I had chosen the greatest pleasure of all for a
Christian--namely, to kneel at the feet of the vicar of Christ on earth.
He bowed with a kind of majestic humility, which shewed me how the
compliment had pleased him. He kept me for more than an hour, talking
about Venice, Padua, and Paris, which latter city the worthy man would
not have been sorry to have visited. I again commended myself to his
apostolic intercession to enable me to return to my native country, and
he replied,--
"Have recourse to God, dear son; His grace will be more efficacious than
my prayers;" and then he blessed me and wished me a prosperous journey.
I saw that the Head of the Church had no great opinion of his own power.
On Shrove Tuesday I dressed myself richly in the costume of Polichinello,
and rode along the Corso showering sweetmeats on all the pretty women I
saw. Finally I emptied the basket on the daughters of the worthy
'scopatore', whom Costa was taking about in my landau with all the
dignity of a pasha.
At night-time I took off my costume and went to Momolo's, where I
expected to see dear Mariuccia for the last time. Supper passed off in
almost a similar manner to the supper of last Sunday; but there was an
interesting novelty for me--namely, the sight of my beloved mistress in
her character of bride. Her husband seemed to be much more reserved with
respect to me than at our first meeting. I was puzzled by his behaviour,
and sat down by Mariuccia and proceeded to question her. She told me all
the circumstances which had passed on the first night, and she spoke
highly of her husband's good qualities. He was kind, amorous,
good-tempered, and delicate. No doubt he must have noticed that the
casket had been opened, but he had said nothing about it. As he had
spoken about me, she had not been able to resist the pleasure of telling
him that I was her sole benefactor, at which, so far from being offended,
he seemed to trust in her more than ever.
"But has he not questioned you indirectly as to the connection between
us?"
"Not at all. I told him that you went to my confessor after having spoken
to me once only in the church, where I told you what a good chance I had
of being married to him."
"Do you think he believed you?"
"I am not sure; however, even if it were otherwise, it is enough that he
pretends to, for I am determined to win his esteem."
"You are right, and I think all the better of him for his suspicions, for
it is better to marry a man with some sense in his head than to marry a
fool."
I was so pleased with what she told me that when I took leave of the
company I embraced the hairdresser, and drawing a handsome gold watch
from my fob I begged him to accept it as a souvenir of me. He received it
with the utmost gratitude. From my pocket I took a ring, worth at least
six hundred francs, and put it on his wife's finger, wishing them a fair
posterity and all manner of happiness, and I then went home to bed,
telling Le Duc and Costa that we must begin to pack up next day.
I was just getting up when they brought me a note from Lord Lismore,
begging me to come and speak to him at noon at the Villa Borghese.
I had some suspicion of what he might want, and kept the appointment. I
felt in a mood to give him some good advice. Indeed, considering the
friendship between his mother and myself, it was my duty to do so.
He came up to me and gave me a letter he had received the evening before
from his mother. She told him that Paris de Monmartel had just informed
her that he was in possession of a bill for two hundred thousand francs
drawn by her son, and that he would honour it if she would furnish him
with the funds. She had replied that she would let him know in two or
three days if she could do so; but she warned her son that she had only
asked for this delay to give him time to escape, as the bill would
certainly be protested and returned, it being absolutely out of the
question for her to get the money.
"You had better make yourself scarce as soon as you can," said I,
returning him the letter.
"Buy this ring, and so furnish me with the means for my escape. You would
not know that it was not my property if I had not told you so in
confidence."
I made an appointment with him, and had the stone taken out and valued by
one of the best jewellers in Rome.
"I know this stone," said he, "it is worth two thousand Roman crowns."
At four o'clock I took the earl five hundred crowns in gold and fifteen
hundred crowns in paper, which he would have to take to a banker, who
would give him a bill of exchange in Amsterdam.
"I will be off at nightfall," said he, "and travel by myself to
Amsterdam, only taking such effects as are absolutely necessary, and my
beloved blue ribbon."
"A pleasant journey to you," said I, and left him. In ten days I had the
stone mounted at Bologna.
I got a letter of introduction from Cardinal Albani for Onorati, the
nuncio at Florence, and another letter from M. Mengs to Sir Mann, whom he
begged to receive me in his house. I was going to Florence for the sake
of the Corticelli and my dear Therese, and I reckoned on the auditor's
feigning to ignore my return, in spite of his unjust order, especially if
I were residing at the English minister's.
On the second day of Lent the disappearance of Lord Lismore was the talk
of the town. The English tailor was ruined, the Jew who owned the ring
was in despair, and all the silly fellow's servants were turned out of
the house in almost a state of nakedness, as the tailor had
unceremoniously taken possession of everything in the way of clothes that
he could lay his hands on.
Poor Poinsinet came to see me in a pitiable condition; he had only his
shirt and overcoat. He had been despoiled of everything, and threatened
with imprisonment. "I haven't a farthing," said the poor child of the
muses, "I have only the shirt on my back. I know nobody here, and I think
I shall go and throw myself into the Tiber."
He was destined, not to be drowned in the Tiber but in the Guadalquivir.
I calmed him by offering to take him to Florence with me, but I warned
him that I must leave him there, as someone was expecting me at Florence.
He immediately took up his abode with me, and wrote verses incessantly
till it was time to go.
My brother Jean made me a present of an onyx of great beauty. It was a
cameo, representing Venus bathing, and a genuine antique, as the name of
the artist, Sostrates, was cut on the stone. Two years later I sold it to
Dr. Masti, at London, for three hundred pounds, and it is possibly still
in the British Museum.
I went my way with Poinsinet who amused me, in spite of his sadness, with
his droll fancies. In two days I got down at Dr. Vannini's, who tried to
conceal his surprise at seeing me. I lost no time, but waited on
Sir---- Mann immediately, and found him sitting at table. He gave me a
very friendly reception, but he seemed alarmed when, in reply to his
question, I told him that my dispute with the auditor had not been
arranged. He told me plainly that he thought I had made a mistake in
returning to Florence, and that he would be compromised by my staying
with him. I pointed out that I was only passing through Florence.
"That's all very well," said he, "but you know you ought to call on the
auditor."
I promised to do so, and returned to my lodging. I had scarcely shut the
door, when an agent of police came and told me that the auditor had
something to say to me, and would be glad to see me at an early hour next
morning.
I was enraged at this order, and determined to start forthwith rather
than obey. Full of this idea I called on Therese and found she was at
Pisa. I then went to see the Corticelli, who threw her arms round my
neck, and made use of the Bolognese grimaces appropriate to the occasion.
To speak the truth, although the girl was pretty, her chief merit in my
eyes was that she made me laugh.
I gave some money to her mother to get us a good supper, and I took the
girl out on pretence of going for a walk. I went with her to my lodging,
and left her with Poinsinet, and going to another room I summoned Costa
and Vannini. I told Costa in Vannini's presence to go on with Le Duc and
my luggage the following day, and to call for me at the "Pilgrim" at
Bologna. I gave Vannini my instructions, and he left the room; and then I
ordered Costa to leave Florence with Signora Laura and her son, and to
tell them that I and the daughter were on in front. Le Duc received
similar orders, and calling Poinsinet I gave him ten Louis, and begged
him to look out for some other lodging that very evening. The worthy but
unfortunate young man wept grateful tears, and told me that he would set
out for Parma on foot next day, and that there M. Tillot would do some,
thing for him.
I went back to the next room, and told the Corticelli to come with me.
She did so under the impression that we were going back to her mother's,
but without taking the trouble to undeceive her I had a carriage and pair
got ready, and told the postillion to drive to Uccellatoio, the first
post on the Bologna road.
"Where in the world are we going?" said she.
"Bologna."
"How about mamma?"
"She will come on to-morrow."
"Does she know about it?"
"No, but she will to-morrow when Costa comes to tell her, and to fetch
her and your brother."
She liked the joke, and got into the carriage laughing, and we drove
away.
CHAPTER XI
My Arrival at Bologna--I Am Expelled from Modena--I Visit
Parma and Turin--The Pretty Jewess--The Dressmaker
The Corticelli had a good warm mantle, but the fool who carried her off
had no cloak, even of the most meagre kind, to keep off the piercing
cold, which was increased by a keen wind blowing right in our faces.
In spite of all I would not halt, for I was afraid I might be pursued and
obliged to return, which would have greatly vexed me.
When I saw that the postillion was slackening his speed, I increased the
amount of the present I was going to make him, and once more we rushed
along at a headlong pace. I felt perishing with the cold; while the
postillions seeing me so lightly clad, and so prodigal of my money to
speed them on their way, imagined that I was a prince carrying off the
heiress of some noble family. We heard them talking to this effect while
they changed horses, and the Corticelli was so much amused that she did
nothing but laugh for the rest of the way. In five hours we covered forty
miles; we started from Florence at eight o'clock, and at one in the
morning we stopped at a post in the Pope's territory, where I had nothing
to fear. The stage goes under the name of "The Ass Unburdened."
The odd name of the inn made my mistress laugh afresh. Everybody was
asleep, but the noise I made and the distribution of a few pauls procured
me the privilege of a fire. I was dying of hunger, and they coolly told
me there was nothing to eat. I laughed in the landlord's face, and told
him to bring me his butter, his eggs, his macaroni, a ham, and some
Parmesan cheese, for I knew that so much will be found in the inns all
over Italy. The repast was soon ready, and I shewed the idiot host that
he had materials for an excellent meal. We ate like four, and afterwards
they made up an impromptu bed and we went to sleep, telling them to call
me as soon as a carriage and four drew up.
Full of ham and macaroni, slightly warmed with the Chianti and
Montepulciano, and tired with our journey, we stood more in need of
slumber than of love, and so we gave ourselves up to sleep till morning.
Then we gave a few moments to pleasure, but it was so slight an affair as
not to be worth talking about.
At one o'clock we began to feel hungry again and got up, and the host
provided us with an excellent dinner, after receiving instructions from
me. I was astonished not to see the carriage draw up, but I waited
patiently all day. Night came on and still no coach, and I began to feel
anxious; but the Corticelli persisted in laughing at everything. Next
morning I sent off an express messenger with instructions for Costa. In
the event of any violence having taken place, I was resolved to return to
Florence, of which city I could at any time make myself free by the
expenditure of two hundred crowns.
The messenger started at noon, and returned at two o'clock with the news
that my servants would shortly be with me. My coach was on its way, and
behind it a smaller carriage with two horses, in which sat an old woman
and a young man.
"That's the mother," said Corticelli; "now we shall have some fun. Let's
get something for them to eat, and be ready to hear the history of this
marvellous adventure which she will remember to her dying day."
Costa told me that the auditor had revenged my contempt of his orders by
forbidding the post authorities to furnish any horses for my carriage.
Hence the delay. But here we heard the allocution of the Signora Laura.
"I got an excellent supper ready," she began, "according to your orders;
it cost me more than ten pauls, as I shall shew you, and I hope you will
make it up to me as I'm but a poor woman. All was ready and I joyfully
expected you, but in vain; I was in despair. At last when midnight came I
sent my son to your lodging to enquire after you, but you may imagine my
'grief when I heard that nobody knew what had become of you. I passed a
sleepless night, weeping all the time, and in the morning I went and
complained to the police that you had taken off my daughter, and asked
them to send after you and make you give her back to me. But only think,
they laughed at me! 'Why did you let her go out without you? laughing in
my face. 'Your daughter's in good hands,' says another, 'you know
perfectly well where she is.' In fact I was grossly slandered."
"Slandered?" said the Corticelli.
"Yes, slandered, for it was as much as to say that I had consented to
your being carried off, and if I had done that the fools might have known
I would not have come to them about it. I went away in a rage to Dr.
Vannini's, where I found your man, who told me that you had gone to
Bologna, and that I could follow you if I liked. I consented to this
plan, and I hope you wilt pay my travelling expenses. But I can't help
telling you that this is rather beyond a joke."
I consoled her by telling her I would pay all she had spent, and we set
off for Bologna the next day, and reached that town at an early hour. I
sent my servants to the inn with my carriage, and I went to lodge with
the Corticelli.
I spent a week with the girl, getting my meals from the inn, and enjoying
a diversity of pleasures which I shall remember all my days; my young
wanton had a large circle of female friends, all pretty and all kind. I
lived with them like a sultan, and still I delight to recall this happy
time, and I say with a sigh, 'Tempi passati'!
There are many towns in Italy where one can enjoy all the pleasures
obtainable at Bologna; but nowhere so cheaply, so easily, or with so much
freedom. The living is excellent, and there are arcades where one can
walk in the shade in learned and witty company. It is a great pity that
either from the air, the water, or the wine--for men of science have not
made up their minds on the subject persons who live at Bologna are
subject to a slight itch. The Bolognese, however, far from finding this
unpleasant, seem to think it an advantage; it gives them the pleasure of
scratching themselves. In springtime the ladies distinguish themselves by
the grace with which they use their fingers.
Towards mid-Lent I left the Corticelli, wishing her a pleasant journey,
for she was going to fulfil a year's engagement at Prague as second
dancer. I promised to fetch her and her mother to Paris, and my readers
will see how I kept my word.
I got to Modena the evening after I left Bologna, and I stopped there,
with one of those sudden whims to which I have always been subject. Next
morning I went out to see the pictures, and as I was returning to my
lodging for dinner a blackguardly-looking fellow came up and ordered me,
on the part of the Government, to continue my journey on the day
following at latest.
"Very good," said I, and the fellow went away.
"Who is that man?" I said to the landlord.
"A SPY."
"A spy; and the Government dares to send such a fellow to me?"
"The 'borgello' must have sent him."
"Then the 'borgello' is the Governor of Modena--the infamous wretch!"
"Hush! hush! all the best families speak to him in the street."
"Then the best people are very low here, I suppose?"
"Not more than anywhere else. He is the manager of the opera house, and
the greatest noblemen dine with him and thus secure his favour."
"It's incredible! But why should the high and mighty borgello send me
away from Modena?"
"I don't know, but do you take my advice and go and speak to him; you
will find him a fine fellow."
Instead of going to see this b. . . . I called on the Abbe Testa Grossa,
whom I had known at Venice in 1753. Although he was a man of low
extraction he had a keen wit. At this time he was old and resting on his
laurels; he had fought his way into favour by the sheer force of merit,
and his master, the Duke of Modena, had long chosen him as his
representative with other powers.
Abbe Testa Grossa recognized me and gave me the most gracious reception,
but when he heard of what had befallen me he seemed much annoyed.
"What can I do?" said I.
"You had better go, as the man may put a much more grievous insult on
you."
"I will do so, but could you oblige me by telling me the reason for such
a high-handed action?"
"Come again this evening; I shall probably be able to satisfy you."
I called on the abbe again in the evening, for I felt anxious to learn in
what way I had offended the lord borgello, to whom I thought I was quite
unknown. The abbe satisfied me.
"The borgello," said he, "saw your name on the bill which he receives
daily containing a list of the names of those who enter or leave the
city. He remembered that you were daring enough to escape from The Leads,
and as he does not at all approve of that sort of thing he resolved not
to let the Modenese be contaminated by so egregious an example of the
defiance of justice, however unjust it may be; and in short he has given
you the order to leave the town."
"I am much obliged, but I really wonder how it is that while you were
telling me this you did not blush to be a subject of the Duke of
Modena's. What an unworthy action! How contrary is such a system of
government to all the best interests of the state!"
"You are quite right, my dear sir, but I am afraid that as yet men's eyes
are not open to what best serves their interests."
"That is doubtless due to the fact that so many men are unworthy."
"I will not contradict you."
"Farewell, abbe."
"Farewell, M. Casanova."
Next morning, just as I was going to get into my carriage, a young man
between twenty-five and thirty, tall and strong and broad shouldered, his
eyes black and glittering, his eyebrows strongly arched, and his general
air being that of a cut-throat, accosted me and begged me to step aside
and hear what he had to say.
"If you like to stop at Parma for three days, and if you will promise to
give me fifty sequins when I bring you the news that the borgello is
dead, I promise to shoot him within the next twenty-four hours."
"Thanks. Such an animal as that should be allowed to die a natural death.
Here's a crown to drink my health."
At the present time I feel very thankful that I acted as I did, but I
confess that if I had felt sure that it was not a trap I should have
promised the money. The fear of committing myself spared me this crime.
The next day I got to Parma, and I put up at the posting-house under the
name of the Chevalier de Seingalt, which I still bear. When an honest man
adopts a name which belongs to no one, no one has a right to contest his
use of it; it becomes a man's duty to keep the name. I had now borne it
for two years, but I often subjoined to it my family name.
When I got to Parma I dismissed Costa, but in a week after I had the
misfortune to take him on again. His father, who was a poor violin
player, as I had once been, with a large family to provide for, excited
my pity.
I made enquiries about M. Antonio, but he had left the place; and M.
Dubois Chalelereux, Director of the Mint, had gone to Venice with the
permission of the Duke of Parma, to set up the beam, which was never
brought into use. Republics are famous for their superstitious attachment
to old customs; they are afraid that changes for the better may destroy
the stability of the state, and the government of aristocratic Venice
still preserves its original Greek character.
My Spaniard was delighted when I dismissed Costa and proportionately
sorry when I took him back.
"He's no profligate," said Le Duc; "he is sober, and has no liking for
bad company. But I think he's a robber, and a dangerous robber, too. I
know it, because he seems so scrupulously careful not to cheat you in
small things. Remember what I say, sir; he will do you. He is waiting to
gain your confidence, and then he will strike home. Now, I am quite a
different sort of fellow, a rogue in a small way; but you know me."
His insight was, keener than mine, for five or six months later the
Italian robbed me of fifty thousand crowns. Twenty-three years
afterwards, in 1784, I found him in Venice, valet to Count Hardegg, and I
felt inclined to have him hanged. I shewed him by proof positive that I
could do so if I liked; but he had resource to tears and supplications,
and to the intercession of a worthy man named Bertrand, who lived with
the ambassador of the King of Sardinia. I esteemed this individual, and
he appealed to me successfully to pardon Costa. I asked the wretch what
he had done with the gold and jewels he had stolen from me, and he told
me that he had lost the whole of it in furnishing funds for a bank at
Biribi, that he had been despoiled by his own associates, and had been
poor and miserable ever since.
In the same year in which he robbed me he married Momolo's daughter, and
after making her a mother he abandoned her.
To pursue our story.
At Turin I lodged in a private house with the Abbe Gama, who had been
expecting me. In spite of the good abbe's sermon on economy, I took the
whole of the first floor, and a fine suite it was.
We discussed diplomatic topics, and he assured me that I should be
accredited in May, and that he would give me instructions as to the part
I was to play. I was pleased with his commission, and I told the abbe
that I should be ready to go to Augsburg whenever the ambassadors of the
belligerent powers met there.
After making the necessary arrangements with my landlady with regard to
my meals I went to a coffeehouse to read the papers, and the first person
I saw was the Marquis Desarmoises, whom I had known in Savoy. The first
thing he said was that all games of chance were forbidden, and that the
ladies I had met would no doubt be delighted to see me. As for himself,
he said that he lived by playing backgammon, though he was not at all
lucky at it, as talent went for more than luck at that game. I can
understand how, if fortune is neutral, the best player will win, but I do
not see how the contrary can take place.
We went for a walk in the promenade leading to the citadel, where I saw
numerous extremely pretty women. In Turin the fair sex is most
delightful, but the police regulations are troublesome to a degree. Owing
to the town being a small one and thinly peopled, the police spies find
out everything. Thus one cannot enjoy any little freedoms without great
precautions and the aid of cunning procuresses, who have to be well paid,
as they would be cruelly punished if they were found out. No prostitutes
and no kept women are allowed, much to the delight of the married women,
and with results which the ignorant police might have anticipated. As
well be imagined, pederasty has a fine field in this town, where the
passions are kept under lock and key.
Amongst the beauties I looked at, one only attracted me. I asked
Desarmoises her name, as he knew all of them.
"That's the famous Leah," said he; "she is a Jewess, and impregnable. She
has resisted the attacks of the best strategists in Turin. Her father's a
famous horse-dealer; you can go and see her easily enough, but there's
nothing to be done there."
The greater the difficulty the more I felt spurred on to attempt it.
"Take me there," said I, to Desarmoises.
"As soon as you please."
I asked him to dine with me, and we were on our way when we met M. Zeroli
and two or three other persons whom I had met at Aix. I gave and received
plenty of compliments, but not wishing to pay them any visits I excused
myself on the pretext of business.
When we had finished dinner Desarmoises took me to the horse-dealer's. I
asked if he had a good saddle horse. He called a lad and gave his orders,
and whilst he was speaking the charming daughter appeared on the scene.
She was dazzlingly beautiful, and could not be more than twenty-two. Her
figure was as lissom as a nymph's, her hair a raven black, her complexion
a meeting of the lily and the rose, her eyes full of fire, her lashes
long, and her eye-brows so well arched that they seemed ready to make war
on any who would dare the conquest of her charms. All about her betokened
an educated mind and knowledge of the world.
I was so absorbed in the contemplation of her charms that I did not
notice the horse when it was brought to me. However, I proceeded to
scrutinise it, pretending to be an expert, and after feeling the knees
and legs, turning back the ears, and looking at the teeth, I tested its
behaviour at a walk, a trot, and a gallop, and then told the Jew that I
would come and try it myself in top-boots the next day. The horse was a
fine dappled bay, and was priced at forty Piedmontese pistoles--about a
hundred sequins.
"He is gentleness itself," said Leah, "and he ambles as fast as any other
horse trots."
"You have ridden it, then?"
"Often, sir, and if I were rich I would never sell him."
"I won't buy the horse till I have seen you ride it."
She blushed at this.
"You must oblige the gentleman," said her father. She consented to do so,
and I promised to come again at nine o'clock the next day.
I was exact to time, as may be imagined, and I found Leah in riding
costume. What proportions! What a Venus Callipyge! I was captivated.
Two horses were ready, and she leapt on hers with the ease and grace of a
practised rider, and I got up on my horse. We rode together for some
distance. The horse went well enough, but what of that; all my eyes were
for her.
As we were turning, I said,--
"Fair Leah, I will buy the horse, but as a present for you; and if you
will not take it I shall leave Turin today. The only condition I attach
to the gift is, that you will ride with me whenever I ask you."
I saw she seemed favourably inclined to my proposal, so I told her that I
should stay six weeks at Turin, that I had fallen in love with her on the
promenade, and that the purchase of the horse had been a mere pretext for
discovering to her my feelings. She replied modestly that she was vastly
flattered by the liking I had taken to her, and that I need not have made
her such a present to assure myself of her friendship.
"The condition you impose on me is an extremely pleasant one, and I am
sure that my father will like me to accept it."
To this she added,--
"All I ask is for you to make me the present before him, repeating that
you will only buy it on the condition that I will accept it."
I found the way smoother than I had expected, and I did what she asked
me. Her father, whose name was Moses, thought it a good bargain,
congratulated his daughter, took the forty pistoles and gave me a
receipt, and begged me to do them the honour of breakfasting with them
the next day. This was just what I wanted.
The following morning Moses received me with great respect. Leah, who was
in her ordinary clothes, told me that if I liked to ride she would put on
her riding habit.
"Another day," said I; "to-day I should like to converse with you in your
own house."
But the father, who was as greedy as most Jews are, said that if I liked
driving he could sell me a pretty phaeton with two excellent horses.
"You must shew them to the gentleman," said Leah, possibly in concert
with her father.
Moses said nothing, but went out to get the horses harnessed.
"I will look at them," I said to Leah, "but I won't buy, as I should not
know what to do with them."
"You can take your lady-love out for a drive."
"That would be you; but perhaps you would be afraid!"
"Not at all, if you drove in the country or the suburbs."
"Very good, Leah, then I will look at them."
The father came in, and we went downstairs. I liked the carriage and the
horses, and I told Leah so.
"Well," said Moses, "you can have them now for four hundred sequins, but
after Easter the price will be five hundred sequins at least."
Leah got into the carriage, and I sat beside her, and we went for an
hour's drive into the country. I told Moses I would give him an answer by
the next day, and he went about his business, while Leah and I went
upstairs again.
"It's quite worth four hundred sequins," said I, "and to-morrow I will
buy it with pleasure; but on the same condition as that on which I bought
the horse, and something more--namely, that you will grant me all the
favours that a tender lover can desire."
"You speak plainly, and I will answer you in the same way. I'm an honest
girl, sir, and not for sale."
"All women, dear Leah, whether they are honest or not, are for sale. When
a man has plenty of time he buys the woman his heart desires by
unremitting attentions; but when he's in a hurry he buys her with
presents, and even with money."
"Then he's a clumsy fellow; he would do better to let sentiment and
attention plead his cause and gain the victory."
"I wish I could give myself that happiness, fair Leah, but I'm in a great
hurry."
As I finished this sentence her father came in, and I left the house
telling him that if I could not come the next day I would come the day
after, and that we could talk about the phaeton then.
It was plain that Leah thought I was lavish of my money, and would make a
capital dupe. She would relish the phaeton, as she had relished the
horse, but I knew that I was not quite such a fool as that. It had not
cost me much trouble to resolve to chance the loss of a hundred sequins,
but beyond that I wanted some value for my money.
I temporarily suspended my visits to see how Leah and her father would
settle it amongst themselves. I reckoned on the Jew's greediness to work
well for me. He was very fond of money, and must have been angry that his
daughter had not made me buy the phaeton by some means or another, for so
long as the phaeton was bought the rest would be perfectly indifferent to
him. I felt almost certain that they would come and see me.
The following Saturday I saw the fair Jewess on the promenade. We were
near enough for me to accost her without seeming to be anxious to do so,
and her look seemed to say, "Come."
"We see no more of you now," said she, "but come and breakfast with me
to-morrow, or I will send you back the horse."
I promised to be with her in good time, and, as the reader will imagine,
I kept my word.
The breakfast party was almost confined to ourselves, for though her aunt
was present she was only there for decency's sake. After breakfast we
resolved to have a ride, and she changed her clothes before me, but also
before her aunt. She first put on her leather breeches, then let her
skirts fall, took off her corset, and donned a jacket. With seeming
indifference I succeeded in catching a glimpse of a magnificent breast;
but the sly puss knew how much my indifference was worth.
"Will you arrange my frill?" said she.
This was a warm occupation for me, and I am afraid my hand was
indiscreet. Nevertheless, I thought I detected a fixed design under all
this seeming complaisance, and I was on my guard.
Her father came up just as we were getting on horseback.
"If you will buy the phaeton and horses," said he, "I will abate twenty
sequins."
"All that depends on your daughter," said I.
We set off at a walk, and Leah told me that she had been imprudent enough
to confess to her father that she could make me buy the carriage, and
that if I did not wish to embroil her with him I would be kind enough to
purchase it.
"Strike the bargain," said she, "and you can give it me when you are sure
of my love."
"My dear Leah, I am your humble servant, but you know on what condition."
"I promise to drive out with you whenever you please, without getting out
of the carriage, but I know you would not care for that. No, your
affection was only a temporary caprice."
"To convince you of the contrary I will buy the phaeton and put it in a
coach-house. I will see that the horses are taken-care of, though I shall
not use them. But if you do not make me happy in the course of a week I
shall re-sell the whole."
"Come to us to-morrow."
"I will do so, but I trust have some pledge of your affection this
morning."
"This morning? It's impossible."
"Excuse me; I will go upstairs with you, and you can shew me more than
one kindness while you are undressing."
We came back, and I was astonished to hear her telling her father that
the phaeton was mine, and all he had to do was to put in the horses. The
Jew grinned, and we all went upstairs, and Leah coolly said,--
"Count out the money."
"I have not any money about me, but I will write you a cheque, if you
like."
"Here is paper."
I wrote a cheque on Zappata for three hundred sequins, payable at sight.
The Jew went off to get the money, and Leah remained alone with me.
"You have trusted me," she said, "and have thus shewn yourself worthy of
my love."
"Then undress, quick!"
"No, my aunt is about the house; and as I cannot shut the door without
exciting suspicion, she might come in; but I promise that you shall be
content with me tomorrow. Nevertheless, I am going to undress, but you
must go in this closet; you may come back when I have got my woman's
clothes on again."
I agreed to this arrangement, and she shut me in. I examined the door,
and discovered a small chink between the boards. I got on a stool, and
saw Leah sitting on a sofa opposite to me engaged in undressing herself.
She took off her shift and wiped her breasts and her feet with a towel,
and just as she had taken off her breeches, and was as naked as my hand,
one of her rings happened to slip off her finger, and rolled under the
sofa. She got up, looked to right and left, and then stooped to search
under the sofa, and to do this she had to kneel with her head down. When
she got back to couch, the towel came again into requisition, and she
wiped herself all over in such a manner that all her charms were revealed
to my eager eyes. I felt sure that she knew I was a witness of all these
operations, and she probably guessed what a fire the sight would kindle
in my inflammable breast.
At last her toilette was finished, and she let me out. I clasped her in
my arms, with the words, "I have seen everything." She pretended not to
believe me, so I chewed her the chink, and was going to obtain my just
dues, when the accursed Moses came in. He must have been blind or he
would have seen the state his daughter had put me in; however, he thanked
me, and gave me a receipt for the money, saying, "Everything in my poor
house is at your service."
I bade them adieu, and I went away in an ill temper. I got into my
phaeton, and drove home and told the coachman to find me a stable for the
horses and a coach-house for the carriage.
I did not expect to see Leah again, and I felt enraged with her. She had
pleased me only too much by her voluptuous attitudes, but she had set up
an irritation wholly hostile to Love. She had made Love a robber, and the
hungry boy had consented, but afterwards, when he craved more substantial
fare, she refused him, and ardour was succeeded by contempt. Leah did not
want to confess herself to be what she really was, and my love would not
declare itself knavish.
I made the acquaintance of an amiable chevalier, a soldier, a man of
letters, and a great lover of horses, who introduced me to several
pleasant families. However, I did not cultivate them, as they only
offered me the pleasures of sentiment, while I longed for lustier fare
for which I was willing to pay heavily. The Chevalier de Breze was not
the man for me; he was too respectable for a profligate like myself. He
bought the phaeton and horses, and I only lost thirty sequins by the
transaction.
A certain M. Baretti, who had known me at Aix, and had been the Marquis
de Pries croupier, took me to see the Mazzoli, formerly a dancer, and
then mistress to the Chevalier Raiberti, a hardheaded but honest man, who
was then secretary for foreign affairs. Although the Mazzoli was by no
means pretty, she was extremely complaisant, and had several girls at her
house for me to see; but I did not think any of them worthy of occupying
Leah's place. I fancied I no longer loved Leah, but I was wrong.
The Chevalier Cocona, who had the misfortune to be suffering from a
venereal disease, gave me up his mistress, a pretty little 'soubrette';
but in spite of the evidence of my own eyes, and in spite of the
assurances she gave me, I could not make up my mind to have her, and my
fear made me leave her untouched. Count Trana, a brother of the
chevalier's whom I had known at Aix, introduced me to Madame de Sc----, a
lady of high rank and very good-looking, but she tried to involve me in a
criminal transaction, and I ceased to call on her. Shortly after, Count
Trana's uncle died and he became rich and got married, but he lived an
unhappy life.
I was getting bored, and Desarmoises, who had all his meals with me, did
not know what to do. At last he advised me to make the acquaintance of a
certain Madame R----, a Frenchwoman, and well known in Turin as a
milliner and dressmaker. She had six or eight girls working for her in a
room adjoining her shop. Desarmoises thought that if I got in there I
might possibly be able to find one to my taste. As my purse was well
furnished I thought I should not have much difficulty, so I called on
Madame R----. I was agreeably surprised to find Leah there, bargaining
for a quantity of articles, all of which she pronounced to be too dear.
She told me kindly but reproachfully that she had thought I must be ill.
"I have been very busy," I said; and felt all my old ardour revive. She
asked me to come to a Jewish wedding, where there would be a good many
people and several pretty girls. I knew that ceremonies of this kind are
very amusing, and I promised to be present. She proceeded with her
bargaining, but the price was still too high and she left the shop.
Madame R---- was going to put back all the trifles in their places, but I
said,--
"I will take the lot myself."
She smiled, and I drew out my purse and paid the money.
"Where do you live, sir?" said she; "and when shall I send you your
purchases?"
"You may bring them to-morrow yourself, and do me the honour of
breakfasting with me."
"I can never leave the shop, sir." In spite of her thirty-five years,
Madame R---- was still what would be called a tasty morsel, and she had
taken my fancy.
"I want some dark lace," said I.
"Then kindly follow me, sir."
I was delighted when I entered the room to see a lot of young work-girls,
all charming, hard at work, and scarcely daring to look at me. Madame
R---- opened several cupboards, and showed me some magnificent lace. I was
distracted by the sight of so many delicious nymphs, and I told her that
I wanted the lace for two 'baoutes' in the Venetian style. She knew what
I meant. The lace cost me upwards of a hundred sequins. Madame R---- told
two of her girls to bring me the lace the next day, together with the
goods which Leah had thought too dear. They meekly replied,--
"Yes, mother."
They rose and kissed the mother's hand, which I thought a ridiculous
ceremony; however, it gave me an opportunity of examining them, and I
thought them delicious. We went back to the shop, and sitting down by the
counter I enlarged on the beauty of the girls, adding, though not with
strict truth, that I vastly preferred their mistress. She thanked me for
the compliment and told me plainly that she had a lover, and soon after
named him. He was the Comte de St. Giles, an infirm and elderly man, and
by no means a model lover. I thought Madame R---- was jesting, but next
day I ascertained that she was speaking the truth. Well, everyone to his
taste, and I suspect that she was more in love with the count's purse
than his person. I had met him at the "Exchange" coffeehouse.
The next day the two pretty milliners brought me my goods. I offered them
chocolate, but they firmly and persistently declined. The fancy took me
to send them to Leah with all the things she had chosen, and I bade them
return and tell me what sort of a reception they had had. They said they
would do so, and waited for me to write her a note.
I could not give them the slightest mark of affection. I dared not shut
the door, and the mistress and the ugly young woman of the house kept
going and coming all the time; but when they came back I waited for them
on the stairs, and giving them a sequin each told each of them that she
might command my heart if she would. Leah had accepted my handsome
present and sent to say that she was waiting for me.
As I was walking aimlessly about in the afternoon I happened to pass the
milliner's shop, and Madame R---- saw me and made me come in and sit down
beside her.
"I am really much obliged to you," said she, "for your kindness to my
girls. They came home enchanted. Tell me frankly whether you are really
in love with the pretty Jewess."
"I am really in love with her, but as she will not make me happy I have
signed my own dismissal."
"You were quite right. All Leah thinks of is duping those who are
captivated by her charms."
"Do not your charming apprentices follow your maxims?"
"No; but they are only complaisant when I give them leave."
"Then I commend myself to your intercession, for they would not even take
a cup of chocolate from me."
"They were perfectly right not to accept your chocolate: but I see you do
not know the ways of Turin. Do you find yourself comfortable in your
present lodging?"
"Quite so."
"Are you perfectly free to do what you like?"
"I think so."
"Can you give supper to anyone you like in your own rooms? I am certain
you can't."
"I have not had the opportunity of trying the experiment so far, but I
believe . . . ."
"Don't flatter yourself by believing anything; that house is full of the
spies of the police."
"Then you think that I could not give you and two or three of your girls
a little supper?"
"I should take very good care not to go to it, that's all I know. By next
morning it would be known to all the town, and especially to the police."
"Well, supposing I look out for another lodging?"
"It's the same everywhere. Turin is a perfect nest of spies; but I do
know a house where you could live at ease, and where my girls might
perhaps be able to bring you your purchases. But we should have to be
very careful."
"Where is the house I will be guided by you in everything."
"Don't trust a Piedmontese; that's the first commandment here."
She then gave me the address of a small furnished house, which was only
inhabited by an old door-keeper and his wife.
"They will let it you by the month," said she, "and if you pay a month in
advance you need not even tell them your name."
I found the house to be a very pretty one, standing in a lonely street at
about two hundred paces from the citadel. One gate, large enough to admit
a carriage, led into the country. I found everything to be as Madame
R---- had described it. I paid a month in advance without any bargaining,
and in a day I had settled in my new lodging. Madame R---- admired my
celerity.
I went to the Jewish wedding and enjoyed myself, for there is something
at once solemn and ridiculous about the ceremony; but I resisted all
Leah's endeavours to get me once more into her meshes.. I hired a close
carriage from her father, which with the horses I placed in the
coach-house and stables of my new house. Thus I was absolutely free to go
whenever I would by night or by day, for I was at once in the town and in
the country. I was obliged to tell the inquisitive Gama where I was
living, and I hid nothing from Desarmoises, whose needs made him
altogether dependent on me. Nevertheless I gave orders that my door was
shut to them as to everyone else, unless I had given special instructions
that they were to be admitted. I had no reason to doubt the fidelity of
my two servants.
In this blissful abode I enjoyed all Mdlle. R----'s girls, one after the
other. The one I wanted always brought a companion, whom I usually sent
back after giving her a slice of the cake. The last of them, whose name
was Victorine, as fair as day and as soft as a dove, had the misfortune
to be tied, though she knew nothing about it. Mdlle. R----, who was
equally ignorant on the subject, had represented her to me as a virgin,
and so I thought her for two long hours in which I strove with might and
main to break the charm, or rather open the shell. All my efforts were in
vain. I was exhausted at last, and I wanted to see in what the obstacle
consisted. I put her in the proper position, and armed with a candle I
began my scrutiny. I found a fleshy membrane pierced by so small a hole
that large pin's head could scarcely have gone through. Victorine
encouraged me to force a passage with my little finger, but in vain I
tried to pierce this wall, which nature had made impassable by all
ordinary means. I was tempted to see what I could do with a bistoury, and
the girl wanted me to try, but I was afraid of the haemorrhage which
might have been dangerous, and I wisely refrained.
Poor Victorine, condemned to die a maid, unless some clever surgeon
performed the same operation that was undergone by Mdlle. Cheruffini
shortly after M. Lepri married her, wept when I said,--
"My dear child, your little Hymen defies the most vigorous lover to enter
his temple."
But I consoled her by saying that a good surgeon could easily make a
perfect woman of her.
In the morning I told Madame R---- of the case.
She laughed and said,--
"It may prove a happy accident for Victorine; it may make her fortune."
A few years after the Count of Padua had her operated on, and made her
fortune. When I came back from Spain I found that she was with child, so
that I could not exact the due reward for all the trouble I had taken
with her.
Early in the morning on Maunday Thursday they told me that Moses and Leah
wanted to see me. I had not expected to see them, but I welcomed them
warmly. Throughout Holy Week the Jews dared not shew themselves in the
streets of Turin, and I advised them to stay with me till the Saturday.
Moses began to try and get me to purchase a ring from him, and I judged
from that that I should not have to press them very much.
"I can only buy this ring from Leah's hands," said I.
He grinned, thinking doubtless that I intended to make her a present of
it, but I was resolved to disappoint him. I gave them a magnificent
dinner and supper, and in the evening they were shewn a double-bedded
room not far from mine. I might have put them in different rooms, and
Leah in a room adjoining mine, which would have facilitated any nocturnal
excursions; but after all I had done for her I was resolved to owe
nothing to a surprise; she should come of herself.
The next day Moses (who noticed that I had not yet bought the ring) was
obliged to go out on business, and asked for the loan of my carriage for
the whole day, telling me that he would come for his daughter in the
evening. I had the horses harnessed, and when he was gone I bought the
ring for six hundred sequins, but on my own terms. I was in my own house,
and Leah could not deceive me. As soon as the father was safely out of
the way I possessed myself of the daughter. She proved a docile and
amorous subject the whole day. I had reduced her to a state of nature,
and though her body was as perfect as can well be imagined I used it and
abused it in every way imaginable. In the evening her father found her
looking rather tired, but he seemed as pleased as I was. Leah was not
quite so well satisfied, for till the moment of their departure she was
expecting me to give her the ring, but I contented myself with saying
that I should like to reserve myself the pleasure of taking it to her.
On Easter Monday a man brought me a note summoning me to appear at the
police office.
CHAPTER XII
My Victory Over the Deputy Chief of Police--My Departure--
Chamberi--Desarmoises's Daughter--M. Morin--M * * * M * * *--
At Aix--The Young Boarder--Lyons--Paris
This citation, which did not promise to lead to anything agreeable,
surprised and displeased me exceedingly. However, I could not avoid it,
so I drove to the office of the deputy-superintendent of police. I found
him sitting at a long table, surrounded by about a score of people in a
standing posture. He was a man of sixty, hideously ugly, his enormous
nose half destroyed by an ulcer hidden by a large black silk plaster, his
mouth of huge dimensions, his lips thick, with small green eyes and
eyebrows which had partly turned white. As soon as this disgusting fellow
saw me, he began,--
"You are the Chevalier de Seingalt?"
"That is my name, and I have come here to ask how I can oblige you?"
"I have summoned you here to order you to leave the place in three days
at latest."
"And as you have no right to give such an order, I have come here to tell
you that I shall go when I please, and not before."
"I will expel you by force."
"You may do that whenever you please. I cannot resist force, but I trust
you will give the matter a second thought; for in a well-ordered city
they do not expel a man who has committed no crimes, and has a balance of
a hundred thousand francs at the bank."
"Very good, but in three days you have plenty of time to pack up and
arrange matters with your banker. I advise you to obey, as the command
comes from the king."
"If I were to leave the town I should become accessory to your injustice!
I will not obey, but since you mention the king's name, I will go to his
majesty at once, and he will deny your words or revoke the unjust order
you have given me with such publicity."
"Pray, does not the king possess the power to make you go?"
"Yes, by force, but not by justice. He has also the power to kill me, but
he would have to provide the executioner, as he could not make me commit
suicide."
"You argue well, but nevertheless you will obey."
"I argue well, but I did not learn the art from you, and I will not
obey."
With these words I turned my back on him, and left without another word.
I was in a furious rage. I felt inclined to offer overt resistance to all
the myrmidons of the infamous superintendent. Nevertheless I soon calmed
myself, and summoning prudence to my aid I remembered the Chevalier
Raiberti, whom I had seen at his mistress's house, and I decided on
asking his advice. He was the chief permanent official in the department
of foreign affairs. I told the coachman to drive to his house, and I
recounted to him the whole tale, saying, finally, that I should like to
speak to the king, as I was resolved that I would not go unless I was
forced to do so. The worthy man advised me to go to the Chevalier Osorio,
the principal secretary for foreign affairs, who could always get an
audience of the king. I was pleased with his advice, and I went
immediately to the minister, who was a Sicilian and a man of parts. He
gave me a very good reception, and after I had informed him of the
circumstances of the case I begged him to communicate the matter to his
majesty, adding that as the superintendent's order appeared horribly
unjust to me I was resolved not to obey it unless compelled to do so by
main force. He promised to oblige me in the way I wished, and told me to
call again the next day.
After leaving him I took a short walk to cool myself, and then went to
the Abbe Gama, hoping to be the first to impart my ridiculous adventure
to him. I was disappointed; he already knew that I had been ordered to
go, and how I had answered the superintendent. When he saw that I
persisted in my determination to resist, he did not condemn my firmness,
though he must have thought it very extraordinary, for the good abbe
could not understand anybody's disobeying the order of the authorities.
He assured me that if I had to go he would send me the necessary
instructions to any address I liked to name.
The next day the Chevalier Osorio received me with the utmost politeness,
which I thought a good omen. The Chevalier Raiberti had spoken to him in
my behalf, and he had laid the matter before the king and also before the
Count d'Aglie, and the result was that I could stay as long as I liked.
The Count d'Aglie was none other than the horrible superintendent. I was
told that I must wait on him, and he would give me leave to remain at
Turin till my affairs were settled.
"My only business here," said I, "is to spend my money till I have
instructions from the Court of Portugal to attend the Congress of
Augsburg on behalf of his most faithful majesty."
"Then you think that this Congress will take place?"
"Nobody doubts it."
"Somebody believes it will all end in smoke. However, I am delighted to
have been of service to you, and I shall be curious to hear what sort of
reception you get from the superintendent."
I felt ill at ease. I went to the police office immediately, glad to shew
myself victorious, and anxious to see how the superintendent would look
when I came in. However, I could not flatter myself that he looked
ashamed of himself; these people have a brazen forehead, and do not know
what it is to blush.
As soon as he saw me, he began,--
"The Chevalier Osorio tells me that you have business in Turin which will
keep you for some days. You may therefore stay, but you must tell me as
nearly as possible how long a time you require."
"I cannot possibly tell you that."
"Why? if you don't mind telling me."
"I am awaiting instructions from the Court of Portugal to attend the
Congress to be held at Augsburg, and before I could tell you how long I
shall have to stay I should be compelled to ask his most faithful
majesty. If this time is not sufficient for me to do my business, I will
intimate the fact to you."
"I shall be much obliged by your doing so."
This time I made him a bow, which was returned, and on leaving the office
I returned to the Chevalier Osorio, who said, with a smile, that I had
caught the superintendent, as I had taken an indefinite period, which
left me quite at my ease.
The diplomatic Gama, who firmly believed that the Congress would meet,
was delighted when I told him that the Chevalier Osorio was incredulous
on the subject. He was charmed to think his wit keener than the
minister's; it exalted him in his own eyes. I told him that whatever the
chevalier might say I would go to Augsburg, and that I would set out in
three or four weeks.
Madame R. congratulated me over and over again, for she was enchanted
that I had humiliated the superintendent; but all the same we thought we
had better give up our little suppers. As I had had a taste of all her
girls, this was not such a great sacrifice for me to make.
I continued thus till the middle of May, when I left Turin, after
receiving letters from the Abbe Gama to Lord Stormont, who was to
represent England at the approaching Congress. It was with this nobleman
that I was to work in concert at the Congress.
Before going to Germany I wanted to see Madame d'Urfe, and I wrote to
her, asking her to send me a letter of introduction to M. de Rochebaron,
who might be useful to me. I also asked M. Raiberti to give me a letter
for Chamberi, where I wanted to visit the divine M---- M---- (of whom I
still thought with affection) at her convent grating. I wrote to my
friend Valenglard, asking him to remind Madame Morin that she had
promised to shew me a likeness to somebody at Chamberi.
But here I must note down an event worthy of being recorded, which was
extremely prejudicial to me.
Five or six days before my departure Desarmoises came to me looking very
downcast, and told me that he had been ordered to leave Turin in
twenty-four hours.
"Do you know why?" I asked him.
"Last night when I was at the coffee-house, Count Scarnafis dared to say
that France subsidised the Berne newspapers. I told him he lied, at which
he rose and left the place in a rage, giving me a glance the meaning of
which is not doubtful. I followed him to bring him to reason or to give
him satisfaction; but he would do nothing and I suspect he went to the
police to complain. I shall have to leave Turin early to-morrow morning."
"You're a Frenchman, and as you can claim the protection of your
ambassador you will be wrong to leave so suddenly."
"In the first place the ambassador is away, and in the second my cruel
father disavows me. No, I would rather go, and wait for you at Lyons. All
I want is for you to lend me a hundred crowns, for which I will give you
an account."
"It will be an easy account to keep," said I, "but a long time before it
is settled."
"Possibly; but if it is in my power I will shew my gratitude for the
kindnesses you have done me."
I gave him a hundred crowns and wished him a pleasant journey, telling
him that I should stop some time at Lyons.
I got a letter of credit on an Augsburg house, and three days after I
left Turin I was at Chamberi. There was only one inn there in those days,
so I was not much puzzled to choose where I would go, but for all that I
found myself very comfortable.
As I entered my room, I was struck by seeing an extremely pretty girl
coming out of an adjacent room.
"Who is that young lady?" said I to the chambermaid who was escorting me.
"That's the wife of a young gentleman who has to keep his bed to get
cured of a sword-thrust which he received four days ago on his way from
France."
I could not look at her without feeling the sting of concupiscence. As I
was leaving my room I saw the door half open, and I stopped short and
offered my services as a neighbour. She thanked me politely, and asked me
in. I saw a handsome young man sitting up in bed, so I went up to enquire
how he felt.
"The doctor will not let him talk," said the young lady, "on account of a
sword-thrust in the chest he received at half a league from here. We hope
he will be all right in a few days, and then we can continue our
journey."
"Where are you going, madam?"
"To Geneva."
Just as I was leaving, a maid came to ask me if I would take supper in my
own room or with the lady. I laughed at her stupidity, and said I would
sup in my own apartment, adding that I had not the honour of the lady's
acquaintance.
At this the young lady said it would give her great pleasure if I would
sup with her, and the husband repeated this assurance in a whisper. I
accepted the invitation gratefully, and I thought that they were really
pleased. The lady escorted me out as far as the stairs, and I took the
liberty of kissing her hand, which in France is a declaration of tender
though respectful affection.
At the post-office I found a letter from Valenglard, telling me that
Madame Morin would wait on me at Chamberi if I would send her a carriage,
and another from Desarmoises dated from Lyons. He told me that as he was
on his way from Chamberi he had encountered his daughter in company with
a rascal who had carried her off. He had buried his sword in his body,
and would have killed them if he had been able to stop their carriage. He
suspected that they had been staying in Chamberi, and he begged me to try
and persuade his daughter to return to Lyons; and he added that if she
would not do so I ought to oblige him by sending her back by force. He
assured me that they were not married, and he begged me to answer his
letter by express, for which purpose he sent me his address.
I guessed at once that this daughter of his was my fair neighbour, but I
did not feel at all inclined to come to the aid of the father in the way
he wished.
As soon as I got back to the inn I sent off Le Duc in a travelling
carriage to Madame Morin, whom I informed by letter that as I was only at
Chamberi for her sake I would await her convenience. This done, I
abandoned myself to the delight I felt at the romantic adventure which
fortune had put in my way.
I repeated Mdlle. Desarmoises and her ravisher, and I did not care to
enquire whether I was impelled in what I did by virtue or vice; but I
could not help perceiving that my motives were of a mixed nature; for if
I were amorous, I was also very glad to be of assistance to two young
lovers, and all the more from my knowledge of the father's criminal
passion.
On entering their room I found the invalid in the surgeon's hands. He
pronounced the wound not to be dangerous, in spite of its depth;
suppuration had taken place without setting up inflammation--in short,
the young man only wanted time and rest. When the doctor had gone I
congratulated the patient on his condition, advising him to be careful
what he ate, and to keep silent. I then gave Mdlle. Desarmoises her
father's letter, and I said farewell for the present, telling them that I
would go to my own room till supper-time. I felt sure that she would come
and speak to me after reading her father's letter.
In a quarter of an hour she knocked timidly at my door, and when I let
her in she gave me back the letter and asked me what I thought of doing.
"Nothing. I shall be only too happy, however, if I can be of any service
to you."
"Ah! I breathe again!"
"Could you imagine me pursuing any other line of conduct? I am much
interested in you, and will do all in my power to help you. Are you
married?"
"Not yet, but we are going to be married when we get to Geneva."
"Sit down and tell me all about yourself. I know that your father is
unhappily in love with you, and that you avoid his attentions."
"He has told you that much? I am glad of it. A year ago he came to Lyons,
and as soon as I knew he was in the town I took refuge with a friend of
my mother's, for I was aware that I could not stay in the same house with
my father for an hour without exposing myself to the most horrible
outrage. The young man in bed is the son of a rich Geneva merchant. My
father introduced him to me two years ago, and we soon fell in love with
each other. My father went away to Marseilles, and my lover asked my
mother to give me in marriage to him; but she did not feel authorized to
do so without my father's consent. She wrote and asked him, but he
replied that he would announce his decision when he returned to Lyons. My
lover went to Geneva, and as his father approved of the match he returned
with all the necessary documents and a strong letter of commendation from
M. Tolosan. When my father came to Lyons I escaped, as I told you, and my
lover got M. Tolosan to ask my hand for him of my father. His reply was,
'I can give no answer till she returns to my house!'
"M. Tolosan brought this reply to me, and I told him that I was ready to
obey if my mother would guarantee my safety. She replied, however, that
she knew her husband too well to dare to have us both under the same
roof. Again did M. Tolosan endeavour to obtain my father's consent, but
to no purpose. A few days after he left Lyons, telling us that he was
first going to Aix and then to Turin, and as it was evident that he would
never give his consent my lover proposed that I should go off with him,
promising to marry me as soon as we reached Geneva. By ill luck we
travelled through Savoy, and thus met my father. As soon as he saw us he
stopped the carriage and called to me to get out. I began to shriek, and
my lover taking me in his arms to protect me my father stabbed him in the
chest. No doubt he would have killed him, but seeing that my shrieks were
bringing people to our rescue, and probably believing that my lover was
as good as dead, he got on horseback again and rode off at full speed. I
can chew you the sword still covered with blood."
"I am obliged to answer this letter of his, and I am thinking how I can
obtain his consent."
"That's of no consequence; we can marry and be happy without it."
"True, but you ought not to despise your dower."
"Good heavens! what dower? He has no money!"
"But on the death of his father, the Marquis Desarmoises . . . . "
"That's all a lie. My father has only a small yearly pension for having
served thirty years as a Government messenger. His father has been dead
these thirty years, and my mother and my sister only live by the work
they do."
I was thunderstruck at the impudence of the fellow, who, after imposing
on me so long, had himself put me in a position to discover his deceit. I
said nothing. Just then we were told that supper was ready, and we sat at
table for three hours talking the matter over. The poor wounded man had
only to listen to me to know my feelings on the subject. His young
mistress, as witty as she was pretty, jested on the foolish passion of
her father, who had loved her madly ever since she was eleven.
"And you were always able to resist his attempts?" said I.
"Yes, whenever he pushed things too far."
"And how long did this state of things continue?"
"For two years. When I was thirteen he thought I was ripe, and tried to
gather the fruit; but I began to shriek, and escaped from his bed stark
naked, and I went to take refuge with my mother, who from that day forth
would not let me sleep with him again."
"You used to sleep with him? How could your mother allow it?"
"She never thought that there was anything criminal in his affection for
me, and I knew nothing about it. I thought that what he did to me, and
what he made me do to him, were mere trifles."
"But you have saved the little treasure?"
"I have kept it for my lover."
The poor lover, who was suffering more from the effects of hunger than
from his wounds, laughed at this speech of hers, and she ran to him and
covered his face with kisses. All this excited me intensely. Her story
had been told with too much simplicity not to move me, especially when I
had her before my eyes, for she possessed all the attractions which a
woman can have, and I almost forgave her father for forgetting she was
his daughter and falling in love with her.
When she escorted me back to my room I made her feel my emotion, and she
began to laugh; but as my servants were close by I was obliged to let her
go.
Early next morning I wrote to her father that his daughter had resolved
not to leave her lover, who was only slightly wounded, that they were in
perfect safety and under the protection of the law at Chamberi, and
finally that having heard their story, and judging them to be well
matched, I could only approve of the course they had taken. When I had
finished I went into their room and gave them the letter to read, and
seeing the fair runaway at a loss how to express her 'gratitude, I begged
the invalid to let me kiss her.
"Begin with me," said he, opening his arms.
My hypocritical love masked itself under the guise of paternal affection.
I embraced the lover, and then more amorously I performed the same office
for the mistress, and skewed them my purse full of gold, telling them it
was at their service. While this was going on the surgeon came in, and I
retired to my room.
At eleven o'clock Madame Morin and her daughter arrived, preceded by Le
Duc on horseback, who announced their approach by numerous smacks of his
whip. I welcomed her with open arms, thanking her for obliging me.
The first piece of news she gave me was that Mdlle. Roman had become
mistress to Louis XV., that she lived in a beautiful house at Passi, and
that she was five months gone with child. Thus she was in a fair way to
become queen of France, as my divine oracle had predicted.
"At Grenoble," she added, "you are the sole topic of conversation; and I
advise you not to go there unless you wish to settle in the country, for
they would never let you go. You would have all the nobility at your
feet, and above all, the ladies anxious to know the lot of their
daughters. Everybody believes in judicial astrology now, and Valenglard
triumphs. He has bet a hundred Louis to fifty that my niece will be
delivered of a young prince, and he is certain of winning; though to be
sure, if he loses, everybody will laugh at him."
"Don't be afraid of his losing."
"Is it quite certain?"
"Has not the horoscope proved truthful in the principal particular? If
the other circumstances do not follow, I must have made a great mistake
in my calculations."
"I am delighted to hear you say so."
"I am going to Paris and I hope you will give me a letter of introduction
to Madame Varnier, so that I may have the pleasure of seeing your niece."
"You shall have the letter to-morrow without fail."
I introduced Mdlle. Desarmoises to her under the family name of her
lover, and invited her to dine with Madame Morin and myself. After dinner
we went to the convent, and M---- M---- came down very surprised at this
unexpected visit from her aunt; but when she saw me she had need of all
her presence of mind. When her aunt introduced me to her by name, she
observed with true feminine tact that during her stay at Aix she had seen
me five or six times at the fountain, but that I could not remember her
features as she had always worn her veil. I admired her wit as much as
her exquisite features. I thought she had grown prettier than ever, and
no doubt my looks told her as much. We spent an hour in talking about
Grenoble and her old friends, whom she gladly recalled to her memory, and
then she went to fetch a young girl who was boarding at the convent, whom
she liked and wanted to present to her aunt.
I seized the opportunity of telling Madame Morin that I was astonished at
the likeness, that her very voice was like that of my Venetian
M---- M----, and I begged her to obtain me the privilege of breakfasting
with her niece the next day, and of presenting her with a dozen pounds of
capital chocolate. I had brought it with me from Genoa.
"You must make her the present yourself," said Madame Morin, "for though
she's a nun she's a woman, and we women much prefer a present from a
man's than from a woman's hand."
M---- M---- returned with the superior of the convent, two other nuns, and
the young boarder, who came from Lyons, and was exquisitely beautiful. I
was obliged to talk to all the nuns, and Madame Morin told her niece that
I wanted her to try some excellent chocolate I had brought from Genoa,
but that I hoped her lay-sister would make it.
"Sir," said M---- M----, "kindly send me the chocolate, and to-morrow we
will breakfast together with these dear sisters."
As soon as I got back to my inn I sent the chocolate with a respectful
note, and I took supper in Madame Morin's room with her daughter and
Mdlle. Desarmoises, of whom I was feeling more and more amorous, but I
talked of M---- M---- all the time, and I could see that the aunt suspected
that the pretty nun was not altogether a stranger to me.
I breakfasted at the convent and I remember that the chocolate, the
biscuits, and the sweetmeats were served with a nicety which savoured
somewhat of the world. When we had finished breakfast I told
M---- M---- that she would not find it so easy to give me a dinner, with
twelve persons sitting down to table, but I added that half the company
could be in the convent and half in the parlour, separated from the
convent by a light grating.
"It's a sight I should like to see," said I, "if you will allow me to pay
all expenses."
"Certainly," replied M---- M----, and this dinner was fixed for the next
day.
M---- M---- took charge of the whole thing, and promised to ask six nuns.
Madame Morin, who knew my tastes, told her to spare nothing, and I warned
her that I would send in the necessary wines.
I escorted Madame Morin, her daughter, and Mdlle. Desarmoises back to the
hotel, and I then called on M. Magnan, to whom I had been recommended by
the Chevalier Raiberti. I asked him to get me some of the best wine, and
he took me down to his cellar, and told me to take what I liked. His
wines proved to be admirable.
This M. Magnan was a clever man, of a pleasant appearance, and very
comfortably off. He occupied an extremely large and convenient house
outside the town, and there his agreeable wife dispensed hospitality. She
had ten children, amongst whom there were four pretty daughters; the
eldest, who was nineteen, was especially good-looking.
We went to the convent at eleven o'clock, and after an hour's
conversation we were told that dinner was ready. The table was
beautifully laid, covered with a fair white cloth, and adorned with vases
filled with artificial flowers so strongly scented that the air of the
parlour was quite balmy. The fatal grill was heavier than I had hoped. I
found myself seated to the left of M---- M----, and totally unable to see
her. The fair Desarmoises was at my right, and she entertained us all the
time with her amusing stories.
We in the parlour were waited on by Le Duc and Costa, and the nuns were
served by their lay-sisters. The abundant provision, the excellent wines,
the pleasant though sometimes equivocal conversation, kept us all merrily
employed for three hours. Mirth had the mastery over reason, or, to speak
more plainly, we were all drunk; and if it had not been for the fatal
grill, I could have had the whole eleven ladies without much trouble. The
young Desarmoises was so gay, indeed, that if I had not restrained her
she would probably have scandalised all the nuns, who would have liked
nothing better. I was longing to have her to myself, that I might quench
the flame she had kindled in my breast, and I had no doubt of my success
on the first attempt. After coffee had been served, we went into another
parlour and stayed there till night came on. Madame Morin took leave of
her niece, and the hand-shakings, thanks, and promises of remembrance
between me and the nuns, lasted for a good quarter of an hour. After I
had said aloud to M---- M---- that I hoped to have the pleasure of seeing
her before I left, we went back to the inn in high good humour with our
curious party which I still remember with pleasure.
Madame Morin gave me a letter for her cousin Madame Varnier, and I
promised to write to her from Paris, and tell her all about the fair
Mdlle. Roman. I presented the daughter with a beautiful pair of
ear-rings, and I gave Madame Morin twelve pounds of good chocolate which
M. Magnan got me, and which the lady thought had come from Genoa. She
went off at eight o'clock preceded by Le Duc, who had orders to greet the
doorkeeper's family on my behalf.
At Magnan's I had a dinner worthy of Lucullus, and I promised to stay
with him whenever I passed Chamberi, which promise I have faithfully
performed.
On leaving the gourmand's I went to the convent, and M---- M---- came down
alone to the grating. She thanked me for coming to see her, and added
that I had come to disturb her peace of mind.
"I am quite ready, dearest, to climb the harden wall, and I shall do it
more dexterously than your wretched humpback."
"Alas! that may not be, for, trust me, you are already spied upon.
Everybody here is sure that we knew each other at Aix. Let us forget all,
and thus spare ourselves the torments of vain desires."
"Give me your hand."
"No. All is over. I love you still, probably I shall always love you; but
I long for you to go, and by doing so, you will give me a proof of your
love."
"This is dreadful; you astonish me. You appear to me in perfect health,
you are prettier than ever, you are made for the worship of the sweetest
of the gods, and I can't understand how, with a temperament like yours,
you can live in continual abstinence."
"Alas! lacking the reality we console ourselves by pretending. I will not
conceal from you that I love my young boarder. It is an innocent passion,
and keeps my mind calm. Her caresses quench the flame which would
otherwise kill me."
"And that is not against your conscience?"
"I do not feel any distress on the subject."
"But you know it is a sin."
"Yes, so I confess it."
"And what does the confessor say?"
"Nothing. He absolves me, and I am quite content:"
"And does the pretty boarder confess, too?"
"Certainly, but she does not tell the father of a matter which she thinks
is no sin."
"I wonder the confessor has not taught her, for that kind of instruction
is a great pleasure."
"Our confessor is a wise old man."
"Am I to leave you, then, without a single kiss?"
"Not one."
"May I come again to-morrow? I must go the day after."
"You may come, but I cannot see you by myself as the nuns might talk. I
will bring my little one with me to save appearances. Come after dinner,
but into the other parlour."
If I had not known M---- M---- at Aix, her religious ideas would have
astonished me; but such was her character. She loved God, and did not
believe that the kind Father who made us with passions would be too
severe because we had not the strength to subdue them. I returned to the
inn, feeling vexed that the pretty nun would have no more to do with me,
but sure of consolation from the fair Desarmoises.
I found her sitting on her lover's bed; his poor diet and the fever had
left him in a state of great weakness. She told me that she would sup in
my room to leave him in quiet, and the worthy young man shook my hand in
token of his gratitude.
As I had a good dinner at Magnan's I ate very little supper, but my
companion who had only had a light meal ate and drank to an amazing
extent. I gazed at her in a kind of wonder, and she enjoyed my
astonishment. When my servants had left the room I challenged her to
drink a bowl of punch with me, and this put her into a mood which asked
for nothing but laughter, and which laughed to find itself deprived of
reasoning power. Nevertheless, I cannot accuse myself of taking an
advantage of her condition, for in her voluptuous excitement she entered
eagerly into the pleasure to which I excited her till two o'clock in the
morning. By the time we separated we were both of us exhausted.
I slept till eleven, and when I went to wish her good day I found her
smiling and as fresh as a rose. I asked her how she had passed the rest
of the night.
"Very pleasantly," said she, "like the beginning of the night."
"What time would you like to have dinner?"
"I won't dine; I prefer to keep my appetite for supper."
Here her lover joined in, saying in a weak voice,--
"It is impossible to keep up with her."
"In eating or drinking?" I asked.
"In eating, drinking, and in other things," he replied, with a smile. She
laughed, and kissed him affectionately.
This short dialogue convinced me that Mdlle. Desarmoises must adore her
lover; for besides his being a handsome young man, his disposition was
exactly suitable to hers. I dined by myself, and Le Duc came in as I was
having dessert. He told me that the door-keeper's daughters and their
pretty cousin had made him wait for them to write to me, and he gave me
three letters and three dozen of gloves which they had presented me. The
letters urged me to come and spend a month with them, and gave me to
understand that I should be well pleased with my treatment. I had not the
courage to return to a town, where with my reputation I should have been
obliged to draw horoscopes for all the young ladies or to make enemies by
refusing.
After I had read the letters from Grenoble I went to the convent and
announced my presence, and then entered the parlour which M---- M---- had
indicated. She soon came down with the pretty boarder, who feebly
sustained my part in her amorous ecstacies. She had not yet completed her
twelfth year, but she was extremely tall and well developed for her age.
Gentleness, liveliness, candour, and wit were united in her features, and
gave her expression an exquisite charm. She wore a well-made corset which
disclosed a white throat, to which the fancy easily added the two spheres
which would soon appear there. Her entrancing face, her raven locks, and
her ivory throat indicated what might be concealed, and my vagrant
imagination made her into a budding Venus. I began by telling her that
she was very pretty, and would make her future husband a happy man. I
knew she would blush at that. It may be cruel, but it is thus that the
language of seduction always begins. A girl of her age who does not blush
at the mention of marriage is either an idiot or already an expert in
profligacy. In spite of this, however, the blush which mounts to a young
girl's cheek at the approach of such ideas is a puzzling problem. Whence
does it arise? It may be from pure simplicity, it may be from shame, and
often from a mixture of both feelings. Then comes the fight between vice
and virtue, and it is usually virtue which has to give in. The
desires--the servants of vice--usually attain their ends. As I knew the
young boarder from M---- M----'s description, I could not be ignorant of
the source of those blushes which added a fresh attraction to her
youthful charms.
Pretending not to notice anything, I talked to M---- M---- for a few
moments, and then returned to the assault. She had regained her calm.
"What age are you, pretty one?" said I.
"I am thirteen."
"You are wrong," said M---- M----, "you have not yet completed your
twelfth year."
"The time will come," said I, "when you will diminish the tale of your
years instead of increasing it."
"I shall never tell a lie, sir; I am sure of that."
"So you want to be a nun, do you?"
"I have not yet received my vocation; but even if I live in the world I
need not be a liar."
"You are wrong; you will begin to lie as soon as you have a lover."
"Will my lover tell lies, too?"
"Certainly he will."
"If the matter were really so, then, I should have a bad opinion of love;
but I do not believe it, for I love my sweetheart here, and I never
conceal the truth from her."
"Yes, but loving a man is a different thing to loving a woman."
"No, it isn't; it's just the same."
"Not so, for you do not go to bed with a woman and you do with your
husband."
"That's no matter, my love would be the same."
"What? You would not rather sleep with me than with M---- M----?"
"No, indeed I should not, because you are a man and would see me."
"You don't want a man to see you, then?"
"No."
"Do you think you are so ugly, then?"
At this she turned to M---- M---- and said, with evident vexation, "I am
not really ugly, am I?"
"No, darling," said M---- M----, bursting with laughter, "it is quite the
other way; you are very pretty." With these words she took her on her
knee and embraced her tenderly.
"Your corset is too tight; you can't possibly have such a small waist as
that."
"You make a mistake, you can put your hand there and see for yourself."
"I can't believe it."
M---- M---- then held her close to the grill and told me to see for myself.
At the same moment she turned up her dress.
"You were right," said I, "and I owe you an apology;" but in my heart I
cursed the grating and the chemise.
"My opinion is," said I to M---- M----, "that we have here a little boy."
I did not wait for a reply, but satisfied myself by my sense of touch as
to her sex, and I could see that the little one and her governess were
both pleased that my mind was at rest on the subject.
I drew my hand away, and the little girl looked at M---- M----, and
reassured by her smiling air asked if she might go away for a moment. I
must have reduced her to a state in which a moment's solitude was
necessary, and I myself was in a very excited condition.
As soon as she was gone I said to M---- M----,
"Do you know that what you have shewn me has made me unhappy?"
"Has it? Why?"
"Because your boarder is charming, and I am longing to enjoy her."
"I am sorry for that, for you can't possibly go any further; and besides,
I know you, and even if you could satisfy your passion without danger to
her, I would not give her up to you, you would spoil her."
"How?"
"Do you think that after enjoying you she would care to enjoy me? I
should lose too heavily by the comparison."
"Give me your hand."
"No."
"Stay, one moment."
"I don't want to see anything."
"Not a little bit?"
"Nothing at all."
"Are you angry with me, then?"
"Not at all. If you have been pleased I am glad, and if you have filled
her with desires she will love me all the better."
"How pleasant it would be, sweetheart, if we could all three of us be
together alone and at liberty!"
"Yes; but it is impossible."
"Are you sure that no inquisitive eye is looking upon us?"
"Quite sure."
"The height of that fatal grill has deprived me of the sight of many
charms."
"Why didn't you go to the other parlour it is much lower there."
"Let us go there, then."
"Not to-day; I should not be able to give any reason for the change."
"I will come again to-morrow, and start for Lyons in the evening."
The little boarder came back, and I stood up facing her. I had a number
of beautiful seals and trinkets hanging from my watch-chain, and I had
not had the time to put myself in a state of perfect decency again.
She noticed it, and by way of pretext she asked if she might look at
them.
"As long as you like; you may look at them and touch them as well."
M---- M---- foresaw what would happen and left the room, saying that she
would soon be back. I had intended to deprive the young boarder of all
interest in my seals by shewing her a curiosity of another kind. She did
not conceal her pleasure in satisfying her inquisitiveness on an object
which was quite new to her, and which she was able to examine minutely
for the first time in her life. But soon an effusion changed her
curiosity into surprise, and I did not interrupt her in her delighted
gaze.
I saw M---- M---- coming back slowly, and I lowered my shirt again, and sat
down. My watch and chains were still on the ledge of the grating, and
M---- M---- asked her young friend if the trinkets had pleased her.
"Yes," she replied, but in a dreamy and melancholy voice. She had learnt
so much in the course of less than two hours that she had plenty to think
over. I spent the rest of the day in telling M---- M---- the adventures I
had encountered since I had left her; but as I had not time to finish my
tale I promised to return the next day at the same time.
The little girl, who had been listening to me all the time, though I
appeared to be only addressing her friend, said that she longed to know
the end of my adventure with the Duke of Matelone's mistress.
I supped with the fair Desarmoises, and after giving her sundry proofs of
my affection till midnight, and telling her that I only stopped on for
her sake, I went to bed.
The next day after dinner I returned to the convent, and having sent up
my name to M---- M---- I entered the room where the grating was more
convenient.
Before long M---- M---- arrived alone, but she anticipated my thoughts by
telling me that her pretty friend would soon join her.
"You have fired her imagination. She has told me all about it, playing a
thousand wanton tricks, and calling me her dear husband. You have seduced
the girl, and I am very glad you are going or else you would drive her
mad. You will see how she has dressed herself."
"Are you sure of her discretion?"
"Perfectly, but I hope you won't do anything in my presence. When I see
the time coming I will leave the room."
"You are an angel, dearest, but you might be something better than that
if you would--"
"I want nothing for myself; it is out of the question."
"You could--"
"No, I will have nothing to do with a pastime which would rekindle fires
that are hardly yet quenched. I have spoken; I suffer, but let us say no
more about it."
At this moment the young adept came in smiling, with her eyes full of
fire. She was dressed in a short pelisse, open in front, and an
embroidered muslin skirt which did not go beyond her knees. She looked
like a sylph.
We had scarcely sat down when she reminded me of the place where my tale
had stopped. I continued my recital, and when I was telling them how
Donna Lucrezia shewed me Leonilda naked, M---- M---- went out, and the sly
little puss asked me how I assured myself that my daughter was a maid.
I took bold of her through the fatal grating, against which she placed
her pretty body, and shewed her how assured myself of the fact, and the
girl liked it so much that she pressed my hand to the spot. She then gave
me her hand that I might share her pleasure, and whilst this enjoyable
occupation was in progress M---- M---- appeared. My sweetheart said
hastily,--
"Never mind, I told her all about it. She is a good creature and will not
be vexed." Accordingly M---- M---- pretended not to see anything, and the
precocious little girl wiped her hand in a kind of voluptuous ecstacy,
which shewed how well she was pleased.
I proceeded with my history, but when I came to the episode of the poor
girl who was 'tied', describing all the trouble I had vainly taken with
her, the little boarder got so curious that she placed herself in the
most seducing attitude so that I might be able to shew her what I did.
Seeing this M---- M---- made her escape.
"Kneel down on the ledge, and leave the rest to me," said the little
wanton.
The reader will guess what she meant, and I have no doubt that she would
have succeeded in her purpose if the fire which consumed me had not
distilled itself away just at the happy moment.
The charming novice felt herself sprinkled, but after ascertaining that
nothing more could be done she withdrew in some vexation. My fingers,
however, consoled her for the disappointment, and I had the pleasure of
seeing her look happy once more.
I left these charming creatures in the evening, promising to visit them
again in a year, but as I walked home I could not help reflecting how
often these asylums, supposed to be devoted to chastity and prayer,
contain in themselves the hidden germs of corruption. How many a timorous
and trustful mother is persuaded that the child of her affection will
escape the dangers of the world by taking refuge in the cloister. But
behind these bolts and bars desires grow to a frenzied extreme; they
crave in vain to be satisfied.
When I returned to the inn I took leave of the wounded man, whom I was
happy to see out of danger. In vain I urged him to make use of my purse;
he told me, with an affectionate embrace, that he had sufficient money,
and if not, he had only to write to his father. I promised to stop at
Lyons, and to oblige Desarmoises to desist from any steps he might be
taking against them, telling them I had a power over him which would
compel him to obey. I kept my word. After we had kissed and said
good-bye, I took his future bride into my room that we might sup together
and enjoy ourselves till midnight; but she could not have been very
pleased with my farewell salute, for I was only able to prove my love for
her once, as M---- M----'s young friend had nearly exhausted me.
I started at day-break, and the next day I reached the "Hotel du Parc,"
at Lyons. I sent for Desarmoises, and told him plainly that his
daughter's charms had seduced me, that I thought her lover worthy of her,
and that I expected him out of friendship for me to consent to the
marriage. I went further, and told him that if he did not consent to
everything that very instant I could no longer be his friend, and at this
he gave in. He executed the requisite document in the presence of two
witnesses, and I sent it to Chamberi by an express messenger.
This false marquis made me dine with him in his poor house. There was
nothing about his younger daughter to remind me of the elder, and his
wife inspired me with pity. Before I left I managed to wrap up six Louis
in a piece of paper, and gave it to her without the knowledge of her
husband. A grateful look shewed me how welcome the present was.
I was obliged to go to Paris, so I gave Desarmoises sufficient money for
him to go to Strasburg, and await me there in company with my Spaniard.
I thought myself wise in only taking Costa, but the inspiration came from
my evil genius.
I took the Bourbonnais way, and on the third day I arrived at Paris, and
lodged at the Hotel du St. Esprit, in the street of the same name.
Before going to bed I sent Costa with a note to Madame d'Urfe, promising
to come and dine with her the next day. Costa was a good-looking young
fellow, and as he spoke French badly and was rather a fool I felt sure
that Madame d'Urfe would take him for some extraordinary being. She wrote
to say that she was impatiently expecting me.
"How did the lady receive you, Costa?"
"She looked into a mirror, sir, and said some words I could make nothing
of; then she went round the room three times burning incense; then she
came up to me with a majestic air and looked me in the face; and at last
she smiled very pleasantly, and told me to wait for a reply in the
ante-chamber."
ADVENTURES IN THE SOUTH, VOLUME 19 -- BACK AGAIN TO PARIS
CHAPTER XIII
My Stay at Paris and My Departure for Strasburg, Where I
Find the Renaud--My Misfortunes at Munich and My Sad Visit
to Augsburg
At ten o'clock in the morning, cheered by the pleasant feeling of being
once more in that Paris which is so imperfect, but which is the only true
town in the world, I called on my dear Madame d'Urfe, who received me
with open arms. She told me that the young Count d'Aranda was quite well,
and if I liked she would ask him to dinner the next day. I told her I
should be delighted to see him, and then I informed her that the
operation by which she was to become a man could not be performed till
Querilinto, one of the three chiefs of the Fraternity of the Rosy Cross,
was liberated from the dungeons of the Inquisition, at Lisbon.
"This is the reason," I added, "that I am going to Augsburg in the course
of next month, where I shall confer with the Earl of Stormont as to the
liberation of the adept, under the pretext of a mission from the
Portuguese Government. For these purposes I shall require a good letter
of credit, and some watches and snuff-boxes to make presents with, as we
shall have to win over certain of the profane."
"I will gladly see to all that, but you need not hurry yourself as the
Congress will not meet till September."
"Believe me, it will never meet at all, but the ambassadors of the
belligerent powers will be there all the same. If, contrary to my
expectation, the Congress is held, I shall be obliged to go to Lisbon. In
any case, I promise to see you again in the ensuing winter. The fortnight
that I have to spend here will enable me to defeat a plot of St.
Germain's."
"St. Germain--he would never dare to return to Paris."
"I am certain that he is here in disguise. The state messenger who
ordered him to leave London has convinced him the English minister was
not duped by the demand for his person to be given up, made by the Comte
d'Afri in the name of the king to the States-General."
All this was mere guess-work, and it will be seen that I guessed rightly.
Madame d'Urfe then congratulated me on the charming girl whom I had sent
from Grenoble to Paris. Valenglard had told her the whole story.
"The king adores her," said she, "and before long she will make him a
father. I have been to see her at Passi with the Duchesse de l'Oraguais."
"She will give birth to a son who will make France happy, and in thirty
years time you will see wondrous things, of which, unfortunately, I can
tell you nothing until your transformation. Did you mention my name to
her?"
"No, I did not; but I am sure you will be able to see her, if only at
Madame Varnier's."
She was not mistaken; but shortly afterwards an event happened which made
the madness of this excellent woman much worse.
Towards four o'clock, as we were talking over my travels and our designs,
she took a fancy to walk in the Bois du Boulogne. She begged me to
accompany her, and I acceded to her request. We walked into the deepest
recesses of the wood and sat down under a tree. "It is eighteen years
ago," said she, "since I fell asleep on the same spot that we now occupy.
During my sleep the divine Horosmadis came down from the sun and stayed
with me till I awoke. As I opened my eyes I saw him leave me and ascend
to heaven. He left me with child, and I bore a girl which he took away
from me years ago, no doubt to punish me for, having so far forgotten
myself as to love a mortal after him. My lovely Iriasis was like him."
"You are quite sure that M. d'Urfe was not the child's father?"
"M. d'Urfe did not know me after he saw me lying beside the divine
Anael."
"That's the genius of Venus. Did he squint?"
"To excess. You are aware, then, that he squints?"
"Yes, and I know that at the amorous crisis he ceases to squint."
"I did not notice that. He too, left me on account of my sinning with an
Arab."
"The Arab was sent to you by an enemy of Anael's, the genius of Mercury."
"It must have been so; it was a great misfortune."
"On the contrary, it rendered you more fit for transformation."
We were walking towards the carriage when all at once we saw St. Germain,
but as soon as he noticed us he turned back and we lost sight of him.
"Did you see him?" said I. "He is working against us, but our genie makes
him tremble."
"I am quite thunderstruck. I will go and impart this piece of news to the
Duc de Choiseul to-morrow morning. I am curious to hear what he will say
when I tell him."
As we were going back to Paris I left Madame d'Urfe, and walked to the
Porte St. Denis to see my brother. He and his wife received me with cries
of joy. I thought the wife very pretty but very wretched, for Providence
had not allowed my brother to prove his manhood, and she was unhappily in
love with him. I say unhappily, because her love kept her faithful to
him, and if she had not been in love she might easily have found a cure
for her misfortune as her husband allowed her perfect liberty. She
grieved bitterly, for she did not know that my brother was impotent, and
fancied that the reason of his abstention was that he did not return her
love; and the mistake was an excusable one, for he was like a Hercules,
and indeed he was one, except where it was most to be desired. Her grief
threw her into a consumption of which she died five or six years later.
She did not mean her death to be a punishment to her husband, but we
shall see that it was so.
The next day I called on Madame Varnier to give her Madame Morin's
letter. I was cordially welcomed, and Madame Varnier was kind enough to
say that she had rather see me than anybody else in the world; her niece
had told her such strange things about me that she had got quite curious.
This, as is well known, is a prevailing complaint with women.
"You shall see my niece," she said, "and she will tell you all about
herself."
She wrote her a note, and put Madame Morin's letter under the same
envelope.
"If you want to know what my niece's answer is," said Madame Varnier,
"you must dine with me."
I accepted the invitation, and she immediately told her servant that she
was not at home to anyone.
The small messenger who had taken the note to Passi returned at four
o'clock with the following epistle:
"The moment in which I see the Chevalier de Seingalt once more will be
one of the happiest of my life. Ask him to be at your house at ten
o'clock the day after tomorrow, and if he can't come then please let me
know."
After reading the note and promising to keep the appointment, I left
Madame Varnier and called on Madame de Rumain, who told me I must spend a
whole day with her as she had several questions to put to my oracle.
Next day Madame d'Urfe told me the reply she had from the Duc de
Choiseul, when she told him that she had seen the Comte de St. Germain in
the Bois du Boulogne.
"I should not be surprised," said the minister, "considering that he
spent the night in my closet."
The duke was a man of wit and a man of the world. He only kept secrets
when they were really important ones; very different from those
make-believe diplomatists, who think they give themselves importance by
making a mystery of trifles of no consequence. It is true that the Duc de
Choiseul very seldom thought anything of great importance; and, in point
of fact, if there were less intrigue and more truth about diplomacy (as
there ought to be), concealment would be rather ridiculous than
necessary.
The duke had pretended to disgrace St. Germain in France that he might
use him as a spy in London; but Lord Halifax was by no means taken in by
this stratagem. However, all governments have the politeness to afford
one another these services, so that none of them can reproach the others.
The small Conte d'Aranda after caressing me affectionately begged me to
come and breakfast with him at his boarding-house, telling me that Mdlle.
Viar would be glad to see me.
The next day I took care not to fail in my appointment with the fair
lady. I was at Madame Varnier's a quarter of an hour before the arrival
of the dazzling brunette, and I waited for her with a beating at the
heart which shewed me that the small favours she had given me had not
quenched the flame of love. When she made her appearance the stoutness of
her figure carried respect with it, so that I did not feel as if I could
come forward and greet her tenderly; but she was far from thinking that
more respect was due to her than when she was at Grenoble, poor but also
pure. She kissed me affectionately and told me as much.
"They think I am happy," said she, "and envy my lot; but can one be happy
after the loss of one's self-respect? For the last six months I have only
smiled, not laughed; while at Grenoble I laughed heartily from true
gladness. I have diamonds, lace, a beautiful house, a superb carriage, a
lovely garden, waiting-maids, and a maid of honour who perhaps despises
me; and although the highest Court ladies treat me like a princess, I do
not pass a single day without experiencing some mortification."
"Mortification?"
"Yes; people come and bring pleas before me, and I am obliged to send
them away as I dare not ask the king anything."
"Why not?"
"Because I cannot look on him as my lover only; he is always my
sovereign, too. Ah! happiness is to be sought for in simple homes, not in
pompous palaces."
"Happiness is gained by complying with the duties of whatever condition
of life one is in, and you must constrain yourself to rise to that
exalted station in which destiny has placed you."
"I cannot do it; I love the king and I am always afraid of vexing him. I
am always thinking that he does too much for me, and thus I dare not ask
for anything for others."
"But I am sure the king would be only too glad to shew his love for you
by benefiting the persons in whom you take an interest."
"I know he would, and that thought makes me happy, but I cannot overcome
my feeling of repugnance to asking favours. I have a hundred louis a
month for pin-money, and I distribute it in alms and presents, but with
due economy, so that I am not penniless at the end of the month. I have a
foolish notion that the chief reason the king loves me is that I do not
importune him."
"And do you love him?"
"How can I help it? He is good-hearted, kindly, handsome, and polite to
excess; in short, he possesses all the qualities to captivate a woman's
heart.
"He is always asking me if I am pleased with my furniture, my clothes, my
servants, and my garden, and if I desire anything altered. I thank him
with a kiss, and tell him that I am pleased with everything."
"Does he ever speak of the scion you are going to present to him?"
"He often says that I ought to be careful of myself in my situation. I am
hoping that he will recognize my son as a prince of the blood; he ought
in justice to do so, as the queen is dead."
"To be sure he will."
"I should be very happy if I had a son. I wish I felt sure that I would
have one. But I say nothing about this to anyone. If I dared speak to the
king about the horoscope, I am certain he would want to know you; but I
am afraid of evil tongues."
"So am I. Continue in your discreet course and nothing will come to
disturb your happiness, which may become greater, and which I am pleased
to have procured for you."
We did not part without tears. She was the first to go, after kissing me
and calling me her best friend. I stayed a short time with Madame Varnier
to compose my feelings, and I told her that I should have married her
instead of drawing her horoscope.
"She would no doubt have been happier. You did not foresee, perhaps, her
timidity and her lack of ambition."
"I can assure you that I did not reckon upon her courage or ambition. I
laid aside my own happiness to think only of hers. But what is done
cannot be recalled, and I shall be consoled if I see her perfectly happy
at last. I hope, indeed, she will be so, above all if she is delivered of
a son."
I dined with Madame d'Urfe, and we decided to send back Aranda to his
boarding-school that we might be more free to pursue our cabalistic
operations; and afterwards I went to the opera, where my brother had made
an appointment with me. He took me to sup at Madame Vanloo's, and she
received me in the friendliest manner possible.
"You will have the pleasure of meeting Madame Blondel and her husband,"
said she.
The reader will recollect that Madame Blondel was Manon Baletti, whom I
was to have married.
"Does she know I am coming?" I enquired.
"No, I promise myself the pleasure of seeing her surprise."
"I am much obliged to you for not wishing to enjoy my surprise as well.
We shall see each other again, but not to-day, so I must bid you
farewell; for as I am a man of honour I hope never to be under the same
roof as Madame Blondel again."
With this I left the room, leaving everybody in astonishment, and not
knowing where to go I took a coach and went to sup with my sister-in-law,
who was extremely glad to see me. But all through supper-time this
charming woman did nothing but complain of her husband, saying that he
had no business to marry her, knowing that he could not shew himself a
man.
"Why did you not make the trial before you married?"
"Was it for me to propose such a thing? How should I suppose that such a
fine man was impotent? But I will tell you how it all happened. As you
know, I was a dancer at the Comedie Italienne, and I was the mistress of
M. de Sauci, the ecclesiastical commissioner. He brought your brother to
my house, I liked him, and before long I saw that he loved me. My lover
advised me that it was an opportunity for getting married and making my
fortune. With this idea I conceived the plan of not granting him any
favours. He used to come and see me in the morning, and often found me in
bed; we talked together, and his passions seemed to be aroused, but it
all ended in kissing. On my part, I was waiting for a formal declaration
and a proposal of marriage. At that period, M. de Sauci settled an
annuity of a thousand crowns on me on the condition that I left the
stage.
"In the spring M. de Sauci invited your brother to spend a month in his
country house. I was of the party, but for propriety's sake it was agreed
that I should pass as your brother's wife. Casanova enjoyed the idea,
looking upon it as a jest, and not thinking of the consequences. I was
therefore introduced as his wife to my lover's family, as also to his
relations, who were judges, officers, and men about town, and to their
wives, who were all women of fashion. Your brother was in high glee that
to play our parts properly we were obliged to sleep together. For my
part, I was far from disliking the idea, or at all events I looked upon
it as a short cut to the marriage I desired.
"But how can I tell you? Though tender and affectionate in everything,
your brother slept with me for a month without our attaining what seemed
the natural result under the circumstances."
"You might have concluded, then, that he was impotent; for unless he were
made of stone, or had taken a vow of chastity, his conduct was
inexplicable."
"The fact is, that I had no means of knowing whether he was capable or
incapable of giving me substantial proof of his love."
"Why did you not ascertain his condition for yourself?"
"A feeling of foolish pride prevented me from putting him to the test. I
did not suspect the truth, but imagined reasons flattering to myself. I
thought that he loved me so truly that he would not do anything before I
was his wife. That idea prevented me humiliating myself by making him
give me some positive proof of his powers."
"That supposition would have been tenable, though highly improbable, if
you had been an innocent young maid, but he knew perfectly well that your
novitiate was long over."
"Very true; but what can you expect of a woman impelled by love and
vanity?"
"Your reasoning is excellent, but it comes rather late."
"Well, at last we went back to Paris, your brother to his house, and I
to mine, while he continued his courtship, and I could not understand
what he meant by such strange behaviour. M. de Sauci, who knew that
nothing serious had taken place between us, tried in vain to solve the
enigma. 'No doubt he is afraid of getting you with child,' he said, 'and
of thus being obliged to marry you.' I began to be of the same opinion,
but I thought it a strange line for a man in love to take.
"M. de Nesle, an officer in the French Guards, who had a pretty wife I
had met in the country, went to your brother's to call on me. Not finding
me there he asked why we did not live together. Your brother replied
openly that our marriage had been a mere jest. M. de Nesle then came to
me to enquire if this were the truth, and when he heard that it was he
asked me how I would like him to make Casanova marry me. I answered that
I should be delighted, and that was enough for him. He went again to your
brother, and told him that his wife would never have associated with me
on equal terms if I had not been introduced to her as a married woman;
that the deceit was an insult to all the company at the country-house,
which must be wiped out by his marrying me within the week or by fighting
a duel. M. de Nesle added that if he fell he would be avenged by all the
gentlemen who had been offended in the same way. Casanova replied,
laughing, that so far from fighting to escape marrying me, he was ready
to break a lance to get me. 'I love her,' he said, 'and if she loves me I
am quite ready to give her my hand. Be kind enough,' he added, 'to
prepare the way for me, and I will marry her whenever you like.'
"M. de Nesle embraced him, and promised to see to everything; he brought
me the joyful news, and in a week all was over. M. de Nesle gave us a
splendid supper on our wedding-day, and since then I have had the title
of his wife. It is an empty title, however, for, despite the ceremony and
the fatal yes, I am no wife, for your brother is completely impotent. I
am an unhappy wretch, and it is all his fault, for he ought to have known
his own condition. He has deceived me horribly."
"But he was obliged to act as he did; he is more to be pitied than to be
blamed. I also pity you, but I think you are in the wrong, for after his
sleeping with you for a month without giving any proof of his manhood you
might have guessed the truth. Even if you had been a perfect novice, M.
de Sauci ought to have known what was the matter; he must be aware that
it is beyond the power of man to sleep beside a pretty woman, and to
press her naked body to his breast without becoming, in spite of himself,
in a state which would admit of no concealment; that is, in case he were
not impotent."
"All that seems very reasonable, but nevertheless neither of us thought
of it; your brother looks such a Hercules."
"There are two remedies open to you; you can either have your marriage
annulled, or you can take a lover; and I am sure that my brother is too
reasonable a man to offer any opposition to the latter course."
"I am perfectly free, but I can neither avail myself of a divorce nor of
a lover; for the wretch treats me so kindly that I love him more and
more, which doubtless makes my misfortune harder to bear."
The poor woman was so unhappy that I should have been delighted to
console her, but it was out of the question. However, the mere telling of
her story had afforded her some solace, and after kissing her in such a
way as to convince her that I was not like my brother, I wished her good
night.
The next day I called on Madame Vanloo, who informed me that Madame
Blondel had charged her to thank me for having gone away, while her
husband wished me to know that he was sorry not to have seen me to
express his gratitude.
"He seems to have found his wife a maid, but that's no fault of mine; and
Manon Baletti is the only person he ought to be grateful to. They tell me
that he has a pretty baby, and that he lives at the Louvre, while she has
another house in the Rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs."
"Yes, but he has supper with her every evening."
"It's an odd way of living."
"I assure you it answers capitally. Blondel regards his wife as his
mistress. He says that that keeps the flame of love alight, and that as
he never had a mistress worthy of being a wife, he is delighted to have a
wife worthy of being a mistress."
The next day I devoted entirely to Madame de Rumain, and we were occupied
with knotty questions till the evening. I left her well pleased. The
marriage of her daughter, Mdlle. Cotenfau, with M. de Polignac, which
took place five or six years later, was the result of our cabalistic
calculations.
The fair stocking-seller of the Rue des Prouveres, whom I had loved so
well, was no longer in Paris. She had gone off with a M. de Langlade, and
her husband was inconsolable. Camille was ill. Coralline had become the
titulary mistress of the Comte de la Marche, son of the Prince of Conti,
and the issue of this union was a son, whom I knew twenty years later. He
called himself the Chevalier de Montreal, and wore the cross of the
Knights of Malta. Several other girls I had known were widowed and in the
country, or had become inaccessible in other ways.
Such was the Paris of my day. The actors on its stage changed as rapidly
as the fashions.
I devoted a whole day to my old friend Baletti, who had left the theatre
and married a pretty ballet-girl on the death of his father; he was
making experiments with a view to finding the philosopher's stone.
I was agreeably surprised at meeting the poet Poinsinet at the Comedic
Francaise. He embraced me again and again, and told me that M. du Tillot
had overwhelmed him with kindness at Parma.
"He would not get me anything to do," said Poinsinet, "because a French
poet is rather at a discount in Italy."
"Have you heard anything of Lord Lismore?"
"Yes, he wrote to his mother from Leghorn, telling her that he was going
to the Indies, and that if you had not been good enough to give him a
thousand Louis he would have been a prisoner at Rome."
"His fate interests me extremely, and I should be glad to call on his
lady-mother with you."
"I will tell her that you are in Paris, and I am sure that she will
invite you to supper, for she has the greatest desire to talk to you."
"How are you getting on here? Are you still content to serve Apollo?"
"He is not the god of wealth by any means. I have no money and no room,
and I shall be glad of a supper, if you will ask me. I will read you my
play, the 'Cercle', which has been accepted. I am sure it will be
successful?"
The 'Cercle' was a short prose play, in which the poet satirised the
jargon of Dr. Herrenschwand, brother of the doctor I had consulted at
Soleure. The play proved to be a great success.
I took Poinsinet home to supper, and the poor nursling of the muses ate
for four. In the morning he came to tell me that the Countess of Lismore
expected me to supper.
I found the lady, still pretty, in company with her aged lover, M. de St.
Albin, Archbishop of Cambrai, who spent all the revenues of his see on
her. This worthy prelate was one of the illegitimate children of the Duc
d'Orleans, the famous Regent, by an actress. He supped with us, but he
only opened his mouth to eat, and his mistress only spoke of her son,
whose talents she lauded to the skies, though he was in reality a mere
scamp; but I felt in duty bound to echo what she said. It would have been
cruel to contradict her. I promised to let her know if I saw anything
more of him.
Poinsinet, who was hearthless and homeless, as they say, spent the night
in my room, and in the morning I gave him two cups of chocolate and some
money wherewith to get a lodging. I never saw him again, and a few years
after he was drowned, not in the fountain of Hippocrene, but in the
Guadalquivir. He told me that he had spent a week with M. de Voltaire,
and that he had hastened his return to Paris to obtain the release of the
Abbe Morellet from the Bastile.
I had nothing more to do at Paris, and I was only waiting for some
clothes to be made and for a cross of the order, with which the Holy
Father had decorated me, to be set with diamonds and rubies.
I had waited for five or six days when an unfortunate incident obliged me
to take a hasty departure. I am loth to write what follows, for it was
all my own fault that I was nearly losing my life and my honour. I pity
those simpletons who blame fortune and not themselves for their
misfortunes.
I was walking in the Tuileries at ten o'clock in the morning, when I was
unlucky enough to meet the Dangenancour and another girl. This
Dangenancour was a dancer at the opera-house, whom I had desired to meet
previously to my last departure from Paris. I congratulated myself on the
lucky chance which threw her in my way, and accosted her, and had not
much trouble in inducing her to dine with me at Choisi.
We walked towards the Pont-Royal, where we took a coach. After dinner had
been ordered we were taking a turn in the garden, when I saw a carriage
stop and two adventurers whom I knew getting out of it, with two girls,
friends of the ones I had with me. The wretched landlady, who was
standing at the door, said that if we liked to sit down together she
could give us an excellent dinner, and I said nothing, or rather I
assented to the yes of my two nymphs. The dinner was excellent, and after
the bill was paid, and we were on the point of returning to Paris, I
noticed that a ring, which I had taken off to shew to one of the
adventurers named Santis, was still missing. It was an exceedingly pretty
miniature, and the diamond setting had cost me twenty-five Louis. I
politely begged Santis to return me the ring, and he replied with the
utmost coolness that he had done so already.
"If you had returned it," said I, "it would be on my finger, and you see
that it is not."
He persisted in his assertion; the girls said nothing, but Santis's
friend, a Portuguese, named Xavier, dared to tell me that he had seen the
ring returned.
"You're a liar," I exclaimed; and without more ado I took hold of Santis
by the collar, and swore I would rot let him go till he returned me my
ring. The Portuguese rose to come to his friend's rescue, while I stepped
back and drew my sword, repeating my determination not to let them go.
The landlady came on the scene and began to shriek, and Santis asked me
to give him a few words apart. I thought in all good faith that he was
ashamed to restore the ring before company, but that he would give it me
as soon as we were alone. I sheathed my sword, and told him to come with
me. Xavier got into the carriage with the four girls, and they all went
back to Paris.
Santis followed me to the back of the inn, and then assuming a pleasant
smile he told me that he had put the ring into his friend's pocket for a
joke, but that I should have it back at Paris.
"That's an idle tale," I exclaimed, "your friend said that he saw you
return it, and now he has escaped me. Do you think that I am green enough
to be taken in by this sort of thing? You're a couple of robbers."
So saying, I stretched out my hand for his watch-chain, but he stepped
back and drew his sword. I drew mine, and we had scarcely crossed swords
when he thrust, and I parrying rushed in and ran him through and through.
He fell to the ground calling, "Help!" I sheathed my sword, and, without
troubling myself about him, got into my coach and drove back to Paris.
I got down in the Place Maubert, and walked by a circuitous way to my
hotel. I was sure that no one could have come after me there, as my
landlord did not even know my name.
I spent the rest of the day in packing up my trunks, and after telling
Costa to place them on my carriage I went to Madame d'Urfe. After I had
told her of what had happened, I begged her, as soon as that which she
had for me was ready, to send it to me at Augsburg by Costa. I should
have told her to entrust it to one of her own servants, but my good
genius had left me that day. Besides I did not look upon Costa as a
thief.
When I got back to the hotel I gave the rascal his instructions, telling
him to be quick and to keep his own counsel, and then I gave him money
for the journey.
I left Paris in my carriage, drawn by four hired horses, which took me as
far as the second post, and I did not stop till I got to Strasburg, where
I found Desarmoises and my Spaniard.
There was nothing to keep me in Strasburg, so I wanted to cross the Rhine
immediately; but Desarmoises persuaded me to come with him to see an
extremely pretty woman who had only delayed her departure for Augsburg in
the hope that we might journey there together.
"You know the lady," said the false marquis, "but she made me give my
word of honour that I would not tell you. She has only her maid with her,
and I am sure you will be pleased to see her."
My curiosity made me give in. I followed Desarmoises, and came into a
room where I saw a nice-looking woman whom I did not recognize at first.
I collected my thoughts, and the lady turned out to be a dancer whom I
had admired on the Dresden boards eight years before. She was then
mistress to Count Bruhl, but I had not even attempted to win her favour.
She had an excellent carriage, and as she was ready to go to Augsburg I
immediately concluded that we could make the journey together very
pleasantly.
After the usual compliments had passed, we decided on leaving for
Augsburg the following morning. The lady was going to Munich, but as I
had no business there we agreed that she should go by herself.
"I am quite sure," she said, afterwards, "that you will come too, for the
ambassadors do not assemble at Augsburg till next September."
We supped together, and next morning we started on our way; she in her
carriage with her maid, and I in mine with Desarmoises, preceded by Le
Duc on horseback. At Rastadt, however, we made a change, the Renaud (as
she was called) thinking that she would give less opportunity for curious
surmises by riding with me while Desarmoises went with the servant. We
soon became intimate. She told me about herself, or pretended to, and I
told her all that I did not want to conceal. I informed her that I was an
agent of the Court of Lisbon, and she believed me, while, for my part, I
believed that she was only going to Munich and Augsburg to sell her
diamonds.
We began to talk about Desarmoises, and she said that it was well enough
for me to associate with him, but I should not countenance his styling
himself marquis.
"But," said I, "he is the son of the Marquis Desarmoises, of Nancy."
"No, he isn't; he is only a retired messenger, with a small pension from
the department of foreign affairs. I know the Marquis Desarmoises; he
lives at Nancy, and is not so old as our friend."
"Then one can't see how he can be Desarmoises's father."
"The landlord of the inn at Strasburg knew him when he was a messenger."
"How did you make his acquaintance?"
"We met at the table d'hote. After dinner he came up to my room, and told
me he was waiting for a gentleman who was going to Augsburg, and that we
might make the journey together. He told me the name, and after
questioning him I concluded that the gentleman was yourself, so here we
are, and I am very glad of it. But listen to me; I advise you to drop all
false styles and titles. Why do you call yourself Seingalt?"
"Because it's my name, but that doesn't prevent my old friends calling me
Casanova, for I am both. You understand?"
"Oh, yes! I understand. Your mother is at Prague, and as she doesn't get
her pension on account of the war, I am afraid she must be rather in
difficulties."
"I know it, but I do not forget my filial duties. I have sent her some
money."
"That's right. Where are you going to stay at Augsburg?"
"I shall take a house, and if you like you shall be the mistress and do
the honours."
"That would be delightful! We will give little suppers, and play cards
all night."
"Your programme is an excellent one."
"I will see that you get a good cook; all the Bavarian cooks are good. We
shall cut a fine figure, and people will say we love each other madly."
"You must know, dearest, that I do not understand jokes at the expense of
fidelity."
"You may trust me for that. You know how I lived at Dresden."
"I will trust you, but not blindly, I promise you. And now let us address
each other in the same way; you must call me tu. You must remember we are
lovers."
"Kiss me!"
The fair Renaud did not like traveling by night; she preferred to eat a
good supper, to drink heavily, and to go to bed just as her head began to
whirl. The heat of the wine made her into a Bacchante, hard to appease;
but when I could do no more I told her to leave me alone, and she had to
obey.
When we reached Augsburg we alighted at the "Three Moors," but the
landlord told us that though he could give us a good dinner he could not
put us up, as the whole of the hotel had been engaged by the French
ambassador. I called on M. Corti, the banker to whom I was accredited,
and he soon got me a furnished house with a garden, which I took for six
months. The Renaud liked it immensely.
No one had yet arrived at Augsburg. The Renaud contrived to make me feel
that I should be lonely at Augsburg without her, and succeeded in
persuading me to come with her to Munich. We put up at the "Stag," and
made ourselves very comfortable, while Desarmoises went to stay somewhere
else. As my business and that of my new mate had nothing in common, I
gave her a servant and a carriage to herself, and made myself the same
allowance.
The Abbe Gama had given me a letter from the Commendatore Almada for Lord
Stormont, the English ambassador at the Court of Bavaria. This nobleman
being then at Munich I hastened to deliver the letter. He received me
very well, and promised to do all he could as soon as he had time, as
Lord Halifax had told him all about it. On leaving his Britannic
Lordship's I called on M. de Folard, the French ambassador, and gave him
a letter from M. de Choiseul. M. de Folard gave me a hearty welcome, and
asked me to dine with him the next day, and the day after introduced me
to the Elector.
During the four fatal weeks I spent at Munich, the ambassador's house was
the only one I frequented. I call these weeks fatal, and with reason, for
in then I lost all my money, I pledged jewels (which I never recovered)
to the amount of forty thousand francs, and finally I lost my health. My
assassins were the Renaud and Desarmoises, who owed me so much and paid
me so badly.
The third day after my arrival I had to call on the Dowager Electress of
Saxony. It was my brother-in-law, who was in her train, that made me go,
by telling me that it must be done, as she knew me and had been enquiring
for me. I had no reason to repent of my politeness in going, as the
Electress gave me a good reception, and made me talk to any extent. She
was extremely curious, like most people who have no employment, and have
not sufficient intelligence to amuse themselves.
I have done a good many foolish things in the course of my existence. I
confess it as frankly as Rousseau, and my Memoirs are not so egotistic as
those of that unfortunate genius; but I never committed such an act of
folly as I did when I went to Munich, where I had nothing to do. But it
was a crisis in my life. My evil genius had made me commit one folly
after another since I left Turin. The evening at Lord Lismore's, my
connection with Desarmoises, my party at Choisi, my trust in Costa, my
union with the Renaud, and worse than all, my folly in letting myself
play at faro at a place where the knavery of the gamesters is renowned
all over Europe, followed one another in fatal succession. Among the
players was the famous, or rather infamous, Affisio, the friend of the
Duc de Deux-Ponts, whom the duke called his aide-decamp, and who was
known for the keenest rogue in the world.
I played every day, and as I often lost money on my word of honour, the
necessity of paying the next day often caused me the utmost anxiety. When
I had exhausted my credit with the bankers, I had recourse to the Jews
who require pledges, and in this Desarmoises and the Renaud were my
agents, the latter of whom ended by making herself mistress of all my
property. This was not the worst thing she did to me; for she, gave me a
disease, which devoured her interior parts and left no marks outwardly,
and was thus all the more dangerous, as the freshness of her complexion
seemed to indicate the most perfect health. In short, this serpent, who
must have come from hell to destroy me, had acquired such a mastery over
me that she persuaded me that she would be dishonoured if I called in a
doctor during our stay at Munich, as everybody knew that we were living
together as man and wife.
I cannot imagine what had become of my wits to let myself be so beguiled,
while every day I renewed the poison that she had poured into my veins.
My stay at Munich was a kind of curse; throughout that dreadful month I
seemed to have a foretaste of the pains of the damned. The Renaud loved
gaming, and Desarmoises was her partner. I took care not to play with
them, for the false marquis was an unmitigated cheat and often tricked
with less skill than impudence. He asked disreputable people to my house
and treated them at my expense; every evening scenes of a disgraceful
character took place.
The Dowager Electress mortified me extremely by the way she addressed me
on my last two visits to her.
"Everybody knows what kind of a life you lead here, and the way the
Renaud behaves, possibly without your knowing it. I advise you to have
done with her, as your character is suffering."
She did not know what a thraldom I was under. I had left Paris for a
month, and I had neither heard of Madame d'Urfe nor of Costa. I could not
guess the reason, but I began to suspect my Italian's fidelity. I also
feared lest my good Madame d'Urfe might be dead or have come to her
senses, which would have come to the same thing so far as I was
concerned; and I could not possibly return to Paris to obtain the
information which was so necessary both for calming my mind and refilling
my purse.
I was in a terrible state, and my sharpest pang was that I began to
experience a certain abatement of my vigors, the natural result of
advancing years. I had no longer that daring born of youth and the
knowledge of one's strength, and I was not yet old enough to have learnt
how to husband my forces. Nevertheless, I made an effort and took a
sudden leave of my mistress, telling her I would await her at Augsburg.
She did not try to detain me, but promised to rejoin me as soon as
possible; she was engaged in selling her jewellery. I set out preceded by
Le Duc, feeling very glad that Desarmoises had chosen to stay with the
wretched woman to whom he had introduced me. When I reached my pretty
house at Augsburg I took to my bed, determined not to rise till I was
cured or dead. M. Carli, my banker, recommended to me a doctor named
Cephalides, a pupil of the famous Fayet, who had cured me of a similar
complaint several years before. This Cephalides was considered the best
doctor in Augsburg. He examined me and declared he could cure me by
sudorifics without having recourse to the knife. He began his treatment
by putting me on a severe regimen, ordering baths, and applying mercury
locally. I endured this treatment for six weeks, at the end of which time
I found myself worse than at the beginning. I had become terribly thin,
and I had two enormous inguinal tumours. I had to make up my mind to have
them lanced, but though the operation nearly killed me it did not to make
me any better. He was so clumsy as to cut the artery, causing great loss
of blood which was arrested with difficulty, and would have proved fatal
if it had not been for the care of M. Algardi, a Bolognese doctor in the
service of the Prince-Bishop of Augsburg.
I had enough of Cephalides, and Dr. Algardi prepared in my presence
eighty-six pills containing eighteen grains of manna. I took one of these
pills every morning, drinking a large glass of curds after it, and in the
evening I had another pill with barley water, and this was the only
sustenance I had. This heroic treatment gave me back my health in two
months and a half, in which I suffered a great deal of pain; but I did
not begin to put on flesh and get back my strength till the end of the
year.
It was during this time that I heard about Costa's flight with my
diamonds, watches, snuff-box, linen, rich suits, and a hundred louis
which Madame d'Urfe had given him for the journey. The worthy lady sent
me a bill of exchange for fifty thousand francs, which she had happily
not entrusted to the robber, and the money rescued me very opportunely
from the state to which my imprudence had reduced me.
At this period I made another discovery of an extremely vexatious
character; namely, that Le Duc had robbed me. I would have forgiven him
if he had not forced me to a public exposure, which I could only have
avoided with the loss of my honour. However, I kept him in my service
till my return to Paris at the commencement of the following year.
Towards the end of September, when everybody knew that the Congress would
not take place, the Renaud passed through Augsburg with Desarrnoises on
her way to Paris; but she dared not come and see me for fear I should
make her return my goods, of which she had taken possession without
telling me. Four or five years later she married a man named Bohmer, the
same that gave the Cardinal de Rohan the famous necklace, which he
supposed was destined for the unfortunate Marie Antoinette. The Renaud
was at Paris when I returned, but I made no endeavour to see her, as I
wished, if possible, to forget the past. I had every reason to do so, for
amongst all the misfortunes I had gone through during that wretched year
the person I found most at fault was myself. Nevertheless, I would have
given myself the pleasure of cutting off Desarmoises's ears; but the old
rascal, who, no doubt, foresaw what kind of treatment I was likely to
mete to him, made his escape. Shortly after, he died miserably of
consumption in Normandy.
My health had scarcely returned, when I forgot all my woes and began once
more to amuse myself. My excellent cook, Anna Midel, who had been idle so
long, had to work hard to satisfy my ravenous appetite. My landlord and
pretty Gertrude, his daughter, looked at me with astonishment as I ate,
fearing some disastrous results. Dr. Algardi, who had saved my life,
prophesied a dyspepsia which would bring me to the tomb, but my need of
food was stronger than his arguments, to which I paid no kind of
attention; and I was right, for I required an immense quantity of
nourishment to recover my former state, and I soon felt in a condition to
renew my sacrifices to the deity for whom I had suffered so much.
I fell in love with the cook and Gertrude, who were both young and
pretty. I imparted my love to both of them at once, for I had foreseen
that if I attacked them separately I should conquer neither. Besides, I
felt that I had not much time to lose, as I had promised to sup with
Madame, d'Urfe on the first night of the year 1761 in a suite of rooms
she had furnished for me in the Rue de Bac. She had adorned the rooms
with superb tapestry made for Rene of Savoy, on which were depicted all
the operations of the Great Work. She wrote to me that she had heard that
Santis had recovered from the wound I had given him, and had been
committed to the Bicetre for fraud.
Gertrude and Anna Midel occupied my leisure moments agreeably enough
during the rest of my stay at Augsburg, but they did not make me neglect
society. I spent my evenings in a very agreeable manner with Count Max de
Lamberg, who occupied the position of field-marshal to the prince-bishop.
His wife had all the attractions which collect good company together. At
this house I made the acquaintance of the Baron von Selentin, a captain
in the Prussian service, who was recruiting for the King of Prussia at
Augsburg. I was particularly drawn to the Count Lamberg by his taste for
literature. He was an extremely learned man, and has published some
excellent works. I kept up a correspondence with him till his death, by
his own fault, in 1792, four years from the time of my writing. I say by
his fault, but I should have said by the fault of his doctors, who
treated him mercurially for a disease which was not venereal; and this
treatment not only killed him but took away his good name.
His widow is still alive, and lives in Bavaria, loved by her friends and
her daughters, who all made excellent marriages.
At this time a miserable company of Italian actors made their appearance
in Augsburg, and I got them permission to play in a small and wretched
theatre. As this was the occasion of an incident which diverted me, the
hero, I shall impart it to my readers in the hope of its amusing them
also.
CHAPTER XIV
The Actors--Bassi--The Girl From Strasburg The Female Count-
-My Return to Paris I Go to Metz--Pretty Raton--The
Pretended Countess Lascaris
A woman, ugly enough, but lively like all Italians, called on me, and
asked me to intercede with the police to obtain permission for her
company to act in Augsburg. In spite of her ugliness she was a poor
fellow-countrywoman, and without asking her name, or ascertaining whether
the company was good or bad, I promised to do my best, and had no
difficulty in obtaining the favour.
I went to the first performance, and saw to my surprise that the chief
actor was a Venetian, and a fellow-student of mine, twenty years before,
at St. Cyprian's College. His name was Bassi, and like myself he had
given up the priesthood. Fortune had made an actor of him, and he looked
wretched enough, while I, the adventurer, had a prosperous air.
I felt curious to hear his adventures, and I was also actuated by that
feeling of kindliness which draws one towards the companions of one's
youthful and especially one's school days, so I went to the back as soon
as the curtain fell. He recognized me directly, gave a joyful cry, and
after he had embraced me he introduced me to his wife, the woman who had
called on me, and to his daughter, a girl of thirteen or fourteen, whose
dancing had delighted me. He did not stop here, but turning to his mates,
of whom he was chief, introduced me to them as his best friend. These
worthy people, seeing me dressed like a lord, with a cross on my breast,
took me for a cosmopolitan charlatan who was expected at Augsburg, and
Bassi, strange to say, did not undeceive them. When the company had taken
off its stage rags and put on its everyday rags, Bassi's ugly wife took
me by the arm and said I must come and sup with her. I let myself be led,
and we soon got to just the kind of room I had imagined. It was a huge
room on the ground floor, which served for kitchen, dining-room, and
bedroom all at once. In the middle stood a long table, part of which was
covered with a cloth which looked as if it had been in use for a month,
and at the other end of the room somebody was washing certain earthenware
dishes in a dirty pan. This den was lighted by one candle stuck in the
neck of a broken bottle, and as there were no snuffers Bassi's wife
snuffed it cleverly with her finger and thumb, wiping her hand on the
table-cloth after throwing the burnt wick on the floor. An actor with
long moustaches, who played the villain in the various pieces, served an
enormous dish of hashed-up meat, swimming in a sea of dirty water
dignified with the name of sauce; and the hungry family proceeded to tear
pieces of bread off the loaf with their fingers or teeth, and then to dip
them in the dish; but as all did the same no one had a right to be
disgusted. A large pot of ale passed from hand to hand, and with all this
misery mirth displayed itself on every countenance, and I had to ask
myself what is happiness. For a second course there was a dish of fried
pork, which was devoured with great relish. Bassi was kind enough not to
press me to take part in this banquet, and I felt obliged to him.
The meal over, he proceeded to impart to me his adventures, which were
ordinary enough, and like those which many a poor devil has to undergo;
and while he talked his pretty daughter sat on my knee. Bassi brought his
story to an end by saying that he was going to Venice for the carnival,
and was sure of making a lot of money. I wished him all the luck he could
desire, and on his asking me what profession I followed the fancy took me
to reply that I was a doctor.
"That's a better trade than mine," said he, "and I am happy to be able to
give you a valuable present."
"What is that?" I asked.
"The receipt for the Venetian Specific, which you can sell at two florins
a pound, while it will only cost you four gros."
"I shall be delighted; but tell me, how is the treasury?"
"Well, I can't complain for a first night. I have paid all expenses, and
have given my actors a florin apiece. But I am sure I don't know how I am
to play to-morrow, as the company has rebelled; they say they won't act
unless I give each of them a florin in advance."
"They don't ask very much, however."
"I know that, but I have no money, and nothing to pledge; but they will
be sorry for it afterwards, as I am sure I shall make at least fifty
florins to-morrow."
"How many are there in the company?"
"Fourteen, including my family. Could you lend me ten florins? I would
pay you back tomorrow night."
"Certainly, but I should like to have you all to supper at the nearest
inn to the theatre. Here are the ten florins."
The poor devil overflowed with gratitude, and said he would order supper
at a florin a head, according to my instructions. I thought the sight of
fourteen famished actors sitting down to a good supper would be rather
amusing.
The company gave a play the next evening, but as only thirty or at most
forty people were present, poor Bassi did not know where to turn to pay
for the lighting and the orchestra. He was in despair; and instead of
returning my ten florins he begged me to lend him another ten, still in
the hope of a good house next time. I consoled him by saying we would
talk it over after supper, and that I would go to the inn to wait for my
guests.
I made the supper last three hours by dint of passing the bottle freely.
My reason was that I had taken a great interest in a young girl from
Strasburg, who played singing chamber-maids. Her features were exquisite
and her voice charming, while she made me split my sides with laughing at
her Italian pronounced with an Alsatian accent, and at her gestures which
were of the most comic description.
I was determined to possess her in the course of the next twenty-four
hours, and before the party broke up I spoke as follows:--
"Ladies and gentlemen, I will engage you myself for a week at fifty
florins a day on the condition that you acknowledge me as your manager
for the time being, and pay all the expenses of the theatre. You must
charge the prices I name for seats, five members of the company to be
chosen by me must sup with me every evening. If the receipts amount to
more than fifty florins, we will share the overplus between us."
My proposal was welcomed with shouts of joy, and I called for pen, ink,
and paper, and drew up the agreement.
"For to-morrow," I said to Bassi, "the prices for admission shall remain
the same, but the day after we will see what can be done. You and your
family will sup with me to-morrow, as also the young Alsatian whom I
could never separate from her dear Harlequin:"
He issued bills of an enticing description for the following evening;
but, in spite of all, the pit only contained a score of common people,
and nearly all the boxes were empty.
Bassi had done his best, and when we met at supper he came up to me
looking extremely confused, and gave me ten or twelve florins.
"Courage!" said I; and I proceeded to share them among the guests
present.
We had a good supper, and I kept them at table till midnight, giving them
plenty of choice wine and playing a thousand pranks with Bassi's daughter
and the young Alsatian, who sat one on each side of me. I did not heed
the jealous Harlequin, who seemed not to relish my familiarities with his
sweetheart. The latter lent herself to my endearments with a bad enough
grace, as she hoped Harlequin would marry her, and consequently did not
want to vex him. When supper was over, we rose, and I took her between my
arms, laughing, and caressing her in a manner which seemed too suggestive
to the lover, who tried to pull me away. I thought this rather too much
in my turn, and seizing him by his shoulders I dismissed him with a
hearty kick, which he received with great humility. However, the
situation assumed a melancholy aspect, for the poor girl began to weep
bitterly. Bassi and his wife, two hardened sinners, laughed at her tears,
and Bassi's daughter said that her lover had offered me great
provocation; but the young Alsatian continued weeping, and told me that
she would never sup with me again if I did not make her lover return.
"I will see to all that," said I; and four sequins soon made her all
smiles again. She even tried to shew me that she was not really cruel,
and that she would be still less so if I could manage the jealous
Harlequin. I promised everything, and she did her best to convince me
that she would be quite complaisant on the first opportunity.
I ordered Bassi to give notice that the pit would be two florins and the
boxes a ducat, but that the gallery would be opened freely to the first
comers.
"We shall have nobody there," said he, looking alarmed.
"Maybe, but that remains to be seen. You must request twelve soldiers to
keep order, and I will pay for them."
"We shall want some soldiers to look after the mob which will besiege the
gallery, but as for the rest of the house . . . ."
"Again I tell you, we shall see. Carry out my instructions, and whether
they prove successful or no, we will have a merry supper as usual."
The next day I called upon the Harlequin in his little den of a room, and
with two Louis, and a promise to respect his mistress, I made him as soft
as a glove.
Bassi's bills made everybody laugh. People said he must be mad; but when
it was ascertained that it was the lessee's speculation, and that I was
the lessee, the accusation of madness was turned on me, but what did I
care? At night the gallery was full an hour before the rise of the
curtain; but the pit was empty, and there was nobody in the boxes with
the exception of Count Lamberg, a Genoese abbe named Bolo, and a young
man who appeared to me a woman in disguise.
The actors surpassed themselves, and the thunders of applause from the
gallery enlivened the performance.
When we got to the inn, Bassi gave me the three ducats for the three
boxes, but of course I returned them to him; it was quite a little
fortune for the poor actors. I sat down at table between Bassi's wife and
daughter, leaving the Alsatian to her lover. I told the manager to
persevere in the same course, and to let those laugh who would, and I
made him promise to play all his best pieces.
When the supper and the wine had sufficiently raised my spirits, I
devoted my attention to Bassi's daughter, who let me do what I liked,
while her father and mother only laughed, and the silly Harlequin fretted
and fumed at not being able to take the same liberties with his Dulcinea.
But at the end of supper, when I had made the girl in a state of nature,
I myself being dressed like Adam before he ate the fatal apple, Harlequin
rose, and taking his sweetheart's arm was going to draw her away. I
imperiously told him to sit down, and he obeyed me in amazement,
contenting himself with turning his back. His sweetheart did not follow
his example, and so placed herself on the pretext of defending my victim
that she increased my enjoyment, while my vagrant hand did not seem to
displease her.
The scene excited Bassi's wife, and she begged her husband to give her a
proof of his love for her, to which request he acceded, while modest
Harlequin sat by the fire with his head on his hands. The Alsatian was in
a highly excited state, and took advantage of her lover's position to
grant me all I wished, so I proceeded to execute the great work with her,
and the violent movements of her body proved that she was taking as
active a part in it as myself.
When the orgy was over I emptied my purse on the table, and enjoyed the
eagerness with which they shared a score of sequins.
This indulgence at a time when I had not yet recovered my full strength
made me enjoy a long sleep. Just as I awoke I was handed a summons to
appear before the burgomaster. I made haste with my toilette, for I felt
curious to know the reason of this citation, and I was aware I had
nothing to fear. When I appeared, the magistrate addressed me in German,
to which I turned a deaf ear, for I only knew enough of that language to
ask for necessaries. When he was informed of my ignorance of German he
addressed me in Latin, not of the Ciceronian kind by any means, but in
that peculiar dialect which obtains at most of the German universities.
"Why do you bear a false name?" he asked.
"My name is not false. You can ask Carli, the banker, who has paid me
fifty thousand florins."
"I know that; but your name is Casanova, so why do you call yourself
Seingalt?"
"I take this name, or rather I have taken it, because it belongs to me,
and in such a manner that if anyone else dared to take it I should
contest it as my property by every legitimate resource."
"Ah! and how does this name belong to you?"
"Because I invented it; but that does not prevent my being Casanova as
well."
"Sir, you must choose between Casanova and Seingalt; a man cannot have
two names."
"The Spaniards and Portuguese often have half a dozen names."
"But you are not a Spaniard or a Portuguese; you are an Italian: and,
after all, how can one invent a name?"
"It's the simplest thing in the world."
"Kindly explain."
"The alphabet belongs equally to the whole human race; no one can deny
that. I have taken eight letters and combined them in such a way as to
produce the word Seingalt. It pleased me, and I have adopted it as my
surname, being firmly persuaded that as no one had borne it before no one
could deprive me of it, or carry it without my consent."
"This is a very odd idea. Your arguments are rather specious than well
grounded, for your name ought to be none other than your father's name."
"I suggest that there you are mistaken; the name you yourself bear
because your father bore it before you, has not existed from all
eternity; it must have been invented by an ancestor of yours who did not
get it from his father, or else your name would have been Adam. Does your
worship agree to that?"
"I am obliged to; but all this is strange, very strange."
"You are again mistaken. It's quite an old custom, and I engage to give
you by to-morrow a long list of names invented by worthy people still
living, who are allowed to enjoy their names in peace and quietness
without being cited to the town hall to explain how they got them."
"But you will confess that there are laws against false names?"
"Yes, but I repeat this name is my true name. Your name which I honour,
though I do not know it, cannot be more true than mine, for it is
possible that you are not the son of the gentleman you consider your
father." He smiled and escorted me out, telling me that he would make
enquiries about me of M. Carli.
I took the part of going to M. Carli's myself. The story made him laugh.
He told me that the burgomaster was a Catholic, a worthy man, well to do,
but rather thick-headed; in short, a fine subject for a joke.
The following morning M. Carli asked me to breakfast, and afterwards to
dine with the burgomaster.
"I saw him yesterday," said he, "and we had a long talk, in the course of
which I succeeded in convincing him on the question of names, and he is
now quite of your opinion."
I accepted the invitation with pleasure, as I was sure of seeing some
good company. I was not undeceived; there were some charming women and
several agreeable men. Amongst others, I noticed the woman in man's dress
I had seen at the theatre. I watched her at dinner, and I was the more
convinced that she was a woman. Nevertheless, everybody addressed her as
a man, and she played the part to admiration. I, however, being in search
of amusement, and not caring to seem as if I were taken in, began to talk
to her in a stream of gallantry as one talks to a woman, and I contrived
to let her know that if I were not sure of her sex I had very strong
suspicions. She pretended not to understand me, and everyone laughed at
my feigned expression of offence.
After dinner, while we were taking coffee, the pretended gentleman shewed
a canon who was present a portrait on one of her rings. It represented a
young lady who was in the company, and was an excellent likeness--an easy
enough matter, as she was very ugly. My conviction was not disturbed, but
when I saw the imposter kissing the young lady's hand with mingled
affection and respect, I ceased jesting on the question of her sex. M.
Carli took me aside for a moment, and told me that in spite of his
effeminate appearance this individual was a man, and was shortly going to
marry the young lady whose hand he had just kissed.
"It may be so," said I, "but I can't believe it all the same."
However, the pair were married during the carnival, and the husband
obtained a rich dowry with his wife. The poor girl died of 'grief in the
course of a year, but did not say a word till she was on her death-bed.
Her foolish parents, ashamed of having been deceived so grossly, dared
not say anything, and got the female swindler out of the way; she had
taken good care, however, to lay a firm hold on the dowry. The story
became known, and gave the good folk of Augsburg much amusement, while I
became renowned for my sagacity in piercing the disguise.
I continued to enjoy the society of my two servants and of the fair
Alsation, who cost me a hundred louis. At the end of a week my agreement
with Bassi came to an end, leaving him with some money in his pocket. He
continued to give performances, returning to the usual prices and
suppressing the free gallery. He did very fair business.
I left Augsburg towards the middle of December.
I was vexed on account of Gertrude, who believed herself with child, but
could not make up her mind to accompany me to France. Her father would
have been pleased for me to take her; he had no hopes of getting her a
husband, and would have been glad enough to get rid of her by my making
her my mistress.
We shall hear more of her in the course of five or six years, as also of
my excellent cook, Anna Midel, to whom I gave a present of four hundred
florins. She married shortly afterwards, and when I visited the town
again I found her unhappy.
I could not make up my mind to forgive Le Duc, who rode on the coachman's
box, and when we were in Paris, half-way along the Rue St. Antoine, I
made him take his trunk and get down; and I left him there without a
character, in spite of his entreaties. I never heard of him again, but I
still miss him, for, in spite of his great failings, he was an excellent
servant. Perhaps I should have called to mind the important services he
had rendered me at Stuttgart, Soleure, Naples, Florence, and Turin; but I
could not pass over his impudence in compromising me before the Augsburg
magistrate. If I had not succeeded in bringing a certain theft home to
him, it would have been laid to my door, and I should have been
dishonoured.
I had done a good deal in saving him from justice, and, besides, I had
rewarded him liberally for all the special services he had done me.
From Augsburg I went to Bale by way of Constance, where I stayed at the
dearest inn in Switzerland. The landlord, Imhoff, was the prince of
cheats, but his daughters were amusing, and after a three days' stay I
continued my journey. I got to Paris on the last day of the year 1761,
and I left the coach at the house in the Rue du Bacq, where my good angel
Madame d'Urfe had arranged me a suite of rooms with the utmost elegance.
I spent three weeks in these rooms without going anywhere, in order to
convince the worthy lady that I had only returned to Paris to keep my
word to her, and make her be born again a man.
We spent the three weeks in making preparations for this divine
operation, and our preparations consisted of devotions to each of the
seven planets on the days consecrated to each of the intelligences. After
this I had to seek, in a place which the spirits would point out to me,
for a maiden, the daughter of an adept, whom I was to impregnate with a
male child in a manner only known to the Fraternity of the Rosy Cross.
Madame d'Urfe was to receive the child into her arms the moment it was
born; and to keep it beside her in bed for seven days. At the end of the
seven days she would die with her lips on the lips of the child, who
would thus receive her reasonable soul, whereas before it had only
possessed a vegetal soul.
This being done, it was to be my part to care for the child with the
magisterium which was known to me, and as soon as it had attained to its
third year Madame d'Urfe would begin to recover her self-consciousness,
and then I was to begin to initiate her in the perfect knowledge of the
Great Work.
The operation must take place under the full moon during the months of
April, May, or June. Above all, Madame d'Urfe was to make a will in
favour of the child, whose guardian I was to be till its thirteenth year.
This sublime madwoman had no doubts whatever as to the truth of all this,
and burned with impatience to see the virgin who was destined to be the
vessel of election. She begged me to hasten my departure.
I had hoped, in obtaining my answers from the oracle, that she would be
deterred by the prospect of death, and I reckoned on the natural love of
life making her defer the operation for an indefinite period. But such
was not the case, and I found myself obliged to keep my word, in
appearance at all events, and to go on my quest for the mysterious
virgin.
What I wanted was some young hussy whom I could teach the part, and I
thought of the Corticelli. She had been at Prague for the last nine
months, and when we were at Bologna I had promised to come and see her
before the end of the year. But as I was leaving Germany--by no means a
land of pleasant memories to me--I did not think it was worth while going
out of my way for such a trifle in the depth of winter. I resolved to
send her enough money for the journey, and to let her meet me in some
French town.
M. de Fouquet, a friend of Madame d'Urfe's, was Governor of Metz, and I
felt sure that, with a letter of introduction from Madame d'Urfe, this
nobleman would give me a distinguished reception. Besides, his nephew,
the Comte de Lastic, whom I knew well, was there with his regiment. For
these reasons I chose Metz as a meeting-place with the virgin Corticelli,
to whom this new part would certainly be a surprise. Madame d'Urfe gave
me the necessary introductions, and I left Paris on January 25th, 1762,
loaded with presents. I had a letter of credit to a large amount, but I
did not make use of it as my purse was abundantly replenished.
I took no servant, for after Costa's robbing me and Le Duc's cheating me
I felt as if I could not trust in anyone. I got to Metz in two days, and
put up at the "Roi Dagobert," an excellent inn, where I found the Comte
de Louvenhaupt, a Swede, whom I had met at the house of the Princess of
Anhalt-Zerbst, mother of the Empress of Russia. He asked me to sup with
him and the Duc de Deux Pants, who was travelling incognito to Paris to
visit Louis XV., whose constant friend he was.
The day after my arrival I took my letters to the governor, who told me I
must dine with him every day. M. de Lastic had left Metz, much to my
regret, as he would have contributed in no small degree to the pleasure
of my stay. The same day I wrote to the Corticelli, sending her fifty
louis, and telling her to come with her mother as soon as possible, and
to get someone who knew the way to accompany her. She could not leaves
Prague before the beginning of Lent, and to make sure of her coming I
promised that I would make her fortune.
In four or five days I knew my way about the town, but I did not frequent
polite assemblies, preferring to go to the theatre, where a comic opera
singer had captivated me. Her name was Raton, and she was only fifteen,
after the fashion of actresses who always subtract at least two or three
years from their age. However, this failing is common to women, and is a
pardonable one, since to be youthful is the greatest of all advantages to
them. Raton was not so much handsome as attractive, but what chiefly made
her an object of desire was the fact that she had put the price of
twenty-five louis on her maidenhead. One could spend a night with her,
and make the trial for a Louis; the twenty-five were only to be paid on
the accomplishment of the great work.
It was notorious that numerous officers in the army and young barristers
had undertaken the operation unsuccessfully, and all of them had paid a
louis apiece.
This singular case was enough to whet my curiosity. I was not long before
I called on Raton, but not wishing to be duped by her I took due
precautions. I told her that she must come and sup with me, and that I
would give her the twenty-five louis if my happiness was complete, and
that if I were unsuccessful she should have six louis instead of one,
provided that she was not tied. Her aunt assured me that this was not the
case; but I could not help thinking of Victorine.
Raton came to supper with her aunt, who went to bed in an adjoining
closet when the dessert was brought in. The girl's figure was exquisitely
beautiful, and I felt that I had no small task before me. She was kind,
laughing, and defied me to the conquest of a fleece not of gold, but of
ebony, which the youth of Metz had assaulted in vain. Perhaps the reader
will think that I, who was no longer in my first vigour, was discouraged
by the thought of the many who had failed; but I knew my powers, and it
only amused me. Her former lovers had been Frenchmen, more skilled in
carrying strong places by assault than in eluding the artfulness of a
girl who corked herself up. I was an Italian, and knew all about that, so
I had no doubts as to my victory.
However, my preparations were superfluous; for as soon as Raton felt from
my mode of attack that the trick would be of no avail she met my desires
half-way, without trying the device which had made her seem to be what
she was no longer to her inexpert lovers. She gave herself up in good
faith, and when I had promised to keep the secret her ardours were equal
to mine. It was not her first trial, and I consequently need not have
given her the twenty-five louis, but I was well satisfied, and not caring
much for maidenheads rewarded her as if I had been the first to bite at
the cherry.
I kept Raton at a louis a day till the arrival of the Corticelli, and she
had to be faithful to me, as I never let her go out of my sight. I liked
the girl so well and found her so pleasant that I was sorry that the
Corticelli was coming; however, I was told of her arrival one night just
as I was leaving my box at the theatre. My footman told me in a loud
voice that my lady wife, my daughter, and a gentleman had just arrived
from Frankfort, and were awaiting me at the inn.
"Idiot," I exclaimed, "I have no wife and no daughter."
However, all Metz heard that my family had arrived.
The Corticelli threw her arms round my neck, laughing as usual, and her
mother presented me to the worthy man who had accompanied them from
Prague to Metz. He was an Italian named Month, who had lived for a long
time at Prague, where he taught his native language. I saw that M. Month
and the old woman were suitably accommodated, and I then led the young
fool into my room. I found her changed for the better; she had grown, her
shape was improved, and her pleasant manners made her a very charming
girl.
CHAPTER XV
I Returned to Paris With The Corticelli, Now Countess
Lascaris--The Hypostasis Fails--Aix-la-Chapelle--Duel--Mimi
d'Ache--The Corticelli Turns Traitress to Her Own
Disadvantage--Journey to Sulzbach
"Why did you allow your mother to call herself my wife, little simpleton?
Do you think that's a compliment to my judgment? She might have given
herself out for your governess, as she wishes to pass you off as my
daughter."
"My mother is an obstinate old woman who had rather be whipped at the
cart-tail than call herself my governess. She has very narrow ideas, and
always thinks that governess and procuress mean the same thing."
"She's an old fool, but we will make her hear reason either with her will
or in spite of it. But you look well dressed, have you made your
fortune?"
"At Prague I captivated the affections of Count N----, and he proved a
generous lover. But let your first action be to send back M. Month. The
worthy man has his family at Prague to look after; he can't afford to
stay long here."
"True, I will see about it directly."
The coach started for Frankfort the same evening, and summoning Month I
thanked him for his kindness and paid him generously, so he went off well
pleased.
I had nothing further to do at Metz, so I took leave of my new friends,
and in two days time I was at Nancy, where I wrote to Madame d'Urfe that
I was on my way back with a virgin, the last of the family of Lascaris,
who had once reigned at Constantinople. I begged her to receive her from
my hands, at a country house which belonged to her, where we should be
occupied for some days in cabalistic ceremonies.
She answered that she would await us at Pont-Carre, an old castle four
leagues distant from Paris, and that she would welcome the young princess
with all possible kindness.
"I owe her all the more friendship," added the sublime madwoman, "as the
family of Lascaris is connected with the family of d'Urfe, and as I am to
be born again in the seed of the happy virgin."
I felt that my task would be not exactly to throw cold water on her
enthusiasm, but to hold it in check and to moderate its manifestations. I
therefore explained to her by return of post that she must be content to
treat the virgin as a countess, not a princess, and I ended by informing
her that we should arrive, accompanied by the countess's governess, on
the Monday of Holy Week.
I spent twelve days at Nancy, instructing the young madcap in the part
she had to play, and endeavouring to persuade her mother that she must
content herself with being the Countess Lascaris's humble servant. It was
a task of immense difficulty; it was not enough to shew her that our
success depended on her submitting; I had to threaten to send her back to
Bologna by herself. I had good reason to repent of my perseverance. That
woman's obstinacy was an inspiration of my good angel's, bidding me avoid
the greatest mistake I ever made.
On the day appointed we reached Pont-Carre. Madame d'Urfe, whom I had
advised of the exact hour of our arrival, had the drawbridge of the
castle lowered, and stood in the archway in the midst of her people, like
a general surrendering with all the honours of war. The dear lady, whose
madness was but an excess of wit, gave the false princess so
distinguished a reception that she would have shewn her amazement if I
had not warned her of what she might expect. Thrice did she clasp her to
her breast with a tenderness that was quite maternal, calling her her
beloved niece, and explaining the entire pedigrees of the families of
Lascaris and d'Urfe to make the countess understand how she came to be
her niece. I was agreeably surprised to see the polite and dignified air
with which the Italian wench listened to all this; she did not even
smile, though the scene must have struck her as extremely laughable.
As soon as we got into the castle Madame d'Urfe proceeded to cense the
new-comer, who received the attention with all the dignity of an opera
queen, and then threw herself into the arms of the priestess, who
received her with enthusiastic affection.
At dinner the countess was agreeable and talkative, which won her Madame
d'Urfe's entire favour; her broken French being easily accounted for.
Laura, the countess's mother, only knew her native Italian, and so kept
silence. She was given a comfortable room, where her meals were brought
to her, and which she only left to hear mass.
The castle was a fortified building, and had sustained several sieges in
the civil wars. As its name, Pont-Carre, indicated, it was square, and
was flanked by four crenelated towers and surrounded by a broad moat. The
rooms were vast, and richly furnished in an old-fashioned way. The air
was full of venomous gnats who devoured us and covered our faces with
painful bites; but I had agreed to spend a week there, and I should have
been hard put to it to find a pretext for shortening the time. Madame
d'Urfe had a bed next, her own for her niece, but I was not afraid of her
attempting to satisfy herself as to the countess's virginity, as the
oracle had expressly forbidden it under pain or failure. The operation
was fixed for the fourteenth day of the April moon.
On that day we had a temperate supper, after which I went to bed. A
quarter of an hour afterwards Madame d'Urfe came, leading the virgin
Lascaris. She undressed her, scented her, cast a lovely veil over her
body, and when the countess was laid beside me she remained, wishing to
be present at an operation which was to result in her being born again in
the course of nine months.
The act was consummated in form, and then Madame d'Urfe left us alone for
the rest of the night, which was well employed. Afterwards, the countess
slept with her aunt till the last day of the moon, when I asked the
oracle if the Countess Lascaris had conceived. That well might be, for I
had spared nothing to that intent; but I thought it more prudent to make
the oracle reply that the operation had failed because the small Count
d'Aranda had watched us behind a screen. Madame d'Urfe was in despair,
but I consoled her by a second reply, in which the oracle declared that
though the operation could only be performed in France in April, it could
take place out of that realm in May; but the inquisitive young count,
whose influence had proved so fatal, must be sent for at least a year to
some place a hundred leagues from Paris. The oracle also indicated the
manner in which he was to travel; he was to have a tutor, a servant, and
all in order.
The oracle had spoken, and no more was wanted. Madame d'Urfe thought of
an abbe she liked for his tutor, and the count was sent to Lyons, with
strong letters of commendation to M. de Rochebaron, a relation of his
patroness. The young man was delighted to travel, and never had any
suspicion of the way in which I had slandered him. It was not a mere
fancy which suggested this course of action. I had discovered that the
Corticelli was making up to him, and that her mother favoured the
intrigue. I had surprised her twice in the young man's room, and though
he only cared for the girl as a youth cares for all girls, the Signora
Laura did not at all approve of my opposing her daughter's designs.
Our next task was to fix on some foreign town where we could again
attempt the mysterious operation. We settled on Aix-la-Chapelle, and in
five or six days all was ready for the journey.
The Corticeili, angry with me for having thwarted her in her projects,
reproached me bitterly, and from that time began to be my enemy; she even
allowed herself to threaten me if I did not get back the pretty boy, as
she called him.
"You have no business to be jealous," said she, "and I am the mistress of
my own actions."
"Quite right, my dear," I answered; "but it is my business to see that
you do not behave like a prostitute in your present position."
The mother was in a furious rage, and said that she and her daughter
would return to Bologna, and to quiet them I promised to take them there
myself as soon as we had been to Aix-la-Chapelle.
Nevertheless I did not feel at ease, and to prevent any plots taking
place I hastened our departure.
We started in May, in a travelling carriage containing Madame d'Urfe,
myself, the false Lascaris, and her maid and favourite, named Brougnole.
We were followed by a coach with two seats; in it were the Signora Laura
and another servant. Two men-servants in full livery sat on the outside
of our travelling carriage. We stopped a day at Brussels, and another at
Liege. At Aix there were many distinguished visitors, and at the first
ball we attended Madame d'Urfe presented the Lascaris to two Princesses
of Mecklenburg as her niece. The false countess received their embraces
with much ease and modesty, and attracted the particular attention of the
Margrave of Baireuth and the Duchess of Wurtemberg, his daughter, who
took possession of her, and did not leave her till the end of the ball.
I was on thorns the whole time, in terror lest the heroine might make
some dreadful slip. She danced so gracefully that everybody gazed at her,
and I was the person who was complimented on her performance.
I suffered a martyrdom, for these compliments seemed to be given with
malicious intent. I suspected that the ballet-girl had been discovered
beneath the countess, and I felt myself dishonoured. I succeeded in
speaking privately to the young wanton for a moment, and begged her to
dance like a young lady, and not like a chorus girl; but she was proud of
her success, and dared to tell me that a young lady might know how to
dance as well as a professional dancer, and that she was not going to
dance badly to please me. I was so enraged with her impudence, that I
would have cast her off that instant if it had been possible; but as it
was not, I determined that her punishment should lose none of its
sharpness by waiting; and whether it be a vice or a virtue, the desire of
revenge is never extinguished in my heart till it is satisfied.
The day after the ball Madame d'Urfe presented her with a casket
containing a beautiful watch set with brilliants, a pair of diamond
ear-rings, and a ring containing a ruby of fifteen carats. The whole was
worth sixty thousand francs. I took possession of it to prevent her going
off without my leave.
In the meanwhile I amused myself with play and making bad acquaintances.
The worst of all was a French officer, named d'Ache, who had a pretty
wife and a daughter prettier still. Before long the daughter had taken
possession of the heart which the Corticelli had lost, but as soon as
Madame d'Ache saw that I preferred her daughter to herself she refused to
receive me at her house.
I had lent d'Ache ten Louis, and I consequently felt myself entitled to
complain of his wife's conduct; but he answered rudely that as I only
went to the house after his daughter, his wife was quite right; that he
intended his daughter to make a good match, and that if my intentions
were honourable I had only to speak to the mother. His manner was still
more offensive than his words, and I felt enraged, but knowing the brutal
drunken characteristics of the man, and that he was always ready to draw
cold steel for a yes or a no, I was silent and resolved to forget the
girl, not caring to become involved with a man like her father.
I had almost cured myself of my fancy when, a few days after our
conversation, I happened to go into a billiard-room where d'Ache was
playing with a Swiss named Schmit, an officer in the Swedish army. As
soon as d'Ache saw me he asked whether I would lay the ten Louis he owed
me against him.
"Yes," said I, "that will make double or quits."
Towards the end of the match d'Ache made an unfair stroke, which was so
evident that the marker told him of it; but as this stroke made him the
winner, d'Ache seized the stakes and put them in his pocket without
heeding the marker or the other player, who, seeing himself cheated
before his very eyes, gave the rascal a blow across the face with his
cue. D'Ache parried the blow with his hand, and drawing his sword rushed
at Schmit, who had no arms. The marker, a sturdy young fellow, caught
hold of d'Ache round the body, and thus prevented murder. The Swiss went
out, saying,
"We shall see each other again."
The rascally Frenchman cooled down, and said to me,
"Now, you see, we are quits."
"Very much quits."
"That's all very well; but, by God! you might have prevented the insult
which has dishonoured me."
"I might have done so, but I did not care to interfere. You are strong
enough to look after yourself. Schmit had not his sword, but I believe
him to be a brave man; and he will give you satisfaction if you will
return him his money, for there can be no doubt that you lost the match."
An officer, named de Pyene, took me up and said that he himself would
give me the twenty louis which d'Ache had taken, but that the Swiss must
give satisfaction. I had no hesitation in promising that he would do so,
and said I would bring a reply to the challenge the next morning.
I had no fears myself. The man of honour ought always to be ready to use
the sword to defend himself from insult, or to give satisfaction for an
insult he has offered. I know that the law of duelling is a prejudice
which may be called, and perhaps rightly, barbarous, but it is a
prejudice which no man of honour can contend against, and I believed
Schmit to be a thorough gentleman.
I called on him at day-break, and found him still in bed. As soon as he
saw me, he said,
"I am sure you have come to ask me to fight with d'Ache. I am quite ready
to burn powder with him, but he must first pay me the twenty Louis he
robbed me of."
"You shall have them to-morrow, and I will attend you. D'Ache will be
seconded by M. de Pyene."
"Very good. I shall expect you at day-break."
Two hours after I saw de Pyene, and we fixed the meeting for the next
day, at six o'clock in the morning. The arms were to be pistols. We chose
a garden, half a league from the town, as the scene of the combat.
At day-break I found the Swiss waiting for me at the door of his
lodgings, carolling the 'ranz-des-vaches', so dear to his
fellow-countrymen. I thought that a good omen.
"Here you are," said he; "let us be off, then."
On the way, he observed, "I have only fought with men of honour up to
now, and I don't much care for killing a rascal; it's hangman's work."
"I know," I replied, "that it's very hard to have to risk one's life
against a fellow like that."
"There's no risk," said Schmit, with a laugh. "I am certain that I shall
kill him."
"How can you be certain?"
"I shall make him tremble."
He was right. This secret is infallible when it is applied to a coward.
We found d'Ache and de Pyene on the field, and five or six others who
must have been present from motives of curiosity.
D'Ache took twenty louis from his pocket and gave them to his enemy,
saying,
"I may be mistaken, but I hope to make you pay dearly for your
brutality." Then turning to me he said,
"I owe you twenty louis also;" but I made no reply.
Schmit put the money in his purse with the calmest air imaginable, and
making no reply to the other's boast placed himself between two trees,
distant about four paces from one another, and drawing two pistols from
his pocket said to d'Ache,
"Place yourself at a distance of ten paces, and fire first. I shall walk
to and fro between these two trees, and you may walk as far if you like
to do so when my turn comes to fire."
Nothing could be clearer or more calmly delivered than this explanation.
"But we must decide," said I, "who is to have the first shot."
"There is no need," said Schmit. "I never fire first, besides, the
gentleman has a right to the first shot."
De Pyene placed his friend at the proper distance and then stepped aside,
and d'Ache fired on his antagonist, who was walking slowly to and fro
without looking at him. Schmit turned round in the coolest manner
possible, and said,
"You have missed me, sir; I knew you would. Try again."
I thought he was mad, and that some arrangement would be come to; but
nothing of the kind. D'Ache fired a second time, and again missed; and
Schmit, without a word, but as calm as death, fired his first pistol in
the air, and then covering d'Ache with his second pistol hit him in the
forehead and stretched him dead on the ground. He put back his pistols
into his pocket and went off directly by himself, as if he were merely
continuing his walk. In two minutes I followed his example, after
ascertaining that the unfortunate d'Ache no longer breathed.
I was in a state of amazement. Such a duel was more like a combat of
romance than a real fact. I could not understand it; I had watched the
Swiss, and had not noticed the slightest change pass over his face.
I breakfasted with Madame d'Urfe, whom I found inconsolable. It was the
full moon, and at three minutes past four exactly I ought to perform the
mysterious creation of the child in which she was to be born again. But
the Lascaris, on whom the work was to be wrought, was twisting and
turning in her bed, contorting herself in such a way that it would be
impossible for me to accomplish the prolific work.
My grief, when I heard what had happened, was hypocritical; in the first
place because I no longer felt any desire for the girl, and in the second
because I thought I saw a way in which I could make use of the incident
to take vengeance on her.
I lavished consolations on Madame d'Urfe; and on consulting the oracle I
found that the Lascaris had been defiled by an evil genius, and that I
must search for another virgin whose purity must be under the protection
of more powerful spirits. I saw that my madwoman was perfectly happy with
this, and I left her to visit the Corticelli, whom I found in bed with
her mother beside her.
"You have convulsions, have you, dearest?" said I.
"No, I haven't. I am quite well, but all the same I shall have them till
you give me back my jewel-casket."
"You are getting wicked, my poor child; this comes of following your
mother's advice. As for the casket, if you are going to behave like this,
probably you will have it."
"I will reveal all."
"You will not be believed; and I shall send you back to Bologna without
letting you take any of the presents which Madame d'Urfe has given you."
"You ought to have given me back the casket when I declared myself with
child."
Signora Laura told me that this was only too true, though I was not the
father.
"Who is, then?" I asked.
"Count N----, whose mistress she was at Prague."
It did not seem probable, as she had no symptoms of pregnancy; still it
might be so. I was obliged to plot myself to bring the plots of these two
rascally women to nought, and without saying anything to them I shut
myself up with Madame d'Urfe to enquire of the oracle concerning the
operation which was to make her happy.
After several answers, more obscure than any returned from the oracular
tripod at Delphi, the interpretation of which I left to the infatuated
Madame d'Urfe, she discovered herself--and I took care not to contradict
her--that the Countess Lascaris had gone mad. I encouraged her fears, and
succeeded in making her obtain from a cabalistic pyramid the statement
that the reason the princess had not conceived was that she had been
defiled by an evil genius--an enemy of the Fraternity of the Rosy Cross.
This put Madame d'Urfe fairly on the way, and she added on her own
account that the girl must be with child by a gnome.
She then erected another pyramid to obtain guidance on our quest, and I
so directed things that the answer came that she must write to the moon.
This mad reply, which should have brought her to her senses, only made
her more crazy than ever. She was quite ecstatic, and I am sure that if I
had endeavoured to shew her the nothingness of all this I show have had
nothing for my trouble. Her conclusion would probably have been that I
was possessed by an evil spirit, and was no longer a true Rosy Cross. But
I had no idea of undertaking a cure which would have done me harm and her
no 'good. Her chimerical notions made her happy, and the cold naked truth
would doubtless have made her unhappy.
She received the order to write to the moon with the greater delight as
she knew what ceremonies were to be observed in addressing that planet;
but she could not dispense with the assistance of an adept, and I knew
she would reckon on me. I told her I should always be ready to serve her,
but that, as she knew herself, we should have to wait for the first phase
of the new moon. I was very glad to gain time, for I had lost heavily at
play, and I could not leave Aix-la-Chapelle before a bill, which I had
drawn on M. d'O. of Amsterdam, was cashed. In the mean time we agreed
that as the Countess Lascaris had become mad, we must not pay any
attention to what she might say, as the words would not be hers but would
proceed from the evil spirit who possessed her.
Nevertheless, we determined that as her state was a pitiable one, and
should be as much alleviated as possible, she should continue to dine
with us, but that in the evening she was to go to her governess and sleep
with her.
After having thus disposed of Madame d'Urfe to disbelieve whatever the
Corticelli cared to tell her, and to concentrate all her energies on the
task of writing to Selenis, the intelligence of the moon, I set myself
seriously to work to regain the money I had lost at play; and here my
cabala was no good to me. I pledged the Corticelli's casket for a
thousand louis, and proceeded to play in an English club where I had a
much better chance of winning than with Germans or Frenchmen.
Three or four days after d'Ache's death, his widow wrote me a note
begging me to call on her. I found her in company with de Pyene. She told
me in a lugubrious voice that her husband had left many debts unsettled,
and that his creditors had seized everything she possessed; and--that she
was thus unable to pay the expenses of a journey, though she wanted to
take her daughter with her to Colmar, and there to rejoin her family.
"You caused my husband's death," she added, "and I ask you to give me a
thousand crowns; if you refuse me I shall commence a lawsuit against you,
for as the Swiss officer has left, you are the only person I can
prosecute."
"I am surprised at your taking such a tone towards me," I replied,
coldly, "and were it not for the respect I feel for your misfortune, I
should answer as bitterly as you deserve. In the first place I have not a
thousand crowns to throw away, and if I had I would not sacrifice my
money to threats. I am curious to know what kind of a case you could get
up against me in the courts of law. As for Schmit, he fought like a brave
gentleman, and I don't think you could get much out of him if he were
still here. Good-day, madam."
I had scarcely got fifty paces from the house when I was joined by de
Pyene, who said that rather than Madame d'Ache should have to complain of
me he would cut my throat on the spot. We neither of us had swords.
"Your intention is not a very flattering one," said I, "and there is
something rather brutal about it. I had rather not have any affair of the
kind with a man whom I don't know and to whom I owe nothing."
"You are a coward."
"I would be, you mean, if I were to imitate you. It is a matter of
perfect indifference to me what opinion you may have on the subject.
"You will be sorry for this."
"Maybe, but I warn you that I never go out unattended by a pair of
pistols, which I keep in good order and know how to use." So saying I
shewd him the pistols, and took one in my right hand.
At this the bully uttered an oath and we separated.
At a short distance from the place where this scene had occurred I met a
Neapolitan named Maliterni, a lieutenant-colonel and aide to the Prince
de Condo, commander-in-chief of the French army. This Maliterni was a
boon companion, always ready to oblige, and always short of money. We
were friends, and I told him what had happened.
"I should be sorry," said I, "to have anything to do with a fellow like
de Pyene, and if you can rid me of him I promise you a hundred crowns."
"I daresay that can be managed," he replied, "and I will tell you what I
can do to-morrow!"
In point of fact, he brought me news the next day that my cut-throat had
received orders from his superior officer to leave Aix-la-Chapelle at
day-break, and at the same time he gave me a passport from the Prince de
Conde.
I confess that this was very pleasant tidings. I have never feared to
cross my sword with any man, though never sought the barbarous pleasure
of spilling men's blood; but on this occasion I felt an extreme dislike
to a duel with a fellow who was probably of the same caste as his friend
d'Ache.
I therefore gave Maliterni my heartiest thanks, as well as the hundred
crowns I had promised him, which I considered so well employed that I did
not regret their loss.
Maliterni, who was a jester of the first water, and a creature of the
Marshal d'Estrees, was lacking neither in wit nor knowledge; but he was
deficient in a sense of order and refinement. He was a pleasant
companion, for his gaiety was inexhaustible and he had a large knowledge
of the world. He attained the rank of field-marshal in 1768, and went to
Naples to marry a rich heiress, whom he left a widow a year after.
The day after de Pyene's departure I received a note from Mdlle. d'Ache,
begging me, for the sake of her sick mother, to come and see her. I
answered that I would be at such a place at such a time, and that she
could say what she liked to me.
I found her at the place and time I appointed, with her mother, whose
illness, it appeared, did not prevent her from going out. She called me
her persecutor, and said that since the departure of her best friend, de
Pyene, she did not know where to turn; that she had pledged all her
belongings, and that I, who was rich, ought to aid her, if I were not the
vilest of men.
"I feel for your condition," I replied, "as I feel your abuse of me; and
I cannot help saying that you have shewn yourself the vilest of women in
inciting de Pyene, who may be an honest man for all I know, to
assassinate me. In fine, rich or not, and though I owe you nothing, I
will give you enough money to take your property out of pawn, and I may
possibly take you to Colmar myself, but you must first consent to my
giving your charming daughter a proof of my affection."
"And you dare to make this horrible proposal to me?"
"Horrible or not, I do make it."
"I will never consent."
"Good day, madam."
I called the waiter to pay him for the refreshments I had ordered, and I
gave the girl six double louis, but her proud mother forbade her to
accept the money from me. I was not surprised, in spite of her distress;
for the mother was in reality still more charming than the daughter, and
she knew it. I ought to have given her the preference, and thus have
ended the dispute, but who can account for his whims? I felt that she
must hate me, for she did not care for her daughter, and it must have
humiliated her bitterly to be obliged to regard her as a victorious
rival.
I left them still holding the six double louis, which pride or scorn had
refused, and I went to the faro-table and decided in sacrificing them to
fortune; but that capricious deity, as proud as the haughty widow,
refused them, and though I left them on the board for five deals I almost
broke the bank. An Englishman, named Martin, offered to go shares with
me, and I accepted, as I knew he was a good player; and in the course of
eight or ten days we did such good business that I was not only able to
take the casket out of pledge and to cover all losses, but made a
considerable profit in addition.
About this period, the Corticelli, in her rage against me, had told
Madame d'Urfe the whole history of her life, of our acquaintance, and of
her pregnancy. But the more truthfully she told her story so much the
more did the good lady believe her to be mad, and we often laughed
together at the extraordinary fancies of the traitress. Madame d'Urfe put
all her trust in the instructions which Selenis would give in reply to
her letter.
Nevertheless, as the girl's conduct displeased me, I made her eat her
meals with her mother, while I kept Madame d'Urfe company. I assured her
that we should easily find another vessel of election, the madness of the
Countess Lascaris having made her absolutely incapable of participating
in our mysterious rites.
Before long, d'Ache's widow found herself obliged to give me her Mimi;
but I won her by kindness, and in such a way that the mother could
pretend with decency to know nothing about it. I redeemed all the goods
she had pawned, and although the daughter had not yet yielded entirely to
my ardour, I formed the plan of taking them to Colmar with Madame d'Urfe.
To make up the good lady's mind, I resolved to let that be one of the
instructions from the moon, and this she would not only obey blindly but
would have no suspicions as to my motive.
I managed the correspondence between Selenis and Madame d'Urfe in the
following manner:
On the day appointed, we supped together in a garden beyond the town
walls, and in a room on the ground floor of the house I had made all the
necessary preparations, the letter which was to fall from the moon, in
reply to Madame d'Urfe's epistle, being in my pocket. At a little
distance from the chamber of ceremonies I had placed a large bath filled
with lukewarm water and perfumes pleasing to the deity of the night, into
which we were to plunge at the hour of the moon, which fell at one
o'clock.
When we had burnt incense, and sprinkled the essences appropriate to the
cult of Selenis, we took off all our clothes, and holding the letter
concealed in my left hand, with the right I graciously led Madame d'Urfe
to the brink of the bath. Here stood an alabaster cup containing spirits
of wine which I kindled, repeating magical words which I did not
understand, but which she said after me, giving me the letter addressed
to Selenis. I burnt the letter in the flame of the spirits, beneath the
light of the moon, and the credulous lady told me she saw the characters
she had traced ascending in the rays of the planet.
We then got into the bath, and the letter, which was written in silver
characters on green paper appeared on the surface of the water in the
course of ten minutes. As soon as Madame d'Urfe saw it, she picked it up
reverently and got out of the bath with me.
We dried and scented ourselves, and proceeded to put on our clothes. As
soon as we were in a state of decency I told Madame d'Urfe that she might
read the epistle, which she had placed on a scented silk cushion. She
obeyed, and I saw sadness visibly expressed on her features when she saw
that her hypostasis was deferred till the arrival of Querilinthus, whom
she would see with me at Marseilles in the spring of next year. The
genius also said that the Countess Lascaris could not only do her harm,
and that she should consult me as to the best means of getting rid of
her. The letter ended by ordering her not to leave at Aix a lady who had
lost her husband, and had a daughter who was destined to be of great
service to the fraternity of the R. C. She was to take them to Alsace,
and not to leave them till they were there, and safe from that danger
which threatened them if they were left to themselves.
Madame d'Urfe, who with all her folly was an exceedingly benevolent
woman, commended the widow to my care enthusiastically, and seemed
impatient to hear her whole history. I told her all the circumstances
which I thought would strengthen her in her resolution to befriend them,
and promised to introduce the ladies to them at the first opportunity.
We returned to Aix, and spent the night in discussing the phantoms which
coursed through her brain. All was going on well, and my only care was
for the journey to Aix, and how to obtain the complete enjoyment of Mimi
after having so well deserved her favours.
I had a run of luck at play the next day, and in the evening I gave
Madame d'Ache an agreeable surprise by telling her that I should
accompany her and her Mimi to Colmar. I told her that I should begin by
introducing her to the lady whom I had the honour to accompany, and I
begged her to be ready by the next day as the marchioness was impatient
to see her. I could see that she could scarcely believe her ears, for she
thought Madame d'Urfe was in love with me, and she could not understand
her desire to make the acquaintance of two ladies who might be dangerous
rivals.
I conducted them to Madame d'Urfe at the appointed hour, and they were
received with a warmth which surprised them exceedingly, for they could
not be expected to know that their recommendation came from the moon. We
made a party of four, and while the two ladies talked together in the
fashion of ladies who have seen the world, I paid Mimi a particular
attention, which her mother understood very well, but which Madame d'Urfe
attributed to the young lady's connection with the Rosy Cross.
In the evening we all went to a ball, and there the Corticelli, who was
always trying to annoy me, danced as no young lady would dance. She
executed rapid steps, pirouetted, cut capers, and shewed her legs; in
short, she behaved like a ballet-girl. I was on thorns. An officer, who
either ignored, or pretended to ignore, my supposed relation to her,
asked me if she was a professional dancer. I heard another man behind me
say that he thought he remembered seeing her on the boards at Prague. I
resolved on hastening my departure, as I foresaw that if I stayed much
longer at Aix the wretched girl would end by costing me my life.
As I have said, Madame d'Ache had a good society manner, and this put her
in Madame d'Urfe's good graces, who saw in her politeness a new proof of
the favour of Selenis. Madame d'Ache felt, I suppose, that she awed me
some return after all I had done for her, and left the ball early, so
that when I took Mimi home I found myself alone with her, and at perfect
liberty to do what I liked. I profited by the opportunity, and remained
with Mimi for two hours, finding her so complaisant and even passionate
that when I left her I had nothing more to desire.
In three days time I provided the mother and daughter with their outfit,
and we left Aix gladly in an elegant and convenient travelling carriage
which I had provided. Half an hour before we left I made an acquaintance
which afterwards proved fatal to me. A Flemish officer, unknown to me,
accosted me, and painted his destitute condition in such sad colours that
I felt obliged to give him twelve louis. Ten minutes after, he gave me a
paper in which he acknowledged the debt, and named the time in which he
could pay it. From the paper I ascertained that his name was Malingan. In
ten months the reader will hear the results.
Just as we were starting I shewed the Corticelli a carriage with four
places, in which she, her mother, and the two maids, were to travel. At
this she trembled, her pride was wounded, and for a moment I thought she
was going out of her mind; she rained sobs, abuse, and curses on me. I
stood the storm unmoved, however, and Madame d'Urfe only laughed at her
niece's paroxysms, and seemed delighted to find herself sitting opposite
to me with the servant of Selenis beside her, while Mimi was highly
pleased to be so close to me.
We got to Liege at nightfall on the next day, and I contrived to make
Madame d'Urfe stay there the day following, wishing to get horses to take
us through the Ardennes, and thus to have the charming Mimi longer in my
possession.
I rose early and went out to see the town. By the great bridge, a woman,
so wrapped up in a black mantilla that only the tip of her nose was
visible, accosted me, and asked me to follow her into a house with an
open door which she shewed me.
"As I have not the pleasure of knowing you," I replied, "prudence will
not allow me to do so."
"You do know me, though," she replied, and taking me to the corner of a
neighbouring street she shewed me her face. What was my surprise to see
the fair Stuart of Avignon, the statue of the Fountain of Vaucluse. I was
very glad to meet her.
In my curiosity I followed her into the house, to a room on the first
floor, where she welcomed me most tenderly. It was all no good, for I
felt angry with her, and despised her advances, no doubt, because I had
Mimi, and wished to keep all my love for her. However, I took three louis
out of my purse and gave them to her, asking her to tell me her history.
"Stuart," she said, "was only my keeper; my real name is Ranson, and I am
the mistress of a rich landed proprietor. I got back to Liege after many
sufferings."
"I am delighted to hear that you are more prosperous now, but it must be
confessed that your behaviour at Avignon was both preposterous and
absurd. But the subject is not worth discussing. Good day, madam."
I then returned to my hotel to write an account of what I had seen to the
Marquis Grimaldi.
The next day we left Liege, and were two days passing through the
Ardennes. This is one of the strangest tracts in Europe: a vast forest,
the traditions of which furnished Ariosto with some splendid passages.
There is no town in the forest, and though one is obliged to cross it to
pass from one country to another, hardly any of the necessaries of life
are to be found in it.
The enquirer will seek in vain for vices or virtues, or manners of any
kind. The inhabitants are devoid of correct ideas, but have wild notions
of their own on the power of men they style scholars. It is enough to be
a doctor to enjoy the reputation of an astrologer and a wizard.
Nevertheless the Ardennes have a large population, as I was assured that
there were twelve hundred churches in the forest. The people are
good-hearted and even pleasant, especially the young girls; but as a
general rule the fair sex is by no means fair in those quarters. In this
vast district watered by the Meuse is the town of Bouillon--a regular
hole, but in my time it was the freest place in Europe. The Duke of
Bouillon was so jealous of his rights that he preferred the exercise of
his prerogatives to all the honours he might have enjoyed at the Court of
France. We stayed a day at Metz, but did not call on anyone; and in three
days we reached Colmar, where we left Madame d'Ache, whose good graces I
had completely won. Her family, in extremely comfortable circumstances,
received the mother and daughter with great affection. Mimi wept bitterly
when I left her, but I consoled her by saying that I would come back
before long. Madame d'Urfe seemed not to mind leaving them, and I
consoled myself easily enough. While congratulating myself on having made
mother and daughter happy, I adored the secret paths and ways of Divine
Providence.
On the following day we went to Sulzbach, where the Baron of Schaumburg,
who knew Madame d'Urfe, gave us a warm welcome. I should have been sadly
boared in this dull place if it had not been for gaming. Madame d'Urfe,
finding herself in need of company, encouraged the Corticelli to hope to
regain my good graces, and, consequently, her own. The wretched girl,
seeing how easily I had defeated her projects, and to what a pass of
humiliation I had brought her, had changed her part, and was now
submissive enough. She flattered herself that she would regain the favour
she had completely lost, and she thought the day was won when she saw
that Madame d'Ache and her daughter stayed at Colmar. But what she had
more at heart than either my friendship or Madame d'Urfe's was the
jewel-casket; but she dared not ask for it, and her hopes of seeing it
again were growing dim. By her pleasantries at table which made Madame
d'Urfe laugh she succeeded in giving me a few amorous twinges; but still
I did not allow my feelings to relax my severity, and she continued to
sleep with her mother.
A week after our arrival at Sulzbach I left Madame d'Urfe with the Baron
of Schaumburg, and I went to Colmar in the hope of good fortune. But I
was disappointed, as the mother and daughter had both made arrangements
for getting married.
A rich merchant, who had been in love with the mother eighteen years
before, seeing her a widow and still pretty, felt his early flames
revive, and offered his hand and was accepted. A young advocate found
Mimi to his taste, and asked her in marriage. The mother and daughter,
fearing the results of my affection, and finding it would be a good
match, lost no time in giving their consent. I was entertained in the
family, and supped in the midst of a numerous and choice assemblage; but
seeing that I should only annoy the ladies and tire myself in waiting for
some chance favour if I stayed, I bade them adieu and returned to
Sulzbach the next morning. I found there a charming girl from Strasburg,
named Salzmann, three or four gamesters who had come to drink the waters,
and several ladies, to whom I shall introduce the reader in the ensuing
chapter.
CHAPTER XVI
I Send The Corticelli to Turin--Helen is Initiated Into The
Mysteries of Love I Go to Lyons--My Arrival at Turin
[Illustration: Chapter 16]
One of the ladies, Madame Saxe, was intended by nature to win the
devotion of a man of feeling; and if she had not had a jealous officer in
her train who never let her go out of his sight, and seemed to threaten
anyone who aspired to please, she would probably have had plenty of
admirers. This officer was fond of piquet, but the lady was always
obliged to sit close beside him, which she seemed to do with pleasure.
In the afternoon I played with him, and continued doing so for five or
six days. After that I could stand it no longer, as when he had won ten
or twelve louis he invariably rose and left me to myself. His name was
d'Entragues; he was a fine-looking man, though somewhat thin, and had a
good share of wit and knowledge of the world.
We had not played together for two days, when one afternoon he asked if I
would like to take my revenge.
"No, I think not," said I, "for we don't play on the same principle. I
play for amusement's sake and you play to win money."
"What do you mean? Your words are offensive."
"I didn't mean them to be offensive, but as a matter of fact, each time
we have played you have risen after a quarter of an hour."
"You ought to be obliged to me, as otherwise you would have lost
heavily."
"Possibly; but I don't think so."
"I can prove it to you:"
"I accept the offer, but the first to leave the table must forfeit fifty
Louis."
"I agree; but money down."
"I never play on credit."
I ordered a waiter to bring cards, and I went to fetch four or five rolls
of a hundred Louis each. We began playing for five Louis the game, each
player putting down the fifty Louis wagered.
We began to play at three, and at nine o'clock d'Entragues said we might
take some supper.
"I am not hungry," I replied, "but you can go if you want me to put the
hundred Louis in my pocket."
He laughed at this and went on playing, but this lacy fair scowled at me,
though I did not care in the least for that. All the guests went to
supper, and returned to keep us company till midnight, but at that hour
we found ourselves alone. D'Entragues saw what kind of man he had got
hold of and said never a word, while I only opened my lips to score; we
played with the utmost coolness.
At six o'clock the ladies and gentlemen who were taking the waters began
to assemble. We were applauded for our determination, in spite of our
grim look. The Louis were on the table; I had lost a hundred, and yet the
game was going in my favour.
At nine the fair Madame Saxe put in an appearance, and shortly after
Madame d'Urfe came in with M. de Schaumburg. Both ladies advised us to
take a cup of chocolate. D'Entragues was the first to consent, and
thinking that I was almost done he said,--
"Let us agree that the first man who asks for food, who absents himself
for more than a quarter of an hour, or who falls asleep in his chair,
loses the bet."
"I will take you at your word," I replied, "and I adhere to all your
conditions."
The chocolate came, we took it, and proceeded with our play. At noon we
were summoned to dinner, but we both replied that we were not hungry. At
four o'clock we allowed ourselves to be persuaded into taking some soup.
When supper-time came and we were still playing, people began to think
that the affair was getting serious, and Madame Saxe urged us to divide
the wager. D'Entragues, who had won a hundred louis, would have gladly
consented, but I would not give in, and M. de Schaumburg pronounced me
within my rights. My adversary might have abandoned the stake and still
found himself with a balance to the good, but avarice rather than pride
prevented his doing so. I felt the loss myself, but what I cared chiefly
about was the point of honour. I still looked fresh, while he resembled a
disinterred corpse. As Madame Saxe urged me strongly to give way, I
answered that I felt deeply grieved at not being able to satisfy such a
charming woman, but that there was a question of honour in the case; and
I was determined not to yield to my antagonist if I sat there till I fell
dead to the ground.
I had two objects in speaking thus: I wanted to frighten him and to make
him jealous of me. I felt certain that a man in a passion of jealousy
would be quite confused, and I hoped his play would suffer accordingly,
and that I should not have the mortification of losing a hundred louis to
his superior play, though I won the fifty louis of the wager.
The fair Madame Saxe gave me a glance of contempt and left us, but Madame
d'Urfe, who believed I was infallible, avenged me by saying to
d'Entragues, in a tone of the profoundest conviction,--
"O Lord! I pity you, sir."
The company did not return after supper, and we were left alone to our
play. We played on all the night, and I observed my antagonist's face as
closely as the cards. He began to lose his composure, and made mistakes,
his cards got mixed up, and his scoring was wild. I was hardly less done
up than he; I felt myself growing weaker, and I hoped to see him fall to
the ground every moment, as I began to be afraid of being beaten in spite
of the superior strength of my constitution. I had won back my money by
day-break, and I cavilled with him for being away for more than a quarter
of an hour. This quarrel about nothing irritated him, and roused me up;
the difference of our natures produced these different results, and my
stratagem succeeded because it was impromptu, and could not have been
foreseen. In the same way in war, sudden stratagems succeed.
At nine o'clock Madame Saxe came in, her lover was losing.
"Now, sir," she said to me, "you may fairly yield."
"Madam," said I, "in hope of pleasing you, I will gladly divide the
stakes and rise from the table."
The tone of exaggerated gallantry with which I pronounced these words,
put d'Entragues into a rage, and he answered sharply that he would not
desist till one of us was dead.
With a glance at the lady which was meant to be lovelorn, but which must
have been extremely languid in my exhausted state, I said,--
"You see, Madam, that I am not the more obstinate of the two."
A dish of soup was served to us, but d'Entragues, who was in the last
stage of exhaustion, had no sooner swallowed the soup than he fell from
his chair in a dead faint. He was soon taken up, and after I had given
six louis to the marker who had been watching for forty-eight hours, I
pocketed the gold, and went to the apothecary's where I took a mild
emetic. Afterwards I went to bed and slept for a few hours, and at three
o'clock I made an excellent dinner.
D'Entragues remained in his room till the next day. I expected a quarrel,
but the night brings counsel, and I made a mistake. As soon as he saw me
he ran up to me and embraced me, saying,--
"I made a silly bet, but you have given me a lesson which will last me
all my days, and I am much obliged to you for it."
"I am delighted to hear it, provided that your health has not suffered."
"No, I am quite well, but we will play no more together."
"Well, I hope we shan't play against each other any more."
In the course of eight or ten days I took Madame d'Urfe and the pretended
Lascaris to Bale. We put up at the inn of the famous Imhoff, who swindled
us, but, all the same, the "Three Kings" is the best inn in the town. I
think I have noted that noon at Bale is at eleven o'clock--an absurdity
due to some historic event, which I had explained to me but have
forgotten. The inhabitants are said to be subject to a kind of madness,
of which they are cured by taking the waters of Sulzbach; but they 'get
it again as soon as they return.
We should have stayed at Bale some time, if it had not been for an
incident which made me hasten our departure. It was as follows:
My necessities had obliged me to forgive the Corticelli to a certain
extent, and when I came home early I spent the night with her; but when I
came home late, as often happened, I slept in my own room. The little
hussy, in the latter case, slept also alone in a room next to her
mother's, through whose chamber one had to pass to get to the daughter's.
One night I came in at one o'clock, and not feeling inclined to sleep, I
took a candle and went in search of my charmer. I was rather surprised to
find Signora Laura's door half open, and just as I was going in the old
woman came forward and took me by the arm, begging me not to go into her
daughter's room.
"Why?" said I.
"She has been very poorly all the evening, and she is in need of sleep."
"Very good; then I will sleep too."
So saying I pushed the mother to one side, and entering the girl's room I
found her in bed with someone who was hiding under the sheets.
I 'gazed at the picture for a moment and then began to laugh, and sitting
down on the bed begged to enquire the name of the happy individual whom I
should have the pleasure of throwing out of the window. On a chair I saw
the coat, trousers, hat, and cane of the gentleman; but as I had my two
trusty pistols about me I knew I had nothing to fear; however, I did not
want to make a noise.
With tears in her eyes, and trembling all over, the girl took my hand and
begged me to forgive her.
"It's a young lord," said she, "and I don't even know his name."
"Oh, he is a young lord, is he? and you don't know his name, you little
hussy, don't you? Well, he will tell me himself."
So saying, I took a pistol and vigorously stripped the sheets off the
cuckoo who had got into my nest. I saw the face of a young man whom I did
not know, his head covered with a nightcap, but the rest perfectly naked,
as indeed was my mistress. He turned his back to me to get his shirt
which he had thrown on the floor, but seizing him by the arm I held him
firmly, with my pistol to his forehead.
"Kindly tell me your name, fair sir."
"I am Count B----, canon of Bale."
"And do you think you have been performing an ecclesiastical function
here?"
"No sir, no, and I hope you will forgive me and the lady too, for I am
the only guilty party."
"I am not asking you whether she is guilty or not."
"Sir, the countess is perfectly innocent."
I felt in a good temper, and far from being angry I was strongly inclined
to laugh. I found the picture before me an attractive one; it was amusing
and voluptuous. The sight of the two nudities on the bed was a truly
lascivious one, and I remained contemplating it in silence for a quarter
of an hour, occupied in resisting a strong temptation to take off my
clothes and lie beside them. The only thing which prevented my yielding
to it was the fear that I might find the canon to be a fool, incapable of
playing the part with dignity. As for the Corticelli, she soon passed
from tears to laughter, and would have done it well, but if, as I feared,
the canon was a blockhead, I should have been degrading myself.
I felt certain that neither of them had guessed my thoughts, so I rose
and told the canon to put on his clothes.
"No one must hear anything more of this," said I, "but you and I will go
to a distance of two hundred paces and burn a little powder."
"No, no, sir," cried my gentleman, "you may take me where you like, and
kill me if you please, but I was not meant for a fighting man."
"Really?"
"Yes, sir, and I only became a priest to escape the fatal duty of
duelling."
"Then you are a coward, and will not object to a good thrashing?"
"Anything you like, but it would be cruelty, for my love blinded me. I
only came here a quarter of an hour ago, and the countess and her
governess were both asleep."
"You are a liar."
"I had only just taken off my shirt when you came, and I have never seen
this angel before."
"And that's gospel truth," said the Corticelli.
"Are you aware that you are a couple of impudent scoundrels? And as for
you, master canon, you deserve to be roasted like St. Laurence."
In the meanwhile the wretched ecclesiastic had huddled on his clothes.
"Follow me, sir," said I, in a tone which froze the marrow of his bones;
and I accordingly took him to my room.
"What will you do," said I, "if I forgive you and let you go without
putting you to shame?"
"I will leave in an hour and a half, and you shall never see me here
again; but even if we meet in the future, you will find me always ready
to do you a service."
"Very good. Begone, and in the future take more precautions in your
amorous adventures."
After this I went to bed, well pleased with what I had seen and what I
had done, for I now had complete power over the Corticelli.
In the morning I called on her as soon as I got up, and told her to pack
up her things, forbidding her to leave her room till she got into the
carriage.
"I shall say I am ill."
"Just as you please, but nobody will take any notice of you."
I did not wait for her to make any further objections, but proceeded to
tell the tale of what had passed to Madame d'Urfe, slightly embroidering
the narrative. She laughed heartily, and enquired of the oracle what must
be done with the Lascaris after her evident pollution by the evil genius
disguised as a priest. The oracle replied that we must set out the next
day for Besancon, whence she would go to Lyons and await me there, while
I would take the countess to Geneva, and thus send her back to her native
country.
[Illustration: Chapter 16b]
The worthy visionary was enchanted with this arrangement, and saw in it
another proof of the benevolence of Selenis, who would thus give her an
opportunity of seeing young Aranda once more. It was agreed that I was to
rejoin her in the spring of the following year, to perform the great
operation which was to make her be born a man. She had not the slightest
doubts as to the reasonableness of this performance.
All was ready, and the next day we started; Madame d'Urfe and I in the
travelling carriage, and the Corticelli, her mother, and the servants in
another conveyance.
When we got to Besancon Madame d'Urfe left me, and on the next day I
journeyed towards Geneva with the mother and daughter.
On the way I not only did not speak to my companions, I did not so much
as look at them. I made them have their meals with a servant from the
Franche Comte, whom I had taken on M. de Schaumburg's recommendation.
I went to my banker, and asked him to get me a good coachman, who would
take two ladies of my acquaintance to Turin.
When I got back to the inn I wrote to the Chevalier Raiberti, sending him
a bill of exchange. I warned him that in three or four days after the
receipt of my letter he would be accosted by a Bolognese dancer and her
mother, bearing a letter of commendation. I begged him to see that they
lodged in a respectable house, and to pay for them on my behalf. I also
said that I should be much obliged if he would contrive that she should
dance, even for nothing, at the carnival, and I begged him to warn her
that, if I heard any tales about her when I came to Turin, our relations
would be at an end.
The following day a clerk of M. Tronchin's brought a coachman for me to
see. The man said he was ready to start as soon as he had had his dinner.
I confirmed the agreement he had made with the banker, I summoned the two
Corticellis, and said to the coachman,
"These are the persons you are to drive, and they will pay you when they
reach Turin in safety with their luggage. You are to take four days and a
half for the journey, as is stipulated in the agreement, of which they
have one copy and you another." An hour after he called to put the
luggage in.
The Corticelli burst into tears, but I was not so cruel as to send her
away without any consolation. Her bad conduct had been severely enough
punished already. I made her dine with me, and as I gave her the letter
for M. Raiberti, and twenty-five Louis for the journey, I told her what I
had written to the gentleman, who would take good care of them. She asked
me for a trunk containing three dresses and a superb mantle which Madame
d'Urfe had given her before she became mad, but I said that we would talk
of that at Turin. She dared not mention the casket, but continued
weeping; however, she did not move me to pity. I left her much better off
than when I first knew her; she had good clothes, good linen, jewels, and
an exceedingly pretty watch I had given her; altogether a good deal more
than she deserved.
As she was going I escorted her to the carriage, less for politeness'
sake than to commend her once more to the coachman. When she was fairly
gone I felt as if a load had been taken off my back, and I went to look
up my worthy syndic, whom the reader will not have forgotten. I had not
written to him since I was in Florence, and I anticipated the pleasure of
seeing his surprise, which was extreme. But after gazing at me for a
moment he threw his arms round my neck, kissed me several times, and said
he had not expected the pleasure of seeing me.
"How are our sweethearts getting on?"
"Excellently. They are always talking about you and regretting your
absence; they will go wild with joy when they know you are here."
"You must tell them directly, then."
"I will go and warn them that we shall all sup together this evening. By
the way, M. de Voltaire has given up his house at Delices to M. de
Villars, and has gone to live at Ferney."
"That makes no difference to me, as I was not thinking of calling on him
this time. I shall be here for two or three weeks, and I mean to devote
my time to you."
"You are too good."
"Will you give me writing materials before you go out? I will write a few
letters while you are away."
He put me in possession of his desk, and I wrote to my late housekeeper,
Madame Lebel, telling her that I was going to spend three weeks at
Geneva, and that if I were sure of seeing her I would gladly pay a visit
to Lausanne. Unfortunately, I also wrote to the bad Genoese poet, Ascanio
Pogomas, or Giaccomo Passano, whom I had met at Leghorn. I told him to go
to Turin and to wait for me there. At the same time I wrote to M. F----,
to whom I had commended him, asking him to give the poet twelve Louis for
the journey.
My evil genius made me think of this man, who was an imposing-looking
fellow, and had all the air of a magician, to introduce him to Madame
d'Urfe as a great adept. You will see, dear reader, in the course of a
year whether I had reason to repent of this fatal inspiration.
As the syndic and I were on our way to our young friend's house I saw an
elegant English carriage for sale, and I exchanged it for mine, giving
the owner a hundred Louis as well. While the bargain was going on the
uncle of the young theologian who argued so well, and to whom I had given
such pleasant lessons in physiology, came up to me, embraced me, and
asked me to dine with him the next day.
Before we got to the house the syndic informed me that we should find
another extremely pretty but uninitiated girl present.
"All the better," said I, "I shall know how to regulate my conduct, and
perhaps I may succeed in initiating her."
In my pocket I had placed a casket containing a dozen exquisite rings. I
had long been aware that such trifling presents are often very
serviceable.
The moment of meeting those charming girls once more was one of the
happiest I have ever enjoyed. In their greeting I read delight and love
of pleasure. Their love was without envy or jealousy, or any ideas which
would have injured their self-esteem. They felt worthy of my regard, as
they had lavished their favours on me without any degrading feelings, and
drawn by the same emotion that had drawn me.
The presence of the neophyte obliged us to greet each other with what is
called decency, and she allowed me to kiss her without raising her eyes,
but blushing violently.
After the usual commonplaces had passed and we had indulged in some
double meanings which made us laugh and her look thoughtful, I told her
she was pretty as a little love, and that I felt sure that her mind, as
beautiful as its casket, could harbour no prejudices.
"I have all the prejudices which honour and religion suggest," she
modestly replied.
I saw that this was a case requiring very delicate treatment. There was
no question of carrying the citadel by sudden assault. But, as usual, I
fell in love with her.
The syndic having pronounced my name, she said,--
"Ah! then, you, sir, are the person who discussed some very singular
questions with my cousin, the pastor's niece. I am delighted to make your
acquaintance."
"I am equally pleased to make yours, but I hope the pastor's niece said
nothing against me."
"Not at all; she has a very high opinion of you."
"I am going to dine with her to-morrow, and I shall take care to thank
her."
"To-morrow! I should like to be there, for I enjoy philosophical
discussions though I never dare to put a word in."
The syndic praised her discretion and wisdom in such a manner that I was
convinced he was in love with her, and that he had either seduced her or
was trying to do so. Her name was Helen. I asked the young ladies if
Helen was their sister. The eldest replied, with a sly smile, that she
was a sister, but as yet she had no brother; and with this explanation
she ran up to Helen and kissed her. Then the syndic and I vied with each
other in paying her compliments, telling her that we hoped to be her
brothers. She blushed, but gave no answer to our gallantries. I then drew
forth my casket, and seeing that all the girls were enchanted with the
rings, I told them to choose which ones they liked best. The charming
Helen imitated their example, and repaid me with a modest kiss. Soon
after she left us, and we were once more free, as in old times.
The syndic had good cause to shew for his love of Helen. She was not
merely pleasing, she was made to inspire a violent passion. However, the
three friends had no hope of making her join in their pleasures, for they
said that she had invincible feelings of modesty where men were
concerned.
We supped merrily, and after supper we began our sports again, the syndic
remaining as usual a mere looker-on, and well pleased with his part. I
treated each of the three nymphs to two courses, deceiving them whenever
I was forced by nature to do so. At midnight we broke up, and the worthy
syndic escorted me to the door of my lodging.
The day following I went to the pastor's and found a numerous party
assembled, amongst others M. d'Harcourt and M. de Ximenes, who told me
that M. de Voltaire knew that I was at Geneva and hoped to see me. I
replied by a profound bow. Mdlle. Hedvig, the pastor's niece,
complimented me, but I was still better pleased to see her cousin Helen.
The theologian of twenty-two was fair and pleasant to the eyes, but she
had not that 'je ne sais quoi', that shade of bitter-sweet, which adds
zest to hope as well as pleasure. However, the evident friendship between
Hedvig and Helen gave me good hopes of success with the latter.
We had an excellent dinner, and while it lasted the conversation was
restricted to ordinary topics; but at dessert the pastor begged M. de
Ximenes to ask his niece some questions. Knowing his worldwide
reputation, I expected him to put her some problem in geometry, but he
only asked whether a lie could be justified on the principle of a mental
reservation.
Hedvig replied that there are cases in which a lie is necessary, but that
the principle of a mental reservation is always a cheat.
"Then how could Christ have said that the time in which the world was to
come to an end was unknown to Him?"
"He was speaking the truth; it was not known to Him."
"Then he was not God?"
"That is a false deduction, for since God may do all things, He may
certainly be ignorant of an event in futurity."
I thought the way in which she brought in the word "futurity" almost
sublime. Hedvig was loudly applauded, and her uncle went all round the
table to kiss her. I had a very natural objection on the tip of my
tongue, which she might have found difficult to answer, but I wanted to
get into her good graces and I kept my own counsel.
M. d'Harcourt was urged to ask her some questions, but he replied in the
words of Horace, 'Nulla mihi religio est'. Then Hedvig turned to me and
asked me to put her some hard question, "something difficult, which you
don't know yourself."
"I shall be delighted. Do you grant that a god possesses in a supreme
degree the qualities of man?"
"Yes, excepting man's weaknesses."
"Do you class the generative power as a weakness?"
"No."
"Will you tell me, then, of what nature would have been the offspring of
a union between a god and a mortal woman?"
Hedvig looked as red as fire.
The pastor and the other guests looked at each other, while I gazed
fixedly at the young theologian, who was reflecting. M. d'Harcourt said
that we should have to send for Voltaire to settle a question so
difficult, but as Hedvig had collected her thoughts and seemed ready to
speak everybody was silent.
"It would be absurd," said she, "to suppose that a deity could perform
such an action without its having any results. At the end of nine months
a woman would be delivered a male child, which would be three parts man
and one part god."
At these words all the guests applauded, M. de Ximenes expressed his
admiration of the way the question had been solved, adding,--
"Naturally, if the son of the woman married, his children would be
seven-eighths men and one-eighth gods."
"Yes," said I, "unless he married a goddess, which would have made the
proportion different."
"Tell me exactly," said Hedvig, "what proportion of divinity there would
be in a child of the sixteenth generation."
"Give me a pencil and I will soon tell you," said M. de Ximenes.
"There is no need to calculate it," said I; "the child would have some
small share of the wit which you enjoy."
Everybody applauded this gallant speech, which did not by any means
offend the lady to whom it was addressed.
This pretty blonde was chiefly desirable for the charms of her intellect.
We rose from the table and made a circle round her, but she told us with
much grace not to pay her any more compliments.
I took Helen aside, and told her to get her cousin to choose a ring from
my casket, which I gave her, and she seemed glad to execute the
commission. A quarter of an hour afterwards Hedvig came to shew me her
hand adorned with the ring she had chosen. I kissed it rapturously, and
she must have guessed from the warmth of my kisses with what feelings she
had inspired me.
In the evening Helen told the syndic and the three girls all about the
morning's discussion without leaving out the smallest detail. She told
the story with ease and grace, and I had no occasion to prompt her. We
begged her to stay to supper, but she whispered something to the three
friends, and they agreed that it was impossible; but she said that she
might spend a couple of days with them in their country house on the
lake, if they would ask her mother.
At the syndic's request the girls called on the mother the next day, and
the day after that they went off with Helen. The same evening we went and
supped with them, but we could not sleep there. The syndic was to take me
to a house at a short distance off, where we should be very comfortable.
This being the case there was no hurry, and the eldest girl said that the
syndic and I could leave whenever we liked, but that they were going to
bed. So saying she took Helen to her room, while the two others slept in
another room. Soon after the syndic went into the room where Helen was,
and I visited the two others.
I had scarcely been with my two sweethearts for an hour when the syndic
interrupted my erotic exploits by begging me to go.
"What have you done with Helen?" I asked.
"Nothing; she's a simpleton, and an intractable one. She hid under the
sheets and would not look at my performance with her friend."
"You ought to go to her direct."
"I have done so, but she repulsed me again and again. I have given it up,
and shall not try it again, unless you will tame her for me."
"How is it to be done?"
"Come to dinner to-morrow. I shall be away at Geneva. I shall be back by
supper-time. I wish we could give her too much to drink!"
"That would be a pity. Let me see what I can do."
I accordingly went to dine with them by myself the next day, and they
entertained me in all the force of the word. After dinner we went for a
walk, and the three friends understanding my aims left me alone with the
intractable girl, who resisted my caresses in a manner which almost made
me give up the hope of taming her.
"The syndic," said I, "is in love with you, and last night . . .
"Last night," she said, "he amused himself with his old friend. I am for
everyone's following their own tastes, but I expect to be allowed to
follow mine."
"If I could gain your heart I should be happy."
"Why don't you invite the pastor and my cousin to dine with you? I could
come too, for the pastor makes much of everyone who loves his niece."
"I am glad to hear that. Has she a lover?"
"No."
"I can scarcely believe it. She is young, pretty, agreeable, and very
clever."
"You don't understand Genevan ways. It is because she is so clever that
no young man falls in love with her. Those who might be attracted by her
personal charms hold themselves aloof on account of her intellectual
capacities, as they would have to sit in silence before her."
"Are the young Genevans so ignorant, then?"
"As a rule they are. Some of them have received excellent educations, but
in a general way they are full of prejudice. Nobody wishes to be
considered a fool or a blockhead, but clever women are not appreciated;
and if a girl is witty or well educated she endeavors to hide her lights,
at least if she desires to be married."
"Ah! now I see why you did not open your lips during our discussion."
"No, I know I have nothing to hide. This was not the motive which made me
keep silence, but the pleasure of listening. I admired my cousin, who was
not afraid to display her learning on a subject which any other girl
would have affected to know nothing about."
"Yes, affected, though she might very probably know as much as her
grandmother."
"That's a matter of morals, or rather of prejudices."
"Your reasoning is admirable, and I am already longing for the party you
so cleverly suggested:"
"You will have the pleasure of being with my cousin."
"I do her justice. Hedvig is certainly a very interesting and agreeable
girl, but believe me it is your presence that will constitute my chief
enjoyment."
"And how if I do not believe you?"
"You would wrong me and give me pain, for I love you dearly."
"In spite of that you have deceived me. I am sure that you have given
marks of your affection to those three young ladies. For my part I pity
them."
"Why?"
"Because neither of them can flatter herself that you love her, and her
alone."
"And do you think that your delicacy of feeling makes you happier than
they are?"
"Yes, I think so though of course, I have no experience in the matter.
Tell me truly, do you think I am right?"
"Yes, I do."
"I am delighted to hear it; but you must confess that to associate me
with them in your attentions would not be giving me the greatest possible
proof of your love."
"Yes, I do confess it, and I beg your pardon. But tell me how I should
set to work to ask the pastor to dinner."
"There will be no difficulty. Just call on him and ask him to come, and
if you wish me to be of the party beg him to ask my mother and myself."
"Why your mother?"
"Because he has been in love with her these twenty years, and loves her
still."
"And where shall I give this dinner?"
"Is not M. Tronchin your banker?"
"Yes."
"He has a nice pleasure house on the lake; ask him to lend it you for the
day; he will be delighted to do so. But don't tell the syndic or his
three friends anything about it; they can hear of it afterwards."
"But do you think your learned cousin will be glad to be in my company?"
"More than glad, you may be sure."
"Very good, everything will be arranged by tomorrow. The day after, you
will be returning to Geneva, and the party will take place two or three
days later."
The syndic came back in due course, and we had a very pleasant evening.
After supper the ladies went to bed as before, and I went with the eldest
girl while the syndic visited the two younger ones. I knew that it would
be of no use to try to do anything with Helen, so I contented myself with
a few kisses, after which I wished them good night and passed on to the
next room. I found them in a deep sleep, and the syndic seemed visibly
bored. He did not look more cheerful when I told him that I had had no
success with Helen.
"I see," said he, "that I shall waste my time with the little fool. I
think I shall give her up."
"I think that's the best thing you could do," I replied, "for a man who
languishes after a woman who is either devoid of feeling or full of
caprice, makes himself her dupe. Bliss should be neither too easy nor too
hard to be won."
The next day we returned to Geneva, and M. Tronchin seemed delighted to
oblige me. The pastor accepted my invitation, and said I was sure to be
charmed with Helen's mother. It was easy to see that the worthy man
cherished a tenderness for her, and if she responded at all it would be
all the better for my purposes.
I was thinking of supping with the charming Helen and her three friends
at the house on the lake, but an express summoned me to Lausanne. Madame
Lebel, my old housekeeper, invited me to sup with her and her husband.
She wrote that she had made her husband promise to take her to Lausanne
as soon as she got my letter, and she added she was sure that I would
resign everything to give her the pleasure of seeing me. She notified the
hour at which she would be at her mother's house.
Madame Lebel was one of the ten or twelve women for whom in my happy
youth I cherished the greatest affection. She had all the qualities to
make a man a good wife, if it had been my fate to experience such
felicity. But perhaps I did well not to tie myself down with irrevocable
bonds, though now my independence is another name for slavery. But if I
had married a woman of tact, who would have ruled me unawares to myself,
I should have taken care of my fortune and have had children, instead of
being lonely and penniless in my old age.
But I must indulge no longer in digressions on the past which cannot be
recalled, and since my recollections make me happy I should be foolish to
cherish idle regrets.
I calculated that if I started directly I should get to Lausanne an hour
before Madame Lebel, and I did not hesitate to give her this proof of my
regard. I must here warn my readers, that, though I loved this woman
well, I was then occupied with another passion, and no voluptuous thought
mingled with my desire of seeing her. My esteem for her was enough to
hold my passions in check, but I esteemed Lebel too, and nothing would
have induced me to disturb the happiness of this married pair.
I wrote in haste to the syndic, telling him that an important and sudden
call obliged me to start for Lausanne, but that I should have the
pleasure of supping with him and his three friends at Geneva on the
following day.
I knocked at Madame Dubois's door at five o'clock, almost dying with
hunger. Her surprise was extreme, for she did not know that her daughter
was going to meet me at her house. Without more ado I gave her two louis
to get us a good supper.
At seven o'clock, Madame Lebel, her husband, and a child of eighteen
months, whom I easily recognized as my own, arrived. Our meeting was a
happy one indeed; we spent ten hours at table, and mirth and joy
prevailed. At day-break she started for Soleure, where Lebel had
business. M. de Chavigni had desired to be remembered most affectionately
to me. Lebel assured me that the ambassador was extremely kind to his
wife, and he thanked me heartily for having given such a woman up to him.
I could easily see that he was a happy husband, and that his wife was as
happy as he.
My dear housekeeper talked to me about my son. She said that nobody
suspected the truth, but that neither she nor Lebel (who had faithfully
kept his promise, and had not consummated the marriage for the two months
agreed upon) had any doubts.
"The secret," said Lebel to me, "will never be known, and your son will
be my sole heir, or will share my property with my children if I ever
have any, which I doubt."
"My dear," said his wife, "there is somebody who has very strong
suspicions on the subject, and these suspicions will gain strength as the
child grows older; but we have nothing to fear on that score, as she is
well paid to keep the secret."
"And who is this person?" said I.
"Madame----. She has not forgotten the past, and often speaks of you."
"Will you kindly remember me to her?"
"I shall be delighted to do so, and I am sure the message will give her
great pleasure."
Lebel shewed me my ring, and I shewed him his, and gave him a superb
watch for my son.
"You must give it him," I said, "when you think he is old enough."
We shall hear of the young gentleman in twenty-one years at
Fontainebleau.
I passed three hours in telling them of all the adventures I had during
the twenty-seven months since we had seen one another. As to their
history, it was soon told; it had all the calm which belongs to
happiness.
Madame Lebel was as pretty as ever, and I could see no change in her, but
I was no longer the same man. She thought me less lively than of old, and
she was right. The Renaud had blasted me, and the pretended Lascaris had
given me a great deal of trouble and anxiety.
We embraced each other tenderly, and the wedded pair returned to Soleure
and I to Geneva; but feeling that I wanted rest I wrote to the syndic
that I was not well and could not come till the next day, and after I had
done so I went to bed.
The next day, the eve of my dinner party, I ordered a repast in which no
expense was to be spared. I did not forget to tell the landlord to get me
the best wines, the choicest liqueurs, ices, and all the materials for a
bowl of punch. I told him that we should be six in number, for I foresaw
that M. Tronchin would dine with us. I was right; I found him at his
pretty house ready to receive us, and I had not much trouble in inducing
him to stay. In the evening I thought it as well to tell the syndic and
his three friends about it in Helen's presence, while she, feigning
ignorance, said that her mother had told her they were going somewhere or
other to dinner.
"I am delighted to hear it," said I; "it must be at M. Tronchin's."
My dinner would have satisfied the most exacting gourmet, but Hedvig was
its real charm. She treated difficult theological questions with so much
grace, and rationalised so skilfully, that though one might not be
convinced it was impossible to help being attracted. I have never seen
any theologian who could treat the most difficult points with so much
facility, eloquence, and real dignity, and at dinner she completed her
conquest of myself. M. Tronchin, who had never heard her speak before,
thanked me a hundred times for having procured him this pleasure, and
being obliged to leave us by the call of business he asked us to meet
again in two days' time.
I was much interested during the dessert by the evident tenderness of the
pastor for Helen's mother. His amorous eloquence grew in strength as he
irrigated his throat with champagne, Greek wine, and eastern liqueurs.
The lady seemed pleased, and was a match for him as far as drinking was
concerned, while the two girls and myself only drank with sobriety.
However, the mixture of wines, and above all the punch, had done their
work, and my charmers were slightly elevated. Their spirits were
delightful, but rather pronounced.
I took this favourable opportunity to ask the two aged lovers if I might
take the young ladies for a walk in the garden by the lake, and they told
us enthusiastically to go and enjoy ourselves. We went out arm in arm,
and in a few minutes we were out of sight of everyone.
"Do you know," said I to Hedvig, "that you have made a conquest of M.
Tronchin?"
"Have I? The worthy banker asked me some very silly questions."
"You must not expect everyone to be able to contend with you."
"I can't help telling you that your question pleased me best of all. A
bigoted theologian at the end of the table seemed scandalized at the
question and still more at the answer."
"And why?"
"He says I ought to have told you that a deity could not impregnate a
woman. He said that he would explain the reason to me if I were a man,
but being a woman and a maid he could not with propriety expound such
mysteries. I wish you would tell me what the fool meant."
"I should be very glad, but you must allow me to speak plainly, and I
shall have to take for granted that you are acquainted with the physical
conformation of a man."
"Yes, speak as plainly as you like, for there is nobody to hear what we
say; but I must confess that I am only acquainted with the peculiarities
of the male by theory and reading. I have no practical knowledge. I have
seen statues, but I have never seen or examined a real live man. Have
you, Helen?"
"I have never wished to do so."
"Why not? It is good to know everything."
"Well, Hedvig, your theologian meant to say that a god was not capable of
this."
"What is that?"
"Give me your hand."
"I can feel it, and have thought it would be something like that; without
this provision of nature man would not be able to fecundate his mate. And
how could the foolish theologian maintain that this was an imperfection?"
"Because it is the result of desire, Hedvig, and it would not have taken
place in me if I had not been charmed with you, and if I had not
conceived the most seducing ideas of the beauties that I cannot see from
the view of the beauties I can see. Tell me frankly whether feeling that
did not give you an agreeable sensation."
"It did, and just in the place where your hand is now. Don't you feel a
pleasant tickling there, Helen, after what the gentleman has been saying
to us?"
"Yes, I feel it, but I often do, without anything to excite me."
"And then," said I, "nature makes you appease it . . . thus?"
"Not at all."
"Oh, yes!" said Hedvig. "Even when we are asleep our hands seek that spot
as if by instinct, and if it were not for that solace I think we should
get terribly ill."
As this philosophical discourse, conducted by the young theologian in
quite a professional manner, proceeded, we reached a beautiful basin of
water, with a flight of marble steps for bathers. Although the air was
cool our heads were hot, and I conceived the idea of telling them that it
would do them good to bathe their feet, and that if they would allow me I
would take off their shoes and stockings.
"I should like to so much," said Hedvig.
"And I too," said Helen.
"Then sit down, ladies, on the first step."
They proceeded to sit down and I began to take off their shoes, praising
the beauty of their legs, and pretending for the present not to want to
go farther than the knee. When they got into the water they were obliged
to pick up their clothes, and I encouraged them to do so.
"Well, well," said Hedvig, "men have thighs too."
Helen, who would have been ashamed to be beaten by her cousin, was not
backward in shewing her legs.
"That will do, charming maids," said I, "you might catch cold if you
stayed longer in the water."
They walked up backwards, still holding up their clothes for fear of
wetting them, and it was then my duty to wipe them dry with all the
handkerchiefs I had. This pleasant task left me at freedom to touch and
see, and the reader will imagine that I did my best in that direction.
The fair theologian told me I wanted to know too much, but Helen let me
do what I liked with such a tender and affectionate expression that it
was as much as I could do to keep within bounds. At last, when I had
drawn on their shoes and stockings, I told them that I was delighted to
have seen the hidden charms of the two prettiest girls in Geneva.
"What effect had it on you?" asked Hedvig.
"I daren't tell you to look, but feel, both of you."
"Do you bathe, too."
"It's out of the question, a man's undressing takes so much trouble."
"But we have still two hours before us, in which we need not fear any
interruption."
This reply gave me a foretaste of the bliss I had to gain, but I did not
wish to expose myself to an illness by going into the water in my present
state. I noticed a summer-house at a little distance, and feeling sure
that M. Tronchin had left the door open, I took the two girls on my arm
and led them there without giving them any hint of my intentions. The
summer-house was scented with vases of pot-pourri and adorned with
engravings; but, best of all, there was a large couch which seemed made
for repose and pleasure. I sat down on it between my two sweethearts, and
as I caressed them I told them I was going to shew them something they
had never seen before, and without more ado I displayed to their gaze the
principal agent in the preservation of the human race. They got up to
admire it, and taking a hand of each one I procured them some enjoyment,
but in the middle of their labours an abundant flow of liquid threw them
into the greatest astonishment.
"That," said I, "is the Word which makes men."
"It's beautiful!" cried Helen, laughing at the term "word."
"I have a word too," said Hedvig, "and I will shew it to you if you will
wait a minute."
"Come, Hedvig, and I will save you the trouble of making it yourself, and
will do it better."
"I daresay, but I have never done it with a man."
"No more have I," said Helen.
Placing them in front of me I gave them another ecstacy. We then sat
down, and while I felt all their charms I let them touch me as much as
they liked till I watered their hands a second time.
We made ourselves decent once more, and spent half an hour in kisses and
caresses, and I then told them that they had made me happy only in part,
but that I hoped they would make my bliss complete by presenting me with
their maidenheads. I shewed them the little safety-bags invented by the
English in the interests of the fair sex. They admired them greatly when
I explained their use, and the fair theologian remarked to her cousin
that she would think it over. We were now close friends, and soon
promised to be something more; and we walked back and found the pastor
and Helen's mother strolling by the side of the lake.
When I got back to Geneva I went to spend the evening with the three
friends, but I took good care not to tell the syndic anything about my
victory with Helen. It would only have served to renew his hopes, and he
would have had this trouble for nothing. Even I would have done no good
without the young theologian; but as Helen admired her she did not like
to appear her inferior by refusing to imitate her freedom.
I did not see Helen that evening, but I saw her the next day at her
mother's house, for I was in mere politeness bound to thank the old lady
for the honour she had done me. She gave me a most friendly reception,
and introduced me to two very pretty girls who were boarding with her.
They might have interested me if I had been stopping long in Geneva, but
as if was Helen claimed all my attraction.
"To-morrow," said the charming girl, "I shall be able to get a word with
you at Madame Tronchin's dinner, and I expect Hedvig will have hit on
some way for you to satisfy your desires."
The banker gave us an excellent dinner. He proudly told me that no
inn-keeper could give such a good dinner as a rich gentleman who has a
good cook, a good cellar, good silver plate, and china of the best
quality. We were twenty of us at table, and the feast was given chiefly
in honour of the learned theologian and myself, as a rich foreigner who
spent money freely. M. de Ximenes, who had just arrived from Ferney was
there, and told me that M. de Voltaire was expecting me, but I had
foolishly determined not to go.
Hedvig shone in solving the questions put to her by the company. M. de
Ximenes begged her to justify as best she could our first mother, who had
deceived her husband by giving him the fatal apple to eat.
"Eve," she said, "did not deceive her husband, she only cajoled him into
eating it in the hope of giving him one more perfection. Besides Eve had
not been forbidden to eat the fruit by God, but only by Adam, and in all
probability her woman's sense prevented her regarding the prohibition as
serious."
At this reply, which I found full of sense and wit, two scholars from
Geneva and even Hedvig's uncle began to murmur and shake their heads.
Madame Tronchin said gravely that Eve had received the prohibition from
God himself, but the girl only answered by a humble "I beg your pardon,
madam." At this she turned to the pastor with a frightened manner, and
said,--
"What do you say to this?"
"Madam, my niece is not infallible."
"Excuse me, dear uncle, I am as infallible as Holy Writ when I speak
according to it."
"Bring a Bible, and let me see."
"Hedvig, my dear Hedvig, you are right after all. Here it is. The
prohibition was given before woman was made."
Everybody applauded, but Hedvig remained quite calm; it was only the two
scholars and Madame Tronchin who still seemed disturbed. Another lady
then asked her if it was allowable to believe the history of the apple to
be symbolical. She replied,--
"I do not think so, because it could only be a symbol of sexual union,
and it is clear that such did not take place between Adam and Eve in the
Garden of Eden."
"The learned differ on this point."
"All the worse for them, madam, the Scripture is plain enough. In the
first verse of the fourth chapter it is written, that Adam knew his wife
after they had been driven from the Garden, and that in consequence she
conceived Cain."
"Yes, but the verse does not say that Adam did not know her before and
consequently he might have done so."
"I cannot admit the inference, as in that case she would have conceived;
for it would be absurd to suppose that two creatures who had just left
God's hands, and were consequently as nearly perfect as is possible,
could perform the act of generation without its having any result."
This reply gained everyone's applause, and compliments to Hedvig made the
round of the table.
Mr. Tronchin asked her if the doctrine of the immortality of the soul
could be gathered from the Old Testament alone.
"The Old Testament," she replied, "does not teach this doctrine; but,
nevertheless, human reason teaches it, as the soul is a substance, and
the destruction of any substance is an unthinkable proposition."
"Then I will ask you," said the banker, "if the existence of the soul is
established in the Bible."
"Where there is smoke there is always fire."
"Tell me, then, if matter can think."
"I cannot answer that question, for it is beyond my knowledge. I can only
say that as I believe God to be all powerful, I cannot deny Him the power
to make matter capable of thought."
"But what is your own opinion?"
"I believe that I have a soul endowed with thinking capacities, but I do
not know whether I shall remember that I had the honour of dining with
you to-day after I die."
"Then you think that the soul and the memory may be separable; but in
that case you would not be a theologian."
"One may be a theologian and a philosopher, for philosophy never
contradicts any truth, and besides, to say 'I do not know' is not the
same as 'I am sure'."
Three parts of the guests burst into cries of admiration, and the fair
philosopher enjoyed seeing me laugh for pleasure at the applause. The
pastor wept for joy, and whispered something to Helen's mother. All at
once he turned to me, saying,--
"Ask my niece some question."
"Yes," said Hedvig, "but it must be something quite new."
"That is a hard task," I replied, "for how am I to know that what I ask
is new to you? However, tell me if one must stop at the first principle
of a thing one wants to understand."
"Certainly, and the reason is that in God there is no first principle,
and He is therefore incomprehensible."
"God be praised! that is how I would have you answer. Can God have any
self-consciousness?"
"There my learning is baffled. I know not what to reply. You should not
ask me so hard a thing as that."
"But you wished for something new. I thought the newest thing would be to
see you at a loss."
"That's prettily said. Be kind enough to reply for me, gentlemen, and
teach me what to say."
Everybody tried to answer, but nothing was said worthy of record. Hedvig
at last said,--
"My opinion is that since God knows all, He knows of His own existence,
but you must not ask me how He knows it."
"That's well said," I answered; and nobody could throw any further light
on the matter.
All the company looked on me as a polite Atheist, so superficial is the
judgment of society, but it did not matter to me whether they thought me
an Atheist or not.
M. de Ximenes asked Hedvig if matter had been created.
"I cannot recognize the word 'created,'" she replied. "Ask me whether
matter was formed, and I shall reply in the affirmative. The word
'created' cannot have existence, for the existence of anything must be
prior to the word which explains it."
"Then what meaning do you assign to the word 'created'?"
"Made out of nothing. You see the absurdity, for nothing must have first
existed. I am glad to see you laugh. Do you think that nothingness could
be created?"
"You are right."
"Not at all, not at all," said one of the guests, superciliously.
"Kindly tell me who was your teacher?" said M. de Ximenes.
"My uncle there."
"Not at all, my dear niece. I certainly never taught you what you have
been telling us to-day. But my niece, gentlemen, reads and reflects over
what she has read, perhaps with rather too much freedom, but I love her
all the same, because she always ends by acknowledging that she knows
nothing."
A lady who had not opened her lips hitherto asked Hedvig for a definition
of spirit.
"Your question is a purely philosophical one, and I must answer that I do
not know enough of spirit or matter to be able to give a satisfactory
definition."
"But since you acknowledge the existence of Deity and must therefore have
an abstract idea of spirit, you must have some notions on the subject,
and should be able to tell me how it acts on matter."
"No solid foundation can be built on abstract ideas. Hobbes calls such
ideas mere fantasms. One may have them, but if one begins to reason on
them, one is landed in contradiction. I know that God sees me, but I
should labour in vain if I endeavoured to prove it by reasoning, for
reason tells us no one can see anything without organs of sight; and God
being a pure spirit, and therefore without organs, it is scientifically
impossible that He can see us any more than we can see Him. But Moses and
several others have seen Him, and I believe it so, without attempting to
reason on it."
"You are quite right," said I, "for you would be confronted by blank
impossibility. But if you take to reading Hobbes you are in danger of
becoming an Atheist."
"I am not afraid of that. I cannot conceive the possibility of Atheism."
After dinner everybody crowded round this truly astonishing girl, so that
I had no opportunity of whispering my love. However, I went apart with
Helen, who told me that the pastor and his niece were going to sup with
her mother the following day.
"Hedvig," she added, "will stay the night and sleep with me as she always
does when she comes to supper with her uncle. It remains to be seen if
you are willing to hide in a place I will shew you at eleven o'clock
tomorrow, in order to sleep with us. Call on my mother at that hour
to-morrow, and I will find an opportunity of shewing you where it is. You
will be safe though not comfortable, and if you grow weary you can
console yourself by thinking that you are in our minds."
"Shall I have to stay there long?"
"Four hours at the most. At seven o'clock the street door is shut, and
only opened to anyone who rings."
"If I happen to cough while I am in hiding might I be heard?"
"Yes, that might happen."
"There's a great hazard. All the rest is of no consequence; but no
matter, I will risk all for the sake of so great happiness."
In the morning I paid the mother a visit, and as Helen was escorting me
out she shewed me a door between the two stairs.
"At seven o'clock," said she, "the door will be open, and when you are in
put on the bolt. Take care that no one sees you as you are entering the
house."
At a quarter to seven I was already a prisoner. I found a seat in my
cell, otherwise I should neither have been able to lie down or to stand
up. It was a regular hole, and I knew by my sense of smell that hams and
cheeses were usually kept there; but it contained none at present, for I
fell all round to see how the land lay. As I was cautiously stepping
round I felt my foot encounter some resistance, and putting down my hand
I recognized the feel of linen. It was a napkin containing two plates, a
nice roast fowl, bread, and a second napkin. Searching again I came
across a bottle and a glass. I was grateful to my charmers for having
thought of my stomach, but as I had purposely made a late and heavy meal
I determined to defer the consumption of my cold collation till a later
hour.
At nine o'clock I began, and as I had neither a knife nor a corkscrew I
was obliged to break the neck of the bottle with a brick which I was
fortunately able to detach from the mouldering floor. The wine was
delicious old Neuchatel, and the fowl was stuffed with truffles, and I
felt convinced that my two nymphs must have some rudimentary ideas on the
subject of stimulants. I should have passed the time pleasantly enough if
it had not been for the occasional visits of a rat, who nearly made me
sick with his disgusting odour. I remembered that I had been annoyed in
the same way at Cologne under somewhat similar circumstances.
At last ten o'clock struck, and I heard the pastor's voice as he came
downstairs talking; he warned the girls not to play any tricks together,
and to go to sleep quietly. That brought back to my memory M. Rose
leaving Madame Orio's house at Venice twenty-two years before; and
reflecting on my character I found myself much changed, though not more
reasonable; but if I was not so sensible to the charms of the sex, the
two beauties who were awaiting me were much superior to Madame Orio's
nieces.
In my long and profligate career in which I have turned the heads of some
hundreds of ladies, I have become familiar with all the methods of
seduction; but my guiding principle has been never to direct my attack
against novices or those whose prejudices were likely to prove an
obstacle except in the presence of another woman. I soon found out that
timidity makes a girl averse to being seduced, while in company with
another girl she is easily conquered; the weakness of the one brings on
the fall of the other. Fathers and mothers are of the contrary opinion,
but they are in the wrong. They will not trust their daughter to take a
walk or go to a ball with a young man, but if she has another girl with
her there is no difficulty made. I repeat, they are in the wrong; if the
young man has the requisite skill their daughter is a lost woman. A
feeling of false shame hinders them from making an absolute and
determined resistance, and the first step once taken the rest comes
inevitably and quickly. The girl grants some small favour, and
immediately makes her friend grant a much greater one to hide her own
blushes; and if the seducer is clever at his trade the young innocent
will soon have gone too far to be able to draw back. Besides the more
innocence a girl has, the less she knows of the methods of seduction.
Before she has had time to think, pleasure attracts her, curiosity draws
her a little farther, and opportunity does the rest.
For example, I might possibly have been able to seduce Hedvig without
Helen, but I am certain I should never have succeeded with Helen if she
had not seen her cousin take liberties with me which she no doubt thought
contrary to the feelings of modesty which a respectable young woman ought
to have.
Though I do not repent of my amorous exploits, I am far from wishing that
my example should serve for the perversion of the fair sex, who have so
many claims on my homage. I desire that what I say may be a warning to
fathers and mothers, and secure me a place in their esteem at any rate.
Soon after the pastor had gone I heard three light knocks on my prison
door. I opened it, and my hand was folded in a palm as soft as satin. All
my being was moved. It was Helen's hand, and that happy moment had
already repaid me for my long waiting.
"Follow me on tiptoe," she whispered, as soon as she had shut the door;
but in my impatience I clasped her in my arms, and made her feel the
effect which her mere presence had produced on me, while at the same time
I assured myself of her docility. "There," she said, "now come upstairs
softly after me."
I followed her as best I could in the darkness, and she took me along a
gallery into a dark room, and then into a lighted one which contained
Hedvig almost in a state of nudity. She came to me with open arms as soon
as she saw me, and, embracing me ardently, expressed her gratitude for my
long and dreary imprisonment.
"Divine Hedvig," I answered, "if I had not loved you madly I would not
have stayed a quarter of an hour in that dismal cell, but I am ready to
spend four hours there every day till I leave Geneva for your sake. But
we must not lose any time; let us go to bed."
"Do you two go to bed," said Helen; "I will sleep on the sofa."
"No, no," cried Hedvig, "don't think of it; our fate must be exactly
equal."
"Yes, darling Helen," said I, embracing her; "I love you both with equal
ardour, and these ceremonies are only wasting the time in which I ought
to be assuring you of my passion. Imitate my proceedings. I am going to
undress, and then I shall lie in the middle of the bed. Come and lie
beside me, and I'll shew you how I love you. If all is safe I will remain
with you till you send me away, but whatever you do do not put out the
light."
In the twinkling of an eye, discussing the theory of shame the while with
the theological Hedvig, I presented myself to their gaze in the costume
of Adam. Hedvig blushed and parted with the last shred of her modesty,
citing the opinion of St. Clement Alexandrinus that the seat of shame is
in the shirt. I praised the charming perfection of her shape, in the hope
of encouraging Helen, who was slowly undressing herself; but an
accusation of mock modesty from her cousin had more effect than all my
praises. At last this Venus stood before me in a state of nature,
covering her most secret parts with her hand, and hiding one breast with
the other, and appearing woefully ashamed of what she could not conceal.
Her modest confusion, this strife between departing modesty and rising
passion, enchanted me.
Hedvig was taller than Helen; her skin was whiter, and her breasts double
the size of Helen's; but in Helen there was more animation, her shape was
more gently moulded, and her breast might have been the model for the
Venus de Medicis.
She got bolder by degrees, and we spent some moments in admiring each
other, and then we went to bed. Nature spoke out loudly, and all we
wanted was to satisfy its demands. With much coolness I made a woman of
Hedvig, and when all was over she kissed me and said that the pain was
nothing in comparison with the pleasure.
The turn of Helen (who was six years younger than Hedvig) now came, but
the finest fleece that I have ever seen was not won without difficulty.
She was jealous of her cousin's success, and held it open with her two
hands; and though she had to submit to great pain before being initiated
into the amorous mysteries, her sighs were sighs of happiness, as she
responded to my ardent efforts. Her great charms and the vivacity of her
movements shortened the sacrifice, and when I left the sanctuary my two
sweethearts saw that I needed repose.
The alter was purified of the blood of the victims, and we all washed,
delighted to serve one another.
Life returned to me under their curious fingers, and the sight filled
them with joy. I told them that I wished to enjoy them every night till I
left Geneva, but they told me sadly that this was impossible.
"In five or six days time, perhaps, the opportunity may recur again, but
that will be all."
"Ask us to sup at your inn to-morrow," said Hedvig; "and maybe, chance
will favour the commission of a sweet felony."
I followed this advice.
I overwhelmed them with happiness for several hours, passing five or six
times from one to the other before I was exhausted. In the intervals,
seeing them to be docile and desirous, I made them execute Aretin's most
complicated postures, which amused them beyond words. We kissed whatever
took our fancy, and just as Hedvig applied her lips to the mouth of the
pistol, it went off and the discharge inundated her face and her bosom.
She was delighted, and watched the process to the end with all the
curiosity of a doctor. The night seemed short, though we had not lost a
moment's time, and at daybreak we had to part. I left them in bed and I
was fortunate enough to get away without being observed.
I slept till noon, and then having made my toilette I went to call on the
pastor, to whom I praised Hedvig to the skies. This was the best way to
get him to come to supper at Balances the next day.
"We shall be in the town," said I, "and can remain together as long as we
please, but do not forget to bring the amiable widow and her charming
daughter."
He promised he would bring them both.
In the evening I went to see the syndic and his three friends, who
naturally found me rather insensible to their charms. I excused myself by
saying that I had a bad headache. I told them that I had asked the young
theologian to supper, and invited the girls and the syndic to come too;
but, as I had foreseen, the latter would not hear of their going as it
would give rise to gossip.
I took care that the most exquisite wines should form an important
feature of my supper. The pastor and the widow were both sturdy drinkers,
and I did my best to please them. When I saw that they were pretty mellow
and were going over their old recollections, I made a sign to the girls,
and they immediately went out as if to go to a retiring-room. Under
pretext of shewing them the way I went out too, and took them into a room
telling them to wait for me.
I went back to the supper-room, and finding the old friends taken up with
each other and scarcely conscious of my presence, I gave them some punch,
and told them that I would keep the young ladies company; they were
looking at some pictures, I explained. I lost no time, and shewed them
some extremely interesting sights. These stolen sweets have a wonderful
charm. When we were to some extent satisfied, we went back, and I plied
the punch-ladle more and more freely. Helen praised the pictures to her
mother, and asked her to come and look at them.
"I don't care to," she replied.
"Well," said Helen, "let us go and see them again."
I thought this stratagem admissible, and going out with my two
sweethearts I worked wonders. Hedvig philosophised over pleasure, and
told me she would never have known it if I had not chanced to meet her
uncle. Helen did not speak; she was more voluptuous than her cousin, and
swelled out like a dove, and came to life only to expire a moment
afterwards. I wondered at her astonishing fecundity; while I was engaged
in one operation she passed from death to life fourteen times. It is true
that it was the sixth time with me, so I made my progress rather slower
to enjoy the pleasure she took in it.
Before we parted I agreed to call on Helen's mother every day to
ascertain the night I could spend with them before I left Geneva. We
broke up our party at two o'clock in the morning.
Three or four days after, Helen told me briefly that Hedvig was to sleep
with her that night, and that she would leave the door open at the same
time as before.
"I will be there."
"And I will be there to shut you up, but you cannot have a light as the
servant might see it."
I was exact to the time, and when ten o'clock struck they came to fetch
me in high glee.
"I forgot to tell you," said Helen, "that you would find a fowl there."
I felt hungry, and made short work of it, and then we gave ourselves up
to happiness.
I had to set out on my travels in two days. I had received a couple of
letters from M. Raiberti. In the first he told me that he had followed my
instructions as to the Corticelli, and in the second that she would
probably he paid for dancing at the carnival as first 'figurante'. I had
nothing to keep me at Geneva, and Madame d'Urfe, according to our
agreement, would be waiting for me at Lyons. I was therefore obliged to
go there. Thus the night that I was to pass with my two charmers would be
my last.
My lessons had taken effect, and I found they had become past mistresses
in the art of pleasure. But now and again joy gave place to sadness.
"We shall be wretched, sweetheart," said Hedvig, "and if you like we will
come with you."
"I promise to come and see you before two years have expired," said I;
and in fact they had not so long to wait.
We fell asleep at midnight, and waking at four renewed our sweet battles
till six o'clock. Half an hour after I left them, worn out with my
exertions, and I remained in bed all day. In the evening I went to see
the syndic and his young friends. I found Helen there, and she was
cunning enough to feign not to be more vexed at my departure than the
others, and to further the deception she allowed the syndic to kiss her.
I followed suit, and begged her to bid farewell for me to her learned
cousin and to excuse my taking leave of her in person.
The next day I set out in the early morning, and on the following day I
reached Lyons. Madame d'Urfe was not there, she had gone to an estate of
hers at Bresse. I found a letter in which she said that she would be
delighted to see me, and I waited on her without losing any time.
She greeted me with her ordinary cordiality, and I told her that I was
going to Turin to meet Frederic Gualdo, the head of the Fraternity of the
Rosy Cross, and I revealed to her by the oracle that he would come with
me to Marseilles, and that there he would complete her happiness. After
having received this oracle she would not go to Paris before she saw us.
The oracle also bade her wait for me at Lyons with young d'Aranda; who
begged me to take him with me to Turin. It may be imagined that I
succeeded in putting him off.
Madame d'Urfe had to wait a fortnight to get me fifty thousand francs
which I might require on my journey. In the course of this fortnight I
made the acquaintance of Madame Pernon, and spent a good deal of money
with her husband, a rich mercer, in refurnishing my wardrobe. Madame
Pernon was handsome and intelligent. She had a Milanese lover, named
Bono, who did business for a Swiss banker named Sacco. It was through
Madame Peron that Bono got Madame d'Urfe the fifty thousand francs I
required. She also gave me the three dresses which she had promised to
the Countess of Lascaris, but which that lady had never seen.
One of these dresses was furred, and was exquisitely beautiful. I left
Lyons equipped like a prince, and journeyed towards Turin, where I was to
meet the famous Gualdo, who was none other than Ascanio Pogomas, whom I
had summoned from Berne. I thought it would be easy to make the fellow
play the part I had destined for him, but I was cruelly deceived as the
reader will see.
I could not resist stopping at Chamberi to see my fair nun, whom I found
looking beautiful and contented. She was grieving, however, after the
young boarder, who had been taken from the convent and married.
I got to Turin at the beginning of December, and at Rivoli I found the
Corticelli, who had been warned by the Chevalier de Raiberti of my
arrival. She gave me a letter from this worthy gentleman, giving the
address of the house he had taken for me as I did not want to put up at
an inn. I immediately went to take possession of my new lodging.
CHAPTER XVII
My Old Friends--Pacienza--Agatha--Count Boryomeo--The Ball--
Lord Percy
The Corticelli was as gentle as a lamb, and left me as we got into Turin.
I promised I would come and see her, and immediately went to the house
the Chevalier had taken, which I found convenient in every way.
The worthy Chevalier was not long in calling on me. He gave me an account
of the moneys he had spent on the Corticelli, and handed over the rest to
me.
"I am flush of money," I said, "and I intend to invite my friends to
supper frequently. Can you lay your hands on a good cook?"
"I know a pearl amongst cooks," said he, "and you can have him directly."
"You, chevalier, are the pearl of men. Get me this wonder, tell him I am
hard to please, and agree on the sum I am to pay him per month."
The cook, who was an excellent one, came the same evening.
"It would be a good idea," said Raiberti, "to call on the Count d'Aglie.
He knows that the Corticelli is your mistress, and he has given a formal
order to Madame Pacienza, the lady with whom she lives, that when you
come and see her you are not to be left alone together."
This order amused me, and as I did not care about the Corticelli it did
not trouble me in the least, though Raiberti, who thought I was in love
with her, seemed to pity me.
"Since she has been here," he said, "her conduct has been
irreproachable."
"I am glad to hear that."
"You might let her take some lessons from the dancing-master Dupre," said
he. "He will no doubt give her something to do at the carnival."
I promised to follow his advice, and I then paid a visit to the
superintendent of police.
He received me well, complimented me on my return to Turin, and then
added with a smile:--
"I warn you that I have been informed that you keep a mistress, and that
I have given strict orders to the respectable woman with whom she lives
not to leave her alone with you."
"I am glad to hear it," I replied, "and the more as I fear her mother is
not a person of very rigid morals. I advised the Chevalier Raiberti of my
intentions with regard to her, and I am glad to see that he has carried
them out so well. I hope the girl will shew herself worthy of your
protection."
"Do you think of staying here throughout the carnival?"
"Yes, if your excellency approves."
"It depends entirely on your good conduct."
"A few peccadilloes excepted, my conduct is always above reproach."
"There are some peccadilloes we do not tolerate here. Have you seen the
Chevalier Osorio?"
"I think of calling on him to-day or to-morrow."
"I hope you will remember me to him."
He rang his bell, bowed, and the audience was over.
The Chevalier Osorio received me at his office, and gave me a most
gracious reception. After I had given him an account of my visit to the
superintendent, he asked me, with a smile, if I felt inclined to submit
with docility to not seeing my mistress in freedom.
"Certainly," said I, "for I am not in love with her."
Osorio looked at me slyly, and observed, "Somehow I don't think your
indifference will be very pleasing to the virtuous duenna."
I understood what he meant, but personally I was delighted not to be able
to see the Corticelli save in the presence of a female dragon. It would
make people talk, and I loved a little scandal, and felt curious to see
what would happen.
When I returned to my house I found the Genoese Passano, a bad poet and
worse painter, to whom I had intended to give the part of a Rosicrucian,
because there was something in his appearance which inspired, if not
respect, at least awe and a certain feeling of fear. In point of fact,
this was only a natural presentiment that the man must be either a clever
rogue or a morose and sullen scholar.
I made him sup with me and gave him a room on the third floor, telling
him not to leave it without my permission. At supper I found him insipid
in conversation, drunken, ignorant, and ill disposed, and I already
repented of having taken him under my protection; but the thing was done.
The next day, feeling curious to see how the Corticelli was lodged, I
called on her, taking with me a piece of Lyons silk.
I found her and her mother in the landlady's room, and as I came in the
latter said that she was delighted to see me and that she hoped I would
often dine with them. I thanked her briefly and spoke to the girl coolly
enough.
"Shew me your room," said I. She took me there in her mother's company.
"Here is something to make you a winter dress," said I, skewing her the
silk.
"Is this from the marchioness?"
"No, it is from me."
"But where are the three dresses she said she would give me?"
"You know very well on what conditions you were to have them, so let us
say no more about it."
She unfolded the silk which she liked very much, but she said she must
have some trimmings. The Pacienza offered her services, and said she
would send for a dressmaker who lived close by. I acquiesced with a nod,
and as soon as she had left the room the Signora Laura said she was very
sorry only to be able to receive me in the presence of the landlady.
"I should have thought," said I, "that a virtuous person like you would
have been delighted."
"I thank God for it every morning and night."
"You infernal old hypocrite!" said I, looking contemptuously at her.
"Upon my word, anybody who didn't know you would be taken in."
In a few minutes Victorine and another girl came in with their
band-boxes.
"Are you still at Madame R----'s?" said I.
"Yes sir," said she, with a blush.
When the Corticelli had chosen what she wanted I told Victorine to
present my compliments to her mistress, and tell her that I would call
and pay for the articles.
The landlady had also sent for a dressmaker, and while the Corticelli was
being measured, she shewed me her figure and said she wanted a corset. I
jested on the pregnancy with which she threatened me, and of which there
was now no trace, pitying Count N---- for being deprived of the joys of
fatherhood. I then gave her what money she required and took my leave.
She escorted me to the door, and asked me if she should have the pleasure
of seeing me again before long.
"It's a pleasure, is it?" I replied; "well, I don't know when you will
have it again; it depends on my leisure and my fancy."
It is certain that if I had any amorous feelings or even curiosity about
the girl, I should not have left her in that house for a moment; but I
repeat my love for her had entirely vanished. There was one thing,
however, which annoyed me intolerably, namely, that in spite of my
coolness towards her, the little hussy pretended to think that I had
forgotten and forgiven everything.
On leaving the Corticelli, I proceeded to call on my bankers, amongst
others on M. Martin, whose wife was justly famous for her wit and beauty.
I chanced to meet the horse-dealing Jew, who had made money out of me by
means of his daughter Leah. She was still pretty, but married; and her
figure was too rounded for my taste. She and her husband welcomed me with
great warmth, but I cared for her no longer, and did not wish to see her
again.
I called on Madame R----, who had been awaiting me impatiently ever since
Victorine had brought news of me. I sat down by the counter and had the
pleasure of hearing from her lips the amorous histories of Turin for the
past few months.
"Victorine and Caton are the only two of the old set that still remain,
but I have replaced them with others."
"Has Victorine found anyone to operate on her yet?"
"No, she is just as you left her, but a gentleman who is in love with her
is going to take her to Milan."
This gentleman was the Comte de Perouse, whose acquaintance I made three
years afterwards at Milan. I shall speak of him in due time. Madame
R---- told me that, in consequence of her getting into trouble several
times with the police, she had been obliged to promise the Count d'Aglie
only to send the girls to ladies, and, consequently, if I found any of
them to my taste I should be obliged to make friends with their relations
and take them to the festas. She shewed me the girls in the work-room,
but I did not think any of them worth taking trouble about.
She talked about the Pacienza, and when I told her that I kept the
Corticelli, and of the hard conditions to which I was obliged to submit,
she exclaimed with astonishment, and amused me by her jests on the
subject.
"You are in good hands, my dear sir," said she; "the woman is not only a
spy of d'Aglie's, but a professional procuress. I wonder the Chevalier
Raiberti placed the girl with her."
She was not so surprised when I told her that the chevalier had good
reasons for his action, and that I myself had good reasons of my own for
wishing the Corticelli to remain there.
Our conversation was interrupted by a customer who wanted silk stockings.
Hearing him speak of dancing, I asked him if he could tell me the address
of Dupre, the ballet-master.
"No one better, sir, for I am Dupre, at your service."
"I am delighted at this happy chance. The Chevalier Raiberti gave me to
understand that you might be able to give dancing lessons to a
ballet-girl of my acquaintance."
"M. de Raiberti mentioned your name to me this morning. You must be the
Chevalier de Seingalt?"
"Exactly."
"I can give the young lady lessons every morning at nine o'clock at my
own home."
"No, do you come to her house, but at whatever hour you like. I will pay
you, and I hope you will make her one of your best pupils. I must warn
you, however, that she is not a novice."
"I will call on her to-day, and to-morrow I will tell you what I can make
of her; but I think I had better tell you my terms: I charge three
Piedmontese livres a lesson."
"I think that is very reasonable; I will call on you to-morrow."
"You do me honour. Here is my address. If you like to come in the
afternoon you will see the rehearsal of a ballet."
"Is it not rehearsed at the theatre?"
"Yes, but at the theatre no on-lookers are allowed by the orders of the
superintendent of police."
"This superintendent of yours puts his finger into a good many pies."
"In too many."
"But at your own house anybody may come?"
"Undoubtedly, but I could not have the dancers there if my wife were not
present. The superintendent knows her, and has great confidence in her."
"You will see me at the rehearsal."
The wretched superintendent had erected a fearful system of surveillance
against the lovers of pleasure, but it must be confessed that he was
often cheated. Voluptuousness was all the more rampant when thus
restrained; and so it ever will be while men have passions and women
desires. To love and enjoy, to desire and to satisfy one's desires, such
is the circle in which we move, and whence we can never be turned. When
restrictions are placed upon the passions as in Turkey, they still attain
their ends, but by methods destructive to morality.
At the worthy Mazzali's I found two gentlemen to whom she introduced me.
One was old and ugly, decorated with the Order of the White Eagle--his
name was Count Borromeo; the other, young and brisk, was Count
A---- B---- of Milan. After they had gone I was informed that they were
paying assiduous court to the Chevalier Raiberti, from whom they hoped to
obtain certain privileges for their lordships which were under the
Sardinian rule.
The Milanese count had not a penny, and the Lord of the Borromean Isles
was not much better off. He had ruined himself with women, and not being
able to live at Milan he had taken refuge in the fairest of his isles,
and enjoyed there perpetual spring and very little else. I paid him a
visit on my return from Spain, but I shall relate our meeting when I come
to my adventures, my pleasures, my misfortunes, and above all my follies
there, for of such threads was the weft of my life composed, and folly
was the prominent element.
The conversation turned on my house, and the lively Mazzoli asked me how
I liked my cook. I replied that I had not yet tried him, but I proposed
to put him to test the next day, if she and the gentlemen would do me the
honour of supping with me.
The invitation was accepted, and she promised to bring her dear chevalier
with her, and to warn him of the event, as his health only allowed him to
eat once a day.
I called on Dupre in the afternoon. I saw the dancers, male and female,
the latter accompanied by their mothers, who stood on one side muffled up
in thick cloaks. As I passed them under review in my lordly manner, I
noticed that one of them still looked fresh and pretty, which augured
well for her daughter, though the fruit does not always correspond to the
tree.
Dupre introduced me to his wife, who was young and pretty, but who had
been obliged to leave the theatre owing to the weakness of her chest. She
told me that if the Corticelli would work hard her husband would make a
great dancer of her, as her figure was eminently suited for dancing.
While I was talking with Madame Dupre, the Corticelli, late Lascaris,
came running up to me with the air of a favourite, and told me she wanted
some ribbons and laces to make a bonnet. The others girls began to
whisper to each other, and guessing what they must be saying I turned to
Dupre without taking any notice of Madame Madcap, and gave him twelve
pistoles, saying that I would pay for the lessons three months in
advance, and that I hoped he would bring his new pupil on well. Such a
heavy payment in advance caused general surprise, which I enjoyed, though
pretending not to be aware of it. Now I know that I acted foolishly, but
I have promised to speak the truth in these Memoirs, which will not see
the light till all light has left my eyes, and I will keep my promise.
I have always been greedy of distinction; I have always loved to draw the
eyes of men towards men, but I must also add that if I have humiliated
anyone it has always been a proud man or a fool, for it has been my rule
to please everyone if I can.
I sat on one side, the better to observe the swarm of girls, and I soon
fixed my eyes on one whose appearance struck me. She had a fine figure,
delicate features, a noble air, and a patient look which interested me in
the highest degree. She was dancing with a man who did not scruple to
abuse her in the coarsest manner when she made any mistakes, but she bore
it without replying, though an expression of contempt mingled with the
sweetness of her face.
Instinct drew me to the mother I have remarked on, and I asked her to
whom the dancer that interested me belonged.
"I am her mother," she replied.
"You, madam! I should not have thought it possible."
"I was very young when she was born."
"I should think so. Where do you come from?"
"I am from Lucca, and what is more-a poor widow."
"How can you be poor, when you are still young and handsome, and have an
angel for a daughter?"
She replied only by an expressive glance. I understood her reserve, and I
stayed by her without speaking. Soon after, Agatha, as her daughter was
named, came up to her to ask for a handkerchief to wipe her face.
"Allow me to offer you mine," said I. It was a white handkerchief, and
scented with attar of roses; this latter circumstance gave her an excuse
for accepting it, but after smelling it she wanted to return it to me.
"You have not used it," said I! "do so."
She obeyed, and then returned it to me with a bow by way of thanks.
"You must not give it me back, fair Agatha, till you have had it washed."
She smiled, and gave it to her mother, glancing at me in a grateful
manner, which I considered of good omen.
"May I have the pleasure of calling on you?" said I. "I cannot receive
you, sir, except in the presence of my landlady."
"This cursed restriction is general in Turin, then?"
"Yes, the superintendent uses everybody in the same way."
"Then I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again here?"
In the evening I had one of the best suppers I ever had in my life, if I
except those I enjoyed during my stay at Turin. My cook was worthy of a
place in the kitchen of Lucullus; but without detracting from his skill I
must do justice to the products of the country. Everything is delicious;
game, fish, birds, meat, vegetables, fruit, milk, and truffles--all are
worthy of the table of the greatest gourmets, and the wines of the
country yield to none. What a pity that strangers do not enjoy liberty at
Turin! It is true that better society, and more politeness, such as are
found in several French and Italian towns, are to be wished for.
The beauty of the women of Turin is no doubt due to the excellence of the
air and diet.
I had not much trouble in extracting a promise from Madame Mazzoli and
the two counts to sup with me every night, but the Chevalier de Raiberti
would only promise to come whenever he could.
At the Carignan Theatre, where opera-bouffe was being played, I saw
Redegonde, with whom I had failed at Florence. She saw me in the pit and
gave me a smile, so I wrote to her, offering my services if the mother
had changed her way of thinking. She answered that her mother was always
the same, but that if I would ask the Corticelli she could come and sup
with me, though the mother would doubtless have to be of the party. I
gave her no answer, as the terms she named were by no means to my taste.
I had a letter from Madame du Rumain, enclosing one from M. de Choiseul
to M. de Chauvelin, the French ambassador at Turin. It will be remembered
that I had known this worthy nobleman at Soleure, and had been treated
with great politeness by him, but I wished to have a more perfect title
to his acquaintance; hence I asked Madame du Rumain to give me a letter.
M. de Chauvelin received me with the greatest cordiality; and reproaching
me for having thought a letter of introduction necessary, introduced me
to his charming wife, who was no less kind than her husband. Three or
four days later he asked me to dine with him, and I met at his table M.
Imberti, the Venetian ambassador, who said he was very sorry not to be
able to present me at Court. On hearing the reason M. de Chauvelin
offered to present me himself, but I thought it best to decline with
thanks. No doubt it would have been a great honour, but the result would
be that I should be more spied on than even in this town of spies, where
the most indifferent actions do not pass unnoticed. My pleasures would
have been interfered with.
Count Borromeo continued to honour me by coming every night to sup with
me, preserving his dignity the while, for as he accompanied Madame
Mazzoli it was not to be supposed that he came because he was in need of
a meal. Count A---- B---- came more frankly, and I was pleased with him. He
told me one day that the way I put up with his visits made him extremely
grateful to Providence, for his wife could not send him any money, and he
could not afford to pay for his dinner at the inn, so that if it were not
for my kindness he would often be obliged to go hungry to bed. He shewed
me his wife's letters; he had evidently a high opinion of her. "I hope,"
he would say, "that you will come and stay with us at Milan, and that she
will please you."
He had been in the service of Spain, and by what he said I judged his
wife to be a pleasing brunette of twenty-five or twenty-six. The count
had told her how I had lent him money several times, and of my goodness
to him, and she replied, begging him to express her gratitude to me, and
to make me promise to stay with them at Milan. She wrote wittily, and her
letters interested me to such an extent that I gave a formal promise to
journey to Milan, if it were only for the sake of seeing her.
I confess that in doing so I was overcome by my feelings of curiosity. I
knew they were poor, and I should not have given a promise which would
either bring them into difficulties or expose me to paying too dearly for
my lodging. However, by way of excuse, I can only say that curiosity is
near akin to love. I fancied the countess sensible like an Englishwoman,
passionate like a Spaniard, caressing like a Frenchwoman, and as I had a
good enough opinion of my own merit, I did not doubt for a moment that
she would respond to my affection. With these pleasant delusions in my
head, I counted on exciting the jealousy of all the ladies and gentlemen
of Milan. I had plenty of money, and I longed for an opportunity of
spending it.
Nevertheless, I went every day to rehearsal at Dupre's, and I soon got
madly in love with Agatha. Madame Dupre won over by several presents I
made her, received my confidences with kindness, and by asking Agatha and
her mother to dinner procured me the pleasure of a more private meeting
with my charmer. I profited by the opportunity to make known my feelings,
and I obtained some slight favours, but so slight were they that my flame
only grew the fiercer.
Agatha kept on telling me that everybody knew that the Corticelli was my
mistress, and that for all the gold in the world she would not have it
said that she was my last shift, as I could not see the Corticelli in
private. I swore to her that I did not love the Corticelli, and that I
only kept her to prevent M. Raiberti being compromised; but all this was
of no avail, she had formed her plans, and nothing would content her but
a formal rupture which would give all Turin to understand that I loved
her and her alone. On these conditions she promised me her heart, and
everything which follows in such cases.
I loved her too well not to endeavour to satisfy her, since my
satisfaction depended on hers. With this idea I got Dupre to give a ball
at my expense in some house outside the town, and to invite all the
dancers, male and female, who were engaged for the carnival at Turin.
Every gentleman had the right to bring a lady to have supper and look on,
as only the professional dancers were allowed to dance.
I told Dupre that I would look after the refreshment department, and that
he might tell everybody that no expense was to be spared. I also provided
carriages and sedan-chairs for the ladies, but nobody was to know that I
was furnishing the money. Dupre saw that there was profit in store for
him, and went about it at once. He found a suitable house, asked the lady
dancers, and distributed about fifty tickets.
Agatha and her mother were the only persons who knew that the project was
mine, and that I was responsible to a great extent for the expenses; but
these facts were generally known the day after the ball.
Agatha had no dress that was good enough, so I charged Madame Dupre to
provide one at my expense, and I was well served. It is well known that
when this sort of people dip their fingers into other's purses they are
not sparing, but that was just what I wanted. Agatha promised to dance
all the quadrilles with me, and to return to Turin with Madame Dupre.
On the day fixed for the ball I stayed to dinner at the Dupre's to be
present at Agatha's toilette. Her dress was a rich and newly-made Lyons
silk, and the trimming was exquisite Alencon point lace, of which the
girl did not know the value. Madame R----, who had arranged the dress,
and Madame Dupre, had received instructions to say nothing about it to
her.
When Agatha was ready to start, I told her that the ear-rings she was
wearing were not good enough for her dress.
"That's true," said Madame Dupre, "and it's a great pity."
"Unfortunately," said the mother, "my poor girl hasn't got another pair."
"I have some pretty imitation pendants, which I could lend you," said I;
"they are really very brilliant."
I had taken care to put the ear-rings which Madame d'Urfe had intended
for the Countess Lascaris in my pocket. I drew them out, and they were
greatly admired.
"One would swear they were real diamonds," said Madame Dupre.
I put them in Agatha's ears. She admired them very much, and said that
all the other girls would be jealous, as they would certainly take them
for real stones.
I went home and made an elaborate toilette, and on arriving at the ball I
found Agatha dancing with Lord Percy, a young fool, who was the son of
the Duke of Northumberland, and an extravagant spendthrift.
I noticed several handsome ladies from Turin, who, being merely
onlookers, might be thinking that the ball was given for their amusement,
like the fly on the chariot wheel. All the ambassadors were present, and
amongst others M. de Chauvelin, who told me that to make everything
complete my pretty housekeeper at Soleure was wanting.
The Marquis and Marchioness de Prie were there also. The marquis did not
care to dance, so was playing a little game of quinze with a rude
gamester, who would not let the marquis's mistress look over his cards.
She saw me, but pretended not to recognize me; the trick I had played her
at Aix being probably enough to last her for some time.
The minuets came to an end, and Dupre announced the quadrilles, and I was
glad to see the Chevalier Ville-Follet dancing with the Corticelli. My
partner was Agatha, who had great difficulty in getting rid of Lord
Percy, though she told him that she was fully engaged.
Minuets and quadrilles followed each other in succession, and
refreshments began to make their appearance. I was delighted to see that
the refreshment counter was furnished with the utmost liberality. The
Piedmontese, who are great at calculations, estimated that Dupre must
lose by it, the firing of champagne corks was continuous.
Feeling tired I asked Agatha to sit down, and I was telling her how I
loved her when Madame de Chauvelin and another lady interrupted us. I
rose to give them place, and Agatha imitated my example; but Madame de
Chauvelin made her sit down beside her, and praised her dress, and above
all the lace trimming. The other lady said how pretty her ear-rings were,
and what a pity it was that those imitation stones would lose their
brilliance in time. Madame de Chauvelin, who knew something about
precious stones, said that they would never lose their brilliance, as
they were diamonds of the first water.
"It is not so?" she added, to Agatha, who in the candour of her heart
confessed that they were imitation, and that I had lent them to her.
At this Madame de Chauvelin burst out laughing, and said,--
"M. de Seingalt has deceived you, my dear child. A gentleman of his caste
does not lend imitation jewellery to such a pretty girl as you are. Your
ear-rings are set with magnificent diamonds."
She blushed, for my silence confirmed the lady's assertion, and she felt
that the fact of my having lent her such stones was a palpable proof of
the great esteem in which I held her.
Madame de Chauvelin asked me to dance a minuet with Agatha, and my
partner executed the dance with wonderful grace. When it was over Madame
de Chauvelin thanked me, and told me that she should always remember our
dancing together at Soleure, and that she hoped I would dance again with
her at her own house. A profound bow shewed her how flattered I felt by
the compliment.
The ball did not come to an end till four o'clock in the morning, and I
did not leave it till I saw Agatha going away in the company with Madame
Dupre.
I was still in bed the next morning, when my man told me a pretty woman
wanted to speak to me. I had her in and was delighted to find it was
Agatha's mother. I made her sit down beside me, and gave her a cup of
chocolate. As soon as we were alone she drew my ear-rings from her
pocket, and said, with a smile, that she had just been shewing them to a
jeweller, who had offered her a thousand sequins for them.
"The man's mad," said I, "you ought to have let him have them; they are
not worth four sequins."
So saying, I drew her to my arms and gave her a kiss. Feeling that she
had shared in the kiss, and that she seemed to like it, I went farther,
and at last we spent a couple of hours in shewing what a high opinion we
had of each other.
Afterwards we both looked rather astonished, and it was the beautiful
mother who first broke the silence.
"Am I to tell my girl," said she, with a smile, "of the way in which you
proved to me that you love her?"
"I leave that to your discretion, my dear," said I. "I have certainly
proved that I love you, but it does not follow that I do not adore your
daughter. In fact, I burn for her; and yet, if we are not careful to
avoid being alone together, what has just happened between us will often
happen again."
"It is hard to resist you, and it is possible that I may have occasion to
speak to you again in private."
"You may be sure you will always be welcome, and all I ask of you is not
to put any obstacles in the way of my suit with Agatha."
"I have also a favour to ask."
"If it is within my power, you may be sure I will grant it."
"Very good! Then tell me if these ear-rings are real, and what was your
intention in putting them in my daughter's ears?"
"The diamonds are perfectly genuine, and my intention was that Agatha
should keep them as a proof of my affection."
She heaved a sigh, and then told me that I might ask them to supper, with
Dupre and his wife, whenever I pleased. I thanked her, gave her ten
sequins, and sent her away happy.
On reflection I decided that I had never seen a more sensible woman than
Agatha's mother. It would have been impossible to announce the success of
my suit in a more delicate or more perspicuous manner.
My readers will no doubt guess that I seized the opportunity and brought
this interesting affair to a conclusion. The same evening I asked Dupre
and his wife, Agatha and her mother, to sup with me the next day, in
addition to my usual company. But as I was leaving Dupre's I had an
adventure.
My man, who was a great rascal, but who behaved well on this occasion,
ran up to me panting for breath, and said triumphantly,
"Sir, I have been looking for you to warn you that I have just seen the
Chevalier de Ville-Follet slip into Madame Pacienza's house, and I
suspect he is making an amorous call on the Corticelli."
I immediately walked to the abode of the worthy spy in high spirits, and
hoping that my servant's guess had been correct. I walked in and found
the landlady and the mother sitting together. Without noticing them, I
was making my way towards the Corticelli's room when the two old ladies
arrested my course, telling me that the signora was not well and wanted
rest. I pushed them aside, and entered the room so swiftly and suddenly
that I found the gentleman in a state of nature while the girl remained
stretched on the bed as if petrified by my sudden apparition.
"Sir," said I, "I hope you will pardon me for coming in without
knocking."
"Wait a moment, wait a moment."
Far from waiting I went away in high glee, and told the story to the
Chevalier Raiberti, who enjoyed it as well as I did. I asked him to warn
the Pacienza woman that from that day I would pay nothing for Corticelli,
who had ceased to belong to me. He approved, and said,--
"I suppose you will not be going to complain to the Count d'Aglie?"
"It is only fools who complain, above all in circumstances like these."
This scandalous story would have been consigned to forgetfulness, if it
had not been for the Chevalier de Ville-Follet's indiscretion. He felt
angry at being interrupted in the middle of the business, and remembering
he had seen my man just before fixed on him as the informer. Meeting him
in the street the chevalier reproached him for spying, whereon the
impudent rascal replied that he was only answerable to his master, and
that it was his duty to serve me in all things. On this the chevalier
caned him, and the man went to complain to the superintendent, who
summoned Ville-Follet to appear before him and explain his conduct.
Having nothing to fear, he told the whole story.
The Chevalier de Raiberti, too, was very ill received when he went to
tell Madame Pacienza that neither he nor I were going to pay her anything
more in future; but he would listen to no defence. The chevalier came to
sup with me, and he informed me that on leaving the house he had met a
police sergeant, whom he concluded had come to cite the landlady to
appear before the Count d'Aglie.
The next day, just as I was going to M. de Chauvelin's ball, I received
to my great surprise a note from the superintendent begging me to call on
him as he had something to communicate to me. I immediately ordered my
chairmen to take me to his residence.
M. de Aglie received me in private with great politeness, and after
giving me a chair he began a long and pathetic discourse, the gist of
which was that it was my duty to forgive this little slip of my
mistress's.
"That's exactly what I am going to do," said I; "and for the rest of my
days I never wish to see the Corticelli again, or to make or mar in her
affairs, and for all this I am greatly obliged to the Chevalier de
Ville-Follet."
"I see you are angry. Come, come! you must not abandon the girl for that.
I will have the woman Pacienza punished in such a way as to satisfy you,
and I will place the girl in a respectable family where you can go and
see her in perfect liberty."
"I am greatly obliged to you for your kindness, indeed I am grateful; but
I despise the Pacienza too heartily to wish for her punishment, and as to
the Corticelli and her mother, they are two female swindlers, who have
given me too much trouble already. I am well quit of them."
"You must confess, however, that you had no right to make a forcible
entry into a room in a house which does not belong to you."
"I had not the right, I confess, but if I had not taken it I could never
have had a certain proof of the perfidy of my mistress; and I should have
been obliged to continue supporting her, though she entertained other
lovers."
"The Corticelli pretends that you are her debtor, and not vice versa. She
says that the diamonds you have given another girl belong of right to
her, and that Madame d'Urfe, whom I have the honour to know, presented
her with them."
"She is a liar! And as you know Madame d'Urfe, kindly write to her (she
is at Lyons); and if the marchioness replies that I owe the wretched girl
anything, be sure that I will discharge the debt. I have a hundred
thousand francs in good banks of this town, and the money will be a
sufficient surety for the ear-rings I have disposed of."
"I am sorry that things have happened so."
"And I am very glad, as I have ridden myself of a burden that was hard to
bear."
Thereupon we bowed politely to one another, and I left the office.
At the French ambassador's ball I heard so much talk of my adventure that
at last I refused to reply to any more questions on the subject. The
general opinion was that the whole affair was a trifle of which I could
not honourably take any notice; but I thought myself the best judge of my
own honour, and was determined to take no notice of the opinions of
others. The Chevalier de Ville-Follet came up to me and said that if I
abandoned the Corticelli for such a trifle, he should feel obliged to
give me satisfaction. I shook his hand, saying,--
"My dear chevalier, it will be enough if you do not demand satisfaction
of me."
He understood how the land lay, and said no more about it; but not so his
sister, the Marchioness de Prie, who made a vigorous attack on me after
we had danced together. She was handsome, and might have been victorious
if she had liked, but luckily she did not think of exerting her power,
and so gained nothing.
Three days after, Madame de St. Giles, a great power in Turin, and a kind
of protecting deity to all actresses, summoned me to her presence by a
liveried footman. Guessing what she wanted, I called on her
unceremoniously in a morning coat. She received me politely, and began to
talk of the Corticelli affair with great affability; but I did not like
her, and replied dryly that I had had no hesitation in abandoning the
girl to the protection of the gallant gentleman with whom I had surprised
her in 'flagrante delicto'. She told me I should be sorry for it, and
that she would publish a little story which she had already read and
which did not do me much credit. I replied that I never changed my mind,
and that threats were of no avail with me. With that parting shot I left
her.
I did not attach much importance to the town gossip, but a week after I
received a manuscript containing an account--accurate in most
respects--of my relations with the Corticelli and Madame d'Urfe, but so
ill written and badly expressed that nobody could read it without
weariness. It did not make the slightest impression on me, and I stayed a
fortnight longer in Turin without its causing me the slightest annoyance.
I saw the Corticelli again in Paris six months after, and will speak of
our meeting in due time.
The day after M. de Chauvelin's ball I asked Agatha, her mother, the
Dupres, and my usual company to supper. It was the mother's business to
so arrange matters that the ear-rings should become Agatha's lawful
property, so I left everything to her. I knew she would manage to
introduce the subject, and while we were at supper she said that the
common report of Turin was that I had given her daughter a pair of
diamond ear-rings worth five hundred Louis, which the Corticelli claimed
as hers by right.
"I do not know," she added, "if they are real diamonds, or if they belong
to the Corticelli, but I do know that my girl has received no such
present from the gentleman."
"Well, well," said I, "we will have no more surmises in the matter;" and
going up to Agatha I put the earrings on her, saying,--
"Dearest Agatha, I make you a present of them before this company, and my
giving them to you now is a proof that hitherto they have belonged to
me."
Everybody applauded, and I read in the girl's eyes that I should have no
cause to regret my generosity.
We then fell to speaking of the affair of Ville-Follet and the
Corticelli, and of the efforts that had been made to compel me to retain
her. The Chevalier Raiberti said that in my place he would have offered
Madame de St. Giles or the superintendent to continue paying for her
board, but merely as an act of charity, and that I could have deposited
money with either of them.
"I should be very glad to do so," said I; and the next day the worthy
chevalier made the necessary arrangements with Madame de St. Giles, and I
furnished the necessary moneys.
In spite of this charitable action, the wretched manuscript came out,
but, as I have said, without doing me any harm. The superintendent made
the Corticelli live in the same house with Redegonde, and Madame Pacienza
was left in peace.
After supper, with the exception of the Chevalier Raiberti, we all
masked, and went to the ball at the opera-house. I soon seized the
opportunity of escaping with Agatha, and she granted me all that love can
desire. All constraint was banished; she was my titular mistress, and we
were proud of belonging the one to the other, for we loved each other.
The suppers I had given at my house had set me perfectly at liberty, and
the superintendent could do nothing to thwart our love, though he was
informed of it, so well are the spies of Turin organized.
Divine Providence made use of me as its instrument in making Agatha's
fortune. It may be said that Providence might have chosen a more moral
method, but are we to presume to limit the paths of Providence to the
narrow circle of our prejudices and conventions? It has its own ways,
which often appear dark to us because of our ignorance. At all events, if
I am able to continue these Memoirs for six or seven years more, the
reader will see that Agatha shewed herself grateful. But to return to our
subject.
The happiness we enjoyed by day and night was so great, Agatha was so
affectionate and I so amorous, that we should certainly have remained
united for some time if it had not been for the event I am about to
relate. It made me leave Turin much sooner than I had intended, for I had
not purposed to visit the wonderful Spanish countess at Milan till Lent.
The husband of the Spanish lady had finished his business and left Turin,
thanking me with tears in his eyes; and if it had not been for me he
would not have been able to quit the town, for I paid divers small debts
he had incurred, and gave him the wherewithal for his journey. Often is
vice thus found allied to virtue or masking in virtue's guise; but what
matter? I allowed myself to be taken in, and did not wish to be
disabused. I do not seek to conceal my faults. I have always led a
profligate life, and have not always been very delicate in the choice of
means to gratify my passions, but even amidst my vices I was always a
passionate lover of virtue. Benevolence, especially, has always had a
great charm for me, and I have never failed to exercise it unless when
restrained by the desire of vengeance--a vice which has always had a
controlling influence on my actions.
Lord Percy, as I have remarked, was deeply in love with my Agatha. He
followed her about everywhere, was present at all the rehearsals, waited
for her at the wings, and called on her every day, although her landlady,
a duenna of the Pacienza school, would never let her see him alone. The
principal methods of seduction--rich presents--had not been spared, but
Agatha persistently refused them all, and forbade her duenna to take
anything from the young nobleman. Agatha had no liking for him, and kept
me well informed of all his actions, and we used to laugh at him
together. I knew that I possessed her heart, and consequently Lord
Percy's attempts neither made me angry or jealous--nay, they flattered my
self-esteem, for his slighted love made my own happiness stand out in
greater relief. Everybody knew that Agatha remained faithful to me, and
at last Lord Percy was so convinced of the hopelessness of the attempt
that he resolved on making a friend of me, and winning me over to his
interests.
With the true Englishman's boldness and coolness he came to me one
morning, and asked me to give him breakfast. I welcomed him in the French
manner, that is, with combined cordiality and politeness, and he was soon
completely at his ease.
With insular directness he went straight to the point at the first
interview, declared his love for Agatha, and proposed an exchange, which
amused, but did not offend me, as I knew that such bargains were common
in England.
"I know," said he, "that you are in love with Redegonde, and have long
tried vainly to obtain her; now I am willing to exchange her for Agatha,
and all I want to know is what sum of money you want over and above?"
"You are very good, my dear lord, but to determine the excess of value
would require a good mathematician. Redegonde is all very well, and
inspires me with curiosity, but what is she compared to Agatha?"
"I know, I know, and I therefore offer you any sum you like to mention."
Percy was very rich, and very passionate. I am sure that if I had named
twenty-five thousand guineas as overplus, or rather as exchange--for I
did not care for Redegonde--he would have said done. However, I did not,
and I am glad of it. Even now, when a hundred thousand francs would be a
fortune to me, I never repent of my delicacy.
After we had breakfasted merrily together, I told him that I liked him
well, but that in the first place it would be well to ascertain whether
the two commodities would consent to change masters.
"I am sure of Redegonde's consent," said Lord Percy.
"But I am not at all sure of Agatha's," said I.
"Why not?"
"I have very strong grounds for supposing that she would not consent to
the arrangement. What reasons have you for the contrary opinion?"
"She will shew her sense."
"But she loves me."
"Well, Redegonde loves me."
"I dare say; but does she love me?"
"I am sure I don't know, but she will love you."
"Have you consulted her upon the point?"
"No, but it is all the same. What I want to know now is whether you
approve of my plan, and how much you want for the exchange, for your
Agatha is worth much more than my Redegonde."
"I am delighted to hear you do my mistress justice. As for the money
question, we will speak of that later. In the first place I will take
Agatha's opinion, and will let you know the result to-morrow morning."
The plan amused me, and though I was passionately attached to Agatha I
knew my inconstant nature well enough to be aware that another woman, may
be not so fair as she, would soon make me forget her. I therefore
resolved to push the matter through if I could do so in a manner that
would be advantageous for her.
What surprised me was that the young nobleman had gained possession of
Redegonde, whose mother appeared so intractable, but I knew what an
influence caprice has on woman, and this explained the enigma.
Agatha came to supper as usual, and laughed heartily when I told her of
Lord Percy's proposal.
"Tell me," said I, "if you would agree to the change?"
"I will do just as you like," said she; "and if the money he offers be
acceptable to you, I advise you to close with him."
I could see by the tone of her voice that she was jesting, but her reply
did not please me. I should have liked to have my vanity flattered by a
peremptory refusal, and consequently I felt angry. My face grew grave,
and Agatha became melancholy.
"We will see," said I, "how it all ends."
Next day I went to breakfast with the Englishman, and told him Agatha was
willing, but that I must first hear what Redegonde had to say.
"Quite right," he observed.
"I should require to know how we are to live together."
"The four of us had better go masked to the first ball at the Carignan
Theatre. We will sup at a house which belongs to me, and there the
bargain can be struck."
The party took place according to agreement, and at the given signal we
all left the ball-room. My lord's carriage was in waiting, and we all
drove away and got down at a house I seemed to know. We entered the hall,
and the first thing I saw was the Corticelli. This roused my choler, and
taking Percy aside I told him that such a trick was unworthy of a
gentleman. He laughed, and said he thought I should like her to be thrown
in, and that two pretty women were surely worth as much as Agatha. This
amusing answer made me less angry; but, calling him a madman, I took
Agatha by the arm and went out without staying for any explanations. I
would not make use of his carriage, and instead of returning to the ball
we went home in sedan-chairs, and spent a delicious night in each other's
arms.
VOLUME 20 -- MILAN
CHAPTER XVIII
I Give up Agatha to Lord Percy--I Set out for Milan--
The Actress at Pavia--Countess A * * * B * * *--Disappointment--
Marquis Triulzi--Zenobia--The Two Marchionesses Q * * *--
The Venetian Barbaro
Far from punishing the Corticelli by making her live with Redegonde, the
Count d'Aglie seemed to have encouraged her; and I was not sorry for it,
since as long as she did not trouble me any more I did not care how many
lovers she had. She had become a great friend of Redegonde's, and did
exactly as she pleased, for their duenna was much more easy going than
the Pacienza.
Nobody knew of the trick which Lord Percy had played me, and I took care
to say nothing about it. However, he did not give up his designs on
Agatha, his passion for her was too violent. He hit upon an ingenious
method for carrying out his plans. I have already said that Percy was
very rich, and spent his money wildly, not caring at what expenditure he
gratified his passion. I was the last person to reproach him for his
extravagance, and in a country where money is always scarce his guineas
opened every door to him.
Four or five days after the ball night, Agatha came to tell me that the
manager of the Alexandria Theatre had asked her if she would take the
part of second dancer throughout the carnival time.
"He offered me sixty sequins," she added, "and I told him I would let him
know by to-morrow. Do you advise me to accept his offer?"
"If you love me, dearest Agatha, you will prove it by refusing all
engagements for a year. You know I will let you want for nothing.
"I will get you the best masters, and in that time you can perfect your
dancing, and will be able to ask for a first-class appointment, with a
salary of five hundred sequins a year."
"Mamma thinks that I should accept the offer, as the dancing on the stage
will improve my style, and I can study under a good master all the same.
I think myself that dancing in public would do me good."
"There is reason in what you say, but you do not need the sixty sequins.
You will dishonour me by accepting such a poor offer, and you will do
yourself harm too, as you will not be able to ask for a good salary after
taking such a small one."
"But sixty sequins is not so bad for a carnival engagement."
"But you don't want sixty sequins; you can have them without dancing at
all. If you love me, I repeat, you will tell the manager that you are
going to rest for a year."
"I will do what you please, but it seems to me the best plan would be to
ask an exorbitant sum."
"You are right; that is a good idea. Tell him you must be first dancer,
and that your salary must be five hundred sequins."
"I will do so, and am only too happy to be able to prove that I love
you."
Agatha had plenty of inborn common sense, which only needed development.
With that and the beauty which Heaven had given her her future was
assured.
She was eventually happy, and she deserved her happiness.
The next day she told me that the manager did not appear at all
astonished at her demands.
"He reflected a few minutes," said she, "and told me he must think it
over, and would see me again. It would be amusing if he took me at my
word, would it not?"
"Yes, but we should then have to enquire whether he is a madman or a
beggar on the verge of bankruptcy."
"And if he turns out to be a man of means?"
"In that case you would be obliged to accept."
"That is easily said and easily done, but have I sufficient talent? Where
shall I find an actor to dance with me?"
"I will engage to find you one. As to talent, you have enough and to
spare; but you will see that it will come to nothing."
All the time I felt a presentiment that she would be engaged, and I was
right. The manager came to her the next day, and offered her the
agreement for her signature. She was quite alarmed, and sent for me. I
called at her house, and finding the manager there asked him what
security he could give for the fulfilment of his part of the engagement.
He answered by naming M. Martin, a banker of my acquaintance, who would
be his surety. I could make no objection to this, and the agreement was
made out in duplicate in good form.
On leaving Agatha I went to M. Raiberti and told him the story. He shared
my astonishment that M. Martin should become surety for the manager whom
he knew, and whose financial position was by no means good; but the next
day the problem was solved, for in spite of the secrecy that had been
observed we found out that it was Lord Percy who was behind the manager.
I might still bar the Englishman's way by continuing to keep Agatha, in
spite of his five hundred sequins, but I was obliged to return to France
after Easter to wait on Madame d'Urfe, and afterwards, peace having been
concluded, I thought it would be a good opportunity for seeing England. I
therefore determined to abandon Agatha, taking care to bind her new lover
to provide for her, and I proceeded to make a friend of the nobleman.
I was curious to see how he would win Agatha's good graces, for she did
not love him, and physically he was not attractive.
In less than a week we had become intimate. We supped together every
night either at his house or mine, and Agatha and her mother were always
of the party. I concluded that his attentions would soon touch Agatha's
heart, and that finding herself so beloved she would end by loving. This
was enough to make me determine not to put any obstacles in their way,
and I resolved to leave Turin earlier than I had intended. In consequence
I spoke as follows to Lord Percy, while we were breakfasting together:
"My lord, you know that I love Agatha, and that she loves me,
nevertheless I am your friend, and since you adore her I will do my best
to hasten your bliss. I will leave you in possession of this treasure,
but you must promise that when you abandon her you will give her two
thousand guineas."
"My dear sir," said he, "I will give them her now if you like."
"No, my lord, I do not wish her to know anything about our agreement
while you are living happily together."
"Then I will give you a bond binding myself to pay her the two thousand
guineas when we separate."
"I don't want that, the word of an Englishman is enough; but since we
cannot command the fates, and may die without having time to put our
affairs in order, I wish you to take such steps as may seem convenient to
you, whereby that sum would go to her after your death."
"I give you my word on it."
"That is enough; but I have one other condition to make."
"Say on."
"It is that you promise to say nothing to Agatha before my departure."
"I swear I will not."
"Very good; and on my part I promise to prepare her for the change:"
The same day the Englishman, whose love grew hotter and hotter, made
Agatha and her mother rich presents, which under any other circumstances
I should not have allowed them to accept.
I lost no time in preparing Agatha and her mother for the impending
change. They seemed affected, but I knew they would soon get reconciled
to the situation. Far from giving me any cause for complaint, Agatha was
more affectionate than ever. She listened attentively to my advice as to
her conduct towards her new lover and the world in general, and promised
to follow it. It was to this advice that she owed her happiness, for
Percy made her fortune. However, she did not leave the theatre for some
years, when we shall hear more of her.
I was not the man to take presents from my equals, and Percy no doubt
being aware of that succeeded in making me a handsome present in a very
singular way. I told him that I thought of paying a visit to England and
requested him to give me a letter of introduction to the duchess, his
mother, whereon he drew out a portrait of her set with magnificent
diamonds, and gave it to me, saying,--
"This is the best letter I can give you. I will write and tell her that
you will call and give her the portrait, unless, indeed, she likes to
leave it in your hands."
"I hope my lady will think me worthy of such an honour."
There are certain ideas, it seems to me, which enter no head but an
Englishman's.
I was invited by Count A---- B---- to Milan, and the countess wrote me a
charming letter, begging me to get her two pieces of sarcenet, of which
she enclosed the patterns.
After taking leave of all my friends and acquaintances I got a letter of
credit on the banker, Greppi, and started for the capital of Lombardy.
My separation from Agatha cost me many tears, but not so many as those
shed by her. Her mother wept also, for she loved me, and was grateful for
all my kindness to her daughter. She said again and again that she could
never have borne any rival but her own daughter, while the latter sobbed
out that she wished she had not to part from me.
I did not like Passano, so I sent him to his family at Genoa, giving him
the wherewithal to live till I came for him. As to my man, I dismissed
him for good reasons and took another, as I was obliged to have somebody;
but since I lost my Spaniard I have never felt confidence in any of my
servants.
I travelled with a Chevalier de Rossignan, whose acquaintance I had made,
and we went by Casal to see the opera-bouffe there.
Rossignan was a fine man, a good soldier, fond of wine and women, and,
though he was not learned, he knew the whole of Dante's Divine Comedy by
heart. This was his hobby-horse, and he was always quoting it, making the
passage square with his momentary feelings. This made him insufferable in
society, but he was an amusing companion for anyone who knew the sublime
poet, and could appreciate his numerous and rare beauties. Nevertheless
he made me privately give in my assent to the proverb, Beware of the man
of one book. Otherwise he was intelligent, statesmanlike, and
good-natured. He made himself known at Berlin by his services as
ambassador to the King of Sardinia.
There was nothing interesting in the opera at Casal, so I went to Pavia,
where, though utterly unknown, I was immediately welcomed by the
Marchioness Corti, who received all strangers of any importance. In 1786
I made the acquaintance of her son, an admirable man, who honoured me
with his friendship, and died quite young in Flanders with the rank of
major-general. I wept bitterly for his loss, but tears, after all, are
but an idle tribute to those who cause them to flow. His good qualities
had endeared him to all his acquaintances, and if he had lived longer he
would undoubtedly have risen to high command in the army.
I only stopped two days at Pavia, but it was decreed that I should get
myself talked of, even in that short time.
At the second ballet at the opera an actress dressed in a tippet held out
her cap to the bones as if to beg an alms, while she was dancing a pas de
deux. I was in the Marchioness of Corti's box, and when the girl held out
her cap to me I was moved by feelings of ostentation and benevolence to
draw forth my purse and drop it in. It contained about twenty ducats. The
girl took it, thanked me with a smile, and the pit applauded loudly. I
asked the Marquis Belcredi, who was near me, if she had a lover.
"She has a penniless French officer, I believe," he replied; "there he
is, in the pit."
I went back to my inn, and was supping with M. Basili, a Modenese
colonel, when the ballet girl, her mother, and her younger sister came to
thank me for my providential gift. "We are so poor," said the girl.
I had almost done supper, and I asked them all to sup with me after the
performance the next day. This offer was quite a disinterested one, and
it was accepted.
I was delighted to have made a woman happy at so little expense and
without any ulterior objects, and I was giving orders to the landlord for
the supper, when Clairmont, my man, told me that a French officer wanted
to speak to me. I had him in, and asked what I could do for him.
"There are three courses before you, Mr. Venetian," said he, "and you can
take which you like. Either countermand this supper, invite me to come to
it, or come and measure swords with me now."
Clairmont, who was attending to the fire, did not give me time to reply,
but seized a burning brand and rushed on the officer, who thought it best
to escape. Luckily for him the door of my room was open. He made such a
noise in running downstairs that the waiter came out and caught hold of
him, thinking he had stolen something; but Clairmont, who was pursuing
him with his firebrand, had him released.
This adventure became town talk directly. My servant, proud of his
exploit and sure of my approval, came to tell me that I need not be
afraid of going out, as the officer was only a braggart. He did not even
draw his sword on the waiter who had caught hold of him, though the man
only had a knife in his belt.
"At all events," he added, "I will go out with you."
I told him that he had done well this time, but that for the future he
must not interfere in my affairs.
"Sir," he replied, "your affairs of this kind are mine too, I shall take
care not to go beyond my duty."
With this speech, which I thought very sensible, though I did not tell
him so, he took one of my pistols and saw to the priming, smiling at me
significantly.
All good French servants are of the same stamp as Clairmont; they are
devoted and intelligent, but they all think themselves cleverer than
their masters, which indeed is often the case, and when they are sure of
it they become the masters of their masters, tyrannize over them, and
give them marks of contempt which the foolish gentlemen endeavour to
conceal. But when the master knows how to make himself respected, the
Clairmonts are excellent.
The landlord of my inn sent a report of the affair to the police, and the
French officer was banished from the town the same day. At dinner Colonel
Basili asked to hear the story, and said that no one but a French officer
would think of attacking a man in his own room in such a foolish manner.
I differed from him.
"The French are brave," I replied, "but generally they are perfectly
polite and have wonderful tact. Wretchedness and love, joined to a false
spirit of courage, makes a fool of a man all the world over."
At supper the ballet-girl thanked me for ridding her of the poor devil,
who (as she said) was always threatening to kill her, and wearied her
besides. Though she was not beautiful, there was something captivating
about this girl. She was graceful, well-mannered, and intelligent, her
mouth was well-shaped, and her eyes large and expressive. I think I
should have found her a good bargain, but as I wanted to get away from
Pavia, and piqued myself on having been good-natured without ulterior
motive, I bade her farewell after supper, with many thanks for her
kindness in coming. My politeness seemed rather to confuse her, but she
went away reiterating her gratitude.
Next day I dined at the celebrated Chartreuse, and in the evening I
reached Milan, and got out at Count A---- B----'s, who had not expected me
till the following day.
The countess, of whom my fancy had made a perfect woman, disappointed me
dreadfully. It is always so when passion gives reins to the imagination.
The Countess was certainly pretty, though too small, and I might still
have loved her, in spite of my disappointment, but at our meeting she
greeted me with a gravity that was not to my taste, and which gave me a
dislike to her.
After the usual compliments, I gave her the two pieces of sarcenet she
had commissioned me to get. She thanked me, telling me that her confessor
would reimburse me for my expenditure. The count then took me to my room,
and left me there till supper. It was nicely furnished, but I felt ill at
ease, and resolved to leave in a day or two if the countess remained
immovable. Twenty-four hours was as much as I cared to give her.
We made a party of four at supper; the count talking all the time to draw
me out, and to hide his wife's sulkiness. I answered in the same gay
strain, speaking to his wife, however, in the hope of rousing her. It was
all lost labour. The little woman only replied by faint smiles which
vanished almost as they came, and by monosyllabic answers of the briefest
description, without taking her eyes off the dishes which she thought
tasteless; and it was to the priest, who was the fourth person present,
that she addressed her complaints, almost speaking affably to him.
Although I liked the count very well, I could not help pronouncing his
wife decidedly ungracious. I was looking at her to see if I could find
any justification for her ill humour on her features, but as soon as she
saw me she turned away in a very marked manner, and began to speak about
nothing to the priest. This conduct offended me, and I laughed heartily
at her contempt, or her designs on me, for as she had not fascinated me
at all I was safe from her tyranny.
After supper the sarcenet was brought in; it was to be used for a dress
with hoops, made after the extravagant fashion then prevailing.
The count was grieved to see her fall so short of the praises he had
lavished on her, and came to my room with me, begging me to forgive her
Spanish ways, and saying that she would be very pleasant when she knew me
better.
The count was poor, his house was small, his furniture shabby, and his
footman's livery threadbare; instead of plate he had china, and one of
the countess's maids was chief cook. He had no carriages nor horses, not
even a saddle horse of any kind. Clairmont gave me all this information,
and added that he had to sleep in a little kitchen, and was to share his
bed with the man who had waited at table.
I had only one room, and having three heavy trunks found myself very
uncomfortable, and I decided on seeking some other lodging more agreeable
to my tastes.
The count came early in the morning to ask what I usually took for
breakfast.
"My dear count," I replied, "I have enough fine Turin chocolate to go all
round. Does the countess like it?"
"Very much, but she won't take it unless it is made by her woman."
"Here are six pounds: make her accept it, and tell her that if I hear
anything about payment I shall take it back."
"I am sure she will accept it, and thank you too. Shall I have your
carriage housed?"
"I shall be extremely obliged to you, and I shall be glad if you would
get me a hired carriage, and a guide for whom you can answer."
"It shall be done."
The count was going out when the priest, who had supped with us the night
before, came in to make his bow. He was a man of forty-one of the tribe
of domestic chaplains who are so common in Italy--who, in return for
keeping the accounts of the house, live with its master and mistress. In
the morning this priest said mass in a neighbouring church, for the rest
of the day he either occupied himself with the cares of the house, or was
the lady's obedient servant.
As soon as We were alone he begged me to say that he had paid me the
three hundred Milanese crowns for the sarcenet, if the countess asked me
about it.
"Dear, dear, abbe!" said I, laughing, "this sort of thing is not exactly
proper in a man of your sacred profession. How can you advise me to tell
a lie? No, sir; if the countess asks me any such impertinent question, I
shall tell her the truth."
"I am sure she will ask you, and if you answer like that I shall suffer
for it."
"Well, sir, if you are in the wrong you deserve to suffer."
"But as it happens, I should be blamed for nothing."
"Well, go and tell her it's a present; and if she won't have that, tell
her I am in no hurry to be paid."
"I see, sir, that you don't know the lady or the way in which this house
is managed. I will speak to her husband."
In a quarter of an hour the count told me that he owed me a lot of money,
which he hoped to pay back in the course of Lent, and that I must add the
sarcenet to the account. I embraced him and said that he would have to
keep the account himself, as I never noted down any of the moneys that I
was only too happy to lend to my friends.
"If your wife asks me whether I have received the money, be sure I will
answer in the affirmative."
He went out shedding grateful tears, while I felt indebted to him for
having given me the opportunity of doing him a service; for I was very
fond of him.
In the morning, the countess being invisible, I watched my man spreading
out my suits over the chairs, amongst them being some handsome women's
cloaks, and a rich red dress deeply trimmed with fur, which had been
originally intended for the luckless Corticelli. I should no doubt have
given it to Agatha, if I had continued to live with her, and I should
have made a mistake, as such a dress was only fit for a lady of rank.
At one o'clock I received another visit from the count, who told me that
the countess was going to introduce me to their best friend. This was the
Marquis Triuizi, a man of about, my own age, tall, well made, squinting
slightly, and with all the manner of a nobleman. He told me that besides
coming to have the honour of my acquaintance, he also came to enjoy the
fire, "for," said he, "there's only one fireplace in the house and that's
in your room."
As all the chairs were covered, the marquis drew the countess on to his
knee and made her sit there like a baby; but she blushed, and escaped
from his grasp. The marquis laughed heartily at her confusion, and she
said,--
"Is it possible that a man of your years has not yet learnt to respect a
woman?"
"Really, countess," said he, "I thought it would be very disrespectful to
continue sitting while you were standing."
While Clairmont was taking the clothes off the chairs, the marquis
noticed the mantles and the beautiful dress, and asked me if I were
expecting a lady.
"No," said I, "but I hope to find someone at Milan who will be worthy of
such presents." I added, "I know the Prince Triulzi, at Venice; I suppose
he is of your family?"
"He says he is, and it may be so; but I am certainly not a member of his
family."
This let me know that I should do well to say no more about the prince.
"You must stay to dinner, marquis," said Count A---- B----; "and as you
only like dishes prepared by your own cook you had better send for them."
The marquis agreed, and we made good cheer. The table was covered with
fair linen and handsome plate, the wine was good and plentiful, and the
servants quick and well dressed. I could now understand the marquis's
position in the house. It was his wit and mirth which kept the
conversation going, and the countess came in for a share of his
pleasantries, while she scolded him for his familiarity.
I could see, however, that the marquis did not want to humiliate her; on
the contrary, he was fond of her, and only wished to bring down her
exaggerated pride. When he saw her on the point of bursting into tears of
rage and shame, he quieted her down by saying that no one in Milan
respected her charms and her high birth more than he.
After dinner the tailor who was to measure the countess for a domino for
the ball was announced. On the marquis's praising the colours and the
beauty of the materials, she told him that I had brought her the sarcenet
from Turin, and this reminded her to ask me whether I had been paid.
"Your husband settled with me," said I, "but you have given me a lesson I
can never forget."
"What lesson?" said the marquis.
"I had hoped that the countess would have deigned to receive this poor
present at my hands."
"And she wouldn't take it? It's absurd, on my life."
"There is nothing to laugh at," said the countess, "but you laugh at
everything."
While the man was measuring her, she complained of feeling cold, as she
was in her stays, and her beautiful breast was exposed. Thereupon, the
marquis put his hands on it, as if he were quite accustomed to use such
familiarities. But the Spaniard, no doubt ashamed because of my presence,
got into a rage, and abused him in the most awful manner, while he
laughed pleasantly, as if he could calm the storm when he pleased. This
was enough to inform me of the position in which they stood to one
another, and of the part I ought to take.
We remained together till the evening, when the countess and the marquis
went to the opera, and the count came with me to my room, till my
carriage was ready to take us there too. The opera had begun when we got
in, and the first person I noticed on the stage was my dear Therese
Palesi, whom I had left at Florence. It was a pleasant surprise to me,
and I foresaw that we should renew our sweet interviews while I remained
at Milan I was discreet enough to say nothing to the count about his
wife's charms, or the way their house was managed. I saw that the place
was taken, and the odd humours of the lady prevented my falling in love
with her. After the second act we went to the assembly rooms, where five
or six banks at faro were being held; I staked and lost a hundred ducats
as if to pay for my welcome, and then rose from the table.
At supper the countess seemed to unbend a little, she condoled with me on
my loss, and I said that I was glad of it as it made her speak so.
Just as I rang my bell the next morning, Clairmont told me that a woman
wanted to speak to me.
"Is she young?"
"Both young and pretty, sir."
"That will do nicely, shew her in."
I saw a simply dressed girl, who reminded me of Leah. She was tall and
beautiful, but had not as high pretensions as the Jewess; as she only
wanted to know whether she could do my washing for me. I was quite taken
with her. Clairmont had just brought me my chocolate, and I asked her to
sit down on the bed; but she answered modestly that she did not want to
trouble me, and would come again when I was up.
"Do you live at any distance?"
"I live on the ground floor of this house."
"All by yourself?"
"No sir, I have my father and mother."
"And what is your name?"
"Zenobia."
"Your name is as pretty as you are. Will you give me your hand to kiss?"
"I can't," she replied, with a smile, "my hand is another's."
"You are engaged, are you?"
"Yes, to a tailor, and we are going to be married before the end of the
carnival:"
"Is he rich or handsome?"
"Neither the one nor the other."
"Then why are you going to marry him?"
"Because I want to have a house of my own:"
"I like you, and will stand your friend. Go and fetch your tailor. I will
give him some work to do."
As soon as she went out I got up and told Clairmont to put my linen on a
table. I had scarcely finished dressing when she came back with her
tailor. It was a striking contrast, for he was a little shrivelled-up
man, whose appearance made one laugh.
"Well, master tailor," said I, "so you are going to marry this charming
girl?"
"Yes, sir, the banns have been published already."
"You are a lucky fellow indeed to have so much happiness in store. When
are you going to marry her?"
"In ten or twelve days."
"Why not to-morrow?"
"Your worship is in a great hurry."
"I think I should be, indeed," said I, laughing, "if I were in your
place. I want you to make me a domino for the ball to-morrow."
"Certainly, sir; but your excellency must find me the stuff, for nobody
in Milan would give me credit for it, and I couldn't afford to lay out so
much money in advance."
"When you are married you will have money and credit too. In the
meanwhile here are ten sequins for you."
He went away in high glee at such a windfall.
I gave Zenobia some lace to do up, and asked her if she was afraid of
having a jealous husband.
"He is neither jealous nor amorous," she replied. "He is only marrying me
because I earn more than he does."
"With your charms I should have thought you might have made a better
match."
"I have waited long enough; I have got tired of maidenhood. Besides, he
is sharp if he is not handsome, and perhaps a keen head is better than a
handsome face."
"You are sharp enough yourself, anyhow. But why does he put off the
wedding?"
"Because he hasn't got any money, and wants to have a fine wedding for
his relations to come to. I should like it myself."
"I think you are right; but I can't see why you should not let an honest
man kiss your hand."
"That was only a piece of slyness to let you know I was to be married. I
have no silly prejudices myself."
"Ah, that's better! Tell your future husband that if he likes me to be
the patron of the wedding I will pay for everything."
"Really?"
"Yes, really. I will give him twenty-five sequins on the condition that
he spends it all on the wedding."
"Twenty-five sequins! That will make people talk; but what care we? I
will give you an answer to-morrow."
"And a kiss now?"
"With all my heart."
Zenobia went away in great delight, and I went out to call on my banker
and dear Therese.
When the door was opened the pretty maid recognized me, and taking me by
the hand led me to her mistress, who was just going to get up. Her
emotion at seeing me was so great that she could not utter a word, but
only claps me to her breast.
Our natural transports over, Therese told me that she had got tired of
her husband, and that for the last six months they had not been living
together. She had made him an allowance to get rid of him, and he lived
on it at Rome.
"And where is Cesarino?"
"In this town. You can see him whenever you like."
"Are you happy?"
"Quite. People say that I have a lover, but it is not true; and you can
see me at any time with perfect liberty."
We spent two pleasant hours in telling each other of our experiences
since our last meeting, and then, finding her as fresh and fair as in the
season of our early loves, I asked her if she had vowed to be faithful to
her husband.
"At Florence," she replied, "I was still in love with him; but now, if I
am still pleasing in your eyes, we can renew our connection, and live
together till we die."
"I will soon shew you, darling, that I love you as well as ever."
She answered only by giving herself up to my embrace.
After action and contemplation I left her as amorous as she had been
eighteen years before, but my passion found too many new objects to
remain constant long.
Countess A---- B---- began to be more polite. "I know where you have been,"
said she, with a pleased air; "but if you love that person, you will not
go and see her again, or else her lover will leave her."
"Then I would take his place, madam."
"You are right in amusing yourself with women who know how to earn your
presents. I am aware that you never give anything till you have received
evident proofs of their affection."
"That has always been my principle."
"It's an excellent way to avoid being duped. The lover of the person you
have been with kept a lady in society for some time in great splendour,
but all the rest of us despised her."
"Why so, if you please?"
"Because she lowered herself so terribly. Greppi is absolutely a man of
no family whatever."
Without expressing my surprise at the name of Greppi, I replied that a
man need not be well born to be an excellent lover.
"The only thing needful," said I, "is a fine physique and plenty of
money, and those ladies who despised their friend were either
ridiculously proud or abominably envious. I have not the slightest doubt
that if they could find any more Gieppis they would be willing enough to
lower themselves."
She would doubtless have made a sharp reply, for what I had said had
angered her; but the Marquis Triulzi arriving, she went out with him,
while her husband and myself went to a place where there was a bank at
faro, the banker only having a hundred sequins before him.
I took a card and staked small sums like the rest of the company. After
losing twenty ducats I left the place.
As we were going to the opera the poor count told me I had made him lose
ten ducats on his word of honour, and that he did not know how he could
pay it by the next day. I pitied him, and gave him the money without a
word; for misery has always appealed strongly to me. Afterwards I lost
two hundred ducats at the same bank to which I had lost money the evening
before. The count was in the greatest distress. He did not know that
Greppi, whom his proud wife considered so worthless, had a hundred
thousand francs of my money, and that I possessed jewellery to an even
greater amount.
The countess, who had seen me lose, asked me if I would sell my beautiful
dress.
"They say it's worth a thousand sequins," said she.
"Yes, that is so; but I would sell everything I possess before parting
with any of the articles which I intend for the fair sex."
"Marquis Triulzi wants it badly to present to someone."
"I am very sorry, but I cannot sell it to him."
She went away without a word, but I could see that she was exceedingly
vexed at my refusal.
As I was leaving the opera-house I saw Therese getting into her
sedan-chair. I went up to her, and told her that I was sure she was going
to sup with her lover. She whispered in my ear that she was going to sup
by herself, and that I might come if I dared. I gave her an agreeable
surprise by accepting the invitation.
"I will expect you, then," she said.
I asked the count to ride home in my carriage, and taking a chair I
reached Therese's house just as she was going in.
What a happy evening we had! We laughed heartily when we told each other
our thoughts.
"I know you were in love with Countess A---- B----," said she, "and I felt
sure you would not dare to come to supper with me."
"And I thought I should confound you by accepting your invitation, as I
knew Greppi was your lover."
"He is my friend," she replied. "If he loves me in any other way than
that of friendship, I pity him, for as yet he has not discovered the
secret of seduction."
"Do you think he ever will?"
"No, I don't. I am rich."
"Yes, but he is richer than you."
"I know that, but I think he loves his money better than he loves me."
"I understand. You will make him happy if he loves you well enough to
ruin himself."
"That is it, but it will never come to pass. But here we are, together
again after a divorce of nearly twenty years. I don't think you will find
any change in me."
"That is a privilege which nature grants to the fair sex only. You will
find me changed, but you will be able to work miracles."
This was a piece of politeness, for she was hardly capable of working any
miracle. However, after an excellent supper, we spent two hours in
amorous raptures, and then Morpheus claimed us for his own. When we awoke
I did not leave her before giving her a good day equal to the good night
which had sent us to sleep.
When I got back I found the fair Zenobia, who said the tailor was ready
to marry her next Sunday if my offer was not a joke.
"To convince you of the contrary," said I, "here are the twenty-five
sequins."
Full of gratitude she let herself fall into my arms, and I covered her
mouth and her beautiful bosom with my fiery kisses. Therese had exhausted
me, so I did not go any further, but the girl no doubt attributed my
self-restraint to the fact that the door was open. I dressed carefully,
and made myself look less weary, and to freshen myself up I had a long
drive in an open carriage.
When I returned, I found the Marquis of Triulzi teasing the countess as
usual. On that day he furnished the dinner, and it was consequently, a
very good one.
The conversation turned on the dress in my possession, and the countess
told the marquis, like an idiot, that it was destined for the lady who
would make me desirous and gratify my desire.
With exquisite politeness the marquis told me that I deserved to enjoy
favours at a cheaper rate.
"I suppose you will be giving it to the person with whom you spent the
night," said the countess.
"That's an impossibility," I answered, "for I spent the night in play."
Just then Clairmont came in, and told me an officer wanted to speak to
me. I went to the door, and saw a handsome young fellow, who greeted me
with an embrace. I recognized him as Barbaro, the son of a Venetian
noble, and brother of the fair and famous Madame Gritti Scombro, of whom
I spoke ten years ago, whose husband had died in the citadel of Cattaro,
where the State Inquisitors had imprisoned him. My young friend had also
fallen into disgrace with the despotic Inquisitors. We had been good
friends during the year before my imprisonment, but I had heard nothing
of him since.
Barbaro told me the chief incidents in a life that had been adventurous
enough, and informed me that he was now in the service of the Duke of
Modena, the Governor of Milan.
"I saw you losing money at Canano's bank," said he, "and remembering our
old friendship I want to communicate to you a sure way of winning money.
All that is necessary is for me to introduce you to a club of young men
who are very fond of play, and cannot possibly win."
"Where does this club meet?"
"In an extremely respectable house. If you agree I will keep the bank
myself, and I am sure of winning. I want you to lend me capital, and I
only ask a fourth of the profits."
"I suppose you can hold the cards well."
"You are right."
This was as much as to tell me that he was an adroit sharper, or, in
other words, a skilful corrector of fortune's mistakes. He concluded by
saying that I should find something worth looking at in the house he had
mentioned.
"My dear sir," I replied, "I will give you my decision after seeing the
club to which you want to introduce me."
"Will you be at the theatre coffee-house at three o'clock to-morrow?"
"Yes, but I hope to see you at the ball in the evening."
Zenobia's betrothed brought me my domino, and the countess had hers
already. As the ball did not begin till the opera was over, I went to
hear Therese's singing. In the interval between the acts I lost another
two hundred sequins, and then went home to dress for the ball. The
countess said that if I would be kind enough to take her to the ball in
my carriage and fetch her home in it, she would not send for the Marquis
Triulzi's. I replied that I was at her service.
Under the impression that the fair Spaniard had only given me the
preference to enable me to take liberties with her, I told her I should
be very glad to give her the dress, and that the only condition was that
I should spent a night with her.
"You insult me cruelly," said she, "you must know my character better
than that."
"I know everything, my dear countess; but, after all, the insult's
nothing; you can easily forgive me if you pluck up a little spirit;
trample on a foolish prejudice; get the dress, and make me happy for a
whole night long."
"That it all very well when one is in love, but you must confess that
your coarse way of speaking is more likely to make me hate you than love
you."
"I use that style, because I want to come to the point; I have no time to
waste. And you, countess, must confess in your turn, that you would be
delighted to have me sighing at your feet."
"It would be all the same to me, I don't think I could love you."
"Then we are agreed on one point at all events, for I love you no more
than you love me."
"And yet you would spend a thousand sequins for the pleasure of passing a
night with me."
"Not at all, I don't want to sleep with you for the sake of the pleasure,
but to mortify your infernal pride, which becomes you so ill."
God knows what the fierce Spaniard would have answered, but at that
moment the carriage stopped at the door of the theatre. We parted, and
after I had got tired of threading my way amidst the crowd I paid a visit
to the gaming-room, hoping to regain the money I had lost. I had more
than five hundred sequins about me and a good credit at the bank, but I
certainly did my best to lose everything I had. I sat down at Canano's
bank, and noticing that the poor count, who followed me wherever I went,
was the only person who knew me, I thought I should have a lucky evening.
I only punted on one card, and spent four hours without losing or
gaining. Towards the end, wishing to force fortune's favour, I lost
rapidly, and left all my money in the hands of the banker. I went back to
the ball-room, where the countess rejoined me, and we returned home.
When we were in the carriage, she said,--
"You lost an immense sum, and I am very glad of it. The marquis will give
you a thousand sequins, and the money will bring you luck."
"And you, too, for I suppose you will have the dress?"
"Maybe."
"No, madam, you shall never have it in this way, and you know the other.
I despise a thousand sequins."
"And I despise you and your presents."
"You may despise me as much as you please, and you may be sure I despise
you."
With these polite expressions we reached the house. When I got to my room
I found the count there with a long face, as if he wanted to pity me but
dared not do it. However, my good temper gave him the courage to say:--
"Triulzi will give you a thousand sequins; that will fit you up again."
"For the dress you mean?"
"Yes."
"I wanted to give it to your wife, but she said she would despise it,
coming from my hands."
"You astonish me; she is mad after it. You must have wounded her haughty
temper in some way or another. But sell it, and get the thousand
sequins."
"I will let you know to-morrow."
I slept four or five hours, and then rose and went out in my great coat
to call on Greppi, for I had no more money. I took a thousand sequins,
begging him not to tell my affairs to anyone. He replied that my affairs
were his own, and that I could count on his secrecy. He complimented me
on the esteem in which Madame Palesi held me, and said he hoped to meet
me at supper at her house one night.
"Such a meeting would give me the greatest pleasure," I replied.
On leaving him I called on Therese, but as there were some people with
her I did not stay long. I was glad to see that she knew nothing about my
losses or my affairs. She said that Greppi wanted to sup with me at her
house, and that she would let me know when the day was fixed. When I got
home I found the count in front of my fire.
"My wife is in a furious rage with you," said he, "and won't tell me
why."
"The reason is, my dear count, that I won't let her accept the dress from
any hand but mine. She told me that she should despise it as a gift from
me, but she has nothing to be furious about that I know."
"It's some mad notion of hers, and I don't know what to make of it. But
pray attend to what I am about to say to you. You despise a thousand
sequins--good. I congratulate you. But if you are in a position to
despise a sum which would make me happy, offer up a foolish vanity on the
shrine of friendship, take the thousand sequins, and lend them to me, and
let my wife have the dress, for of course he will give it her."
This proposal made me roar with laughter, and certainly it was of a
nature to excite the hilarity of a sufferer from confirmed melancholia,
which I was far from being. However, I stopped laughing when I saw how
the poor count blushed from shame. I kissed him affectionately to calm
him, but at last I was cruel enough to say,
"I will willingly assist you in this arrangement. I will sell the dress
to the marquis as soon as you please, but I won't lend you the money.
I'll give it to you in the person of your wife at a private interview;
but when she receives me she must not only be polite and complaisant, but
as gentle as a lamb. Go and see if it can be arranged, my dear count;
'tis absolutely my last word."
"I will see," said the poor husband; and with that he went out.
Barbaro kept his appointment with exactitude. I made him get into my
carriage, and we alighted at a house at the end of Milan. We went to the
first floor, and there I was introduced to a fine-looking old man, an
amiable lady of pleasing appearance, and then to two charming cousins. He
introduced me as a Venetian gentleman in disgrace with the State
Inquisitors, like himself, adding, that as I was a rich bachelor their
good or ill favour made no difference to me.
He said I was rich, and I looked like it. My luxury of attire was
dazzling: My rings, my snuff-boxes, my chains, my diamonds, my jewelled
cross hanging on my breast-all gave me the air of an important personage.
The cross belonged to the Order of the Spur the Pope had given me, but as
I had carefully taken the spur away it was not known to what order I
belonged. Those who might be curious did not dare to ask me, for one can
no more enquire of a knight what order he belongs to, than one can say to
a lady how old are you? I wore it till 1785, when the Prince Palatine of
Russia told me in private that I would do well to get rid of the thing.
"It only serves to dazzle fools," said he, "and here you have none such
to deal with."
I followed his advice, for he was a man of profound intelligence.
Nevertheless, he removed the corner-stone of the kingdom of Poland. He
ruined it by the same means by which he had made it greater.
The old man to whom Barbaro presented me was a marquis. He told me that
he knew Venice, and as I was not a patrician I could live as pleasantly
anywhere else. He told me to consider his house and all he possessed as
mine.
The two young marchionesses had enchanted me; they were almost ideal
beauties. I longed to enquire about them of some good authority, for I
did not put much faith in Barbaro.
In half an hour the visitors commenced to come on foot and in carriages.
Among the arrivals were several pretty and well-dressed girls, and
numerous smart young men all vying with each other in their eagerness to
pay court to the two cousins. There were twenty of us in all. We sat
round a large table, and began to play a game called bankruptcy. After
amusing myself for a couple of hours in losing sequins, I went out with
Barbaro to the opera.
"The two young ladies are two incarnate angels," I said to my countryman.
"I shall pay my duty to them, and shall find out in a few days whether
they are for me. As for the gaming speculation, I will lend you two
hundred sequins; but I don't want to lose the money, so you must give me
good security."
"To that I agree willingly, but I am certain of giving it you back with
good interest."
"You shall have a half share and not twenty-five per cent., and I must
strongly insist that nobody shall know of my having anything to do with
your bank. If I hear any rumours, I shall bet heavily on my own account."
"You may be sure I shall keep the secret; it is to my own interest to
have it believed that I am my own capitalist."
"Very good. Come to me early to-morrow morning, and bring me good
security, and you shall have the money."
He embraced me in the joy of his heart.
The picture of the two fair ladies was still in my brain, and I was
thinking of enquiring of Greppi when I chanced to see Triulzi in the pit
of the opera-house. He saw me at the same moment, and came up to me,
saying gaily that he was sure I had had a bad dinner, and that I had much
better dine with him every day.
"You make me blush, marquis, for not having called on you yet."
"No, no; there can be nothing of that kind between men of the world, who
know the world's worth."
"We are agreed there, at all events."
"By the way, I hear you have decided on selling me that handsome dress of
yours. I am really very much obliged to you, and will give you the
fifteen thousand livres whenever you like."
"You can come and take it to-morrow morning."
He then proceeded to tell me about the various ladies I noticed in the
theatre. Seizing the opportunity, I said,--
"When I was in church the other day I saw two exquisite beauties. A man
at my side told me they were cousins, the Marchionesses Q---- and I----, I
think he said. Do you know them? I am quite curious to hear about them."
"I know them. As you say, they are charming. It's not very difficult to
obtain access to them; and I suppose they are good girls, as I have not
heard their names in connection with any scandal. However, I know that
Mdlle. F has a lover, but it is a great secret; he is the only son of one
of the noblest of our families. Unfortunately, they are not rich; but if
they are clever, as I am sure they are, they may make good matches. If
you like I can get someone to introduce you there."
"I haven't made up my mind yet. I may be able to forget them easily only
having seen them once. Nevertheless, I am infinitely obliged to you for
your kind offer."
After the ballet I went into the assembly-room and I heard "there he is"
several times repeated as I came in. The banker made me a bow, and
offered me a place next to him. I sat down and he handed me a pack of
cards. I punted, and with such inveterate bad luck that in less than an
hour I lost seven hundred sequins. I should probably have lost all the
money I had in my pocket if Canano had not been obliged to go away. He
gave the cards to a man whose looks displeased me, and I rose and went
home and got into bed directly, so as not to be obliged to conceal my ill
temper.
In the morning Barbaro came to claim the two hundred sequins. He gave me
the right to sequestrate his pay by way of surety. I do not think I
should have had the heart to exercise my rights if things had gone wrong,
but I liked to have some control over him. When I went out I called on
Greppi, and took two thousand sequins in gold.
CHAPTER XIX
Humiliation of The Countess--Zenobia's Wedding--Faro
Conquest of The Fair Irene--Plan for a Masquerade
On my return I found the count with one of the marquis's servants, who
gave me a note, begging me to send the dress, which I did directly.
"The marquis will dine with us," said the count, "and, no doubt, he will
bring the money with him for this treasure."
"You think it a treasure, then?"
"Yes, fit for a queen to wear."
"I wish the treasure had the virtue of giving you a crown; one head-dress
is as good as another."
The poor devil understood the allusion, and as I liked him I reproached
myself for having humiliated him unintentionally, but I could not resist
the temptation to jest. I hastened to smooth his brow by saying that as
soon as I got the money for the dress I would take it to the countess.
"I have spoken to her about it," said he, "and your proposal made her
laugh; but I am sure she will make up her mind when she finds herself in
possession of the dress."
It was a Friday. The marquis sent in an excellent fish dinner, and came
himself soon after with the dress in a basket. The present was made with
all ceremony, and the proud countess was profuse in her expressions of
thanks, which the giver received coolly enough, as if accustomed to that
kind of thing. However, he ended by the no means flattering remark that
if she had any sense she would sell it, as everybody knew she was too
poor to wear it. This suggestion by no means met with her approval. She
abused him to her heart's content, and told him he must be a great fool
to give her a dress which he considered unsuitable to her.
They were disputing warmly when the Marchioness Menafoglio was announced.
As soon as she came in her eyes were attracted by the dress, which was
stretched over a chair, and finding it superb she exclaimed,
"I would gladly buy that dress."
"I did not buy it to sell again," said the countess, sharply.
"Excuse me," replied the marchioness, "I thought it was for sale, and I
am sorry it is not."
The marquis, who was no lover of dissimulation, began to laugh, and the
countess, fearing he would cover her with ridicule, hastened to change
the conversation. But when the marchioness was gone the countess gave
reins to her passion, and scolded the marquis bitterly for having
laughed. However, he only replied by remarks which, though exquisitely
polite, had a sting in them; and at last the lady said she was tired, and
was going to lie down.
When she had left the room the marquis gave me the fifteen thousand
francs, telling me that they would bring me good luck at Canano's.
"You are a great favourite of Canano's," he added, "and he wants you to
come and dine with him. He can't ask you to supper, as he is obliged to
spend his nights in the assembly-rooms."
"Tell him I will come any day he likes except the day after to-morrow,
when I have to go to a wedding at the 'Apple Garden.'"
"I congratulate you," said the count and the marquis together, "it will
no doubt be very pleasant."
"I expect to enjoy myself heartily there."
"Could not we come, too?"
"Do you really want to?"
"Certainly."
"Then I will get you an invitation from the fair bride herself on the
condition that the countess comes as well. I must warn you that the
company will consist of honest people of the lower classes, and I cannot
have them humiliated in any way."
"I will persuade the countess," said Triulzi.
"To make your task an easier one, I may as well tell you that the wedding
is that of the fair Zenobia."
"Bravo! I am sure the countess will come to that."
The count went out, and shortly reappeared with Zenobia. The marquis
congratulated her, and encouraged her to ask the countess to the wedding.
She seemed doubtful, so the marquis took her by the hand and let her into
the proud Spaniard's room. In half an hour they returned informing us
that my lady had deigned to accept the invitation.
When the marquis had gone, the count told me that I might go and keep his
wife company, if I had nothing better to do, and that he would see to
some business.
"I have the thousand sequins in my pocket," I remarked, "and if I find
her reasonable, I will leave them with her."
"I will go and speak to her first."
"Do so."
While the count was out of the room, I exchanged the thousand sequins for
the fifteen thousand francs in bank notes which Greppi had given me.
I was just shutting up my cash-box when Zenobia came in with my lace
cuffs. She asked me if I would like to buy a piece of lace. I replied in
the affirmative, and she went out and brought it me.
I liked the lace, and bought it for eighteen sequins, and said,--
"This lace is yours, dearest Zenobia, if you will content me this
moment."
"I love you well, but I should be glad if you would wait till after my
marriage."
"No, dearest, now or never. I cannot wait. I shall die if you do not
grant my prayer. Look! do you not see what a state I am in?"
"I see it plainly enough, but it can't be done."
"Why not? Are you afraid of your husband noticing the loss of your
maidenhead?"
"Not I, and if he did I shouldn't care. I promise you if he dared to
reproach me, he should not have me at all."
"Well said, for my leavings are too good for him. Come quick!"
"But you will shut the door, at least?"
"No, the noise would be heard, and might give rise to suspicion. Nobody
will come in."
With these words I drew her towards me, and finding her as gentle as a
lamb and as loving as a dove, the amorous sacrifice was offered with
abundant libations on both sides. After the first ecstacy was over, I
proceeded to examine her beauties, and with my usual amorous frenzy told
her that she should send her tailor out to graze and live with me.
Fortunately she did not believe in the constancy of my passion. After a
second assault I rested, greatly astonished that the count had not
interrupted our pleasures. I thought he must have gone out, and I told
Zenobia my opinion, whereon she overwhelmed me with caresses. Feeling at
my ease, I set her free from her troublesome clothes, and gave myself up
to toying with her in a manner calculated to arouse the exhausted senses;
and then for the third time we were clasped to each other's arms, while I
made Zenobia put herself into the many attitudes which I knew from
experience as most propitious to the voluptuous triumph.
We were occupied a whole hour in these pleasures, but Zenobia, in the
flower of her age and a novice, poured forth many more libations than I.
Just as I lost life for the third time, and Zenobia for the fourteenth, I
heard the count's voice. I told my sweetheart, who had heard it as well,
and after we had dressed hastily I gave her the eighteen sequins, and she
left the room.
A moment after the count came in laughing, and said,--
"I have been watching you all the time by this chink" (which he shewed
me), "and I have found it very amusing."
"I am delighted to hear it, but keep it to yourself."
"Of course, of course."
"My wife," said he, "will be very pleased to see you; and I," he added,
"shall be very pleased as well."
"You are a philosophical husband," said I, "but I am afraid after the
exercises you witnessed the countess will find me rather slow."
"Not at all, the recollection will make it all the pleasanter for you."
"Mentally perhaps, but in other respects . . ."
"Oh! you will manage to get out of it."
"My carriage is at your service, as I shall not be going out for the rest
of the day."
I softly entered the countess's room and finding her in bed enquired
affectionately after her health.
"I am very well," said she, smiling agreeably, "my husband has done me
good."
I had seated myself quietly on the bed, and she had shewn no vexation;
certainly a good omen.
"Aren't you going out any more to-day?" said she, "you have got your
dressing-gown on."
"I fell asleep lying on my bed, and when I awoke I decided on keeping you
company if you will be as good and gentle as you are pretty."
"If you behave well to me, you will always find me so.
"And will you love me?"
"That depends on you. So you are going to sacrifice Canano to me this
evening."
"Yes, and with the greatest pleasure. He has won a lot from me already,
and I foresee that he will win the fifteen thousand francs I have in my
pocket to-morrow. This is the money the Marquis Triulzi gave me for the
dress."
"It would be a pity to lose such a large sum."
"You are right, and I need not lose them if you will be complaisant, for
they are meant for you. Allow me to shut the door."
"What for?"
"Because I am perishing with cold and desire, and intend warming myself
in your bed."
"I will never allow that."
"I don't want to force you. Good-bye, countess, I will go and warm myself
by my own fire, and to-morrow I will wage war on Canano's bank."
"You are certainly a sad dog. Stay here, I like your conversation."
Without more ado I locked the door, took off my clothes, and seeing that
her back was turned to me, jumped into bed beside her. She had made up
her mind, and let me do as I liked, but my combats with Zenobia had
exhausted me. With closed eyes she let me place her in all the postures
which lubricity could suggest, while her hands were not idle; but all was
in vain, my torpor was complete, and nothing would give life to the
instrument which was necessary to the operation.
Doubtless the Spaniard felt that my nullity was an insult to her charms;
doubtless I must have tortured her by raising desires which I could not
appease; for several times I felt my fingers drenched with a flow that
shewed she was not passive in the matter; but she pretended all the while
to be asleep. I was vexed at her being able to feign insensibility to
such an extent, and I attached myself to her head; but her lips, which
she abandoned to me, and which I abused disgracefully, produced no more
effect than the rest of her body. I felt angry that I could not effect
the miracle of resurrection, and I decided on leaving a stage where I had
so wretched a part, but I was not generous to her, and put the finishing
stroke to her humiliation by saying,--
"'Tis not my fault, madam, that your charms have so little power over me.
Here, take these fifteen thousand francs by way of consolation."
With this apostrophe I left her.
My readers, more especially my lady readers, if I ever have any, will no
doubt pronounce me a detestable fellow after this. I understand their
feelings, but beg them to suspend their judgment. They will see
afterwards that my instinct served me wonderfully in the course I had
taken.
Early the next day the count came into my room with a very pleased
expression.
"My wife is very well," said he, "and told me to wish you good day."
I did not expect this, and I no doubt looked somewhat astonished.
"I am glad," he said, "that you gave her francs instead of the sequins
you got from Triulzi, and I hope, as Triulzi said, you will have luck
with it at the bank."
"I am not going to the opera," said I, "but to the masked ball, and I
don't want anyone to recognize me."
I begged him to go and buy me a new domino, and not to come near me in
the evening, so that none but he should know who I was. As soon as he had
gone out I began to write letters. I had heavy arrears to make up in that
direction.
The count brought me my domino at noon, and after hiding it we went to
dine with the countess. Her affability, politeness, and gentleness
astounded me. She looked so sweetly pretty that I repented having
outraged her so scandalously. Her insensibility of the evening before
seemed inconceivable, and I began to suspect that the signs I had noticed
to the contrary were only due to the animal faculties which are specially
active in sleep.
"Was she really asleep," said I to myself, "when I was outraging her so
shamefully?"
I hoped it had been so. When her husband left us alone, I said, humbly
and tenderly, that I knew I was a monster, and that she must detest me.
"You a monster?" said she. "On the contrary I owe much to you, and there
is nothing I can think of for which I have cause to reproach you."
I took her hand, tenderly, and would have carried it to my lips, but she
drew it away gently and gave me a kiss. My repentance brought a deep
blush to my face.
When I got back to my room I sealed my letters and went to the ball. I
was absolutely unrecognizable. Nobody had ever seen my watches or my
snuff-boxes before, and I had even changed my purses for fear of anybody
recognizing me by them.
Thus armed against the glances of the curious, I sat down at Canano's
table and commenced to play in quite a different fashion. I had a hundred
Spanish pieces in my pocket worth seven hundred Venetian sequins. I had
got this Spanish money from Greppi, and I took care not to use what
Triulzi had given me for fear he should know me.
I emptied my purse on the table, and in less than an hour it was all
gone. I rose from the table and everybody thought I was going to beat a
retreat, but I took out another purse and put a hundred sequins on one
card, going second, with paroli, seven, and the va. The stroke was
successful and Canano gave me back my hundred Spanish pieces, on which I
sat down again by the banker, and recommenced regular play. Canano was
looking at me hard. My snuff-box was the one which the Elector of Cologne
had given me, with the prince's portrait on the lid. I took a pinch of
snuff and he gave me to understand that he would like one too, and the
box was subjected to a general examination. A lady whom I did not know
said the portrait represented the Elector of Cologne in his robes as
Grand Master of the Teutonic Order. The box was returned to me and I saw
that it had made me respected, so small a thing imposes on people. I then
put fifty sequins on one card, going paroli and paix de paroli, and at
daybreak I had broken the bank. Canano said politely that if I liked to
be spared the trouble of carrying all that gold he would have it weighed
and give me a cheque. A pair of scales was brought, and it was found that
I had thirty-four pounds weight in gold, amounting to two thousand eight
hundred and fifty-six sequins. Canano wrote me a cheque, and I slowly
returned to the ball-room.
Barbaro had recognized me with the keenness of a Venetian. He accosted me
and congratulated me on my luck, but I gave him no answer, and seeing
that I wished to remain incognito he left me.
A lady in a Greek dress richly adorned with diamonds came up to me, and
said in a falsetto voice that she would like to dance with me.
I made a sign of assent, and as she took off her glove I saw a
finely-shaped hand as white as alabaster, one of the fingers bearing an
exquisite diamond ring. It was evidently no ordinary person, and though I
puzzled my head I could not guess who she could be.
She danced admirably, in the style of a woman of fashion, and I too
exerted myself to the utmost. By the time the dance was over I was
covered with perspiration.
"You look hot," said my partner, in her falsetto voice, "come and rest in
my box."
My heart leaped with joy, and I followed her with great delight; but as I
saw Greppi in the box to which she took me, I had no doubt that it must
be Therese, which did not please me quite so well. In short, the lady
took off her mask; it was Therese, and I complimented her on her
disguise.
"But how did you recognize me, dearest?"
"By your snuff-box. I knew it, otherwise I should never have found you
out."
"Then you think that nobody has recognized me?"
"Nobody, unless in the same way as I did."
"None of the people here have seen my snuff-box."
I took the opportunity of handing over to Greppi Canano's cheque, and he
gave me a receipt for it. Therese asked us to supper for the ensuing
evening, and said,--
"There will be four of us in all."
Greppi seemed curious to know who the fourth person could be, but I right
guessed it would be my dear son Cesarino.
As I went down once more to the ball-room two pretty female dominos
attacked me right and left, telling me that Messer-Grande was waiting for
me outside. They then asked me for some snuff, and I gave them a box
ornamented with an indecent picture. I had the impudence to touch the
spring and shew it them, and after inspecting it they exclaimed,--
"Fie, fie! your punishment is never to know who we are."
I was sorry to have displeased the two fair masquers, who seemed worth
knowing, so I followed them, and meeting Barbaro, who knew everybody, I
pointed them out to him, and heard to my delight that they were the two
Marchionesses Q---- and F----. I promised Barbaro to go and see them. He
said that everybody in the ball-room knew me, and that our bank was doing
very well, though, of course, that was a trifle to me.
Towards the end of the ball, when it was already full daylight, a
masquer, dressed as a Venetian gondolier, was accosted by a lady masquer,
also in Venetian costume. She challenged the gondolier to prove himself a
Venetian by dancing the 'forlana' with her. The gondolier accepted, and
the music struck up, but the boatman, who was apparently a Milanese, was
hooted, while the lady danced exquisitely. I was very fond of the dance,
and I asked the unknown Venetian lady to dance it again with me. She
agreed, and a ring was formed round us, and we were so applauded that we
had to dance it over again. This would have sufficed if a very pretty
shepherdess without a mask had not begged me to dance it with her. I
could not refuse her, and she danced exquisitely; going round and round
the circle three times, and seeming to hover in the air. I was quite out
of breath. When it was finished, she came up to me and whispered my name
in my ear. I was astonished, and feeling the charm of the situation
demanded her name.
"You shall know," said she, in Venetian, "if you will come to the 'Three
Kings.'"
"Are you alone?"
"No, my father and mother, who are old friends of yours, are with me"
"I will call on Monday."
What a number of adventures to have in one night! I went home wearily,
and went to bed, but I was only allowed to sleep for two hours. I was
roused and begged to dress myself. The countess, the marquis, and the
count, all ready for Zenobia's wedding, teased me till I was ready,
telling me it was not polite to keep a bride waiting. Then they all
congratulated me on my breaking the bank and the run of luck against me.
I told the marquis that it was his money that had brought me luck, but he
replied by saying that he knew what had become of his money.
This indiscretion either on the count's part or the countess's surprised
me greatly; it seemed to me contrary to all the principles in intrigue.
"Canano knew you," said the marquis, "by the way you opened your
snuff-box, and he hopes to see us to dinner before long. He says he hopes
you will win a hundred pounds weight of gold; he has a fancy for you."
"Canano," said I, "has keen eyes, and plays faro admirably. I have not
the slightest wish to win his money from him."
We then started for the "Apple Garden," where we found a score of honest
folks and the bride and bridegroom, who overwhelmed us with compliments.
We soon put the company at their ease. At first our presence overawed
them, but a little familiarity soon restored the general hilarity. We sat
down to dinner, and among the guests were some very pretty girls, but my
head was too full of Zenobia to care about them. The dinner lasted three
hours. It was an abundant repast, and the foreign wines were so exquisite
that it was easy to see that the sum I had furnished had been exceeded.
Good fellowship prevailed, and after the first bumper had passed round
everybody proposed somebody else's health, and as each tried to say
something different to his neighbour the most fearful nonsense prevailed.
Then everybody thought himself bound to sing, and they were not at all
first-rate vocalists by any means. We laughed heartily and also caused
laughter, for our speeches and songs were as bad as those of our humble
friends.
When we rose from the table kissing became general, and the countess
could not resist laughing when she found herself obliged to hold out her
cheeks for the salute of the tailor, who thought her laughter a special
mark of favour.
Strains of sweet music were heard, and the ball was duly opened by the
newly-married couple. Zenobia danced, if not exactly well, at least
gracefully; but the tailor, who had never put his legs to any other use
besides crossing them, cut such a ridiculous figure that the countess had
much ado to restrain her laughter. But in spite of that I led out Zenobia
for the next minuet, and the proud countess was obliged to dance with the
wretched tailor.
When the minuets stopped the square dances began, and refreshments were
liberally handed round. Confetti, a kind of sweetmeat, even better than
that made at Verdun, were very plentiful.
When we were just going I congratulated the husband and offered to bring
Zenobia home in my carriage, which he was pleased to style a very
honourable offer. I gave my hand to Zenobia, and helped her into the
carriage, and having told the coachman to go slowly I put her on my knee,
extinguisher fashion, and kept her there all the time. Zenobia was the
first to get down, and noticing that my breeches of grey velvet were
spoiled, I told her that I would be with her in a few minutes. In two
minutes I put on a pair of black satin breeches, and I rejoined the lady
before her husband came in. She asked what I had been doing, and on my
telling her that our exploits in the carriage had left very evident marks
on my trousers, she gave me a kiss, and thanked me for my forethought.
Before long the husband and his sister arrived. He thanked me, calling me
his gossip, and then noticing the change in my dress he asked me how I
had contrived to make the alteration so quickly.
"I went to my room, leaving your wife at your house, for which I beg your
pardon."
"Didn't you see that the gentleman had spilt a cup of coffee over his
handsome breeches?" said Zenobia.
"My dear wife," said the crafty tailor, "I don't see everything, nor is
it necessary that I should do so, but you should have accompanied the
gentleman to his room."
Then turning to me with a laugh, he asked me how I had enjoyed the
wedding.
"Immensely, and my friends have done the same; but you must let me pay
you, dear gossip, for what you spent over and above the twenty-four
sequins. You can tell me how much it is."
"Very little, a mere trifle; Zenobia shall bring you the bill."
I went home feeling vexed with myself for not having foreseen that the
rogue would notice my change of dress, and guess the reason. However, I
consoled myself with the thought that the tailor was no fool, and that it
was plain that he was content to play the part we had assigned to him. So
after wishing good night to the count, the countess and the marquis, who
all thanked me for the happy day they had spent, I went to bed.
As soon as I was awake, I thought of the shepherdess who had danced the
'forlana' so well at the ball, and I resolved to pay her a visit. I was
not more interested in her beauty than to find out who her father and
mother, "old friends of mine," could be. I dressed and walked to the
"Three Kings," and on walking into the room which the shepherdess had
indicated to me, what was my astonishment to find myself face to face
with the Countess Rinaldi, whom Zavoisky had introduced me to at the
'locanda' of Castelletto sixteen years ago. The reader will remember how
M. de Bragadin paid her husband the money he won from me at play.
Madame Rinaldi had aged somewhat, but I knew her directly. However, as I
had never had more than a passing fancy for her, we did not go back to
days which did neither of us any honour.
"I am delighted to see you again," said I; "are you still living with
your husband?"
"You will see him in half an hour, and he will be glad to present his
respects to you."
"I should not at all care for it myself, madam; there are old quarrels
between us which I do not want to renew, so, madam, farewell."
"No, no, don't go yet, sit down."
"Pardon me."
"Irene, don't let the gentleman go."
At these words Irene ran and barred the way--not like a fierce mastiff,
but like an angel, entreating me to stay with that mingled look of
innocence, fear, and hope, of which girls know the effect so well. I felt
I could not go.
"Let me through, fair Irene," said I, "we may see each other somewhere
else."
"Pray do not go before you have seen my father:"
The words were spoken so tenderly that our lips met. Irene was
victorious. How can one resist a pretty girl who implores with a kiss? I
took a chair, and Irene, proud of her victory, sat on my knee and covered
me with kisses.
I took it into my head to task the countess where and when Irene was
born.
"At Mantua," said she, "three months after I left Venice."
"And when did you leave Venice?"
"Six months after I met you."
"That is a curious coincidence, and if we had been tenderly acquainted
you might say that Irene was my daughter, and I should believe you, and
think that my affection for her was purely paternal."
"Your memory is not very good, sir, I wonder at that."
"I may tell you, that I never forget certain things, But I guess your
meaning. You want me to subdue my liking for Irene. I am willing to do
so, but she will be the loser."
This conversation had silenced Irene, but she soon took courage, and said
she was like me.
"No, no," I answered, "if you were like me you would not be so pretty."
"I don't think so; I think you are very handsome."
"You flatter me."
"Stay to dinner with us."
"No, if I stayed I might fall in love with you, and that would be a pity,
as your mother says I am your father."
"I was joking," said the countess, "you may love Irene with a good
conscience."
"We will see what can be done."
When Irene had left the room, I said to the mother,--
"I like your daughter, but I won't be long sighing for her, and you
mustn't take me for a dupe."
"Speak to my husband about it. We are very poor, and we want to go to
Cremona."
"I suppose Irene has a lover?"
"No."
"But she has had one, of course?"
"Never anything serious."
"I can't believe it."
"It's true, nevertheless. Irene is intact."
Just then Irene came in with her father, who had aged to such an extent
that I should never have known him in the street. He came up to me and
embraced me, begging me to forget the past. "It is only you," he added,
"who can furnish me with funds to go to Cremona.
"I have several debts here, and am in some danger of imprisonment. Nobody
of any consequence comes to see me. My dear daughter is the only thing of
value which I still possess. I have just been trying to sell this
pinchbeck watch, and though I asked only six sequins, which is half what
it is worth, they would not give me more than two. When a man gets
unfortunate, everything is against him."
I took the watch, and gave the father six sequins for it, and then handed
it to Irene. She said with a smile that she could not thank me, as I only
gave her back her own, but she thanked me for the present I had made her
father.
"Here," said she seriously to the old man, "you can sell it again now."
This made me laugh. I gave the count ten sequins in addition, embraced
Irene, and said I must be gone, but that I would see them again in three
or four days.
Irene escorted me to the bottom of the stairs, and as she allowed me to
assure myself that she still possessed the rose of virginity, I gave her
another ten sequins, and told her that the first time she went alone to
the ball with me I would give her a hundred sequins. She said she would
consult her father.
Feeling sure that the poor devil would hand over Irene to me, and having
no apartment in which I could enjoy her in freedom, I stopped to read a
bill in a pastrycook's window. It announced a room to let. I went in, and
the pastrycook told me that the house belonged to him, and his pretty
wife, who was suckling a baby, begged me to come upstairs and see the
room. The street was a lonely one, and had a pleasing air of mystery
about it. I climbed to the third floor, but the rooms there were wretched
garrets of no use to me.
"The first floor," said the woman, "consists of a suite of four nice
rooms, but we only let them together."
"Let us go and see them. Good! they will do. What is the rent?"
"You must settle that with my husband."
"And can't I settle anything with you, my dear?"
So saying I gave her a kiss which she took very kindly, but she smelt of
nursing, which I detested, so I did not go any farther despite her
radiant beauty.
I made my bargain with the landlord, and paid a month's rent in advance
for which he gave me a receipt. It was agreed that I should come and go
as I pleased, and that he should provide me with food. I gave him a name
so common as to tell him nothing whatever about me, but he seemed to care
very little about that.
As I had agreed with Barbaro to visit the fair marchionesses, I dressed
carefully, and after a slight repast with the countess, who was pleasant
but did not quite please me, I met my fellow-countryman and we called on
the two cousins.
"I have come," said I, "to beg your pardons for having revealed to you
the secret of the snuff-box."
They blushed, and scolded Barbaro, thinking that he had betrayed them. On
examining them I found them far superior to Irene, my present flame, but
their manner, the respect they seemed to require, frightened me. I was
not at all disposed to dance attendance on them. Irene, on the contrary,
was an easy prey. I had only to do her parents a service, and she was in
my power; while the two cousins had their full share of aristocratic
pride, which debases the nobility to the level of the vilest of the
people, and only imposes upon fools, who after all are in the majority
everywhere. Further I was no longer at that brilliant age which fears
nothing, and I was afraid that my appearance would hardly overcome them.
It is true that Barbaro had made me hope that presents would be of some
use, but after what the Marquis Triulzi had said, I feared that Barbaro
had only spoken on supposition.
When the company was sufficiently numerous, the card-tables were brought
in. I sat down by Mdlle. Q----, and disposed myself to play for small
stakes. I was introduced by the aunt, the mistress of the house, to a
young gentleman in Austrian uniform who sat beside me.
My dear countryman played like a true sharper, much to my displeasure. My
fair neighbour, at the end of the game, which lasted four hours, found
herself the gainer of a few sequins, but the officer, who had played on
his word of honour, after losing all the money in his pockets, owed ten
louis. The bank was the winner of fifty sequins, including the officer's
debt. As the young man lived at some distance he honoured me by coming in
my carriage.
On the way, Barbaro told us he would introduce us to a girl who had just
come from Venice. The officer caught fire at this, and begged that we
should go and see her directly, and we accordingly went. The girl was
well enough looking, but neither I nor the officer cared much about her.
While they were making some coffee for us, and Barbaro was entertaining
the young lady, I took a pack of cards, and had not much difficulty in
inducing the officer to risk twenty sequins against the twenty I put on
the table. While we were playing I spoke to him of the passion with which
the young marchioness inspired me.
"She's my sister," said he.
I knew as much, but pretended to be astonished, and I went on playing.
Taking the opportunity I told him that I knew of no one who could let the
marchioness know of my affection better than he. I made him laugh, and as
he thought I was jesting he only gave vague answers; but seeing that
while I talked of my passion I forgot my card, he soon won the twenty
sequins from me, and immediately paid them to Barbaro. In the excess of
his joy he embraced me as if I had given him the money; and when we
parted he promised to give me some good news of his sister at our next
meeting.
I had to go to supper with Therese, Greppi, and my son, but having some
spare time before me I went to the opera-house. The third act was going
on, and I accordingly visited the cardroom, and there lost two hundred
sequins at a single deal. I left the room almost as if I was flying from
an enemy. Canano shook me by the hand, and told me he expected me and the
marquis to dinner every day, and I promised we would come at the earliest
opportunity.
I went to Therese's, and found Greppi there before me. Therese and Don
Cesarino, whom I covered with kisses, came in a quarter of an hour
afterwards. The banker stared at him in speechless wonder. He could not
make out whether he was my son or my brother. Seeing his amazement,
Therese told him Cesarino was her brother. This stupefied the worthy man
still more. At last he asked me if I had known Therese's mother pretty
well, and on my answering in the affirmative he seemed more at ease.
The meal was excellent, but all my attention went to my son. He had all
the advantages of a good disposition and an excellent education. He had
grown a great deal since I had seen him at Florence, and his mental
powers had developed proportionately. His presence made the party grave,
but sweet. The innocence of youth throws around it an ineffable charm; it
demands respect and restraint. An hour after midnight we left Therese,
and I went to bed, well pleased with my day's work, for the loss of two
hundred sequins did not trouble me much.
When I got up I received a note from Irene, begging me to call on her.
Her father had given her permission to go to the next ball with me, and
she had a domino, but she wanted to speak to me. I wrote and told her I
would see her in the course of the day. I had written to tell the Marquis
Triulzi that I was going to dine with Canano, and he replied that he
would be there.
We found this skilled gamester in a fine house, richly furnished, and
shewing traces on every side of the wealth and taste of its owner. Canano
introduced me to two handsome women, one of whom was his mistress, and to
five or six marquises; for at Milan no noble who is not a marquis is
thought anything of, just as in the same way they are all counts at
Vicenza. The dinner was magnificent and the conversation highly
intellectual. In a mirthful moment Canano said he had known me for
seventeen years, his acquaintance dating from the time I had juggled a
professional gamester, calling himself Count Celi, out of a pretty
ballet-girl whom I had taken to Mantua. I confessed the deed and amused
the company by the story of what had happened at Mantua with Oreilan, and
how I had found Count Celi at Cesena metamorphosed into Count Alfani.
Somebody mentioned the ball which was to be held the next day, and when I
said I was not going they laughed.
"I bet I know you," said Canano, "if you come to the bank."
"I am not going to play any more," said I.
"All the better for me," answered Canano; "for though your punting is
unlucky, you don't leave off till you have won my money. But that's only
my joke; try again, and I protest I would see you win half my fortune
gladly."
Count Canano had a ring on his finger with a stone not unlike one of
mine; it had cost him two thousand sequins, while mine was worth three
thousand. He proposed that we should stake them against each other after
having them unmounted and valued.
"When?" said I.
"Before going to the opera."
"Very good; but on two turns of the cards, and a deal to each."
"No, I never punt."
"Then we must equalise the game."
"How do you mean?"
"By leaving doubles and the last two cards out of account."
"Then you would have the advantage."
"If you can prove that I will pay you a hundred sequins. Indeed, I would
bet anything you like that the game would still be to the advantage of
the banker."
"Can you prove it?"
"Yes; and I will name the Marquis Triulzi as judge."
I was asked to prove my point without any question of a bet.
"The advantages of the banker," said I, "are two. The first and the
smaller is that all he has got to attend to is not to deal wrongly, which
is a very small matter to an habitual player; and all the time the punter
has to rack his brains on the chances of one card or another coming out.
The other advantage is one of time. The banker draws his card at least a
second before the punter, and this again gives him a purchase."
No one replied; but after some thought the Marquis Triulzi said that to
make the chances perfectly equal the players would have to be equal,
which was almost out of the question.
"All that is too sublime for me," said Canano; "I don't understand it."
But, after all, there was not much to understand.
After dinner I went to the "Three Kings" to find out what Irene had to
say to me, and to enjoy her presence. When she saw me she ran up to me,
threw her arms round my neck, and kissed me, but with too much eagerness
for me to lay much value on the salute. However, I have always known that
if one wants to enjoy pleasure one must not philosophise about it, or one
runs a risk of losing half the enjoyment. If Irene had struck me in
dancing the 'forlana', why should not I have pleased her in spite of my
superiority in age? It was not impossible, and that should be enough for
me, as I did not intend to make her my wife.
The father and mother received me as their preserver, and they may have
been sincere. The count begged me to come out of the room for a moment
with him, and when we were on the other side of the door, said,--
"Forgive an old and unfortunate man, forgive a father, if I ask you
whether it is true that you promised Irene a hundred sequins if I would
let her go to the ball with you."
"It is quite true, but of course you know what the consequences will be."
At these words the poor old rascal took hold of me in a way which would
have frightened me if I had not possessed twice his strength, but it was
only to embrace me.
We went back to the room, he in tears and I laughing. He ran and told his
wife, who had not been able to believe in such luck any more than her
husband, and Irene added a comic element to the scene by saying,--
"You must not think me a liar, or that my parents suspected that I was
imposing on them; they only thought you said fifty instead of a hundred,
as if I were not worth such a sum."
"You are worth a thousand, my dear Irene; your courage in barring the way
pleased me extremely. But you must come to the ball in a domino."
"Oh! you will be pleased with my dress."
"Are those the shoes and buckles you are going to wear? Have you no other
stockings? Where are your gloves?"
"Good heavens! I have nothing."
"Quick! Send for the tradesmen. We will choose what we want, and I will
pay."
Rinaldi went out to summon a jeweller, a shoemaker, a stocking-maker, and
a perfumer. I spent thirty sequins in what I considered necessary, but
then I noticed that there was no English point on her mask, and burst out
again. The father brought in a milliner, who adorned the mask with an ell
of lace for which I paid twelve sequins. Irene was in great delight, but
her father and mother would have preferred to have the money in their
pockets, and at bottom they were right.
When Irene put on her fine clothes I thought her delicious, and I saw
what an essential thing dress is to a woman.
"Be ready," said I, "before the time for the opera to-morrow, for before
going to the ball we will sup together in a room which belongs to me,
where we shall be quite at our ease. You know what to expect," I added,
embracing her. She answered me with an ardent kiss.
As I took leave of her father, he asked me where I was going after
leaving Milan.
"To Marseilles, then to Paris, and then to London, at which place I
intend stopping a year."
"Your flight from The Leads was wonderfully lucky."
"Yes, but I risked my life."
"You have certainly deserved all your good fortune."
"Do you think so? I have only used my fortune--in subservience to my
pleasures."
"I wonder you do not have a regular mistress:"
"The reason is, that I like to be my own master. A mistress at my
coat-tails would be more troublesome than a wife; she would be an
obstacle to the numerous pleasant adventures I encounter at every town.
For example, if I had a mistress I should not be able to take the
charming Irene to the ball to-morrow."
"You speak like a wise man."
"Yes, though my wisdom is by no means of the austere kind."
In the evening I went to the opera, and should no doubt have gone to the
card-table if I had not seen Cesarino in the pit. I spent two delightful
hours with him. He opened his heart to me, and begged me to plead for him
with his sister to get her consent to his going to sea, for which he had
a great longing. He said that he might make a large fortune by a
judicious course of trading. After a temperate supper with my dear boy, I
went to bed. The next morning the fine young officer, the Marchioness of
Q----'s brother, came and asked me to give him a breakfast. He said he
had communicated my proposal to his sister, and that she had replied that
I must be making a fool of him, as it was not likely that a man who lived
as I did would be thinking of marrying.
"I did not tell you that I aspired to the honour of marrying her."
"No, and I did not say anything about marriage; but that's what the girls
are always aiming at."
"I must go and disabuse her of the notion."
"That's a good idea; principals are always the best in these affairs.
Come at two o'clock, I shall be dining there, and as I have got to speak
to her cousin you will be at liberty to say what you like."
This arrangement suited me exactly. I noticed that my future
brother-in-law admired a little gold case on my night-table, so I begged
him to accept it as a souvenir of our friendship. He embraced me, and put
it in his pocket, saying he would keep it till his dying day.
"You mean till the day when it advances your suit with a lady," said I.
I was sure of having a good supper with Irene, so I resolved to take no
dinner. As the count had gone to St. Angelo, fifteen miles from Milan,
the day before, I felt obliged to wait on the countess in her room, to
beg her to excuse my presence at dinner. She was very polite, and told me
by no means to trouble myself. I suspected that she was trying to impose
on me, but I wanted her to think she was doing so successfully. In my
character of dupe I told her that in Lent I would make amends for the
dissipation which prevented me paying my court to her. "Happily," I
added, "Lent is not far off."
"I hope it will be so," said the deceitful woman with an enchanting
smile, of which only a woman with poison in her heart is capable. With
these words she took a pinch of snuff, and offered me her box.
"But what is this, my dear countess, it isn't snuff?"
"No," she replied, "it makes the nose bleed, and is an excellent thing
for the head-ache."
I was sorry that I had taken it, but said with a laugh, that I had not
got a head-ache, and did not like my nose to bleed.
"It won't bleed much," said she, with a smile, "and it is really
beneficial."
As she spoke, we both began to sneeze, and I should have felt very angry
if I had not seen her smile.
Knowing something about these sneezing powders, I did not think we should
bleed, but I was mistaken. Directly after, I felt a drop of blood, and
she took a silver basin from her night-table.
"Come here," said she, "I am beginning to bleed too."
There we were, bleeding into the same basin, facing each other in the
most ridiculous position. After about thirty drops had fallen from each
of us, the bleeding ceased. She was laughing all the time, and I thought
the best thing I could do was to imitate her example. We washed ourselves
in fair water in another basin.
"This admixture of our blood," said she, still smiling, "will create a
sweet sympathy between us, which will only end with the death of one or
the other."
I could make no sense of this, but the reader will soon see that the
wretched woman did not mean our friendship to last very long. I asked her
to give me some of the powder, but she refused; and on my enquiring the
name of it, she replied that she did not know, as a lady friend had given
it to her.
I was a good deal puzzled by the effects of this powder, never having
heard of the like before, and as soon as I left the countess I went to an
apothecary to enquire about it, but Mr. Drench was no wiser than I. He
certainly said that euphorbia sometimes produced bleeding of the nose,
but it was not a case of sometimes but always. This small adventure made
me think seriously. The lady was Spanish, and she must hate me; and these
two facts gave an importance to our blood-letting which it would not
otherwise possess.
I went to see the two charming cousins, and I found the young officer
with Mdlle. F---- in the room by the garden. The lady was writing, and on
the pretext of not disturbing her I went after Mdlle. Q----, who was in
the garden. I greeted her politely, and said I had come to apologize for
a stupid blunder which must have given her a very poor opinion of me.
"I guess what you mean, but please to understand that my brother gave me
your message in perfect innocence. Let him believe what he likes. Do you
think I really believed you capable of taking such a step, when we barely
knew each other?"
"I am glad to hear you say so."
"I thought the best thing would be to give a matrimonial turn to your
gallantry. Otherwise my brother, who is quite a young man, might have
interpreted it in an unfavourable sense."
"That was cleverly done, and of course I have nothing more to say.
Nevertheless, I am 'grateful to your brother for having given you to
understand that your charms have produced a vivid impression on me. I
would do anything to convince you of my affection."
"That is all very well, but it would have been wiser to conceal your
feelings from my brother, and, allow me to add, from myself as well. You
might have loved me without telling me, and then, though I should have
perceived the state of your affections, I could have pretended not to do
so. Then I should have been at my ease, but as circumstances now stand I
shall have to be careful. Do you see?"
"Really, marchioness, you astonish me. I was never so clearly convinced
that I have done a foolish thing. And what is still more surprising, is
that I was aware of all you have told me. But you have made me lose my
head. I hope you will not punish me too severely?"
"Pray inform me how it lies in my power to punish you."
"By not loving me."
"Ah! loving and not loving; that is out of one's power. Of a sudden we
know that we are in love, and our fate is sealed."
I interpreted these last words to my own advantage, and turned the
conversation. I asked her if she was going to the ball.
"No."
"Perhaps you are going incognito?"
"We should like to, but it is an impossibility; there is always someone
who knows us."
"If you would take me into your service, I would wager anything that you
would not be recognized."
"You would not care to trouble yourself about us."
"I like you to be a little sceptical, but put me to the proof. If you
could manage to slip out unobserved, I would engage to disguise you in
such a manner that no one would know you."
"We could leave the house with my brother and a young lady with whom he
is in love. I am sure he would keep our counsel."
"I shall be delighted, but it must be for the ball on Sunday. I will talk
it over with your brother. Kindly warn him not to let Barbaro know
anything about it. You will be able to put on your disguise in a place I
know of. However, we can settle about that again. I shall carry the
matter through, you may be sure, with great secrecy. Permit me to kiss
your hand."
She gave it me, and after imprinting a gentle kiss I held it to my heart,
and had the happiness of feeling a soft pressure. I had no particular
disguise in my head, but feeling sure of hitting on something I put off
the consideration of it till the next day; the present belonged to Irene.
I put on my domino, and went to the "Three Kings," where I found Irene
waiting for me at the door. She had run down as soon as she had seen my
carriage, and I was flattered by this mark of her eagerness. We went to
my rooms, and I ordered the confectioner to get me a choice supper by
midnight. We had six hours before us, but the reader will excuse my
describing the manner in which they were spent. The opening was made with
the usual fracture, which Irene bore with a smile, for she was naturally
voluptuous. We got up at midnight, pleasantly surprised to find ourselves
famishing with hunger, and a delicious supper waiting for us.
Irene told me that her father had taught her to deal in such a manner
that she could not lose. I was curious to see how it was done, and on my
giving her a pack of cards she proceeded to distract my attention by
talking to me, and in a few minutes the thing was done. I gave her the
hundred sequins I had promised her, and told her to go on with her play.
"If you only play on a single card," said she, "you are sure to lose."
"Never mind; go ahead."
She did so, and I was forced to confess that if I had not been warned I
should never have detected the trick. I saw what a treasure she must be
to the old rascal Rinaldi. With her air of innocence and gaiety, she
would have imposed on the most experienced sharpers. She said in a
mortified manner that she never had any opportunity of turning her
talents to account, as their associates were always a beggarly lot. She
added tenderly that if I would take her with me she would leave her
parents there and win treasures for me.
"When I am not playing against sharpers," she said, "I can also punt very
well."
"Then you can come to Canano's bank and risk the hundred sequins I have
given you. Put twenty sequins on a card, and if you win go paroli, seven,
and the va, and leave the game when they turn up. If you can't make the
three cards come out second, you will lose, but I will reimburse you."
At this she embraced me, and asked if I would take half the profits.
"No," said I, "you shall have it all."
I thought she would have gone mad with joy.
We went off in sedan-chairs, and the ball not having commenced we went to
the assembly-rooms. Canano had not yet done anything, and he opened a
pack of cards and pretended not to recognize me, but he smiled to see the
pretty masker, my companion, sit down and play instead of me. Irene made
him a profound bow as he made room for her by his side, and putting the
hundred sequins before her she began by winning a hundred and
twenty-five, as instead of going seven and the va, she only went the paix
de paroli. I was pleased to see her thus careful, and I let her go on. In
the following deal she lost on three cards in succession, and then won
another paix de paroli. She then bowed to the banker, pocketed her
winnings, and left the table, but just as we were going out I heard
somebody sobbing, and on my turning to her she said,
"I am sure it is my father weeping for joy."
She had three hundred and sixty sequins which she took to him after
amusing herself for a few hours. I only danced one minuet with her, for
my amorous exploits and the heavy supper I had taken had tired me, and I
longed for rest. I let Irene dance with whom she liked, and going into a
corner fell asleep. I woke up with a start and saw Irene standing before
me. I had been asleep for three hours. I took her back to the "Three
Kings," and left her in the charge of her father and mother. The poor man
was quite alarmed to see so much gold on the table, and told me to wish
him a pleasant journey, as he was starting in a few hours. I could make
no opposition and I did not wish to do so, but Irene was furious.
"I won't go," she cried; "I want to stay with my lover. You are the ruin
of my life. Whenever anybody takes a liking to me, you snatch me away. I
belong to this gentleman, and I won't leave him."
However, she saw that I did not back her up, and began to weep, then
kissed me again and again, and just as she was going to sit down, worn
out with fatigue and despair, I went off, wishing them a pleasant
journey, and telling Irene we should meet again. The reader will learn in
due time when and how I saw them again. After all the fatigue I had gone
through I was glad to go to bed.
It was eight o'clock when the young lieutenant awoke me.
"My sister has told me about the masquerade," said he, "but I have a
great secret to confide in you."
"Say on, and count on my keeping your secret."
"One of the finest noblemen of the town, my friend and my cousin's lover,
who has to be very careful of his actions on account of his exalted
position, would like to be of the party if you have no objection. My
sister and my cousin would like him to come very much."
"Of course he shall. I have been making my calculations for a party of
five, and now it will be a party of six, that is all."
"You really are a splendid fellow."
"On Sunday evening you must be at a certain place, of which I will tell
you. First of all we will have supper, then put on our disguises, and
then go to the ball. To-morrow at five o'clock we shall meet at your
sister's. All I want to know is what is the height of your mistress and
of the young nobleman."
"My sweetheart is two inches shorter than my sister, and a little
thinner; my friend is just about the same make as you are, and if you
were dressed alike you would be mistaken for each other."
"That will do. Let me think it over, and leave me alone now; there's a
Capuchin waiting for me, and I am curious to learn his business."
A Capuchin had called on me and I had told Clairmont to give him an alms,
but he had said he wanted to speak to me in private. I was puzzled, for
what could a Capuchin have to say to me?
He came in, and I was at once impressed by his grave and reverend
appearance. I made him a profound bow and offered him a seat, but he
remained standing, and said,
"Sir, listen attentively to what I am about to tell you, and beware of
despising my advice, for it might cost you your life. You would repent
when it was too late. After hearing me, follow my advice immediately; but
ask no questions, for I can answer none. You may guess, perhaps, that
what silences me is a reason incumbent on all Christians--the sacred seal
of the confessional. You may be sure that my word is above suspicion; I
have no interests of my own to serve. I am acting in obedience to an
inspiration; I think it must be your guardian angel speaking with my
voice. God will not abandon you to the malice of your enemies. Tell me if
I have touched your heart, and if you feel disposed to follow the
counsels I am going to give you."
"I have listened to you, father, with attention and respect. Speak freely
and advise me; what you have said has not only moved me, but has almost
frightened me. I promise to do as you tell me if it is nothing against
honour or the light of reason."
"Very good. A feeling of charity will prevent your doing anything to
compromise me, whatever may be the end of the affair. You will not speak
of me to anyone, or say either that you know me or do not know me?"
"I swear to you I will not on my faith as a Christian. But speak, I
entreat you. Your long preface has made me burn with impatience."
"This day, before noon, go by yourself to---- Square, No.---, on the
second floor, and ring at the bell on your left. Tell the person who
opens the door that you want to speak to Madame. You will be taken to her
room without any difficulty; I am sure your name will not be asked, but
if they do ask you, give an imaginary name. When you are face to face
with the woman, beg her to hear you, and ask her for her secret, and to
inspire confidence put a sequin or two in her hand. She is poor, and I am
sure that your generosity will make her your friend. She will shut her
door, and tell you to say on.
"You must then look grave, and tell her that you are not going to leave
her house before she gives you the little bottle that a servant brought
her yesterday with a note. If she resists, remain firm, but make no
noise; do not let her leave the room or call anybody. Finally, tell her
that you will give her double the money she may lose by giving you the
bottle and all that depends on it. Remember these words: and all that
depends on it. She will do whatever you want. It will not cost you much,
but even if it did, your life is worth more than all the gold of Peru. I
can say no more, but before I go, promise me that you will follow my
advice."
"Yes, reverend father, I will follow the inspiration of the angel who led
you here."
"May God give you His blessing."
When the good priest went out I did not feel at all disposed to laugh.
Reason, certainly, bade me despise the warning, but my inherent
superstition was too strong for reason. Besides, I liked the Capuchin. He
looked like a good man, and I felt bound by the promise I had given him.
He had persuaded me, and my reason told me that a man should never go
against his persuasion; in fine, I had made up my mind. I took the piece
of paper on which I had written the words I had to use, I put a pair of
pistols in my pocket, and I told Clairmont to wait for me in the square.
This latter, I thought, was a precaution that could do no harm.
Everything happened as the good Capuchin had said. The awful old creature
took courage at the sight of the two sequins, and bolted her door. She
began by laughing and saying that she knew I was amorous, and that it was
my fault if I were not happy, but that she would do my business for me. I
saw by these words that I had to do with a pretended sorceress. The
famous Mother Bontemps had spoken in the same way to me at Paris. But
when I told her that I was not going to leave the room till I had got the
mysterious bottle, and all that depended on it, her face became fearful;
she trembled, and would have escaped from the room; but I stood before
her with an open knife, and would not suffer her to pass. But on my
telling her that I would give her double the sum she was to be paid for
her witchcraft, and that thus she would be the gainer and not a loser in
complying with my demands, she became calm once more.
"I shall lose six sequins," said she, "but you will gladly pay double
when I shew you what I have got; I know who you are."
"Who am I?"
"Giacomo Casanova, the Venetian."
It was then I drew the ten sequins from my purse. The old woman was
softened at the sight of the money, and said,
"I would not have killed you outright, certainly, but I would have made
you amorous and wretched."
"Explain what you mean."
"Follow me."
I went after her into a closet, and was greatly amazed at sing numerous
articles about which my common sense could tell me nothing. There were
phials of all shapes and sizes, stones of different colours, metals,
minerals, big nails and small nails, pincers, crucibles, misshapen
images, and the like.
"Here is the bottle," said the old woman.
"What does it contain?"
"Your blood and the countess's, as you will see in this letter."
I understood everything then, and now I wonder I did not burst out
laughing. But as a matter of fact my hair stood on end, as I reflected on
the awful wickedness of which the Spaniard was capable. A cold sweat
burst out all over my body.
"What would you have done with this blood?"
"I should have plastered you with it."
"What do you mean by 'plastered'? I don't understand you."
"I will shew you."
As I trembled with fear the old woman opened a casket, a cubit long,
containing a waxen statue of a man lying on his back. My name was written
on it, and though it was badly moulded, my features were recognizable.
The image bore my cross of the Order of the Golden Spur, and the
generative organs were made of an enormous size. At this I burst into a
fit of hysterical laughter, and had to sit down in an arm-chair till it
was over.
As soon as I had got back my breath the sorceress said,
"You laugh, do you? Woe to you if I had bathed you in the bath of blood
mingled according to my art, and more woe still if, after I had bathed
you, I had thrown your image on a burning coal:"
"Is this all?"
"Yes."
"All the apparatus is to become mine for twelve sequins; here they are.
And now, quick! light me a fire that I may melt this monster, and as for
the blood I think I will throw it out of the window."
This was no sooner said than done.
The old woman had been afraid that I should take the bottle and the image
home with me, and use them to her ruin; and she was delighted to see me
melt the image. She told me that I was an angel of goodness, and begged
me not to tell anyone of what had passed between us. I swore I would keep
my own counsel, even with the countess.
I was astonished when she calmly offered to make the countess madly in
love with me for another twelve sequins, but I politely refused and
advised her to abandon her fearful trade if she did not want to be burnt
alive.
I found Clairmont at his post, and I sent him home. In spite of all I had
gone through, I was not sorry to have acquired the information, and to
have followed the advice of the good Capuchin who really believed me to
be in deadly peril. He had doubtless heard of it in the confessional from
the woman who had carried the blood to the witch. Auricular confession
often works miracles of this kind.
I was determined never to let the countess suspect that I had discovered
her criminal project, and I resolved to behave towards her so as to
appease her anger, and to make her forget the cruel insult to which I had
subjected her. It was lucky for me that she believed in sorcery;
otherwise she would have had me assassinated.
As soon as I got in, I chose the better of the two cloaks I had, and
presented her with it. She accepted the gift with exquisite grace, and
asked me why I gave it her.
"I dreamt," said I, "that you were so angry with me that you were going
to have me assassinated."
She blushed, and answered that she had not gone mad. I left her absorbed
in a sombre reverie. Nevertheless, whether she forgot and forgave, or
whether she could hit upon no other way of taking vengeance, she was
perfectly agreeable to me during the rest of my stay in Milan.
The count came back from his estate, and said that we must really go and
see the place at the beginning of Lent. I promised I would come, but the
countess said she could not be of the party. I pretended to be mortified,
but in reality her determination was an extremely pleasant one to me.
CHAPTER XX
The Masquerade--My Amour with the Fair Marchioness--The
Deserted Girl; I Become Her Deliverer--My Departure for St.
Angelo
As I had engaged myself to provide an absolutely impenetrable disguise, I
wanted to invent a costume remarkable at once for its originality and its
richness. I tortured my brains so to speak, and my readers shall see if
they think my invention was a good one.
I wanted someone on whom I could rely, and above all, a tailor. It may be
imagined that my worthy gossip was the tailor I immediately thought of.
Zenobia would be as serviceable as her husband; she could do some of the
work, and wait on the young ladies whom I was going to dress up.
I talked to my gossip, and told him to take me to the best second-hand
clothes dealer in Milan.
When we got to the shop I said to the man--
"I want to look at your very finest costumes, both for ladies and
gentlemen."
"Would you like something that has never been worn?"
"Certainly, if you have got such a thing."
"I have a very rich assortment of new clothes."
"Get me, then, in the first place, a handsome velvet suit, all in one
piece, which nobody in Milan will be able to recognize."
Instead of one he shewed me a dozen such suits, all in excellent
condition. I chose a blue velvet lined with white satin. The tailor
conducted the bargaining, and it was laid on one side; this was for the
pretty cousin's lover. Another suit, in smooth sulphur-coloured velvet
throughout, I put aside for the young officer. I also took two handsome
pairs of trousers in smooth velvet, and two superb silk vests.
I then chose two dresses, one flame-coloured and the other purple, and a
third dress in shot silk. This was for the officer's mistress. Then came
lace shirts, two for men, and three for women, then lace handkerchiefs,
and finally scraps of velvet, satin, shot silk, etc., all of different
colours.
I paid two hundred gold ducats for the lot, but on the condition that if
anybody came to know that I had bought them by any indiscretion of his he
should give me the money and take back the materials in whatever
condition they might be in. The agreement was written out and signed, and
I returned with the tailor, who carried the whole bundle to my rooms over
the pastrycook's.
When it was all spread out on the table I told the tailor that I would
blow out his brains if he told anybody about it, and then taking a
stiletto I proceeded to cut and slash the coats, vests, and trousers all
over, to the astonishment of the tailor, who thought I must be mad to
treat such beautiful clothes in this manner.
After this operation, which makes me laugh to this day when I remember
it, I took the scraps I had bought and said to the tailor,--
"Now, 'gossip, it is your turn; I want you to sew in these pieces into
the holes I have made, and I hope your tailoring genius will aid you to
produce some pretty contrasts. You see that you have got your work cut
out for you and no time to lose. I will see that your meals are properly
served in an adjoining chamber, but you must not leave the house till the
work is finished. I will go for your wife, who will help you, and you can
sleep together."
"For God's sake, sir! you don't want the ladies' dresses treated like the
coats and trousers?"
"Just the same."
"What a pity! it will make my wife cry."
"I will console her."
On my way to Zenobia's I bought five pairs of white silk stockings, men's
and women's gloves, two fine castor hats, two burlesque men's masks, and
three graceful-looking female masks. I also bought two pretty china
plates, and I carried them all to Zenobia's in a sedan-chair.
I found that charming woman engaged in her toilet. Her beautiful tresses
hung about her neck, and her full breast was concealed by no kerchief.
Such charms called for my homage, and to begin with I devoured her with
kisses. I spent half an hour with her, and my readers will guess that it
was well employed. I then helped her to finish her toilette, and we went
off in the sedan-chair.
We found the tailor engaged in picking out the scraps and cutting them to
fit the holes I had made. Zenobia looked on in a kind of stupor, and when
she saw me begin to slash the dresses she turned pale and made an
involuntary motion to stay my hand, for not knowing my intentions she
thought I must be beside myself. Her husband had got hardened, and
reassured her, and when she heard my explanation she became calm, though
the idea struck her as a very odd one.
When it is a question of an affair of the heart, of the passions, or of
pleasure, a woman's fancy moves much faster than a man's. When Zenobia
knew that these dresses were meant for three beautiful women, whom I
wished to make a centre of attraction to the whole assembly, she improved
on my cuts and slashes, and arranged the rents in such a manner that they
would inspire passion without wounding modesty. The dresses were slashed
especially at the breast, the shoulders, and the sleeves; so that the
lace shift could be seen, and in its turn the shift was cut open here and
there, and the sleeves were so arranged that half the arms could be seen.
I saw sure that she understood what I wanted, and that she would keep her
husband right; and I left them, encouraging them to work their best and
quickest. But I looked in three or four times in the day, and was more
satisfied every time with my idea and their execution.
The work was not finished till the Saturday afternoon. I gave the tailor
six sequins and dismissed him, but I kept Zenobia to attend on the
ladies. I took care to place powder, pomade, combs, pins, and everything
that a lady needs, on the table, not forgetting ribbons and pack-thread.
The next day I found play going on in a very spirited manner, but the two
cousins were not at the tables, so I went after them. They told me they
had given up playing as Barbaro always won.
"You have been losing, then?"
"Yes, but my brother has won something," said the amiable Q----.
"I hope luck will declare itself on your side also."
"No, we are not lucky."
When their aunt left the room, they asked me if the lieutenant had told
me that a lady friend of theirs was coming to the ball with them.
"I know all," I answered, "and I hope you will enjoy yourselves, but you
will not do so more than I. I want to speak to the gallant lieutenant
to-morrow morning."
"Tell us about our disguises."
"You will be disguised in such a manner that nobody will recognize you."
"But how shall we be dressed?"
"Very handsomely."
"But what costume have you given us?"
"That is my secret, ladies. However much I should like to please you, I
shall say nothing till the time for you to dress comes round. Don't ask
me anything more, as I have promised myself the enjoyment of your
surprise. I am very fond of dramatic situations. You shall know all after
supper."
"Are we to have supper, then?"
"Certainly, if you would like it. I am a great eater myself and I hope
you will not let me eat alone."
"Then we will have some supper to please you. We will take care not to
eat much dinner, so as to be able to vie with you in the evening. The
only thing I am sorry about," added Mdlle. Q----, "is that you should be
put to such expense."
"It is a pleasure; and when I leave Milan I shall console myself with the
thought that I have supped with the two handsomest ladies in the town."
"How is fortune treating you?"
"Canano wins two hundred sequins from me every day."
"But you won two thousand from him in one night."
"You will break his bank on Sunday. We will bring you luck."
"Would you like to look on?"
"We should be delighted, but my brother says you don't want to go with
us."
"Quite so, the reason is that I should be recognized. But I believe the
gentleman who will accompany you is of the same figure as myself."
"Exactly the same," said the cousin; "except that he is fair."
"All the better," said I, "the fair always conquer the dark with ease."
"Not always," said the other. "But tell us, at any rate, whether we are
to wear men's dresses."
"Fie! fie! I should be angry with myself if I had entertained such a
thought."
"That's curious; why so?"
"I'll tell you. If the disguise is complete I am disgusted, for the shape
of a woman is much more marked than that of a man, and consequently a
woman in man's dress, who looks like a man, cannot have a good figure."
"But when a woman skews her shape well?"
"Then I am angry with her for skewing too much, for I like to see the
face and the general outlines of the form and to guess the rest."
"But the imagination is often deceptive!"
"Yes, but it is with the face that I always fall in love, and that never
deceives me as far as it is concerned. Then if I have the good fortune to
see anything more I am always in a lenient mood and disposed to pass over
small faults. You are laughing?"
"I am smiling at your impassioned arguments."
"Would you like to be dressed like a man?"
"I was expecting something of the kind, but after you have said we can
make no more objections."
"I can imagine what you would say; I should certainly not take you for
men, but I will say no more."
They looked at each other, and blushed and smiled as they saw my gaze
fixed on two pre-eminences which one would never expect to see in any
man. We began to talk of other things, and for two hours I enjoyed their
lively and cultured conversation.
When I left them I went off to my apartments, then to the opera, where I
lost two hundred sequins, and finally supped with the countess, who had
become quite amiable. However, she soon fell back into her old ways when
she found that my politeness was merely external, and that I had no
intentions whatever of troubling her in her bedroom again.
On the Saturday morning the young officer came to see me, and I told him
that there was only one thing that I wanted him to do, but that it must
be done exactly according to my instructions. He promised to follow them
to the letter, and I proceeded,--
"You must get a carriage and four, and as soon as the five of you are in
it tell the coachman to drive as fast as his horses can gallop out of
Milan, and to bring you back again by another road to the house. There
you must get down, send the carriage away, after enjoining silence on the
coachman, and come in. After the ball you will undress in the same house,
and then go home in sedan-chairs. Thus we shall be able to baffle the
inquisitive, who will be pretty numerous, I warn you."
"My friend the marquis will see to all that," said he, "and I promise you
he will do it well, for he is longing to make your acquaintance."
"I shall expect you, then, at seven o'clock to-morrow.
"Warn your friend that it is important the coachman should not be known,
and do not let anybody bring a servant."
All these arrangements being made, I determined to disguise myself as
Pierrot. There's no disguise more perfect; for, besides concealing the
features and the shape of the body, it does not even let the colour of
the skin remain recognizable. My readers may remember what happened to me
in this disguise ten years before. I made the tailor get me a new Pierrot
costume, which I placed with the others, and with two new purses, in each
of which I placed five hundred sequins, I repaired to the pastrycook's
before seven o'clock. I found the table spread, and the supper ready. I
shut up Zenobia in the room where the ladies were to make their toilette,
and at five minutes past seven the joyous company arrived.
The marquis was delighted to make my acquaintance, and I welcomed him as
he deserved. He was a perfect gentleman in every respect, handsome, rich,
and young, very much in love with the pretty cousin whom he treated with
great respect. The lieutenant's mistress was a delightful little lady and
madly fond of her lover.
As they were all aware that I did not want them to know their costumes
till after supper, nothing was said about it, and we sat down to table.
The supper was excellent; I had ordered it in accordance with my own
tastes; that is to say, everything was of the best, and there was plenty
of everything. When we had eaten and drunk well, I said,--
"As I am not going to appear with you, I may as well tell you the parts
you are to play. You are to be five beggars, two men and three women, all
rags and tatters."
The long faces they pulled at this announcement were a pleasant sight to
see.
"You will each carry a plate in your hands to solicit alms, and you must
walk together about the ball-room as a band of mendicants. But now follow
me and take possession of your ragged robes."
Although I had much ado to refrain from laughing at the vexation and
disappointment which appeared on all their faces, I succeeded in
preserving my serious air. They did not seem in any kind of hurry to get
their clothes, and I was obliged to tell them that they were keeping me
waiting. They rose from the table and I threw the door open, and all were
struck with Zenobia's beauty as she stood up by the table on which the
rich though tattered robes were displayed, bowing to the company with
much grace.
"Here, ladies," said I to the cousins, "are your dresses, and here is
yours, mademoiselle--a little smaller. Here are your shifts, your
handkerchiefs and your stockings, and I think you will find everything
you require on this table. Here are masks, the faces of which shew so
poorly beside your own, and here are three plates to crave alms. If
anybody looks as high as your garters, they will see how wretched you
are, and the holes in the stockings will let people know that you have
not the wherewithal to buy silk to mend them. This packthread must serve
you for buckles, and we must take care that there are holes in your shoes
and also in your gloves, and as everything must match, as soon as you
have put on your chemises you must tear the lace round the neck."
While I was going through this explanation I saw surprise and delight
efface the disappointment and vexation which had been there a moment
before. They saw what a rich disguise I had provided for them, and they
could not find it in their hearts to say, "What a pity!"
"Here, gentlemen, are your beggar-clothes. I forgot to lacerate your
beaver hats, but that is soon done. Well, what do you think of the
costume?"
"Now, ladies, we must leave you; shut the door fast, for it is a case of
changing your shifts. Now, gentlemen, leave the room."
The marquis was enthusiastic.
"What a sensation we shall create!" said he, "nothing could be better."
In half an hour we were ready. The stockings in holes, the worn-out
shoes, the lace in rags, the straggling hair, the sad masks, the notched
plates--all made a picture of sumptuous misery hard to be described.
The ladies took more time on account of their hair, which floated on
their shoulders in fine disorder. Mdlle. Q----'s hair was especially
fine, it extended almost to her knees.
When they were ready the door was opened, and we saw everything which
could excite desire without wounding decency. I admired Zenobia's
adroitness. The rents in dresses and chemises disclosed parts of their
shoulders, their breasts, and their arms, and their white legs shone
through the holes in the stockings.
I shewed them how to walk, and to sway their heads to and fro, to excite
compassion, and yet be graceful, and how to use their handkerchiefs to
shew people the tears in them and the fineness of the lace. They were
delighted, and longed to be at the ball, but I wanted to be there first
to have the pleasure of seeing them come in. I put on my mask, told
Zenobia to go to bed, as we would not be back till daybreak, and set out
on my way.
I entered the ball-room, and as there were a score of Pierrots nobody
noticed me. Five minutes after there was a rush to see some maskers who
were coming in, and I stood so as to have a good view. The marquis came
in first between the two cousins. Their slow, pitiful step matched the
part wonderfully. Mdlle. Q---- with her flame-coloured dress, her splendid
hair, and her fine shape, drew all eyes towards her. The astonished and
inquisitive crowd kept silence for a quarter of an hour after they had
come in, and then I heard on every side, "What a disguise!" "It's
wonderful!" "Who are they?" "Who can they be?" "I don't know." "I'll find
out."
I enjoyed the results of my inventiveness.
The music struck up, and three fine dominos went up to the three
beggar-girls to ask them to dance a minuet, but they excused themselves
by pointing to their dilapidated shoes. I was delighted; it shewed that
they had entered into the spirit of the part.
I followed them about for a quarter of an hour, and the curiosity about
them only increased, and then I paid a visit to Canano's table, where
play was running high. A masquer dressed in the Venetian style was
punting on a single card, going fifty sequins paroli and paix de paroli,
in my fashion. He lost three hundred sequins, and as he was a man of
about the same size as myself people said it was Casanova, but Canano
would not agree. In order that I might be able to stay at the table, I
took up the cards and punted three or four ducats like a beginner. The
next deal the Venetian masquer had a run of luck, and going paroli, paix
de paroli and the va, won back all the money he had lost.
The next deal was also in his favour, and he collected his winnings and
left the table.
I sat down in the chair he had occupied, and a lady said,--
"That's the Chevalier de Seingalt."
"No," said another. "I saw him a little while ago in the ball-room
disguised as a beggar, with four other masquers whom nobody knows."
"How do you mean, dressed as a beggar?" said Canano.
"Why, in rags, and the four others, too; but in spite of that the dresses
are splendid and the effect is very good. They are asking for alms."
"They ought to be turned out," said another.
I was delighted to have attained my object, for the recognition of me was
a mere guess. I began putting sequins on one card, and I lost five or six
times running. Canano studied me, but I saw he could not make me out. I
heard whispers running round the table.
"It isn't Seingalt; he doesn't play like that; besides, he is at the
ball."
The luck turned; three deals were in my favour, and brought me back more
than I had lost. I continued playing with a heap of gold before me, and
on my putting a fistfull of sequins on a card it came out, and I went
paroli and pair de paroli. I won again, and seeing that the bank was at a
low ebb I stopped playing. Canano paid me, and told his cashier to get a
thousand sequins, and as he was shuffling the cards I heard a cry of,
"Here come the beggars."
The beggars came in and stood by the table, and Canano, catching the
marquis's eye, asked him for a pinch of snuff. My delight may be imagined
when I saw him modestly presenting a common horn snuffbox to the banker.
I had not thought of this detail, which made everybody laugh immensely.
Mdlle. Q---- stretched out her plate to ask an alms of Canano, who said,--
"I don't pity you with that fine hair of yours, and if you like to put it
on a card I will allow you a thousand sequins for it."
She gave no answer to this polite speech, and held out her plate to me,
and I put a handful of sequins on it, treating the other beggars in the
same way.
"Pierrot seems to like beggars," said Canano, with a smile.
The three mendicants bowed gratefully to me and left the room.
The Marquis Triulzi who sat near Canano, said,--
"The beggar in the straw-coloured dress is certainly Casanova."
"I recognized him directly," replied the banker, "but who are the
others?"
"We shall find out in due time."
"A dearer costume could not be imagined; all the dresses are quite new."
The thousand sequins came in, and I carried them all off in two deals.
"Would you like to go on playing?" said Canano.
I shook my head, and indicating with a sign of my hand that I would take
a cheque, he weighed my winnings and gave me a cheque for twenty-nine
pounds of gold, amounting to two thousand, five hundred sequins. I put
away the cheque, and after shaking him by the hand, I got up and rolled
away in true Pierrot fashion, and after making the tour of the ball-room
I went to a box on the third tier of which I had given the key to the
young officer, and there I found my beggars.
We took off our masks and congratulated each other on our success, and
told our adventures. We had nothing to fear from inquisitive eyes, for
the boxes on each side of us were empty. I had taken them myself, and the
keys were in my pocket.
The fair beggars talked of returning me the alms I had given them, but I
replied in such a way that they said no more about it.
"I am taken for you, sir," said the marquis, "and it may cause some
annoyance to our fair friends here."
"I have foreseen that," I replied, "and I shall unmask before the end of
the ball. This will falsify all suppositions, and nobody will succeed in
identifying you."
"Our pockets are full of sweetmeats," said Mdlle. Q----. "Everybody
wanted to fill our plates."
"Yes," said the cousin, "everybody admired us; the ladies came down from
their boxes to have a closer view of us, and everyone said that no richer
disguise could be imagined."
"You have enjoyed yourselves, then?"
"Yes, indeed."
"And I too. I feel quite boastful at having invented a costume which has
drawn all eyes upon you, and yet has concealed your identity."
"You have made us all happy," said the lieutenant's little mistress. "I
never thought I should have such a pleasant evening."
"Finis coronat opus," I replied, "and I hope the end will be even better
than the beginning."
So saying I gave my sweetheart's hand a gentle pressure, and whether she
understood me or not I felt her hand tremble in mine.
"We will go down now," said she.
"So will I, for I want to dance, and I am sure I shall make you laugh as
Pierrot."
"Do you know how much money you gave each of us?"
"I cannot say precisely, but I believe I gave each an equal share."
"That is so. I think it is wonderful how you could do it."
"I have done it a thousand times. When I lose a paroli of ten sequins I
put three fingers into my purse, and am certain to bring up thirty
sequins. I would bet I gave you each from thirty-eight to forty sequins."
"Forty exactly. It's wonderful. We shall remember this masqued ball."
"I don't think anybody will imitate us," said the marquis.
"No," said the cousin, "and we would not dare to wear the same dresses
again."
We put on our masks, and I was the first to go out. After numerous little
jocularities with the harlequins, especially the female ones, I
recognized Therese in a domino, and walking up to her as awkwardly as I
could I asked her to dance with me.
"You are the Pierrot who broke the bank?" she said.
I answered the question in the affirmative by a nod.
I danced like a madman, always on the point of falling to the ground and
never actually doing so.
When the dance was over, I offered her my arm and took her back to her
box, where Greppi was sitting by himself. She let me come in, and their
surprise was great when I took off my mask. They had thought I was one of
the beggars. I gave M. Greppi Canano's cheque, and as soon as he had
handed me an acknowledgment I went down to the ball-room again with my
mask off, much to the astonishment of the inquisitive, who had made sure
that the marquis was I.
Towards the end of the ball I went away in a sedan-chair, which I stopped
near the door of an hotel, and a little further on I took another which
brought me to the door of the pastry-cook's. I found Zenobia in bed. She
said she was sure I would come back by myself. I undressed as quickly as
I could, and got into bed with this Venus of a woman. She was absolute
perfection. I am sure that if Praxiteles had had her for a model, he
would not have required several Greek beauties from which to compose his
Venus. What a pity that such an exquisite figure should be the property
of a sorry tailor.
I stripped her naked, and after due contemplation I made her feel how
much I loved her. She was pleased with my admiration, and gave me back as
much as she got. I had her entirely to myself for the first time. When we
heard the trot of four horses we rose and put on our clothes in a
twinkling.
When the charming beggars came in, I told them that I should be able to
help in their toilette as they had not to change their chemises, and they
did not make many objections.
My gaze was fixed all the while on Mdlle. Q----. I admired her charms,
and I was delighted to see that she was not miserly in their display.
After Zenobia had done her hair she left her to me, and went to attend on
the others. She allowed me to put on her dress, and did not forbid my
eyes wandering towards a large rent in her chemise, which let me see
almost the whole of one of her beautiful breasts.
"What are you going to do with this chemise?"
"You will laugh at our silliness. We have determined to keep everything
as a memorial of the splendid evening we have had. My brother will bring
it all to the house. Are you coming to see us this evening?"
"If I were wise I should avoid you."
"And if I were wise I shouldn't ask you to come."
"That is fairly answered! Of course I will come; but before we part may I
ask one kiss?"
"Say two."
Her brother and the marquis left the room, and two sedan-chairs I had
summoned took off the cousins.
As soon as the marquis was alone with me he asked me very politely to let
him share in the expenses.
"I guessed you were going to humiliate me."
"Such was not my intention, and I do not insist; but then you know I
shall be humiliated."
"Not at all; I reckon on your good sense. It really costs me nothing.
Besides, I give you my word to let you pay for all the parties of
pleasure we enjoy together during the carnival. We will sup here when you
like; you shall invite the company, and I will leave you to pay the
bill."
"That arrangement will suit me admirably. We must be friends. I leave you
with this charming attendant. I did not think that such a beauty could
exist in Milan unknown to all but you."
"She is a townswoman, who knows how to keep a secret. Do you not?"
"I would rather die than tell anyone that this gentleman is the Marquis
of F----."
"That's right; always keep your word, and take this trifle as a souvenir
of me."
It was a pretty ring, which Zenobia received with much grace; it might be
worth about fifty sequins.
When the marquis was gone, Zenobia undressed me and did my hair for the
night, and as I got into bed I gave her twenty-four sequins, and told her
she might go and comfort her husband.
"He won't be uneasy," said she, "he is a philosopher."
"He need be with such a pretty wife. Kiss me again, Zenobia, and then we
must part."
She threw herself upon me, covering me with kisses, and calling me her
happiness and her providence. Her fiery kisses produced their natural
effect, and after I had given her a fresh proof of the power of her
charms, she left me and I went to sleep.
It was two o'clock when I awoke ravenously hungry. I had an excellent
dinner, and then I dressed to call on the charming Mdlle. Q----, whom I
did not expect to find too hard on me, after what she had said. Everybody
was playing cards with the exception of herself. She was standing by a
window reading so attentively that she did not hear me come into the
room, but when she saw me near her, she blushed, shut up the book, and
put it in her pocket.
"I will not betray you," said I, "or tell anyone that I surprised you
reading a prayer-book."
"No, don't; for my reputation would be gone if I were thought to be a
devotee."
"Has there been any talk of the masqued ball or of the mysterious
masquers?"
"People talk of nothing else, and condole with us for not having been to
the ball, but no one can guess who the beggars were. It seems that an
unknown carriage and four that sped like the wind took them as far as the
first stage, and where they went next God alone knows! It is said that my
hair was false, and I have longed to let it down and thus give them the
lie. It is also said that you must know who the beggars were, as you
loaded them with ducats."
"One must let people say and believe what they like and not betray
ourselves."
"You are right; and after all we had a delightful evening. If you acquit
yourself of all commissions in the same way, you must be a wonderful
man."
"But it is only you who could give me such a commission."
"I to-day, and another to-morrow."
"I see you think I am inconstant, but believe me if I find favour in your
eyes your face will ever dwell in my memory."
"I am certain you have told a thousand girls the same story, and after
they have admitted you to their favour you have despised them."
"Pray do not use the word 'despise,' or I shall suppose you think me a
monster. Beauty seduces me. I aspire to its possession, and it is only
when it is given me from other motives than love that I despise it. How
should I despise one who loved me? I should first be compelled to despise
myself. You are beautiful and I worship you, but you are mistaken if you
think that I should be content for you to surrender yourself to me out of
mere kindness."
"Ah! I see it is my heart you want."
"Exactly."
"To make me wretched at the end of a fortnight."
"To love you till death, and to obey your slightest wishes."
"My slightest wishes?"
"Yes, for to me they would be inviolable laws."
"Would you settle in Milan?"
"Certainly, if you made that a condition of my happiness."
"What amuses me in all this is that you are deceiving me without knowing
it, if indeed you really love me."
"Deceiving you without knowing it! That is something new. If I am not
aware of it, I am innocent of deceit."
"I am willing to admit your innocency, but you are deceiving me none the
less, for after you had ceased to love me no power of yours could bring
love back again."
"That, of course, might happen, but I don't choose to entertain such
unpleasant thoughts; I prefer to think of myself as loving you to all
eternity. It is certain at all events that no other woman in Milan has
attracted me."
"Not the pretty girl who waited on us, and whose arms you have possibly
left an hour or, two ago?"
"What are you saying? She is the wife of the tailor who made your
clothes. She left directly after you, and her husband would not have
allowed her to come at all if he was not aware that she would be wanted
to wait on the ladies whose dresses he had made."
"She is wonderfully pretty. Is it possible that you are not in love with
her?"
"How could one love a woman who is at the disposal of a low, ugly fellow?
The only pleasure she gave me was by talking of you this morning."
"Of me?"
"Yes. You will excuse me if I confess to having asked her which of the
ladies she waited on looked handsomest without her chemise."
"That was a libertine's question. Well, what did she say?"
"That the lady with the beautiful hair was perfect in every respect."
"I don't believe a word of it. I have learnt how to change my chemise
with decency, and so as not to shew anything I might not shew a man. She
only wished to flatter your impertinent curiosity. If I had a maid like
that, she should soon go about her business."
"You are angry with me."
"No."
"It's no good saying no, your soul flashed forth in your denunciation. I
am sorry to have spoken."
"Oh! it's of no consequence. I know men ask chambermaids questions of
that kind, and they all give answers like your sweetheart, who perhaps
wanted to make you curious about herself."
"But how could she hope to do that by extolling your charms above those
of the other ladies? And, how could she know that I preferred you?"
"If she did not know it, I have made a mistake; but for all that, she
lied to you."
"She may have invented the tale, but I do not think she lied. You are
smiling again! I am delighted."
"I like to let you believe what pleases you."
"Then you will allow me to believe that you do not hate me."
"Hate you? What an ugly word! If I hated you, should I see you at all?
But let's talk of something else. I want you to do me a favour. Here are
two sequins; I want you to put them on an 'ambe' in the lottery. You can
bring me the ticket when you call again, or still better, you can send it
me, but don't tell anybody."
"You shall have the ticket without fail, but why should I not bring it?"
"Because, perhaps, you are tired of coming to see me."
"Do I look like that? If so I am very unfortunate. But what numbers will
you have?"
"Three and forty; you gave them me yourself."
"How did I give them you?"
"You put your hand three times on the board, and took up forty sequins
each time. I am superstitious, and you will laugh at me, I daresay, but
it seems to me that you must have come to Milan to make me happy."
"Now you make me happy indeed. You say you are superstitious, but if
these numbers don't win you mustn't draw the conclusion that I don't love
you; that would be a dreadful fallacy."
"I am not superstitious as all that, nor so vile a logician."
"Do you believe I love you?"
"Yes."
"May I tell you so a hundred times?"
"Yes."
"And prove it in every way?"
"I must enquire into your methods before I consent to that, for it is
possible that what you would call a very efficacious method might strike
me as quite useless."
"I see you are going to make me sigh after you for a long time."
"As long as I can."
"And when you have no strength left?"
"I will surrender. Does that satisfy you?"
"Certainly, but I shall exert all my strength to abate yours."
"Do so; I shall like it."
"And will you help me to succeed?"
"Perhaps."
"Ah, dear marchioness; you need only speak to make a man happy. You have
made me really so, and I am leaving you full of ardour."
On leaving this charming conversationalist I went to the theatre and then
to the faro-table, where I saw the masquer who had won three hundred
sequins the evening before. This night he was very unlucky. He had lost
two thousand sequins, and in the course of the next hour his losses had
doubled. Canano threw down his cards and rose, saying, "That will do."
The masquer left the table. He was a Genoese named Spinola.
"The bank is prosperous," I remarked to Canano.
"Yes," he replied, "but it is not always so. Pierrot was very lucky the
other night."
"You did not recognize me in the least?"
"No, I was so firmly persuaded that the beggar was you. You know who he
is?"
"I haven't an idea. I never saw him before that day." In this last
particular I did not lie.
"It is said that they are Venetians, and that they went to Bergamo."
"It may be so, but I know nothing about them. I left the ball before they
did."
In the evening I supped with the countess, her husband, and Triulzi. They
were of the same opinion as Canano. Triulzi said that I had let the cat
out of the bag by giving the beggars handfuls of sequins.
"That is a mistake," I answered. "When the luck is in my favour I never
refuse anyone who asks me for money, for I have a superstition that I
should lose if I did. I had won thirty pounds weight of gold, and I could
afford to let fools talk."
The next day I got the lottery ticket and took it to the marchioness. I
felt madly in love with her because I knew she was in love with me.
Neither of them were playing, and I spent two hours in their company,
talking of love all the while and enjoying their conversation immensely,
for they were exceedingly intelligent. I left them with the conviction
that if the cousin, and not Mdlle. Q----, had been thrown in my way, I
should have fallen in love with her in just the same manner.
Although the carnival is four days longer at Milan than at any other
town, it was now drawing to a close. There were three more balls. I
played every day, and every day I lost two or three hundred sequins. My
prudence caused even more surprise than my bad fortune. I went every day
to the fair cousins and made love, but I was still at the same point; I
hoped, but could get nothing tangible. The fair marchioness sometimes
gave me a kiss, but this was not enough for me. It is true that so far I
had not dared to ask her to meet me alone. As it was I felt my love might
die for want of food, and three days before the ball I asked her if she,
her two friends, the marquis, and the lieutenant, would come and sup with
me.
"My brother," she said, "will call on you to-morrow to see what can be
arranged."
This was a good omen. The next day the lieutenant came. I had just
received the drawings at the lottery, and what was my surprise and
delight to see the two numbers three and forty. I said nothing to the
young marquis, as his sister had forbidden me, but I foresaw that this
event would be favourable to my suit.
"The Marquis of F----," said the worthy ambassador, "asks you to supper
in your own rooms with all the band of beggars. He wishes to give us a
surprise, and would be obliged if you would lend him the room to have a
set of disguises made, and to ensure secrecy he wants you to let have the
same waiting-maid."
"With pleasure; tell the marquis that all shall be according to his
pleasure."
"Get the girl to come there at three o'clock to-day, and let the
pastry-cook know that the marquis has full powers to do what he likes in
the place."
"Everything shall be done as you suggest."
I guessed at once that the marquis wanted to have a taste of Zenobia; but
this seemed to me so natural that, far from being angry, I felt disposed
to do all in my power to favour his plans. Live and let live has always
been my maxim, and it will be so to my dying day, though now I do but
live a life of memories.
As soon as I was dressed I went out, and having told the pastrycook to
consider the gentleman who was coming as myself, I called on the tailor,
who was delighted at my getting his wife work. He knew by experience that
she was none the worse for these little absences.
"I don't want you," said I to the tailor, "as it is only women's dresses
that have to be done. My good gossip here will be sufficient."
"At three o'clock she may go, and I shall not expect to see her again for
three days."
After I had dined I called as usual on the fair marchioness, and found
her in a transport of delight. Her lottery ticket had got her five
hundred sequins.
"And that makes you happy, does it?" said I.
"It does, not because of the gain in money, though I am by no means rich,
but for the beauty of the idea and for the thought that I owe it all to
you. These two things speak volumes in your favour."
"What do they say?"
"That you deserve to be loved."
"And also that you love me?"
"No, but my heart tells me as much."
"You make me happy, but does not your heart also tell you that you should
prove your love?"
"Dearest, can you doubt it?"
With these words she gave me her hand to kiss for the first time.
"My first idea," she added, "was to put the whole forty sequins on the
'ambe'."
"You hadn't sufficient courage?"
"It wasn't that, I felt ashamed to do it. I was afraid that you might
have a thought you would not tell me of--namely, that if I gave you the
forty sequins to risk on the lottery, you would think I despised your
present. This would have been wrong, and if you had encouraged me I
should have risked all the money."
"I am so sorry not to have thought of it. You would have had ten thousand
sequins, and I should be a happy man."
"We will say no more about it."
"Your brother tells me that we are going to the masqued ball under the
direction of the marquis, and I leave you to imagine how glad I feel at
the thought of spending a whole night with you. But one thought troubles
me."
"What is that?"
"I am afraid it will not go off so well as before."
"Don't be afraid, the marquis is a man of much ingenuity, and loves my
cousin's honour as herself. He is sure to get us disguises in which we
shall not be recognized."
"I hope so. He wants to pay for everything, including the supper."
"He cannot do better than imitate your example in that respect."
On the evening of the ball I went at an early hour to the pastry-cook's,
where I found the marquis well pleased with the progress that had been
made. The dressing room was shut. I asked him in a suggestive manner if
he was satisfied with Zenobia.
"Yes, with her work," he answered; "I did not ask her to do anything else
for me."
"Oh! of course I believe it, but I am afraid your sweetheart will be
rather sceptical."
"She knows that I cannot love anyone besides herself."
"Well, well, we will say no more about it."
When the guests came the marquis said that as the costumes would amuse us
we had better put them on before supper.
We followed him into the next room, and he pointed out two thick bundles.
"Here, ladies, are your disguises," said he; "and here is your maid who
will help you while we dress in another room."
He took the larger of the two bundles, and when we were shut up in our
room he undid the string, and gave us our dresses, saying,--
"Let us be as quick as we can."
We burst out laughing to see a set of women's clothes. Nothing was
wanting, chemises, embroidered shoes with high heels, superb garters,
and, to relieve us of the trouble of having our hair done, exquisite caps
with rich lace coming over the forehead. I was surprised to find that my
shoes fitted me perfectly, but I heard afterwards that he employed the
same bootmaker as I did. Corsets, petticoats, gowns, kerchief, fans,
work-bags, rouge-boxes, masks, gloves-all were there. We only helped each
other with our hair, but when it was done we looked intensely stupid,
with the exception of the young officer, who really might have been taken
for a pretty woman; he had concealed his deficiency in feminine
characteristics by false breasts and a bustle.
We took off our breeches one after the other.
"Your fine garters," said I, to the marquis, "make me want to wear some
too."
"Exactly," said the marquis; "but the worst of it is nobody will take the
trouble to find out whether we have garters or not, for two young ladies
five feet ten in height will not inspire very ardent desires."
I had guessed that the girls would be dressed like men, and I was not
mistaken. They were ready before us, and when we opened the door we saw
them standing with their backs to the fireplace.
They looked three young pages minus their impudence, for though they
endeavoured to seem quite at their ease they were rather confused.
We advanced with the modesty of the fair sex, and imitating the air of
shy reserve which the part demanded. The girls of course thought
themselves obliged to mimic the airs of men, and they did not accost us
like young men accustomed to behave respectfully to ladies. They were
dressed as running footmen, with tight breeches, well-fitting waistcoats,
open throats, garters with a silver fringe, laced waistbands, and pretty
caps trimmed with silver lace, and a coat of arms emblazoned in gold.
Their lace shirts were ornamented with an immense frill of Alencon point.
In this dress, which displayed their beautiful shapes under a veil which
was almost transparent, they would have stirred the sense of a paralytic,
and we had no symptoms of that disease. However, we loved them too well
to frighten them.
After the silly remarks usual on such occasions had been passed, we began
to talk naturally while we were waiting for supper. The ladies said that
as this was the first time they had dressed as men they were afraid of
being recognized.
"Supposing somebody knew us," cried the cousin, "we should be undone!"
They were right; but our part was to reassure them, though I at any rate
would have preferred to stay where we were. We sat down to supper, each
next to his sweetheart, and to my surprise the lieutenant's mistress was
the first to begin the fun. Thinking that she could not pretend to be a
man without being impudent, she began to toy with the lady-lieutenant,
who defended himself like a prudish miss. The two cousins, not to be
outdone, began to caress us in a manner that was rather free. Zenobia,
who was waiting on us at table could not help laughing when Mdlle.
Q---reproached her for having made my dress too tight in the neck. She
stretched out her hand as if to toy with me, whereupon I gave her a
slight box on the ear, and imitating the manner of a repentant cavalier
she kissed my hand and begged my pardon.
The marquis said he felt cold, and his mistress asked him if he had his
breeches on, and put her hand under his dress to see, but she speedily
drew it back with a blush. We all burst out laughing, and she joined in,
and proceeded with her part of hardy lover.
The supper was admirable; everything was choice and abundant. Warm with
love and wine, we rose from the table at which we had been for two hours,
but as we got up sadness disfigured the faces of the two pretty cousins.
They did not dare to go to the ball in a costume that would put them at
the mercy of all the libertines there. The marquis and I felt that they
were right.
"We must make up our minds," said the lieutenant, "shall we go to the
ball or go home?"
"Neither," said the marquis, "we will dance here."
"Where are the violins" asked his mistress, "you could not get them
to-night for their weight in gold."
"Well," said I, "we will do without them. We will have some punch, laugh,
and be merry, and we shall enjoy ourselves better than at the ball, and
when we are tired we can go to sleep. We have three beds here."
"Two would be enough," said the cousin.
"True, but we can't have too much of a good thing."
Zenobia had gone to sup with the pastrycook's wife, but she was ready to
come up again when she should be summoned.
After two hours spent in amorous trifling, the lieutenant's mistress,
feeling a little dizzy, went into an adjoining room and lay down on the
bed. Her lover was soon beside her.
Mdlle. Q----, who was in the same case, told me that she would like to
rest, so I took her into a room where she could sleep the night, and
advised her to do so.
"I don't think I need fear its going any farther," I said, "we will leave
the marquis with your cousin then, and I will watch over you while you
sleep."
"No, no, you shall sleep too." So saying, she went into the
dressing-room, and asked me to get her cloak. I brought it to her, and
when she came in she said,--
"I breathe again. Those dreadful trousers were too tight; they hurt me."
She threw herself on the bed, with nothing on besides her cloak.
"Where did the breeches hurt you?" said I.
"I can't tell you, but I should think you must find them dreadfully
uncomfortable."
"But, dearest, our anatomy is different, and breeches do not trouble us
at all where they hurt you."
As I spoke I held her to my breast and let myself fall gently beside her
on the bed. We remained thus a quarter of an hour without speaking, our
lips glued together in one long kiss. I left her a moment by herself, and
when I returned she was between the sheets. She said she had undressed to
be able to sleep better, and, shutting her eyes, turned away. I knew that
the happy hour had come, and taking off my woman's clothes in a
twinkling, I gently glided into the bed beside her, for the last
struggles of modesty must be tenderly respected. I clasped her in my arms
and a gentle pressure soon aroused her passions, and turning towards me
she surrendered to me all her charms.
After the first sacrifice I proposed a wash, for though I could not
exactly flatter myself that I had been the first to break open the lock,
the victim had left some traces on the bed, which looked as if it were
so. The offer was received with delight, and when the operation was over
she allowed me to gaze on all her charms, which I covered with kisses.
Growing bolder, she made me grant her the same privilege.
"What a difference there is," said she, "between nature and art!"
"But of course you think that art is the better?"
"No, certainly not."
"But there may be imperfections in nature, whereas art is perfect."
"I do not know whether there be any imperfection in what I behold, but I
do know that I have never seen anything so beautiful."
In fact she had the instrument of love before her eyes in all its
majesty, and I soon made her feel its power. She did not remain still a
moment, and I have known few women so ardent and flexible in their
movements.
"If we were wise," said she, "instead of going to the ball again we would
come here and enjoy ourselves."
I kissed the mouth which told me so plainly that I was to be happy, and I
convinced her by my transports that no man could love her as ardently as
I did. I had no need to keep her awake, she shewed no inclination for
sleep. We were either in action or contemplation, or engaged in amorous
discourse, the whole time. I cheated her now and then, but to her own
advantage, for a young woman is always more vigorous than a man, and we
did not stop till the day began to break. There was no need for
concealment, for each had enjoyed his sweetheart in peace and happiness,
and it was only modesty which silenced our congratulations. By this
silence we did not proclaim our happiness, but neither did we deny it.
When we were ready I thanked the marquis, and asked him to supper for the
next ball night without any pretence of our going to the masquerade, if
the ladies had no objection. The lieutenant answered for them in the
affirmative, and his mistress threw her arms round his neck, reproaching
him for having slept all night. The marquis confessed to the same fault,
and I repeated the words like an article of faith, while the ladies
kissed us, and thanked us for our kindness to them. We parted in the same
way as before, except that this time the marquis remained with Zenobia.
I went to bed as soon as I got home, and slept till three o'clock. When I
got up I found the house was empty, so I went to dine at the
pastry-cook's, where I found Zenobia and her husband, who had come to
enjoy the leavings of our supper. He told me that I had made his fortune,
as the marquis had given his wife twenty-four sequins and the woman's
dress he had worn. I gave her mine as well. I told my gossip that I
should like some dinner, and the tailor went away in a grateful mood.
As soon as I was alone with Zenobia I asked her if she were satisfied
with the marquis.
"He paid me well," she answered, a slight blush mounting on her cheeks.
"That is enough," said I, "no one can see you without loving you, or love
you without desiring to possess your charms."
"The marquis did not go so far as that."
"It may be so, but I am surprised to hear it."
When I had dined, I hastened to call on the fair marchioness, whom I
loved more than ever after the delicious night she had given me. I wanted
to see what effect she would have on me, after making me so happy. She
looked prettier than ever. She received me in a way becoming in a
mistress who is glad to have acquired some rights over her lover.
"I was sure," said she, "that you would come and see me;" and though her
cousin was there she kissed me so often and so ardently that there was no
room for doubt as to the manner in which we had spent our night together.
I passed five hours with her, which went by all too quickly, for we
talked of love, and love is an inexhaustible subject. This five hours'
visit on the day after our bridal shewed me that I was madly in love with
my new conquest, while it must have convinced her that I was worthy of
her affection.
Countess A---- B---- had sent me a note asking me to sup with her, her
husband, and the Marquis Triulzi, and other friends. This engagement
prevented my paying a visit to Canano, who had won a thousand sequins of
me since my great victory as Pierrot. I knew that he boasted that he was
sure of me, but in my own mind I had determined to gain the mastery. At
supper the countess waged war on me. I slept out at night. I was rarely
visible. She tried hard to steal my secret from me, and to get some
information as to my amorous adventures. It was known that I sometimes
supped at Therese's with Greppi, who was laughed at because he had been
silly enough to say that he had nothing to dread from my power. The
better to conceal my game, I said he was quite right.
The next day Barbaro, who was as honest as most professional sharpers
are, brought me the two hundred sequins I had lent him, with a profit of
two hundred more. He told me that he had had a slight difference with the
lieutenant, and was not going to play any more. I thanked him for having
presented me to the fair marchioness, telling him that I was quite in
love with her and in hopes of overcoming her scruples. He smiled, and
praised my discretion, letting me understand that I did not take him in;
but it was enough for me not to confess to anything.
About three o'clock I called on my sweetheart, and spent five hours with
her as before. As Barbaro was not playing, the servants had been ordered
to say that no one was at home. As I was the declared lover of the
marchioness, her cousin treated me as an intimate friend. She begged me
to stay at Milan as long as possible, not only to make her cousin happy,
but for her sake as well, since without me she could not enjoy the
marquis's society in private, and while her father was alive he would
never dare to come openly to the house. She thought she would certainly
become his wife as soon as her old father was dead, but she hoped vainly,
for soon after the marquis fell into evil ways and was ruined.
Next evening we all assembled at supper, and instead of going to the ball
gave ourselves up to pleasure. We spent a delicious night, but it was
saddened by the reflection that the carnival was drawing to a close, and
with it our mutual pleasures would be over.
On the eve of Shrove Tuesday as there was no ball I sat down to play, and
not being able once to hit on three winning cards, I lost all the gold I
had about me. I should have left the table as usual if a woman disguised
as a man had not given me a card, and urged me by signs to play it. I
risked a hundred sequins on it, giving my word for the payment. I lost,
and in my endeavours to get back my money I lost a thousand sequins,
which I paid the next day.
I was just going out to console myself with the company of my dear
marchioness, when I saw the evil-omened masquer approaching, accompanied
by a man, also in disguise, who shook me by the hand and begged me to
come at ten o'clock to the "Three Kings" at such a number, if the honour
of an old friend was dear to me.
"What friend is that?"
"Myself."
"What is your name?"
"I cannot tell you."
"Then you need not tell me to come, for if you were a true friend of mine
you would tell me your name."
I went out and he followed me, begging me to come with him to the end of
the arcades. When we got there he took off his mask, and I recognized
Croce, whom my readers may remember.
I knew he was banished from Milan, and understood why he did not care to
give his name in public, but I was exceedingly glad I had refused to go
to his inn.
"I am surprised to see you here," said I.
"I dare say your are. I have come here in this carnival season, when one
can wear a mask, to compel my relations to give me what they owe me; but
they put me off from one day to another, as they are sure I shall be
obliged to go when Lent begins."
"And will you do so?"
"I shall be obliged to, but as you will not come and see me, give me
twenty sequins, which will enable me to leave Milan. My cousin owes me
ten thousand livres, and will not pay me a tenth even. I will kill him
before I go."
"I haven't a farthing, and that mask of yours has made me lose a thousand
sequins, which I do not know how to pay.
"I know. I am an unlucky man, and bring bad luck to all my friends. It
was I who told her to give you a card, in the hope that it would change
the run against you."
"Is she a Milanese girl?"
"No, she comes from Marseilles, and is the daughter of a rich agent. I
fell in love with her, seduced her, and carried her off to her
unhappiness. I had plenty of money then, but, wretch that I am, I lost it
all at Genoa, where I had to sell all my possessions to enable me to come
here. I have been a week in Milan. Pray give me the wherewithal to
escape."
I was touched with compassion, and I borrowed twenty sequins from Canano,
and gave them to the poor wretch, telling him to write to me.
This alms-giving did me good; it made me forget my losses, and I spent a
delightful evening with the marchioness.
The next day we supped together at my rooms, and spent the rest of the
night in amorous pleasures. It was the Saturday, the last day of the
carnival at Milan, and I spent the whole of the Sunday in bed, for the
marchioness had exhausted me, and I knew that a long sleep would restore
my strength.
Early on Monday morning Clairmont brought me a letter which had been left
by a servant. It had no signature, and ran as follows:
"Have compassion, sir, on the most wretched creature breathing. M. de la
Croix has gone away in despair. He has left me here in the inn, where he
has paid for nothing. Good God! what will become of me? I conjure you to
come and see me, be it only to give me your advice."
I did not hesitate for a moment, and it was not from any impulses of love
or profligacy that I went, but from pure compassion. I put on my great
coat, and in the same room in which I had seen Irene I saw a young and
pretty girl, about whose face there was something peculiarly noble and
attractive. I saw in her innocence and modesty oppressed and persecuted.
As soon as I came in she humbly apologized for having dared to trouble
me, and she asked me to tell a woman who was in the room to leave it, as
she did not speak Italian.
"She has been tiring me for more than an hour. I cannot understand what
she says, but I can make out that she wants to do me a service. However,
I do not feel inclined to accept her assistance."
"Who told you to come and see this young lady?" said I, to the woman.
"One of the servants of the inn told me that a young lady from foreign
parts had been left alone here, and that she was much to be pitied. My
feelings of humanity made me come and see if I could be useful to her;
but I see she is in good hands, and I am very glad of it for her sake,
poor dear!"
I saw that the woman was a procuress, and I only replied with a smile of
contempt.
The poor girl then told me briefly what I had already heard, and added
that Croce, who called himself De St. Croix, had gone to the gaming-table
as soon as he had got my twenty sequins, and that he had then taken her
back to the inn, where he had spent the next day in a state of despair,
as he did not dare to shew himself abroad in the daytime. In the evening
he put on his mask and went out, not returning till the next morning.
"Soon after he put on his great coat and got ready to go out, telling me
that if he did not return he would communicate with me by you, at the
same time giving me your address, of which I have made use as you know.
He has not come back, and if you have not seen him I am sure he has gone
off on foot without a penny in his pocket. The landlord wants to be paid,
and by selling all I have I could satisfy his claims; but, good God! what
is to become of me, then?"
"Dare you return to your father?"
"Yes, sir, I dare return to him. He will forgive me when on my knees and
with tears in my eyes I tell him that I am ready to bury myself in a
nunnery."
"Very good! then I will take you to Marseilles myself, and in the
meanwhile I will find you a lodging with some honest people. Till then,
shut yourself up in your room, do not admit anyone to see you, and be
sure I will have a care for you."
I summoned the landlord and paid the bill, which was a very small one,
and I told him to take care of the lady till my return. The poor girl was
dumb with surprise and gratitude. I said good-bye kindly and left her
without even taking her hand. It was not altogether a case of the devil
turning monk; I always had a respect for distress.
I had already thought of Zenobia in connection with the poor girl's
lodging, and I went to see her on the spot. In her husband's presence I
told her what I wanted, and asked if she could find a corner for my new
friend.
"She shall have my place," cried the worthy tailor, "if she won't mind
sleeping with my wife. I will hire a small room hard bye, and will sleep
there as long as the young lady stays."
"That's a good idea, gossip, but your wife will lose by the exchange."
"Not much," said Zenobia; and the tailor burst out laughing.
"As for her meals," he added, "she must arrange that herself."
"That's a very simple matter," said I, "Zenobia will get them and I will
pay for them."
I wrote the girl a short note, telling her of the arrangements I had
made, and charged Zenobia to take her the letter. The next day I found
her in the poor lodging with these worthy folks, looking pleased and
ravishingly pretty. I felt that I could behave well for the present, but
I sighed at the thought of the journey. I should have to put a strong
restraint on myself.
I had nothing more to do at Milan, but the count had made me promise to
spend a fortnight at St. Angelo. This was an estate belonging to him,
fifteen miles from Milan, and the count spoke most enthusiastically of
it. If I had gone away without seeing St. Angelo, he would have been
exceedingly mortified. A married brother of his lived there, and the
count often said that his brother was longing to know me. When we
returned he would no doubt let me depart in peace.
I had made up my mind to shew my gratitude to the worthy man for his
hospitality, so on the fourth day of Lent I took leave of Therese,
Greppi, and the affectionate marchioness, for two weeks, and we set out
on our way.
To my great delight the countess did not care to come. She much preferred
staying in Milan with Triulzi, who did not let her lack for anything.
We got to St. Angelo at three o'clock, and found that we were expected to
dinner.
CHAPTER XXI
An Ancient Castle--Clementine--The Fair Penitent--Lodi--
A Mutual Passion
The manorial castle of the little town of St. Angelo is a vast and
ancient building, dating back at least eight centuries, but devoid of
regularity, and not indicating the date of its erection by the style of
its architecture. The ground floor consists of innumerable small rooms, a
few large and lofty apartments, and an immense hall. The walls, which are
full of chinks and crannies, are of that immense thickness which proves
that our ancestors built for their remote descendants, and not in our
modern fashion; for we are beginning to build in the English style, that
is, barely for one generation. The stone stairs had been trodden by so
many feet that one had to be very careful in going up or down. The floor
was all of bricks, and as it had been renewed at various epochs with
bricks of divers colours it formed a kind of mosaic, not very pleasant to
look upon. The windows were of a piece with the rest; they had no glass
in them, and the sashes having in many instances given way they were
always open; shutters were utterly unknown there. Happily the want of
glass was not much felt in the genial climate of the country. The
ceilings were conspicuous by their absence, but there were heavy beams,
the haunts of bats, owls, and other birds, and light ornament was
supplied by the numerous spiders' webs.
In this great Gothic palace--for palace it was rather than castle, for it
had no towers or other attributes of feudalism, except the enormous
coat-of-arms which crowned the gateway--in this palace, I say, the
memorial of the ancient glories of the Counts A---- B----, which they
loved better than the finest modern house, there were three sets of rooms
better kept than the rest. Here dwelt the masters, of whom there were
three; the Count A---- B----, my friend, Count Ambrose, who always lived
there, and a third, an officer in the Spanish Walloon Guards. I occupied
the apartment of the last named. But I must describe the welcome I
received.
Count Ambrose received me at the gate of the castle as if I had been some
high and puissant prince. The door stood wide open on both sides, but I
did not take too much pride to myself on this account, as they were so
old that it was impossible to shut them.
The noble count who held his cap in his hand, and was decently but
negligently dressed, though he was only forty years old, told me with
high-born modesty that his brother had done wrong to bring me here to see
their miserable place, where I should find none of those luxuries to
which I had been accustomed, but he promised me a good old-fashioned
Milanese welcome instead. This is a phrase of which the Milanese are very
fond, but as they put it into practice it becomes them well. They are
generally most worthy and hospitable people, and contrast favourably with
the Piedmontese and Genoese.
The worthy Ambrose introduced me to his countess and his two
sisters-in-law, one of whom was an exquisite beauty, rather deficient in
manner, but this was no doubt due to the fact that they saw no polished
company whatever. The other was a thoroughly ordinary woman, neither
pretty nor ugly, of a type which is plentiful all the world over. The
countess looked like a Madonna; her features had something angelic about
them in their dignity and openness. She came from Lodi, and had only been
married two years. The three sisters were very young, very noble, and
very poor. While we were at dinner Count Ambrose told me that he had
married a poor woman because he thought more of goodness than riches.
"She makes me happy," he added; "and though she brought me no dower, I
seem to be a richer man, for she has taught me to look on everything we
don't possess as a superfluity."
"There, indeed," said I, "you have the true philosophy of an honest man."
The countess, delighted at her husband's praise and my approval, smiled
lovingly at him, and took a pretty baby from the nurse's arms and offered
it her alabaster breast. This is the privilege of a nursing mother;
nature tells her that by doing so she does nothing against modesty. Her
bosom, feeding the helpless, arouses no other feelings than those of
respect. I confess, however, that the sight might have produced a
tenderer sentiment in me; it was exquisitely beautiful, and I am sure
that if Raphael had beheld it his Madonna would have been still more
lovely.
The dinner was excellent, with the exception of the made dishes, which
were detestable. Soup, beef, fresh salted pork, sausages, mortadella,
milk dishes, vegetables, game, mascarpon cheese, preserved fruits--all
were delicious; but the count having told his brother that I was a great
gourmand, the worthy Ambrose had felt it his duty to give me some
ragouts, which were as bad as can well be imagined. I had to taste them,
out of politeness; but I made up my mind that I would do so no more.
After dinner I took my host apart, and spewed him that with ten plain
courses his table would be delicate and excellent, and that he had no
need of introducing any ragouts. From that time I had a choice dinner
every day.
There were six of us at table, and we all talked and laughed with the
exception of the fair Clementine. This was the young countess who had
already made an impression on me. She only spoke when she was obliged to
do so, and her words were always accompanied with a blush; but as I had
no other way of getting a sight of her beautiful eyes, I asked her a good
many questions. However, she blushed so terribly that I thought I must be
distressing her, and I left her in peace, hoping to become better
acquainted with her.
At last I was taken to my apartment and left there. The windows were
glazed and curtained as in the diningroom, but Clairmont came and told me
that he could not unpack my trunks as there were no locks to anything and
should not care to take the responsibility. I thought he was right, and I
went to ask my friend about it.
"There's not a lock or a key," said he, "in the whole castle, except in
the cellar, but everything is safe for all that. There are no robbers at
St. Angelo, and if there were they would not dare to come here."
"I daresay, my dear count, but you know' it is my business to suppose
robbers everywhere. My own valet might take the opportunity of robbing
me, and you see I should have to keep silence if I were robbed."
"Quite so, I feel the force of your argument. Tomorrow morning a
locksmith shall put locks and keys to your doors, and you will be the
only person in the castle who is proof against thieves."
I might have replied in the words of Juvenal, 'Cantabit vacuus coram
latrone viator', but I should have mortified him. I told Clairmont to
leave my trunks alone till next day, and I went out with Count
A---- B---- and his sisters-in-law to take a walk in the town.
Count Ambrose and his better-half stayed in the castle; the good mother
would never leave her nursling. Clementine was eighteen, her married
sister being four years older. She took my arm, and my friend offered his
to Eleanore.
"We will go and see the beautiful penitent," said the count.
I asked him who the beautiful penitent was, and he answered, without
troubling himself about his sisters-in-law,
"She was once a Lais of Milan, and enjoyed such a reputation for beauty
that not only all the flower of Milan but people from the neighbouring
towns were at her feet. Her hall-door was opened and shut a hundred times
in a day, and even then she was not able to satisfy the desires aroused.
At last an end came to what the old and the devout called a scandal.
Count Firmian, a man of learning and wit, went to Vienna, and on his
departure received orders to have her shut up in a convent. Our august
Marie Therese cannot pardon mercenary beauty, and the count had no choice
but to have the fair sinner imprisoned. She was told that she had done
amiss, and dealt wickedly; she was obliged to make a general confession,
and was condemned to a life-long penance in this convent. She was
absolved by Cardinal Pozzobonelli, Archbishop of Milan, and he then
confirmed her, changing the name of Therese, which she had received at
the baptismal font, to Mary Magdalen, thus shewing her how she should
save her soul by following the example of her new patroness, whose
wantonness had hitherto been her pattern.
"Our family are the patrons of this convent, which is devoted to
penitents. It is situated in an inaccessible spot, and the inmates are in
the charge of a kind mother-superior, who does her best to soften the
manifold austerities of their existences. They only work and pray, and
see no one besides their confessor, who says mass every day. We are the
only persons whom the superioress would admit, as long as some of our
family are present she always let them bring whom they like."
This story touched me and brought tears to my eyes. Poor Mary Magdalen!
Cruel empress! I think I have noted in another passage the source of her
austere virtue.
When we were announced the mother-superior came to meet us, and took us
into a large hall, where I soon made out the famous penitent amongst five
or six other girls, who were penitents like herself, but I presume for
trifling offences, as they were all ugly. As soon as the poor women saw
us they ceased working, and stood up respectfully. In spite of the severe
simplicity of her dress, Therese made a great impression on me. What
beauty! What majesty brought low! With my profane eyes, instead of
looking to the enormity of the offences for which she was suffering so
cruelly, I saw before me a picture of innocence--a humbled Venus. Her
fine eyes were fixed on the ground, but what was my surprise, when,
suddenly looking at me, she exclaimed,--
"O my God! what do I see? Holy Mary, come to my aid! Begone, dreadful
sinner, though thou deservest to be here more than I. Scoundrel!"
I did not feel inclined to laugh. Her unfortunate position, and the
singular apostrophe she had addressed to me, pierced me to the heart. The
mother-superior hastened to say,--
"Do not be offended, sir, the poor girl has become mad, and unless she
really has recognized you . . . ."
"That is impossible, madam, I have never seen her before."
"Of course not, but you must forgive her, as she has lost the use of her
reason."
"Maybe the Lord has made her thus in mercy."
As a matter of fact, I saw more sense than madness in this outburst, for
it must have been very grievous for the poor girl to have to encounter my
idle curiosity, in the place of her penitence. I was deeply moved, and in
spite of myself a big tear rolled down my face. The count, who had known
her, laughed, but I begged him to restrain himself.
A moment after, the poor wretch began again. She raved against me madly,
and begged the mother-superior to send me away, as I had come there to
damn her.
The good lady chid her with all a true mother's gentleness, and told her
to leave the room, adding that all who came there only desired that she
should be saved eternally. She was stern enough, however, to add, that no
one had been a greater sinner than she, and the poor Magdalen went out
weeping bitterly.
If it had been my fortune to enter Milan at the head of a victorious
army, the first thing I should have done would be he setting free of this
poor captive, and if the abbess had resisted she would have felt the
weight of my whip.
When Magdalen was gone, the mother-superior told us that the poor girl
had many good qualities, and if God willed that she should keep some
particle of sense she did not doubt her becoming a saint like her
patroness.
"She has begged me," she added, "to take down the pictures of St. Louis
de Gonzaga and St. Antony from the chapel wall because she says they
distract her fearfully. I have thought it my duty to yield to her
request, in spite of our confessor, who says it's all nonsense."
The confessor was a rude churl. I did not exactly tell the abbess that,
but I said enough for a clever woman as she was to grasp my meaning.
We left the sorrowful place in sadness and silence, cursing the sovereign
who had made such ill use of her power.
If, as our holy religion maintains, there is a future life before us all,
Marie Therese certainly deserves damnation, if only the oppressions she
has used towards those poor women whose life is wretched enough at the
best. Poor Mary Magdalen had gone mad and suffered the torments of the
damned because nature had given her two of her best gifts--beauty, and an
excellent heart. You will say she had abused them, but for a fault which
is only a crime before God, should a fellow-creature and a greater sinner
have condemned her to such a fearful doom? I defy any reasonable man to
answer in the affirmative.
On our way back to the castle Clementine, who was on my arm, laughed to
herself once or twice. I felt curious to know what she was laughing at,
and said,--
"May I ask you, fair countess, why you laugh thus to yourself?"
"Forgive me; I was not amused at the poor girl's recognizing you, for
that must have been a mistake, but I cannot help laughing when I think of
your face at her wordy 'You are more deserving of imprisonment than I.'"
"Perhaps you think she was right."
"I? Not at all. But how is it that she attacked you and not my
brother-in-law?"
"Probably because she thought I looked a greater sinner than he."
"That, I suppose, must have been the reason. One should never heed the
talk of mad people."
"You are sarcastic, but I take it all in good part. Perhaps I am as great
a sinner as I look; but beauty should be merciful to me, for it is by
beauty that I am led astray."
"I wonder the empress does not shut up men as well as women."
"Perhaps she hopes to see them all at her feet when there are no more
girls left to amuse them."
"That is a jest. You should rather say that she cannot forgive her own
sex the lack of a virtue which she exercises so eminently, and which is
so easily observed."
"I have nothing to allege against the empress's virtue, but with your
leave I beg to entertain very strong doubts as to the possibility of the
general exercise of that virtue which we call continence."
"No doubt everyone thinks by his own standard. A man may be praised for
temperance in whom temperance is no merit. What is easy to you may be
hard to me, and 'vice versa'. Both of us may be right."
This interesting conversation made me compare Clementine to the fair
marchioness at Milan, but there was this difference between them: Mdlle.
Q---- spoke with an air of gravity and importance, whereas Clementine
expounded her system with great simplicity and an utter indifference of
manner. I thought her observations so acute and her utterance so perfect
and artistic, that I felt ashamed of having misjudged her at dinner. Her
silence, and the blush which mounted to her face when anyone asked her a
question, had made me suspect both confusion and poverty in her ideas,
for timidity is often another word for stupidity; but the conversation I
have just reported made me feel that I had made a great mistake. The
marchioness, being older and having seen more of the world, was more
skilled in argument; but Clementine had twice eluded my questions with
the utmost skill, and I felt obliged to award her the palm.
When we got back to the castle we found a lady with her son and daughter,
and another relation of the count's, a young abbe, whom I found most
objectionable.
He was a pitiless talker, and on the pretence of having seen me at Milan
he took the opportunity of flattering me in a disgusting manner. Besides,
he made sheep's eyes at Clementine, and I did not like the idea of having
a fellow like that for a rival. I said very dryly that I did not remember
him at all; but he was not a man of delicate feeling, and this did not
disconcert him in the least. He sat down beside Clementine, and taking
her hand told her that she must add me to the long catalogue of her
victims. She could do nothing else but laugh at silly talk of this kind;
I knew it, but that laugh of hers displeased me. I would have had her
say--I do not know what, but something biting and sarcastic. Not at all;
the impertinent fellow whispered something in her ear, and she answered
in the same way. This was more than I could bear. Some question or other
was being discussed, and the abbe asked for my opinion. I do not remember
what I answered, but I know that I gave him a bitter reply in the hope of
putting him in a bad temper and reducing him to silence. But he was a
battle charger, and used to trumpet, fife, and gun; nothing put him out.
He appealed to Clementine, and I had the mortification of hearing her
opinion given, though with a blush, in his favour. The fop was satisfied,
and kissed the young countess's hand with an air of fatuous happiness.
This was too much; and I cursed the abbe and Clementine, too. I rose from
my seat and went to the window.
The window is a great blessing to an impatient man, whom the rules of
politeness in some degree constrain. He can turn his back on bores,
without their being able to charge him witch direct rudeness; but people
know what he means, and that soothes his feelings.
I have noted this trifling circumstance only to point out how bad temper
blinds its victims. The poor abbe vexed me because he made himself
agreeable to Clementine, with whom I was already in love without knowing
it. I saw in him a rival, but far from endeavouring to offend me, he had
done his best to please me; and I should have taken account of his good
will. But under such circumstances I always gave way to ill humour, and
now I am too old to begin curing myself. I don't think I need do so, for
if I am ill tempered the company politely pass me over. My misfortune
obliges me to submit.
Clementine had conquered me in the space of a few hours. True, I was an
inflammable subject, but hitherto no beauty had committed such ravages
upon me in so short a time. I did not doubt of success, and I confess
that there was a certain amount of vanity in this assurance; but at the
same time I was modest, for I knew that at the slightest slip the
enterprise would miscarry. Thus I regarded the abbe as a wasp to be
crushed as speedily as possible. I was also a victim to that most
horrible of passions, jealousy; it seemed to me that if Clementine was
not in love with this man-monkey, she was extremely indulgent to him; and
with this idea I conceived a horrible plan of revenging my wrongs on her.
Love is the god of nature, but this god is, after all, only a spoilt
child. We know all his follies and frailties, but we still adore him.
My friend the count, who was surprised, I suppose, to see me
contemplating the prospect for such a long time, came up to me and asked
me if I wanted anything.
"I am thinking some matter over," said I, "and I must go and write one or
two letters in my room till it is time for supper."
"You won't leave us surely?" said he.
"Clementine, help me to keep M. de Seingalt; you must make him postpone
his letter-writing."
"But my dear brother," said the charming girl, "if M. de Seingalt has
business to do, it would be rude of me to try and prevent his doing it."
Though what she said was perfectly reasonable, it stung me to the quick;
when one is in an ill humour, everything is fuel for the fire. But the
abbe said pleasantly that I had much better come and make a bank at faro,
and as everything echoed this suggestion I had to give in.
The cards were brought in, and various coloured counters handed round,
and I sat down putting thirty ducats before me. This was a very large sum
for a company who only played for amusement's sake; fifteen counters were
valued only at a sequin. Countess Ambrose sat at my right hand, and the
abbe at my left. As if they had laid a plot to vex and annoy me,
Clementine had made room for him. I took a mere accident for a studied
impertinence, and told the poor man that I never dealt unless I had a
lady on each side of me, and never by any chance with a priest beside me.
"Do you think it would bring you ill luck?"
"I don't like birds of ill omen."
At this he got up, and Clementine took his place.
At the end of three hours, supper was announced. Everybody had won from
me except the abbe; the poor devil had lost counters to the extent of
twenty sequins.
As a relation the abbe stayed to supper, but the lady and her children
were asked in vain to do so.
The abbe looked wretched, which made me in a good temper, and inclined me
to be pleasant. I proceeded to flirt with Clementine, and by making her
reply to the numerous questions I asked, I gave her an opportunity of
displaying her wit, and I could see that she was grateful. I was once
more myself, and I took pity of the abbe, and spoke to him politely,
asking him his opinion on some topic.
"I was not listening," said he, "but I hope you will give me my revenge
after supper."
"After supper I shall be going to bed, but you shall have your revenge,
and as much as you like of it, tomorrow, provided that our charming
hostesses like playing. I hope the luck will be in your favour."
After supper the poor abbe went sadly away, and the count took me to my
room, telling me that I could sleep securely in spite of the lack of keys
for his sisters-in-law who were lodged close by were no better off.
I was astonished and delighted at the trust he put in me, and at the
really magnificent hospitality (it must be remembered all things are
relative) with which I had been treated in the castle.
I told Clairmont to be quick about putting my hair in curl-papers, for I
was tired and in need of rest, but he was only half-way through the
operation when I was agreeably surprised by the apparition of Clementine.
"Sir," said she, "as we haven't got a maid to look after your linen, I
have come to beg you to let me undertake that office."
"You! my dear countess?"
"Yes, I, sir, and I hope you will make no objection. It will be a
pleasure to me, and I hope to you as well. Let me have the shirt you are
going to wear to-morrow, and say no more about it."
"Very good, it shall be as you please."
I helped Clairmont to carry my linen trunk into her room, and added,--
"Every day I want a shirt, a collar, a front, a pair of drawers, a pair
of stocking, and two handkerchiefs; but I don't mind which you take, and
leave the choice to you as the mistress, as I wish you were in deed and
truth. I shall sleep a happier sleep than Jove himself. Farewell, dear
Hebe!"
Her sister Eleanore was already in bed, and begged pardon for her
position. I told Clairmont to go to the count directly, and inform him
that I had changed my mind about the locks. Should I be afraid for my
poor properties when these living treasures were confined to me so
frankly? I should have been afraid of offending them.
I had an excellent bed, and I slept wonderfully. Clairmont was doing my
hair when my youthful Hebe presented herself with a basket in her hands.
She wished me good day and said she hoped I would be contented with her
handiwork. I gazed at her delightedly, no trace of false shame appeared
on her features. The blush on her cheeks was a witness of the pleasure
she experienced in being useful--a pleasure which is unknown to those
whose curse is their pride, the characteristic of fools and upstarts. I
kissed her hand and told her that I had never seen linen so nicely done.
Just then the count came in and thanked Clementine for attending on me. I
approved of that, but he accompanied his thanks with a kiss which was
well received, and this I did not approve of at all. But you will say
they were brother-in-law and sister-in-law? Just so, but I was jealous
all the same. Nature is all-wise, and it was nature that made me jealous.
When one loves and has not as yet gained possession, jealousy is
inevitable; the heart must fear lest that which it longs for so be
carried away by another.
The count took a note from his pocket and begged me to read it. It came
from his cousin the abbe, who begged the count to apologize to me for him
if he was unable to pay the twenty sequins he had lost to me in the
proper time, but that he would discharge his debt in the course of the
week.
"Very good! Tell him that he can pay when he likes, but warn him not to
play this evening. I will not take his bets."
"But you would have no objection to his punting with ready money."
"Certainly I should, unless he pays me first, otherwise he would be
punting with my money. Of course it's a mere trifle, and I hope he won't
trouble himself in the least or put himself to any inconvenience to pay
it."
"I am afraid he will be mortified."
"So much the better," said Clementine; "what did he play for, when he
knew that he could not pay his debts if he incurred any? It will be a
lesson to him."
This outburst was balm to my heart. Such is man--a mere selfish egotist,
when passion moves him.
The count made no reply, but left us alone.
"My dear Clementine, tell me frankly whether the rather uncivil way in
which I have treated the abbe has pained you. I am going to give you
twenty sequins, do you send them to him, and to-night he can pay me
honourably, and make a good figure. I promise you no one shall know about
it."
"Thank you, but the honour of the abbe is not dear enough to me for me to
accept your offer. The lesson will do him good. A little shame will teach
him that he must mend his ways."
"You will see he won't come this evening."
"That may be, but do you think I shall care?"
"Well--yes, I did think so."
"Because we joked together, I suppose. He is a hare-brained fellow, to
whom I do not give two thoughts in the year."
"I pity him, as heartily as I congratulate anyone of whom you do think."
"Maybe there is no such person"
"What! You have not yet met a man worthy of your regard?"
"Many worthy of regard, but none of love."
"Then you have never been in love?"
"Never."
"Your heart is empty?"
"You make me laugh. Is it happiness, is it unhappiness? Who can say. If
it be happiness, I am glad, and if it be unhappiness, I do not care, for
I do not feel it to be so."
"Nevertheless, it is a misfortune, and you will know it to have been so
on the day in which you love."
"And if I become unhappy through love, shall I not pronounce my emptiness
of heart to have been happiness."
"I confess you would be right, but I am sure love would make you happy."
"I do not know. To be happy one must live in perfect agreement; that is
no easy matter, and I believe it to be harder still when the bond is
lifelong."
"I agree, but God sent us into the world that we might run the risk"
"To a man it may be a necessity and a delight, but a girl is bound by
stricter laws."
"In nature the necessity is the same though the results are different,
and the laws you speak of are laid down by society."
The count came in at this point and was astonished to see us both
together.
"I wish you would fall in love with one another," said he.
"You wish to see us unhappy, do you?" said she.
"What do you mean by that?" I cried.
"I should be unhappy with an inconstant lover, and you would be unhappy
too, for you would feel bitter remorse for having destroyed my peace of
mind."
After this she discreetly fled.
I remained still as if she had petrified me, but the count who never
wearied himself with too much thinking, exclaimed,
"Clementine is rather too romantic; she will get over it, however; she is
young yet."
We went to bid good day to the countess, whom we found suckling her baby.
"Do you know, my dear sister," said the count, "that the chevalier here
is in love with Clementine, and she seems inclined to pay him back in his
own coin?"
The countess smiled and said,--
"I hope a suitable match like that may make us relations."
There is something magical about the word "marriage."
What the countess said pleased me extremely, and I replied with a bow of
the most gracious character.
We went to pay a call on the lady who had come to the castle the day
before. There was a canon regular there, who after a great many polite
speeches in praise of my country, which he knew only from books, asked me
of what order was the cross I carried on my breast.
I replied, with a kind of boastful modesty, that it was a peculiar mark
of the favour of the Holy Father, the Pope, who had freely made me a
knight of the Order of St. John Lateran, and a prothonotary-apostolic.
This monk had stayed at home far from the world, or else he would not
have asked me such a question. However, far from thinking he was
offending me, he thought he was honouring me by giving me an opportunity
of talking of my own merit.
At London, the greatest possible rudeness is to ask anyone what his
religion is, and it is something the same in Germany; an Anabaptist is by
no means ready to confess his creed. And in fact the best plan is never
to ask any questions whatever, not even if a man has change for a louis.
Clementine was delightful at dinner. She replied wittily and gracefully
to all the questions which were addressed to her. True, what she said was
lost on the majority of her auditors--for wit cannot stand before
stupidity--but I enjoyed her talk immensely. As she kept filling up my
glass I reproached her, and this gave rise to the following little
dialogue which completed my conquest.
"You have no right to complain," said she, "Hebe's duty is to keep the
cup of the chief of the gods always full."
"Very good; but you know Jupiter sent her away."
"Yes, but I know why. I will take care not to stumble in the same way;
and no Ganymede shall take my place for a like cause."
"You are very wise. Jupiter was wrong, and henceforth I will be Hercules.
Will that please you, fair Hebe?"
"No; because he did not marry her till after her death."
"True, again. I will be Iolas then, for . . ."
"Be quiet. Iolas was old."
"True; but so was I yesterday. You have made me young again."
"I am very glad, dear Iolas; but remember what I did when he left me."
"And what did you do? I do not remember."
"I did not believe a word he said."
"You can believe."
"I took away the gift I had made."
At these words this charming girl's face was suffered with blushes. If I
had touched her with my hand, sure it would have been on fire; but the
rays that darted from her eyes froze my heart.
Philosophers, be not angry if I talk of freezing rays. It is no miracle,
but a very natural phenomenon, which is happening every day. A great
love, which elevates a man's whole nature, is a strong flame born out of
a great cold, such as I then felt for a moment; it would have killed me
if it had lasted longer.
The superior manner in which Clementine had applied the story of Hebe
convinced me not only that she had a profound knowledge of mythology, but
also that she had a keen and far-reaching intellect. She had given me
more than a glimpse of her learning; she had let me guess that I
interested her, and that she thought of me.
These ideas, entering a heart which is already warm, speedily set all the
senses in flames. In a moment all doubt was laid to rest; Clementine
loved me, and I was sure that we should be happy.
Clementine slipped away from the table to calm herself, and thus I had
time to escape from my astonishment.
"Pray where was that young lady educated?" I said to the countess.
"In the country. She was always present when my brother had his lessons,
but the tutor, Sardini, never took any notice of her, and it was only she
who gained anything; my brother only yawned. Clementine used to make my
mother laugh, and puzzle the old tutor sadly sometimes."
"Sardini wrote and published some poems which are not bad; but nobody
reads them, because they are so full of mythology."
"Quite so. Clementine possesses a manuscript with which he presented her,
containing a number of mythological tales verified. Try and make her shew
you her books and the verses she used to write; she won't shew them to
any of us."
I was in a great state of admiration. When she returned I complimented
her upon her acquirements, and said that as I was a great lover of
literature myself I should be delighted if she would shew me her verses.
"I should be ashamed. I had to give over my studies two years ago, when
my sister married and we came to live here, where we only see honest
folks who talk about the stable, the harvest, and the weather. You are
the first person I have seen who has talked to me about literature. If
our old Sardini had come with us I should have gone on learning, but my
sister did not care to have him here."
"But my dear Clementine," said the countess, "what do you think my
husband could have done with an old man of eighty whose sole
accomplishments are weighing the wind, writing verses, and talking
mythology?"
"He would have been useful enough," said the husband, "if he could have
managed the estate, but the honest old man will not believe in the
existence of rascals. He is so learned that he is quite stupid."
"Good heavens!" cried Clementine. "Sardini stupid? It is certainly easy
to deceive him, but that is because he is so noble. I love a man who is
easily deceived, but they call me silly."
"Not at all, my dear sister," said the countess. "On the contrary, there
is wisdom in all you say, but it is wisdom out of place in a woman; the
mistress of a household does not want to know anything about literature,
poetry, or philosophy, and when it comes to marrying you I am very much
afraid that your taste for this kind of thing will stand in your way."
"I know it, and I am expecting to die a maid; not that it is much
compliment to the men."
To know all that such a dialogue meant for me, the reader must imagine
himself most passionately in love. I thought myself unfortunate. I could
have given her a hundred thousand crowns, and I would have married her
that moment. She told me that Sardini was at Milan, very old and ill.
"Have you been to see him?" I asked.
"I have never been to Milan."
"Is it possible? It is not far from here."
"Distance is relative, you know."
This was beautifully expressed. It told me without any false shame that
she could not afford to go, and I was pleased by her frankness. But in
the state of mind I was in I should have been pleased with anything she
chose to do. There are moments in a man's life when the woman he loves
can make anything of him.
I spoke to her in a manner that affected her so that she took me into a
closet next to her room to shew me her books. There were only thirty in
all, but they were chosen, although somewhat elementary. A woman like
Clementine needed something more.
"Do you know, my dear Hebe, that you want more books?"
"I have often suspected it, dear Iolas, without being able to say exactly
what I want."
After spending an hour in glancing over Sardini's works, I begged her to
spew me her own.
"No," said she, "they are too bad."
"I expect so; but the good will outweigh the bad."
"I don't think so."
"Oh, yes! you needn't be afraid. I will forgive the bad grammar, bad
style, absurd images, faulty method, and even the verses that won't
scan."
"That's too much, Iolas; Hebe doesn't need so vast a pardon as all that.
Here, sir, these are my scribblings; sift the faults and the defaults.
Read what you will."
I was delighted that my scheme of wounding her vanity had succeeded, and
I began by reading aloud an anacreontic, adding to its beauties by the
modulation of my voice, and keenly enjoying her pleasure at finding her
work so fair. When I improved a line by some trifling change she noticed
it, for she followed me with her eyes; but far from being humiliated, she
was pleased with my corrections. The picture was still hers, she thought,
though with my skilled brush I brought out the lights and darkened the
shadows, and she was charmed to see that my pleasure was as great or
greater than hers. The reading continued for two hours. It was a
spiritual and pure, but a most intensely voluptuous, enjoyment. Happy,
and thrice happy, if we had gone no farther; but love is a traitor who
laughs at us when we think to play with him without falling into his
nets. Shall a man touch hot coals and escape the burning?
The countess interrupted us, and begged us to join the company.
Clementine hastened to put everything back, and thanked me for the
happiness I had given her. The pleasure she felt shewed itself in her
blushes, and when she came into the drawing-room she was asked if she had
been fighting, which made her blush still more.
The faro-table was ready, but before sitting down I told Clairmont to get
me four good horses for the following day. I wanted to go to Lodi and
back by dinnertime.
Everybody played as before, the abbe excepted, and he, to my huge
delight, did not put in an appearance at all, but his place was supplied
by a canon, who punted a ducat at a time and had a pile of ducats before
him. This made me increase my bank, and when the game was over, I was
glad to see that everybody had won except the canon, but his losses had
not spoilt his temper.
Next day I started for Lodi at day-break without telling anybody where I
was going, and bought all the books I judged necessary for Clementine,
who only knew Italian. I bought numerous translation, which I was
surprised to find at Lodi, which hitherto had been only famous in my mind
for its cheese, usually called Parmesan. This cheese is made at Lodi and
not at Parma, and I did not fail to make an entry to that effect under
the article "Parmesan" in my "Dictionary of Cheeses," a work which I was
obliged to abandon as beyond my powers, as Rousseau was obliged to
abandon his "Dictionary of Botany." This great but eccentric individual
was then known under the pseudonym of Renaud, the Botanist. 'Quisque
histrioniam exercet'. But Rousseau, great man though he was, was totally
deficient in humour.
I conceived the idea of giving a banquet at Lodi the day after next, and
a project of this kind not calling for much deliberation I went forthwith
to the best hotel to make the necessary arrangements. I ordered a choice
dinner for twelve, paid the earnest money, and made the host promise that
everything should be of the best.
When I got back to St. Angelo, I had a sackfull of books carried into
Clementine's room. She was petrified. There were more than one
hundred volumes, poets, historians, geographers, philosophers,
scientists--nothing was forgotten. I had also selected some good novels,
translated from the Spanish, English, and French, for we have no good
novels in Italian.
This admission does not prove by any means that Italian literature is
surpassed by that of any other country. Italy has little to envy in other
literatures, and has numerous masterpieces, which are unequalled the
whole world over. Where will you find a worthy companion to the Orlando
Furioso? There is none, and this great work is incapable of transalation.
The finest and truest panegyric of Ariosto was written by Voltaire when
he was sixty. If he had not made this apology for the rash judgement of
his youthful days, he would not have enjoyed, in Italy at all events,
that immortality which is so justly his due. Thirty-six years ago I told
him as much, and he took me at my word. He was afraid, and he acted
wisely.
If I have any readers, I ask their pardon for these digressions. They
must remember that these Memoirs were written in my old age, and the old
are always garrulous. The time will come to them also, and then they will
understand that if the aged repeat themselves, it is because they live in
a world of memories, without a present and without a future.
I will now return to my narrative, which I have kept steadily in view.
Clementine gazed from me to the books, and from the books to me. She
wondered and admired, and could scarcely believe this treasure belonged
to her. At last she collected herself, and said in a tone full of
gratitude,--
"You have come to St. Angelo to make me happy."
Such a saying makes a man into a god. He is sure that she who speaks thus
will do all in her power to make a return for the happiness which she has
been given.
There is something supremely lovely in the expression of gratefulness on
the face of the being one loves. If you have not experienced the feelings
I describe, dear reader, I pity you, and am forced to conclude that you
must have been either awkward or miserly, and therefore unworthy of love.
Clementine ate scarcely anything at dinner, and afterwards retired to her
room where I soon joined her. We amused ourselves by putting the books in
order, and she sent for a carpenter to make a bookcase with a lock and
key.
"It will be my pleasure to read these books," said she, "when you have
left us."
In the evening she was lucky with the cards, and in delightful spirits. I
asked them all to dine with me at Lodi, but as the dinner was for twelve
the Countess Ambrose said she would be able to find the two guests who
were wanted at Lodi, and the canon said he would take the lady friend
with her two children.
The next day was one of happy quiet, and I spent it without leaving the
castle, being engaged in instructing my Hebe on the nature of the sphere,
and in preparing her for the beauties of Wolf. I presented her with my
case of mathematical instruments, which seemed to her invaluable.
I burned with passion for this charming girl; but would I have done so in
her taste for literature and science had not been backed up by her
personal charms? I suspect not. I like a dish pleasing to the palate, but
if it is not pleasing to the eye as well, I do not taste it but put down
as bad. The surface is always the first to interest, close examination
comes afterwards. The man who confines himself to superficial charms, is
superficial himself, but with them all love begins, except that which
rises in the realm of fancy, and this nearly always falls before the
reality.
When I went to bed, still thinking of Clementine, I began to reflect
seriously, and I was astonished to find that during all the hours we had
spent together she had not caused the slightest sensual feeling to arise
in me. Nevertheless, I could not assign the reason to fear, nor to
shyness which is unknown to me, nor to false shame, nor to what is called
a feeling of duty. It was certainly not virtue, for I do not carry virtue
so far as that. Then what was it? I did not tire myself by pursuing the
question. I felt quite sure that the Platonic stage must soon come to an
end, and I was sorry, but my sorrow was virtue in extremis. The fine
things we read together interested us so strongly that we did not think
of love, nor of the pleasure we took in each other's company; but as the
saying goes, the devil lost nothing by us. When intellect enters on the
field, the heart has to yield; virtue triumphs, but the battle must not
last for long. Our conquests made us too sure, but this feeling of
security was a Colossus whose feet were of clay; we knew that we loved
but were not sure that we were beloved. But when this became manifest the
Colossus must fall to the ground.
This dangerous trust made me go to her room to tell her something about
our journey to Lodi, the carriages were already waiting. She was still
asleep, but my step on the floor made her awake with a start. I did not
even think it necessary to apologize. She told me that Tasso's Aminta had
interested her to such an extent that she had read it till she fell
asleep.
"The Pastor Fido will please you still more."
"Is it more beautiful?"
"Not exactly."
"Then why do you say it will please me more?"
"Because it charms the heart. It appeals to our softest feelings, and
seduces us--and we love seduction."
"It is a seducer, then?"
"No, not a seducer; but seductive, like you."
"That's a good distinction. I will read it this evening. Now I am going
to dress."
She put on her clothes in seeming oblivion that I was a man, but without
shewing any sights that could be called indecent. Nevertheless it struck
me that if she had thought I was in love with her, she would have been
more reserved, for as she put on her chemise, laced her corset, fastened
her garters above her knee, and drew on her boots, I saw glimpses of
beauty which affected me so strongly that I was obliged to go out before
she was ready to quench the flames she had kindled in my senses.
I took the countess and Clementine in my carriage, and sat on the bracket
seat holding the baby on my knee. My two fair companions laughed merrily,
for I held the child as if to the manner born. When we had traversed half
the distance the baby demanded nourishment, and the charming mother
hastened to uncover a sphere over which my eyes roved with delight, not
at all to her displeasure. The child left its mother's bosom satisfied,
and at the sight of the liquor which flowed so abundantly I exclaimed,--
"It must not be lost, madam; allow me to sip nectar which will elevate me
to the rank of the gods. Do not be afraid of my teeth." I had some teeth
in those days.
The smiling countess made no opposition, and I proceeded to carry out my
design, while the ladies laughed that magic laugh which not painter can
portray. The divine Homer is the only poet who has succeeded in
delineating it in those lines in which he describes Andromache with the
young Astyanax in her arms, when Hector is leaving her to return to the
battle.
I asked Clementine if she had the courage to grant me a similar favour.
"Certainly," said she, "if I had any milk."
"You have the source of the milk; I will see to the rest."
At this the girl's face suffused with such a violent blush that I was
sorry I had spoken; however, I changed the conversation, and it soon
passed away. Our spirits were so high that when the time came for us to
get down at the inn at Lodi, we could scarcely believe it possible, so
swiftly had the time gone by.
The countess sent a message to a lady friend of hers, begging her to dine
with us, and to bring her sister; while I dispatched Clairmont to a
stationer's, where he bought me a beautiful morocco case with lock and
key, containing paper, pens, sealing-wax, ink-well, paper knife, seal,
and in fact, everything necessary for writing. It was a present I meant
to give Clementine before dinner. It was delightful to watch her surprise
and pleasure, and to read gratitude so legibly written in her beautiful
eyes. There is not a woman in the world who cannot be overcome by being
made grateful. It is the best and surest way to get on, but it must be
skilfully used. The countess's friend came and brought her sister, a girl
who was dazzlingly beautiful. I was greatly struck with her, but just
then Venus herself could not have dethroned Clementine from her place in
my affections. After the friends had kissed each other, and expressed
their joy at meeting, I was introduced, and in so complimentary a manner
that I felt obliged to turn it off with a jest.
The dinner was sumptuous and delicious. At dessert two self-invited
guests came in, the lady's husband and the sister's lover, but they were
welcome, for it was a case of the more the merrier. After the meal, in
accordance with the request of the company, I made a bank at faro, and
after three hours' play I was delighted to find myself a loser to the
extent of forty sequins. It was these little losses at the right time
which gave me the reputation of being the finest gamester in Europe.
The lady's lover was named Vigi, and I asked him if he was descended from
the author of the thirteenth book of the "AEneid." He said he was, and
that in honour of his ancestor he had translated the poem into Italian
verse. I expressed myself curious as to his version, and he promised to
bring it me in two days' time. I complimented him on belonging to such a
noble and ancient family; Maffeo Vigi flourished at the beginning of the
fifteenth century.
We started in the evening, and less than two hours we got home. The moon
which shone brightly upon us prevented me making any attempts on
Clementine, who had put up her feet in order that she might be able to
hold her little nephew with more ease. The pretty mother could not help
thanking me warmly for the pleasure I had given them; I was a universal
favourite with them all.
We did not feel inclined to eat any supper, and therefore retired to our
apartments; and I accompanied Clementine, who told me that she was
ashamed at not knowing anything about the "AEneid."
"Vigi will bring his translation of the thirteenth book, and I shall not
know a word about it."
I comforted her by telling her that we would read the fine translation by
Annibale Caro that very night. It was amongst her books, as also the
version by Anguilara, Ovid's Metamorphoses, and Marchetti's Lucreece.
"But I wanted to read the Pastor Fido."
"We are in a hurry; we must read that another time."
"I will follow your advice in all things, my dear Iolas."
"That will make me happy, dearest Hebe."
We spent the night in reading that magnificent translation in Italian
blank verse, but the reading was often interrupted by my pupil's laughter
when we came to some rather ticklish passage. She was highly amused by
the account of the chance which gave 'AEneas an opportunity of proving
his love for Dido in a very inconvenient place, and still more, when
Dido, complaining of the son of Priam's treachery, says,--
"I might still pardon you if, before abandoning me, you had left me a
little AEneas to play about these halls."
Clementine had cause to be amused, for the reproach has something
laughable in it; but how is it that one does not feel inclined to smile
in reading the Latin--'Si quis mihi parvulus aula luderet AEneas?'. The
reason must be sought for in the grave and dignified nature of the Latin
tongue.
We did not finish our reading till day-break.
"What a night!" exclaimed Clementine, with a sigh.
"It has been one of great pleasure to me, has it not to you?"
"I have enjoyed it because you have."
"And if you had been reading by yourself?"
"It would have still been a pleasure, but a much smaller one. I love your
intellect to distraction, Clementine, but tell me, do you think it
possible to love the intellect without loving that which contains it?"
"No, for without the body the spirit would vanish away."
"I conclude from that that I am deeply in love with you, and that I
cannot pass six or seven hours in your company without longing to kiss
you."
"Certainly, but we resist these desires because we have duties to
perform, which would rise up against us if we left them undone."
"True again, but if your disposition at all resembles mine this
constraint must be very painful to you."
"Perhaps I feel it as much as you do, but it is my belief that it is only
hard to withstand temptation at first. By degrees one gets accustomed to
loving without running any risk and without effort. Our senses, at first
so sharp set, end by becoming blunted, and when this is the case we may
spend hours and days in safety, untroubled by desire."
"I have my doubts as far as I am concerned, but we shall see. Good night,
fair Hebe."
"Good night, my good Iolas, may you sleep well!"
"My sleep will be haunted by visions of you."
CHAPTER XXII
Our Excursion--Parting From Clementine--I Leave Milan With
Croce's Mistress My Arrival At Genoa
The ancients, whose fancy was so fertile in allegory, used to figure
Innocence as playing with a serpent or with a sharp arrow. These old
sages had made a deep study of the human heart; and whatever discoveries
modern science may have made, the old symbols may still be profitably
studied by those who wish to gain a deep insight into the working of
man's mind.
I went to bed, and after having dismissed Clairmont I began to reflect on
my relations with Clementine, who seemed to have been made to shine in a
sphere from which, in spite of her high birth, her intelligence, and her
rare beauty, her want of fortune kept her apart. I smiled to myself at
her doctrines, which were as much as to say that the best way of curing
appetite was to place a series of appetising dishes before a hungry man,
forbidding him to touch them. Nevertheless I could but approve the words
which she had uttered with such an air of innocence--that if one resists
desires, there is no danger of one being humiliated by giving way to
them.
This humiliation would arise from a feeling of duty, and she honoured me
by supposing that I had as high principles as herself. But at the same
time the motive of self-esteem was also present, and I determined not to
do anything which would deprive me of her confidence.
As may be imagined, I did not awake till very late the next morning, and
when I rang my bell Clementine came in, looking very pleased, and holding
a copy of the Pastor Fido in her hand. She wished me good day, and said
she had read the first act, and that she thought it very beautiful, and
told me to get up that we might read the second together before dinner.
"May I rise in your presence?"
"Why not? A man has need of very little care to observe the laws of
decency."
"Then please give me that shirt."
She proceeded to unfold it, and then put it over my head, smiling all the
time.
"I will do the same for you at the first opportunity," said I.
She blushed and answered, "It's not nearly so far from you to me as it is
from me to you."
"Divine Hebe, that is beyond my understanding. You speak like the Cumaean
sibyls, or as if you were rendering oracles at your temple in Corinth."
"Had Hebe a temple at Corinth? Sardini never said so."
"But Apollodorus says so. It was an asylum as well as a temple. But come
back to the point, and pray do not elude it. What you said is opposed to
all the laws of geometry. The distance from you to me ought to be
precisely the same as from me to you."
"Perhaps, then, I have said a stupid thing."
"Not at all, Hebe, you have an idea which may be right or wrong, but I
want to bring it out. Come, tell me."
"Well, then, the two distances differ from each other with respect to the
ascent and descent, or fall, if you like. Are not all bodies inclined to
obey the laws of gravitation unless they are held back by a superior
force?"
"Certainly."
"And is it not the case that no bodies move in an upward direction unless
they are impelled?"
"Quite true."
"Then you must confess that since I am shorter than you I should have to
ascend to attain you, and ascension is always an effort; while if you
wish to attain me, you have only to let yourself go, which is no effort
whatever. Thus it is no risk at all for you to let me put on your shirt,
but it would be a great risk for me if I allowed you to do the same
service for me. I might be overwhelmed by your too rapid descent on me.
Are you persuaded?"
"Persuaded is not the word, fair Hebe. I am ravished in an ecstacy of
admiration. Never was paradox so finely maintained. I might cavil and
contest it, but I prefer to keep silence to admire and adore."
"Thank you, dear Iolas, but I want no favour. Tell me how you could
disprove my argument?"
"I should attack it on the point of height. You know you would not let me
change your chemise even if I were a dwarf."
"Ah, dear Iolas! we cannot deceive each other. Would that Heaven had
destined me to be married to a man like you!"
"Alas! why am I not worthy of aspiring to such a position?"
I do not know where the conversation would have landed us, but just then
the countess came to tell us that dinner was waiting, adding that she was
glad to see we loved one another.
"Madly," said Clementine, "but we are discreet."
"If you are discreet, you cannot love madly."
"True, countess," said I, "for the madness of love and wisdom cannot
dwell together. I should rather say we are reasonable, for the mind may
be grave while the heart's gay."
We dined merrily together, then we played at cards, and in the evening we
finished reading the Pastor Fido. When we were discussing the beauties of
this delightful work Clementine asked me if the thirteenth book of the
"AEneid" was fine.
"My dear countess, it is quite worthless; and I only praised it to
flatter the descendant of the author. However, the same writer made a
poem on the tricks of countryfolk, which is by no means devoid of merit.
But you are sleepy, and I am preventing you from undressing."
"Not at all."
She took off her clothes in a moment with the greatest coolness, and did
not indulge my licentious gaze in the least. She got into bed, and I sat
beside her; whereupon she sat up again, and her sister turned her back
upon us. The Pastor Fido was on her night-table, and opening the book I
proceeded to read the passage where Mirtillo describes the sweetness of
the kiss Amaryllis had given him, attuning my voice to the sentiment of
the lines. Clementine seemed as much affected as I was, and I fastened my
lips on hers. What happiness! She drew in the balm of my lips with
delight, and appeared to be free from alarm, so I was about to clasp her
in my arms when she pushed me away with the utmost gentleness, begging me
to spare her.
This was modesty at bay. I begged her pardon, and taking her hand
breathed out upon it all the ecstasy of my lips.
"You are trembling," said she, in a voice that did but increase the
amorous tumult of my heart.
"Yes, dearest countess, and I assure you I tremble for fear of you. Good
night, I am going; and my prayer must be that I may love you less."
"Why so? To love less is to begin to hate. Do as I do, and pray that your
love may grow and likewise the strength to resist it."
I went to bed ill pleased with myself. I did not know whether I had gone
too far or not far enough; but what did it matter? One thing was certain,
I was sorry for what I had done, and that was always a thought which
pained me.
In Clementine I saw a woman worthy of the deepest love and the greatest
respect, and I knew not how I could cease to love her, nor yet how I
could continue loving her without the reward which every faithful lover
hopes to win.
"If she loves me," I said to myself, "she cannot refuse me, but it is my
part to beg and pray, and even to push her to an extremity, that she may
find an excuse for her defeat. A lover's duty is to oblige the woman he
loves to surrender at discretion, and love always absolves him for so
doing."
According to this argument, which I coloured to suit my passions,
Clementine could not refuse me unless she did not love me, and I
determined to put her to the proof. I was strengthened in this resolve by
the wish to free myself from the state of excitement I was in, and I was
sure that if she continued obdurate I should soon get cured. But at the
same time I shuddered at the thought; the idea, of my no longer loving
Clementine seemed to me an impossibility and a cruelty.
After a troubled night I rose early and went to wish her good morning.
She was still asleep, but her sister Eleanore was dressing.
"My sister," said she, "read till three o'clock this morning. Now that
she has so many books, she is getting quite mad over them. Let us play a
trick on her; get into the bed beside her; it will be amusing to see her
surprise when she wakes up."
"But do you think she will take it as a joke?"
"She won't be able to help laughing; besides, you are dressed."
The opportunity was too tempting, and taking off my dressing-gown, I
gently crept into the bed, and Eleanore covered me up to my neck. She
laughed, but my heart was beating rapidly. I could not give the affair
the appearance of a joke, and I hoped Clementine would be some time
before she awoke that I might have time to compose myself.
I had been in this position for about five minutes, when Clementine, half
asleep and half awake, turned over, and stretching out her arm, gave me a
hasty kiss, thinking I was her sister. She then fell asleep again in the
same position. I should have stayed still long enough, for her warm
breath played on my face, and gave me a foretaste of ambrosia; but
Eleanore could restrain herself no longer, and, bursting into a peal of
laughter, forced Clementine to open her eyes. Nevertheless, she did not
discover that she held me in her arms till she saw her sister standing
laughing beside the bed.
"This is a fine trick," said she, "you are two charmers indeed!"
This quiet reception gave me back my self-composure, and I was able to
play my part properly.
"You see," said I, "I have had a kiss from my sweet Hebe."
"I thought I was giving it to my sister. 'Tis the kiss that Amaryllis
gave to Mistillo."
"It comes to the same thing. The kiss has produced its effects, and Iolas
is young again."
"Dear Eleanore, you have gone too far, for we love each other, and I was
dreaming of him."
"No, no," said her sister, "Iolas is dressed. Look!"
So saying, the little wanton with a swift movement uncovered me, but at
the same time she uncovered her sister, and Clementine with a little
scream veiled the charms which my eyes had devoured for a moment. I had
seen all, but as one sees lightning. I had seen the cornice and the
frieze of the altar of love.
Eleanore then went out, and I remained gazing at the treasure I desired
but did not dare to seize. At last I broke the silence.
"Dearest Hebe," said I, "you are certainly fairer than the cupbearer of
the gods. I have just seen what must have been seen when Hebe was
falling, and if I had been Jupiter I should have changed my mind."
"Sardini told me that Jupiter drove Hebe away, and now I ought to drive
Jupiter away out of revenge."
"Yes; but, my angel, I am Iolas, and not Jupiter. I adore you, and I seek
to quench the desires which torture me."
"This is a trick between you and Eleanore."
"My dearest, it was all pure chance. I thought I should find you dressed,
and I went in to wish you good day. You were asleep and your sister was
dressing. I gazed at you, and Eleanore suggested that I should lie down
beside you to enjoy your astonishment when you awoke. I ought to be
grateful to her for a pleasure which has turned out so pleasantly. But
the beauties she discovered to me surpass all the ideas I had formed on
the subject. My charming Hebe will not refuse to pardon me."
"No, since all is the effect of chance. But it is curious that when one
loves passionately one always feels inquisitive concerning the person of
the beloved object."
"It is a very natural feeling, dearest. Love itself is a kind of
curiosity, if it be lawful to put curiosity in the rank of the passions;
but you have not that feeling about me?"
"No, for fear you might disappoint me, for I love you, and I want
everything to speak in your favour."
"I know you might be disappointed, and consequently I must do everything
in my power to preserve your good opinion."
"Then you are satisfied with me?"
"Surely. I am a good architect, and I think you are grandly built."
"Stay, Iolas, do not touch me; it is enough that you have seen me."
"Alas! it is by touching that one rectifies the mistakes of the eyes; one
judges thus of smoothness and solidity. Let me kiss these two fair
sources of life. I prefer them to the hundred breasts of Cybele, and I am
not jealous of Athys."
"You are wrong there; Sardini told me that it was Diana of Ephesus who
had the hundred breasts."
How could I help laughing to hear mythology issuing from Clementine's
mouth at such a moment! Could any lover foresee such an incident?
I pressed with my hand her alabaster breast, and yet the desire of
knowledge subdued love in the heart of Clementine. But far from mistaking
her condition I thought it a good omen. I told her that she was perfectly
right, and that I was wrong, and a feeling of literary vanity prevented
her opposing my pressing with my lips a rosy bud, which stood out in
relief against the alabaster sphere.
"You apply your lips in vain, my dear Iolas, the land is barren. But what
are you swallowing?"
"The quintessence of a kiss."
"I think you must have swallowed something of me, since you have given me
a pleasurable sensation I have never before experienced."
"Dear Hebe, you make me happy."
"I am glad to hear it, but I think the kiss on the lips is much better."
"Certainly, because the pleasure is reciprocal, and consequently
greater."
"You teach by precept and example too. Cruel teacher! Enough, this
pleasure is too sweet. Love must be looking at us and laughing."
"Why should we not let him enjoy a victory which would make us both
happier?"
"Because such happiness is not built on a sure foundation. No, no! put
your arms down. If we can kill each other with kisses, let us kiss on;
but let us use no other arms."
After our lips had clung to each other cruelly but sweetly, she paused,
and gazing at me with eyes full of passion she begged me to leave her
alone.
The situation in which I found myself is impossible to describe. I
deplored the prejudice which had constrained me, and I wept with rage. I
cooled myself by making a toilette which was extremely necessary, and
returned to her room.
She was writing.
"I am delighted to see you back," said she, "I am full of the poetic
frenzy and propose to tell the story of the victory we have gained in
verse."
"A sad victory, abhorred by love, hateful to nature."
"That will do nicely. Will each write a poem; I to celebrate the victory
and you to deplore it. But you look sad."
"I am in pain; but as the masculine anatomy is unknown to you, I cannot
explain matters."
Clementine did not reply, but I could see that she was affected. I
suffered a dull pain in that part which prejudice had made me hold a
prisoner while love and nature bade me give it perfect freedom. Sleep was
the only thing which would restore the balance of my constitution.
We went down to dinner, but I could not eat. I could not attend to the
reading of the translation which M. Vigi had brought with him, and I even
forgot to compliment him upon it. I begged the count to hold the bank for
me, and asked the company to allow me to lie down; nobody could tell what
was the matter with me, though Clementine might have her suspicions.
At supper-time Clementine, accompanied by a servant, brought me a
delicate cold collation, and told me that the bank had won. It was the
first time it had done so, for I had always taken care to play a losing
game. I made a good supper, but remained still melancholy and silent.
When I had finished Clementine bade me good night, saying that she was
going to write her poem.
I, too, was in the vein: I finished my poem, and made a fair copy of it
before I went to bed. In the morning Clementine came to see me, and gave
me her piece, which I read with pleasure; though I suspect that the
delight my praises gave was equal to mine.
Then came the turn of my composition, and before long I noticed that the
picture of my sufferings was making a profound impression on her. Big
tears rolled down her cheeks, and from her eyes shot forth tender
glances. When I had finished, I had the happiness of hearing her say that
if she had known that part of physiology better, she would not have
behaved so.
We took a cup of chocolate together, and I then begged her to lie down
beside me in bed without undressing, and to treat me as I had treated her
the day before, that she might have some experience of the martyrdom I
had sung in my verses. She smiled and agreed, on the condition that I
should do nothing to her.
It was a cruel condition, but it was the beginning of victory, and I had
to submit. I had no reason to repent of my submission, for I enjoyed the
despotism she exercised on me, and the pain she must be in that I did
nothing to her, whilst I would not let her see the charms which she held
in her hands. In vain I excited her to satisfy herself, to refuse her
desires nothing, but she persisted in maintaining that she did not wish
to go any further.
"Your enjoyment cannot be so great as mine," said I. But her subtle wit
never left her without a reply.
"Then," said she, "you have no right to ask me to pity you."
The test, however, was too sharp for her. She left me in a state of great
excitement, giving me a kiss which took all doubts away, and saying that
in love we must be all or nothing.
We spent the day in reading, eating, and walking, and in converse grave
and gay. I could not see, however, that my suit had progressed, as far as
the events of the morning seemed to indicate. She wanted to reverse the
medal of Aristippus, who said, in speaking of Lois, "I possess her, but
she does not possess me." She wanted to be my mistress, without my being
her master. I ventured to bewail my fate a little, but that did not seem
to advance my cause.
Three or four days after, I asked Clementine in the presence of her
sister to let me lie in bed beside her. This is the test proposed to a
nun, a widow, a girl afraid of consequences, and it nearly always
succeeds. I took a packet of fine English letters and explained their use
to her. She took them examined them attentively, and after a burst of
laughter declared them to be scandalous, disgusting, horrible in which
anathema her sister joined. In vain I tried to plead their utility in
defence, but Clementine maintained that there was no trusting them, and
pushed her finger into one so strongly that it burst with a loud crack. I
had to give way, and put my specialties in my pocket, and her final
declaration was that such things made her shudder.
I wished them good night, and retired in some confusion. I pondered over
Clementine's strange resistance, which could only mean that I had not
inspired her with sufficient love. I resolved on overcoming her by an
almost infallible method. I would procure her pleasures that were new to
her without sparing expense. I could think of nothing better than to take
the whole family to Milan, and to give them a sumptuous banquet at my
pastry-cook's. "I will take them there," I said to myself, "without
saying a word about our destination till we are on our way, for if I were
to name Milan the count might feel bound to tell his Spanish countess,
that she might have an opportunity of making the acquaintance of her
sisters-in-law, and this would vex me to the last degree." The party
would be a great treat to the sisters, who had never been in Milan, and I
resolved to make the expedition as splendid as I possibly could.
When I awoke the next morning I wrote to Zenobia to buy three dresses of
the finest Lyons silk for three young ladies of rank. I sent the
necessary measurements, and instructions as to the trimming. The Countess
Ambrose's dress was to be white satin with a rich border of Valenciennes
lace. I also wrote to M. Greppi, asking him to pay for Zenobia's
purchases. I told her to take the three dresses to my private lodgings,
and lay them upon the bed, and give the landlord a note I enclosed. This
note ordered him to provide a banquet for eight persons, without sparing
expense. On the day and hour appointed, Zengbia was to be at the
pastrycook's ready to wait on the three ladies. I sent the letter by
Clairmont, who returned before dinner, bearing a note from Zenobia
assuring me that all my wishes should be carried out. After dessert I
broached my plan to the countess, telling her that I wanted to give a
party like the one at Lodi, but on two conditions: the first, that no one
was to know our destination till we were in the carriages, and the
second, that after dinner we should return to St. Angelo.
Out of politeness the countess looked at her husband before accepting the
invitation, but he cried out, without ceremony, that he was ready to go
if I took the whole family.
"Very good," said I, "we will start at eight o'clock to-morrow, and
nobody need be at any trouble, the carriages are ordered."
I felt obliged to include the canon, because he was a great courtier of
the countess, and also because he lost money to me every day, and thus it
was he, in fact, who was going to pay for the expedition. That evening he
lost three hundred sequins, and was obliged to ask me to give him three
day's grace to pay the money. I replied by assuring him that all I had
was at his service.
When the company broke up I offered my hand to Hebe, and escorted her and
her sister to their room. We had begun to read Fontenelle's "Plurality of
Worlds," and I had thought we should finish it that night; but Clementine
said that as she had to get up early, she would want to get to sleep
early also.
"You are right, dearest Hebe, do you go to bed, and I will read to you."
She made no objection, so I took the Ariosto, and began to read the
history of the Spanish princess who fell in love with Bradamante. I
thought that by the time I had finished Clementine would be ardent, but I
was mistaken; both she and her sister seemed pensive.
"What is the matter with you, dearest? Has Ricciardetto displeased you?"
"Not at all, he has pleased me, and in the princess's place I should have
done the same; but we shall not sleep all night, and it is your fault."
"What have I done, pray?"
"Nothing, but you can make us happy, and give us a great proof of your
friendship."
"Speak, then. What is it you want of me? I would do anything to please
you. My life is yours. You shall sleep soundly."
"Well, then, tell us where we are going to-morrow."
"Have I not already said that I would tell you just as we are going?"
"Yes, but that won't do. We want to know now, and if you won't tell us we
shan't sleep, all night, and we shall look frightful to-morrow."
"I should be so sorry, but I don't think that you could look frightful."
"You don't think we can keep a secret. It is nothing very important, is
it?"
"No, it is not very important, but all the same it is a secret."
"It would be dreadful if you refused me."
"Dearest Hebe! how can I refuse you anything? I confess freely that I
have been wrong in keeping you waiting so long. Here is my secret: you
are to dine with me to-morrow."
"With you? Where?"
"Milan."
In their immoderate joy they got out of bed, and without caring for their
state of undress, threw their arms round my neck, covered me with kisses,
clasped me to their breasts, and finally sat down on my knees.
"We have never seen Milan," they cried, "and it has been the dream of our
lives to see that splendid town. How often I have been put to the blush
when I have been forced to confess that I have never been to Milan."
"It makes me very happy," said Hebe, "but my happiness is troubled by the
idea that we shall see nothing of the town, for we shall have to return
after dinner. It is cruel! Are we to go fifteen miles to Milan only to
dine and come back again? At least we must see our sister-in-law."
"I have foreseen all your objections, and that was the reason I made a
mystery of it, but it has been arranged. You don't like it? Speak and
tell me your pleasure."
"Of course we like it, dear Iolas. The party will be charming, and
perhaps, if we knew all, the very conditions are all for the best."
"It may be so, but I may not tell you any more now."
"And we will not press you."
In an ecstasy of joy she began to embrace me again, and Eleanore said
that she would go to sleep so as to be more on the alert for the morrow.
This was the best thing she could have done. I knew the fortunate hour
was at hand, and exciting Clementine by my fiery kisses, and drawing
nearer and nearer, at last I was in full possession of the temple I had
so long desired to attain. Hebe's pleasure and delight kept her silent;
she shared my ecstasies, and mingled her happy tears with mine.
I spent two hours in this manner, and then went to bed, impatient to
renew the combat on the following day more at my ease and with greater
comfort.
At eight o'clock we were all assembled round the breakfast-table, but in
spite of my high spirits I could not make the rest of the company share
them. All were silent and pensive; curiosity shewed itself on every face.
Clementine and her sister pretended to partake the general feeling, and
were silent like the rest while I looked on and enjoyed their expectancy.
Clairmont, who had fulfilled my instructions to the letter, came in and
told us that the carriages were at the door. I asked my guests to follow
me, and they did so in silence. I put the countess and Clementine in my
carriage, the latter holding the baby on her lap, her sister and the
three gentlemen being seated in the other carriage. I called out, with a
laugh,
"Drive to Milan."
"Milan! Milan!" they exclaimed with one voice. "Capital! capital!"
Clairmont galloped in front of us and went off. Clementine pretended to
be astonished, but her sister looked as if she had known something of our
destination before. All care, however, had disappeared, and the highest
spirits prevailed. We stopped at a village half-way between St. Angelo
and Milan to blow the horses, and everybody got down.
"What will my wife say?" asked the count.
"Nothing, for she will not know anything about it, and if she does I am
the only guilty party. You are to dine with me in a suite of rooms which
I have occupied incognito since I have been at Milan; for you will
understand that I could not have my wants attended to at your house,
where the place is already taken."
"And how about Zenobia?"
"Zenobia was a lucky chance, and is a very nice girl, but she would not
suffice for my daily fare."
"You are a lucky fellow!"
"I try to make myself comfortable."
"My dear husband," said the Countess Ambrose, "you proposed a visit to
Milan two years ago, and the chevalier proposed it a few hours ago, and
now we are on our way."
"Yes, sweetheart, but my idea was that we should spend a month there."
"If you want to do that," said I, "I will see to everything."
"Thank you, my dear sir; you are really a wonderful man."
"You do me too much honour, count, there is nothing wonderful about me,
except that I execute easily an easy task."
"Yes; but you will confess that a thing may be difficult from the way in
which we regard it, or from the position in which we find ourselves."
"You are quite right."
When we were again on our way the countess said,--
"You must confess, sir, that you are a very fortunate man."
"I do not deny it, my dear countess, but my happiness is due to the
company I find myself in; if you were to expel me from yours, I should be
miserable."
"You are not the kind of man to be expelled from any society."
"That is a very kindly compliment."
"Say, rather, a very true one."
"I am happy to hear you say so, but it would be both foolish and
presumptuous for me to say so myself."
Thus we made merry on our way, above all at the expense of the canon, who
had been begging the countess to intercede with me to give him leave to
absent himself half an hour.
"I want to call on a lady," said he; "I should lose her favour forever if
she came to know that I had been in Milan without paying her a visit."
"You must submit to the conditions," replied the amiable countess, "so
don't count on my intercession."
We got to Milan exactly at noon, and stepped out at the pastry-cook's
door. The landlady begged the countess to confide her child to her care,
and shewed her a bosom which proved her fruitfulness. This offer was made
at the foot of the stairs, and the countess accepted it with charming
grace and dignity. It was a delightful episode, which chance had willed
should adorn the entertainment I had invented. Everybody seemed happy,
but I was the happiest of all. Happiness is purely a creature of the
imagination. If you wish to be happy fancy that you are so, though I
confess that circumstances favourable to this state are often beyond our
control. On the other hand, unfavourable circumstances are mostly the
result of our own mistakes.
The countess took my arm, and we led the way into my room which I found
exquisitely neat and clean. As I had expected, Zenobia was there, but I
was surprised to see Croce's mistress, looking very pretty; however, I
pretended not to know her. She was well dressed, and her face, free from
the sadness it had borne before, was so seductive in its beauty, that I
felt vexed at her appearance at that particular moment.
"Here are two pretty girls," said the countess. "Who are you, pray?"
"We are the chevalier's humble servants," said Zenobia, "and we are here
only to wait on you."
Zenobia had taken it on herself to bring her lodger, who began to speak
Italian, and looked at me in doubt, fearing that I was displeased at her
presence. I had to reassure her by saying I was very glad she had come
with Zenobia. These words were as balm to her heart; she smiled again,
and became more beautiful than ever. I felt certain that she would not
remain unhappy long; it was impossible to behold her without one's
interest being excited in her favour. A bill signed by the Graces can
never be protested; anyone with eyes and a heart honours it at sight.
My humble servants took the ladies' cloaks and followed them into the
bedroom, where the three dresses were laid out on a table. I only knew
the white satin and lace, for that was the only one I had designed. The
countess, who walked before her sisters, was the first to notice it, and
exclaimed,--
"What a lovely dress! To whom does it belong, M. de Seingalt? You ought
to know."
"Certainly. It belongs to your husband who can do what he likes with it,
and I hope, if he gives it you, you will take it. Take it, count; it is
yours; and if you refuse I will positively kill myself."
"We love you too well to drive you to an act of despair. The idea is
worthy of your nobility of heart. I take your beautiful present with one
hand, and with the other I deliver it to her to whom it really belongs."
"What, dear husband! is this beautiful dress really mine? Whom am I to
thank? I thank you both, and I must put it on for dinner."
The two others were not made of such rich materials, but they were more
showy, and I was delighted to see Clementine's longing gaze fixed upon
the one I had intended for her. Eleanore in her turn admired the dress
that had been made for her. The first was in shot satin, and ornamented
with lovely wreaths of flowers; the second was sky-blue satin, with a
thousand flowers scattered all over it. Zenobia took upon herself to say
that the first was for Clementine.
"How do you know?"
"It is the longer, and you are taller than your sister."
"That is true. It is really mine, then?" said she, turning to me.
"If I may hope that you will deign to accept it."
"Surely, dear Iolas, and I will put it on directly."
Eleanore maintained that her dress was the prettier, and said she was
dying to put it on.
"Very good, very good!" I exclaimed, in high glee, "we will leave you to
dress, and here are your maids."
I went out with the two brothers and the canon, and I remarked that they
looked quite confused. No doubt they were pondering the prodigality of
gamesters; light come, light go. I did not interrupt their thoughts, for
I loved to astonish people. I confess it was a feeling of vanity which
raised me above my fellow-men-at least, in my own eyes, but that was
enough for me. I should have despised anyone who told me that I was
laughed at, but I daresay it was only the truth.
I was in the highest spirits, and they soon proved infectious. I embraced
Count Ambrose affectionately, begging his pardon for having presumed to
make the family a few small presents, and I thanked his brother for
having introduced me to them. "You have all given me such a warm
welcome," I added, "that I felt obliged to give you some small proof of
my gratitude."
The fair countesses soon appeared, bedecked with smiles and their gay
attire.
"You must have contrived to take our measures," said they; "but we cannot
imagine how you did it."
"The funniest thing is," said the eldest, "that you have had my dress
made so that it can be let out when necessary without destroying the
shape. But what a beautiful piece of trimming! It is worth four times as
much as the dress itself."
Clementine could not keep away from the looking-glass. She fancied that
in the colours of her dress, rose and green, I had indicated the
characteristics of the youthful Hebe. Eleanore still maintained that her
dress was the prettiest of all.
I was delighted with the pleasure of my fair guests, and we sat down to
table with excellent appetites. The dinner was extremely choice; but the
finest dish of all was a dish of oysters, which the landlord had dressed
a la maitre d'hotel. We enjoyed them immensely. We finished off three
hundred of them, for the ladies relished them extremely, and the canon
seemed to have an insatiable appetite; and we washed down the dishes with
numerous bottles of champagne. We stayed at table for three hours,
drinking, singing, and jesting, while my humble servants, whose beauty
almost rivalled that of my guests, waited upon us.
Towards the end of the meal the pastry-cook's wife came in with the
countess's baby on her breast. This was a dramatic stroke. The mother
burst into a cry of joy, and the woman seemed quite proud of having
suckled the scion of so illustrious a house for nearly four hours. It is
well known that women, even more than men, are wholly under the sway of
the imagination. Who can say that this woman, simple and honest like the
majority of the lower classes, did not think that her own offspring would
be ennobled by being suckled at the breast which had nourished a young
count? Such an idea is, no doubt, foolish, but that is the very reason
why it is dear to the hearts of the people.
We spent another hour in taking coffee and punch, and then the ladies
went to change their clothes again. Zenobia took care that their new ones
should be carefully packed in cardboard boxes and placed under the seat
of my carriage.
Croce's abandoned mistress found an opportunity of telling me that she
was very happy with Zenobia. She asked me when we were to go.
"You will be at Marseilles," said I, pressing her hand, "a fortnight
after Easter at latest."
Zenobia had told me that the girl had an excellent heart, behaved very
discreetly, and that she should be very sorry to see her go. I gave
Zenobia twelve sequins for the trouble she had taken.
I was satisfied with everything and paid the worthy pastry-cook's bill. I
noticed we had emptied no less than twenty bottles of champagne, though
it is true that we drank very little of any other wine, as the ladies
preferred it.
I loved and was beloved, my health was good, I had plenty of money, which
I spent freely; in fine, I was happy. I loved to say so in defiance of
those sour moralists who pretend that there is no true happiness on this
earth. It is the expression on this earth which makes me laugh; as if it
were possible to go anywhere else in search of happiness. 'Mors ultima
linea rerum est'. Yes, death is the end of all, for after death man has
no senses; but I do not say that the soul shares the fate of the body. No
one should dogmatise on uncertainties, and after death everything is
doubtful.
It was seven o'clock when we began our journey home, which we reached at
midnight. The journey was so pleasant that it seemed to us but short. The
champagne, the punch, and the pleasure, had warmed my two fair
companions, and by favour of the darkness I was able to amuse myself with
them, though I loved Clementine too well to carry matters very far with
her sister.
When we alighted we wished each other good night, and everybody retired
to his or her room, myself excepted, for I spent several happy hours with
Clementine, which I can never forget.
"Do you think," said she, "that I shall be happy when you have left me
all alone?"
"Dearest Hebe, both of us will be unhappy for the first few days, but
then philosophy will step in and soften the bitterness of parting without
lessening our love."
"Soften the bitterness! I do not think any philosophy can work such a
miracle. I know that you, dear sophist, will soon console yourself with
other girls. Don't think me jealous; I should abhor myself if I thought I
was capable of so vile a passion, but I should despise myself if I was
capable of seeking consolation in your way."
"I shall be in despair if you entertain such ideas of me."
"They are natural, however."
"Possibly. What you call 'other girls' can never expel your image from my
breast. The chief of them is the wife of a tailor, and the other is a
respectable young woman, whom I am going to take back to Marseilles,
whence she has been decoyed by her wretched seducer.
"From henceforth to death, you and you alone will reign in my breast; and
if, led astray by my senses, I ever press another in these arms, I shall
soon be punished for an act of infidelity in which my mind will have no
share."
"I at all events will never need to repent in that fashion. But I cannot
understand how, with your love for me, and holding me in your arms, you
can even contemplate the possibility of becoming unfaithful to me."
"I don't contemplate it, dearest, I merely take it as an hypothesis."
"I don't see much difference."
What reply could I make? There was reason in what Clementine said, though
she was deceived, but her mistakes were due to her love. My love was so
ardent as to be blind to possible--nay, certain, infidelities. The only
circumstance which made me more correct in my estimate of the future than
she, was that this was by no means my first love affair. But if my
readers have been in the same position, as I suppose mast of them have,
they will understand how difficult it is to answer such arguments coming
from a woman one wishes to render happy. The keenest wit has to remain
silent and to take refuge in kisses.
"Would you like to take me away with you?" said she, "I am ready to
follow you, and it would make me happy. If you love me, you ought to be
enchanted for your own sake. Let us make each other happy, dearest."
"I could not dishonour your family."
"Do you not think me worthy of becoming your wife?"
"You are worthy of a crown, and it is I who am all unworthy of possessing
such a wife. You must know that I have nothing in the world except my
fortune, and that may leave me to-morrow. By myself I do not dread the
reverses of fortune, but I should be wretched if, after linking your fate
with mine, you were forced to undergo any privation."
"I think--I know not why--that you can never be unfortunate, and that you
cannot be happy without me. Your love is not so ardent as mine; you have
not so great a faith."
"My angel, if my fate is weaker than yours, that is the result of cruel
experience which makes me tremble for the future. Affrighted love loses
its strength but gains reason."
"Cruel reason! Must we, then, prepare to part?"
"We must indeed, dearest; it is a hard necessity, but my heart will still
be thine. I shall go away your fervent adorer, and if fortune favours me
in England you will see me again next year. I will buy an estate wherever
you like, and it shall be yours on your wedding day, our children and
literature will be our delights."
"What a happy prospect!--a golden vision indeed! I would that I might
fall asleep dreaming thus, and wake not till that blessed day, or wake
only to die if it is not to be. But what shall I do if you have left me
with child?"
"Divine Hebe, you need not fear. I have managed that."
"Managed? I did not think of that, but I see what you mean, and I am very
much obliged to you. Alas perhaps after all it would have been better if
you had not taken any precautions, for surely you are not born for my
misfortune, and you could never have abandoned the mother and the child."
"You are right, sweetheart, and if before two months have elapsed you
find any signs of pregnancy in spite of my precautions, you have only to
write to me, and whatever my fortunes may be, I will give you my hand and
legitimise our offspring. You would certainly be marrying beneath your
station, but you would not be the less happy for that, would you?"
"No, no! to bear your name, and to win your hand would be the crowning of
all my hopes. I should never repent of giving myself wholly to you."
"You make me happy."
"All of us love you, all say that you are happy, and that you deserve
your happiness. What praise is this! You cannot tell how my heart beats
when I hear you lauded when you are away. When they say I love you, I
answer that I adore you, and you know that I do not lie."
It was with such dialogues that we passed away the interval between our
amorous transports on the last five or six nights of my stay. Her sister
slept, or pretended to sleep. When I left Clementine I went to bed and
did not rise till late, and then I spent the whole day with her either in
private or with the family. It was a happy time. How could I, as free as
the air, a perfect master of my movements, of my own free will put my
happiness away from me? I cannot understand it now.
My luck had made me win all the worthy canon's money, which in turn I
passed on to the family at the castle. Clementine alone would not profit
by my inattentive play, but the last two days I insisted on taking her
into partnership, and as the canon's bad luck still continued she
profited to the extent of a hundred louis. The worthy monk lost a
thousand sequins, of which seven hundred remained in the family. This was
paying well for the hospitality I had received, and as it was at the
expense of the monk, though a worthy one, the merit was all the greater.
The last night, which I spent entirely with the countess, was very sad;
we must have died of grief if we had not taken refuge in the transports
of love. Never was night better spent. Tears of grief and tears of love
followed one another in rapid succession, and nine times did I offer up
sacrifice on the altar of the god, who gave me fresh strength to replace
that which was exhausted. The sanctuary was full of blood and tears, but
the desires of the priest and victim still cried for more. We had at last
to make an effort and part. Eleanore had seized the opportunity of our
sleeping for a few moments, and had softly risen and left us alone. We
felt grateful to her, and agreed that she must either be very insensitive
or have suffered torments in listening to our voluptuous combats. I left
Clementine to her ablutions, of which she stood in great need, while I
went to my room to make my toilette.
When we appeared at the breakfast, table we looked as if we had been on
the rack, and Clementine's eyes betrayed her feelings, but our grief was
respected. I could not be gay in my usual manner, but no one asked me the
reason. I promised to write to them, and come and see them again the
following year. I did write to them, but I left off doing so at London,
because the misfortunes I experienced there made me lose all hope of
seeing them again. I never did see any of them again, but I have never
forgotten Clementine.
Six years later, when I came back from Spain, I heard to my great delight
that she was living happily with Count N----, whom she had married three
years after my departure. She had two sons, the younger, who must now be
twenty-seven, is in the Austrian army. How delighted I should be to see
him! When I heard of Clementine's happiness, it was, as I have said, on
my return from Spain, and my fortunes were at a low ebb. I went to see
what I could do at Leghorn, and as I went through Lombardy I passed four
miles from the estate where she and her husband resided, but I had not
the courage to go and see her; perhaps I was right. But I must return to
the thread of my story.
I felt grateful to Eleanore for her kindness to us, and I had resolved to
leave her some memorial of me. I took her apart for a moment, and drawing
a fine cameo, representing the god of Silence, off my finger, I placed it
on hers, and then rejoined the company, without giving her an opportunity
to thank me.
The carriage was ready to take me away, and everyone was waiting to see
me off, but my eyes filled with tears. I sought for Clementine in vain;
she had vanished. I pretended to have forgotten something in my room, and
going to my Hebe's chamber I found her in a terrible state, choking with
sobs. I pressed her to my breast, and mingled my tears with hers; and
then laying her gently in her bed, and snatching a last kiss from her
trembling lips, I tore myself away from a place full of such sweet and
agonizing memories.
I thanked and embraced everyone, the good canon amongst others, and
whispering to Eleanore to see to her sister I jumped into the carriage
beside the count. We remained perfectly silent, and slept nearly the
whole of the way. We found the Marquis Triulzi and the countess together,
and the former immediately sent for a dinner for four. I was not much
astonished to find that the countess had found out about our being at
Milan, and at first she seemed inclined to let us feel the weight of her
anger; but the count, always fertile in expedients, told her that it was
delicacy on my part not to tell her, as I was afraid she would be put out
with such an incursion of visitors.
At dinner I said that I should soon be leaving for Genoa, and for my
sorrow the marquis gave me a letter of introduction to the notorious
Signora Isola-Bella, while the countess gave me a letter to her kinsman
the Bishop of Tortona.
My arrival at Milan was well-timed; Therese was on the point of going to
Palermo, and I just succeeded in seeing her before she left. I talked to
her of the wish of Cesarino to go to sea, and I did all in my power to
make her yield to his inclinations.
"I am leaving him at Milan," said she. "I know how he got this idea into
his head, but I will never give my consent. I hope I shall find him wiser
by the time I come back."
She was mistaken. My son never altered his mind, and in fifteen years my
readers will hear more of him.
I settled my accounts with Greppi and took two bills of exchange on
Marseilles, and one of ten thousand francs on Genoa, where I did not
think I would have to spend much money. In spite of my luck at play, I
was poorer by a thousand sequins when I left Milan than when I came
there; but my extravagant expenditure must be taken into account.
I spent all my afternoons with the fair Marchioness sometimes alone and
sometimes with her cousin, but with my mind full of grief for Clementine
she no longer charmed me as she had done three weeks ago.
I had no need to make any mystery about the young lady I was going to
take with me, so I sent Clairmont for her small trunk, and at eight
o'clock on the morning of my departure she waited on me at the count's. I
kissed the hand of the woman who had attempted my life, and thanked her
for her hospitality, to which I attributed the good reception I had had
at Milan. I then thanked the count, who said once more that he should
never cease to be grateful to me, and thus I left Milan on the 20th of
March, 1763. I never re-visited that splendid capital.
The young lady, whom out of respect for her and her family I called
Crosin, was charming. There was an air of nobility and high-bred reserve
about her which bore witness to her excellent upbringing. As I sat next
to her, I congratulated myself on my immunity from love of her, but the
reader will guess that I was mistaken. I told Clairmont that she was to
be called my niece, and to be treated with the utmost respect.
I had had no opportunity of conversing with her, so the first thing I did
was to test her intelligence, and though I had not the slightest
intention of paying my court to her, I felt that it would be well to
inspire her with friendship and confidence as far as I was concerned.
The scar which my late amours had left was still bleeding, and I was glad
to think that I should be able to restore the young Marseillaise to the
paternal hearth without any painful partings or vain regrets. I enjoyed
in advance my meritorious action, and I was quite vain to see my
self-restraint come to such a pitch that I was able to live in close
intimacy with a pretty girl without any other desire than that of
rescuing her from the shame into which she might have fallen if she had
traveled alone. She felt my kindness to her, and said,--
"I am sure M. de la Croix would not have abandoned me if he had not met
you at Milan."
"You are very charitable, but I am unable to share in your good opinion.
To my mind Croce has behaved in a rascally manner, to say the least of
it, for in spite of your many charms he had no right to count on me in
the matter. I will not say that he openly scorned you, since he might
have acted from despair; but I am sure he must have ceased to love you,
or he could never have abandoned you thus."
"I am sure of the contrary. He saw that he had no means of providing for
me, and he had to choose between leaving me and killing himself."
"Not at all. He ought to have sold all he had and sent you back to
Marseilles. Your journey to Genoa would not have cost much, and thence
you could have gone to Marseilles by sea. Croce counted on my having been
interested in your pretty face, and he was right; but you must see that
he exposed you to a great risk. You must not be offended if I tell you
the plain truth. If your face had not inspired me with a lively interest
in you, I should have only felt ordinary compassion on reading your
appeal, and this would not have been enough to force me to great
sacrifices of time and trouble. But I have no business to be blaming
Croce. You are hurt; I see you are still in love with him."
"I confess it, and I pity him. As for myself, I only pity my cruel
destiny. I shall never see him again, but I shall never love anyone else,
for my mind is made up. I shall go into a convent and expiate my sins. My
father will pardon me, for he is a man of an excellent heart. I have been
the victim of love; my will was not my own. The seductive influence of
passion ravished my reason from me, and the only thing that I blame
myself for is for not having fortified my mind against it. Otherwise I
cannot see that I have sinned deeply, but I confess I have done wrong."
"You would have gone with Croce from Milan if he had asked you, even on
foot."
"Of course; it would have been my duty; but he would not expose me to the
misery that he saw before us."
"Nay, you were miserable enough already. I am sure that if you meet him
at Marseilles you will go with him again."
"Never. I begin to get back my reason. I am free once more, and the day
will come when I shall thank God for having forgotten him."
Her sincerity pleased me, and as I knew too well the power of love I
pitied her from my heart. For two hours she told me the history of her
unfortunate amour, and as she told it well I began to take a liking for
her.
We reached Tortona in the evening, and with the intention of sleeping
there I told Clairmont to get us a supper to my taste. While we were
eating it I was astonished at my false niece's wit, and she made a good
match for me at the meal, for she had an excellent appetite, and drank as
well as any girl of her age. As we were leaving the table, she made a
jest which was so much to the point that I burst out laughing, and her
conquest was complete. I embraced her in the joy of my heart, and finding
my kiss ardently returned, I asked her without any, circumlocution if she
was willing that we should content ourselves with one bed.
At this invitation her face fell, and she replied, with an air of
submission which kills desire,--
"Alas! you can do what you like. If liberty is a precious thing, it is
most precious of all in love."
"There is no need for this disobedience. You have inspired me with a
tender passion, but if you don't share my feelings my love for you shall
be stifled at its birth. There are two beds here, as you see; you can
choose which one you will sleep in."
"Then I will sleep in that one, but I shall be very sorry if you are not
so kind to me in the future as you have been in the past."
"Don't be afraid. You shall not find me un worthy of your esteem. Good
night; we shall be good friends."
Early the next morning I sent the countess's letter to the bishop, and an
hour afterwards, as I was at breakfast, an old priest came to ask me and
the lady with me to dine with my lord. The countess's letter did not say
anything about a lady, but the prelate, who was a true Spaniard and very
polite, felt that as I could not leave my real or false niece alone in
the inn I should not have accepted the invitation if she had not been
asked as well. Probably my lord had heard of the lady through his
footmen, who in Italy are a sort of spies, who entertain their masters
with the scandalous gossip of the place. A bishop wants something more
than his breviary to amuse him now that the apostolic virtues have grown
old-fashioned and out of date; in short, I accepted the invitation,
charging the priest to present my respects to his lordship.
My niece was delightful, and treated me as if I had no right to feel any
resentment for her having preferred her own bed to mine. I was pleased
with her behaviour, for now that my head was cool I felt that she would
have degraded herself if she had acted otherwise. My vanity was not even
wounded, which is so often the case under similar circumstances.
Self-love and prejudice prevent a woman yielding till she has been
assidiously courted, whereas I had asked her to share my bed in an
off-hand manner, as if it were a mere matter of form. However, I should
not have done it unless it had been for the fumes of the champagne and
the Somard, with which we had washed down the delicious supper mine host
had supplied us with. She had been flattered by the bishop's invitation,
but she did not know whether I had accepted for her as well as myself;
and when I told her that we were going out to dinner together, she was
wild with joy. She made a careful toilette, looking very well for a
traveller, and at noon my lord's carriage came to fetch us.
The prelate was a tall man, two inches taller than myself; and in spite
of the weight of his eighty years, he looked well and seemed quite
active, though grave as became a Spanish grandee. He received us with a
politeness which was almost French, and when my niece would have kissed
his hand, according to custom, he affectionately drew it back, and gave
her a magnificent cross of amethysts and brilliants to kiss. She kissed
it with devotion, saying,--
"This is what I love."
She looked at me as she said it, and the jest (which referred to her
lover La Croix or Croce) surprised me.
We sat down to dinner, and I found the bishop to be a pleasant and a
learned man. We were nine in all; four priests, and two young gentlemen
of the town, who behaved to my niece with great politeness, which she
received with all the manner of good society. I noticed that the bishop,
though he often spoke to her, never once looked at her face. My lord knew
what danger lurked in those bright eyes, and like a prudent greybeard he
took care not to fall into the snare. After coffee had been served, we
took leave, and in four hours we left Tortona, intending to lie at Novi.
In the course of the afternoon my fair niece amused me with the wit and
wisdom of her conversation. While we were supping I led the conversation
up to the bishop, and then to religion, that I might see what her
principles were. Finding her to be a good Christian, I asked her how she
could allow herself to make a jest when she kissed the prelate's cross.
"It was a mere chance," she said. "The equivocation was innocent because
it was not premeditated, for if I had thought it over I should never have
said such a thing."
I pretended to believe her; she might possibly be sincere. She was
extremely clever, and my love for her was becoming more and more ardent,
but my vanity kept my passion in check. When she went to bed I did not
kiss her, but as her bed had no screen as at Tortona, she waited until
she thought I was asleep to undress herself. We got to Genoa by noon the
next day.
Pogomas had got me some rooms and had forwarded me the address. I visited
it, and found the apartment to consist of four well-furnished rooms,
thoroughly comfortable, as the English, who understand how to take their
ease, call it. I ordered a good dinner, and sent to tell Pogomas of my
arrival.
THE MEMOIRS OF JACQUES CASANOVA DE SEINGALT
VOLUME 5 -- SOUTH OF FRANCE
[Illustration: Cover 5]
[Illustration: Titlepage 5]
EPISODE 21 -- SOUTH OF FRANCE
CHAPTER I
I Find Rosalie Happy--The Signora Isola-Bella--The Cook--
Biribi--Irene--Possano in Prison--My Niece Proves to be an
Old Friend of Rosalie's
At Genoa, where he was known to all, Pogomas called himself Possano. He
introduced me to his wife and daughter, but they were so ugly and
disgusting in every respect that I left them on some trifling pretext,
and went to dine with my new niece. Afterwards I went to see the Marquis
Grimaldi, for I longed to know what had become of Rosalie. The marquis
was away in Venice, and was not expected back till the end of April; but
one of his servants took me to Rosalie, who had become Madame Paretti six
months after my departure.
My heart beat fast as I entered the abode of this woman, of whom I had
such pleasant recollections. I first went to M. Paretti in his shop, and
he received me with a joyful smile, which shewed me how happy he was. He
took me to his wife directly, who cried out with delight, and ran to
embrace me.
M. Paretti was busy, and begged me to excuse him, saying his wife would
entertain me.
Rosalie shewed me a pretty little girl of six months old, telling me that
she was happy, that she loved her husband, and was loved by him, that he
was industrious and active in business, and under the patronage of the
Marquis Grimaldi had prospered exceedingly.
The peaceful happiness of marriage had improved her wonderfully; she had
become a perfect beauty in every sense of the word.
"My dear friend," she said, "you are very good to call on me directly you
arrive, and I hope you will dine with us to-morrow. I owe all my
happiness to you, and that is even a sweeter thought than the
recollection of the passionate hours we have spent together. Let us kiss,
but no more; my duty as an honest wife forbids me from going any further,
so do not disturb the happiness you have given."
I pressed her hand tenderly, to skew that I assented to the conditions
she laid down.
"Oh! by the way," she suddenly exclaimed, "I have a pleasant surprise for
you."
She went out, and a moment afterward returned with Veronique, who had
become her maid. I was glad to see her and embraced her affectionately,
asking after Annette. She said her sister was well, and was working with
her mother.
"I want her to come and wait on my niece while we are here," said I.
At this Rosalie burst out laughing.
"What! another niece? You have a great many relations! But as she is your
niece, I hope you will bring her with you to-morrow."
"Certainly, and all the more willingly as she is from Marseilles."
"From Marseilles? Why, we might know each other. Not that that would
matter, for all your nieces are discreet young persons. What is her
name?"
"Crosin."
"I don't know it."
"I daresay you don't. She is the daughter of a cousin of mine who lived
at Marseilles."
"Tell that to someone else; but, after all, what does it matter? You
choose well, amuse yourself, and make them happy. It may be wisdom after
all, and at any rate I congratulate you. I shall be delighted to see your
niece, but if she knows me you must see that she knows her part as well."
On leaving Madame Paretti I called on the Signora Isola-Bella, and gave
her the Marquis Triulzi's letter. Soon after she came into the room and
welcomed me, saying that she had been expecting me, as Triulzi had
written to her on the subject. She introduced me to the Marquis Augustino
Grimaldi delta Pietra, her 'cicisbeoin-chief' during the long absence of
her husband, who lived at Lisbon.
The signora's apartments were very elegant. She was pretty with small
though regular features, her manner was pleasant, her voice sweet, and
her figure well shaped, though too thin. She was nearly thirty. I say
nothing of her complexion, for her face was plastered with white and red,
and so coarsely, that these patches of paint were the first things that
caught my attention. I was disgusted at this, in spite of her fine
expressive eyes. After an hour spent in question and reply, in which both
parties were feeling their way, I accepted her invitation to come to
supper on the following day. When I got back I complimented my niece on
the way in which she had arranged her room, which was only separated from
mine by a small closet which I intended for her maid, who, I told her,
was coming the next day. She was highly pleased with this attention, and
it paved the way for my success. I also told her that the next day she
was to dine with me at a substantial merchant's as my niece, and this
piece of news made her quite happy.
This girl whom Croce had infatuated and deprived of her senses was
exquisitely beautiful, but more charming than all her physical beauties
were the nobleness of her presence and the sweetness of her disposition.
I was already madly in love with her, and I repented not having taken
possession of her on the first day of our journey. If I had taken her at
her word I should have been a steadfast lover, and I do not think it
would have taken me long to make her forget her former admirer.
I had made but a small dinner, so I sat down to supper famishing with
hunger; and as my niece had an excellent appetite we prepared ourselves
for enjoyment, but instead of the dishes being delicate, as we had
expected, they were detestable. I told Clairmont to send for the
landlady, and she said that she could not help it, as everything had been
done by my own cook.
"My cook?" I repeated.
"Yes, sir, the one your secretary, M. Possano, engaged for you. I could
have got a much better one and a much cheaper one myself."
"Get one to-morrow."
"Certainly; but you must rid yourself and me of the present cook, for he
has taken up his position here with his wife and children. Tell Possano
to send for him."
"I will do so, and in the meanwhile do you get me a fresh cook. I will
try him the day after to-morrow."
I escorted my niece into her room, and begged her to go to bed without
troubling about me, and so saying I took up the paper and began to read
it. When I had finished, I went up to bed, and said,
"You might spare me the pain of having to sleep by myself."
She lowered her eyes but said nothing, so I gave her a kiss and left her.
In the morning my fair niece came into my room just as Clairmont was
washing my feet, and begged me to let her have some coffee as chocolate
made her hot. I told my man to go and fetch some coffee, and as soon as
he was gone she went down on her knees and would have wiped my feet.
"I cannot allow that, my dear young lady."
"Why not? it is a mark of friendship."
"That may be, but such marks cannot be given to anyone but your lover
without your degrading yourself."
She got up and sat down on a chair quietly, but saying nothing.
Clairmont came back again, and I proceeded with my toilette.
The landlady came in with our breakfast, and asked my niece if she would
like to buy a fine silk shawl made in the Genoese fashion. I did not let
her be confused by having to answer, but told the landlady to let us see
it. Soon after the milliner came in, but by that time I had given my
young friend twenty Genoese sequins, telling her that she might use them
for her private wants. She took the money, thanking me with much grace,
and letting me imprint a delicious kiss on her lovely lips.
I had sent away the milliner after having bought the shawl, when Possano
took it upon himself to remonstrate with me in the matter of the cook.
"I engaged the man by your orders," said he, "for the whole time you
stayed at Genoa, at four francs a day, with board and lodging."
"Where is my letter?"
"Here it is: 'Get me a good cook; I will keep him while I stay in
Genoa.'"
"Perhaps you did not remark the expression, a good cook? Well, this
fellow is a very bad cook; and, at all events, I am the best judge
whether he is good or bad."
"You are wrong, for the man will prove his skill. He will cite you in the
law courts, and win his case."
"Then you have made a formal agreement with him?"
"Certainly; and your letter authorized me to do so."
"Tell him to come up; I want to speak to him."
While Possano was downstairs I told Clairmont to go and fetch me an
advocate. The cook came upstairs, I read the agreement, and I saw that it
was worded in such a manner that I should be in the wrong legally; but I
did not change my mind for all that.
"Sir," said the cook, "I am skilled in my business, and I can get four
thousand Genoese to swear as much."
"That doesn't say much for their good taste; but whatever they may-say,
the execrable supper you gave me last night proves that you are only fit
to keep a low eating-house."
As there is nothing more irritable than the feelings of a culinary
artist, I was expecting a sharp answer; but just then the advocate came
in. He had heard the end of our dialogue, and told me that not only would
the man find plenty of witnesses to his skill, but that I should find a
very great difficulty in getting anybody at all to swear to his want of
skill.
"That may be," I replied, "but as I stick to my own opinion, and think
his cooking horrible, he must go, for I want to get another, and I will
pay that fellow as if he had served me the whole time."
"That won't do," said the cook; "I will summon you before the judge and
demand damages for defamation of character."
At this my bile overpowered me, and I was going to seize him anti throw
him out of the window, when Don Antonio Grimaldi came in. When he heard
what was the matter, he laughed and said, with a shrug of his shoulders,
"My dear sir, you had better not go into court, or you will be cast in
costs, for the evidence is against you. Probably this man makes a slight
mistake in believing himself to be an excellent cook, but the chief
mistake is in the agreement, which ought to have stipulated that he
should cook a trial dinner. The person who drew up the agreement is
either a great knave or a great fool."
At this Possano struck in in his rude way, and told the nobleman that he
was neither knave nor fool.
"But you are cousin to the cook," said the landlady.
This timely remark solved the mystery. I paid and dismissed the advocate,
and having sent the cook out of the room I said,
"Do I owe you any money, Possano?"
"On the contrary, you paid me a month in advance, and there are ten more
days of the month to run."
"I will make you a present of the ten days and send you away this very
moment, unless your cousin does not leave my house to-day, and give you
the foolish engagement which you signed in my name."
"That's what I call cutting the Gordian knot," said M. Grimaldi.
He then begged me to introduce him to the lady he had seen with me, and I
did so, telling him she was my niece.
"Signora Isola-Bella will be delighted to see her."
"As the marquis did not mention her in his letter, I did not take the
liberty of bringing her."
The marquis left a few moments afterwards, and soon after Annette came in
with her mother. The girl had developed in an incredible manner while I
was away. Her cheeks blossomed like the rose, her teeth were white as
pearls, and her breasts, though modestly concealed from view, were
exquisitely rounded. I presented her to her mistress, whose astonishment
amused me.
Annette, who looked pleased to be in my service again, went to dress her
new mistress; and, after giving a few sequins to the mother I sent her
away, and proceeded to make my toilette.
Towards noon, just as I was going out with my niece to dine at Rosalie's,
my landlady brought me the agreement Possano had made, and introduced the
new cook. I ordered the next day's dinner, and went away much pleased
with my comic victory.
A brilliant company awaited us at the Paretti's, but I was agreeably
surprised on introducing my niece to Rosalie to see them recognize each
other. They called each other by their respective names, and indulged in
an affectionate embrace. After this they retired to another room for a
quarter of an hour, and returned looking very happy. Just then Paretti
entered, and on Rosalie introducing him to my niece under her true name
he welcomed her in the most cordial manner. Her father was a
correspondent of his, and drawing a letter he had just received from him
from his pocket, he gave it to her to read. My niece read it eagerly,
with tears in her eyes, and gave the signature a respectful pressure with
her lips. This expression of filial love, which displayed all the
feelings of her heart, moved me to such an extent that I burst into
tears. Then taking Rosalie aside, I begged her to ask her husband not to
mention the fact to his correspondent that he had seen his daughter.
The dinner was excellent, and Rosalie did the honours with that grace
which was natural to her. However, the guests did not by any means pay
her all their attentions, the greater portion of which was diverted in
the direction of my supposed niece. Her father, a prosperous merchant of
Marseilles, was well known in the commercial circles of Genoa, and
besides this her wit and beauty captivated everybody, and one young
gentleman fell madly in love with her. He was an extremely good match,
and proved to be the husband whom Heaven had destined for my charming
friend. What a happy thought it was for me that I had been the means of
rescuing her from the gulf of shame, misery, and despair, and placing her
on the high road to happiness. I own that I have always felt a keener
pleasure in doing good than in anything else, though, perhaps, I may not
always have done good from strictly disinterested motives.
When we rose from the table in excellent humour with ourselves and our
surroundings, cards were proposed, and Rosalie, who knew my likings, said
it must be trente-quarante. This was agreed to, and we played till
supper, nobody either winning or losing to any extent. We did not go till
midnight, after having spent a very happy day.
When we were in our room I asked my niece how she had known Rosalie.
"I knew her at home; she and her mother used to bring linen from the
wash. I always liked her."
"You must be nearly the same age."
"She is two years older than I am. I recognized her directly."
"What did she tell you?"
"That it was you who brought her from Marseilles and made her fortune."
"She has not made you the depositary of any other confidences?"
"No, but there are some things which don't need telling."
"You are right. And what did you tell her?"
"Only what she could have guessed for herself. I told her that you were
not my uncle, and if she thought you were my lover I was not sorry. You
do not know how I have enjoyed myself to-day, you must have been born to
make me happy."
"But how about La Croix?"
"For heaven's sake say nothing about him."
This conversation increased my ardour. She called Annette, and I went to
my room.
As I had expected, Annette came to me as soon as her mistress was in bed.
"If the lady is really your niece," said she, "may I hope that you still
love me?"
"Assuredly, dear Annette, I shall always love you. Undress, and let us
have a little talk."
I had not long to wait, and in the course of two voluptuous hours I
quenched the flames that another woman had kindled in my breast.
Next morning Possano came to tell me that he had arranged matters with
the cook with the help of six sequins. I gave him the money, and told him
to be more careful for the future.
I went to Rosalie's for my breakfast, which she was delighted to give me:
and I asked her and her husband to dinner on the following day, telling
her to bring any four persons she liked.
"Your decision," said I, "will decide the fate of my cook; it will be his
trial dinner."
She promised to come, and then pressed me to tell her the history of my
amours with her fair country-woman.
"Alas!" I said, "you may not believe me, but I assure you I am only
beginning with her."
"I shall certainly believe you, if you tell me so, though it seems very
strange."
"Strange but true. You must understand, however, that I have only known
her for a very short time; and, again, I would not be made happy save
through love, mere submission would kill me."
"Good! but what did she say of me?"
I gave her a report of the whole conversation I had had with my niece the
night before, and she was delighted."
"As you have not yet gone far with your niece, would you object if the
young man who shewed her so much attention yesterday were of the party
to-morrow?"
"Who is he? I should like to know him."
"M. N----, the only son of a rich merchant."
"Certainly, bring him with you."
When I got home I went to my niece, who was still in bed, and told her
that her fellow-countryman would dine with us to-morrow. I comforted her
with the assurance that M. Paretti would not tell her father that she was
in Genoa. She had been a good deal tormented with the idea that the
merchant would inform her father of all.
As I was going out to supper I told her that she could go and sup with
Rosalie, or take supper at home if she preferred it.
"You are too kind to me, my dear uncle. I will go to Rosalie's."
"Very good. Are you satisfied with Annette?"
"Oh! by the way, she told me that you spent last night with her, and that
you had been her lover and her sister's at the same time."
"It is true, but she is very indiscreet to say anything about it."
"We must forgive her, though. She told me that she only consented to
sleep with you on the assurance that I was really your niece. I am sure
she only made this confession out of vanity, and in the hope of gaining
my favour, which would be naturally bestowed on a woman you love."
"I wish you had the right to be jealous of her; and I swear that if she
does not comport herself with the utmost obedience to you in every
respect, I will send her packing, in despite of our relations. As for
you, you may not be able to love me, and I have no right to complain; but
I will not have you degrade yourself by becoming my submissive victim."
I was not sorry for my niece to know that I made use of Annette, but my
vanity was wounded at the way she took it. It was plain that she was not
at all in love with me, and that she was glad that there was a safeguard
in the person of her maid, and that thus we could be together without
danger, for she could not ignore the power of her charms.
We dined together, and augured well of the skill of the new cook. M.
Paretti had promised to get me a good man, and he presented himself just
as we were finishing dinner, and I made a present of him to my niece. We
went for a drive together, and I left my niece at Rosalie's, and I then
repaired to Isola-Bella's, where I found a numerous and brilliant company
had assembled consisting of all the best people in Genoa.
Just then all the great ladies were mad over 'biribi', a regular cheating
game. It was strictly forbidden at Genoa, but this only made it more
popular, and besides, the prohibition had no force in private houses,
which are outside of the jurisdiction of the Government; in short, I
found the game in full swing at the Signora Isola-Bella's. The
professional gamesters who kept the bank went from house to house, and
the amateurs were advised of their presence at such a house and at such a
time.
Although I detested the game, I began to play--to do as the others did.
In the room there was a portrait of the mistress of the house in
harlequin costume, and there happened to be the same picture on one of
the divisions of the biribi-table: I chose this one out of politeness,
and did not play on any other. I risked a sequin each time. The board had
thirty-six compartments, and if one lost, one paid thirty-two tines the
amount of the stake; this, of course, was an enormous advantage for the
bank.
Each player drew three numbers in succession, and there were three
professionals; one kept the bag, another the bank, and the third the
board, and the last took care to gather in the winnings as soon as the
result was known, and the bank amounted to two thousand sequins or
thereabouts. The table, the cloth, and four silver candlesticks belonged
to the players.
I sat at the left of Madame Isola-Bella, who began to play, and as there
were fifteen or sixteen of us I had lost about fifty sequins when my turn
came, for my harlequin had not appeared once. Everybody pitied me, or
pretended to do so, for selfishness is the predominant passion of
gamesters.
My turn came at last. I drew my harlequin and received thirty-two
sequins. I left them on the same figure, and got a thousand sequins. I
left fifty still on the board, and the harlequin came out for the third
time. The bank was broken, and the table, the cloth, the candlesticks,
and the board all belonged to me. Everyone congratulated me, and the
wretched bankrupt gamesters were hissed, hooted, and turned out of doors.
After the first transports were over, I saw that the ladies were in
distress; for as there could be no more gaming they did not know what to
do. I consoled them by declaring that I would be banker, but with equal
stakes, and that I would pay winning cards thirty-six times the stake
instead of thirty-two. This was pronounced charming of me, and I amused
everybody till supper-time, without any great losses or gains on either
side. By dint of entreaty I made the lady of the house accept the whole
concern as a present, and a very handsome one it was.
The supper was pleasant enough, and my success at play was the chief
topic of conversation. Before leaving I asked Signora Isola-Bella and her
marquis to dine with me, and they eagerly accepted the invitation. When I
got home I went to see my niece, who told me she had spent a delightful
evening.
"A very pleasant young man," said she, "who is coming to dine with us
to-morrow, paid me great attention."
"The same, I suppose, that did so yesterday?"
"Yes. Amongst other pretty things he told me that if I liked he would go
to Marseilles and ask my hand of my father. I said nothing, but I thought
to myself that if the poor young man gave himself all this trouble he
would be woefully misled, as he would not see me."
"Why not?"
"Because I should be in a nunnery. My kind good father will forgive me,
but I must punish myself."
"That is a sad design, which I hope you will abandon. You have all that
would make the happiness of a worthy husband. The more I think it over,
the more I am convinced of the truth of what I say."
We said no more just then, for she needed rest. Annette came to undress
her, and I was glad to see the goodness of my niece towards her, but the
coolness with which the girl behaved to her mistress did not escape my
notice. As soon as she came to sleep with me I gently remonstrated with
her, bidding her to do her duty better for the future. Instead of
answering with a caress, as she ought to have done, she began to cry.
"My dear child," said I, "your tears weary me. You are only here to amuse
me, and if you can't do that, you had better go."
This hurt her foolish feelings of vanity, and she got up and went away
without a word, leaving me to go to sleep in a very bad temper.
In the morning I told her, in a stern voice, that if she played me such a
trick again I would send her away. Instead of trying to soothe me with a
kiss the little rebel burst out crying again. I sent her out of the room
impatiently, and proceeded to count my gains.
I thought no more about it, but presently my niece came in and asked me
why I had vexed poor Annette.
"My dear niece," said I, "tell her to behave better or else I will send
her back to her mother's."
She gave me no reply, but took a handful of silver and fled. I had not
time to reflect on this singular conduct, for Annette came in rattling
her crowns in her pocket, and promised, with a kiss, not to make me angry
any more.
Such was my niece. She knew I adored her, and she loved me; but she did
not want me to be her lover, though she made use of the ascendancy which
my passion gave her. In the code of feminine coquetry such cases are
numerous.
Possano came uninvited to see me, and congratulated me on my victory of
the evening before.
"Who told you about it?"
"I have just been at the coffee-house, where everybody is talking of it.
It was a wonderful victory, for those biribanti are knaves of the first
water. Your adventure is making a great noise, for everyone says that you
could not have broken their bank unless you had made an agreement with
the man that kept the bag."
"My dear fellow, I am tired of you. Here, take this piece of money for
your wife and be off."
The piece of money I had given him was a gold coin worth a hundred
Genoese livres, which the Government had struck for internal commerce;
there were also pieces of fifty and twenty-five livres.
I was going on with my calculations when Clairmont brought me a note. It
was from Irene, and contained a tender invitation to breakfast with her.
I did not know that she was in Genoa, and the news gave me very great
pleasure. I locked up my money, dressed in haste, and started out to see
her. I found her in good and well-furnished rooms, and her old father,
Count Rinaldi, embraced me with tears of joy.
After the ordinary compliments had been passed, the old man proceeded to
congratulate me on my winnings of the night before.
"Three thousand sequins!" he exclaimed, "that is a grand haul indeed."
"Quite so."
"The funny part of it is that the man who keeps the bag is in the pay of
the others."
"What strikes you as funny in that?"
"Why, he gained half without any risk, otherwise he would not have been
likely to have entered into an agreement with you."
"You think, then, that it was a case of connivance?"
"Everybody says so; indeed what else could it be? The rascal has made his
fortune without running any risk. All the Greeks in Genoa are applauding
him and you."
"As the greater rascal of the two?"
"They don't call you a rascal; they say you're a great genius; you are
praised and envied."
"I am sure I ought to be obliged to them."
"I heard it all from a gentleman who was there. He says that the second
and the third time the man with the bag gave you the office."
"And you believe this?"
"I am sure of it. No man of honour in your position could have acted
otherwise. However, when you come to settle up with the fellow I advise
you to be very careful, for there will be spies on your tracks. If you
like, I will do the business for you."
I had enough self-restraint to repress the indignation and rage I felt.
Without a word I took my hat and marched out of the room, sternly
repulsing Irene who tried to prevent me from going as she had done once
before. I resolved not to have anything more to do with the wretched old
count.
This calumnious report vexed me extremely, although I knew that most
gamesters would consider it an honour. Possano and Rinaldi had said
enough to shew me that all the town was talking over it, and I was not
surprised that everyone believed it; but for my part I did not care to be
taken for a rogue when I had acted honourably.
I felt the need of unbosoming myself to someone, and walked towards the
Strada Balbi to call on the Marquis Grimaldi, and discuss the matter with
him. I was told he was gone to the courts, so I followed him there and
was ushered into vast hall, where he waited on me. I told him my story,
and he said,
"My dear chevalier, you ought to laugh at it, and I should not advise you
to take the trouble to refute the calumny."
"Then you advise me to confess openly that I am a rogue?"
"No, for only fools will think that of you. Despise them, unless they
tell you you are a rogue to your face."
"I should like to know the name of the nobleman who was present and sent
this report about the town."
"I do not know who it is. He was wrong to say anything, but you would be
equally wrong in taking any steps against him, for I am sure he did not
tell the story with any intention of giving offence; quite the contrary."
"I am lost in wonder at his course of reasoning. Let us suppose that the
facts were as he told them, do you think they are to my honour?"
"Neither to your honour nor shame. Such are the morals and such the
maxims of gamesters. The story will be laughed at, your skill will be
applauded, and you will be admired, for each one will say that in your
place he would have done likewise!"
"Would you?"
"Certainly. If I had been sure that the ball would have gone to the
harlequin, I would have broken the rascal's bank, as you did. I will say
honestly that I do not know whether you won by luck or skill, but the
most probable hypothesis, to my mind, is that you knew the direction of
the ball. You must confess that there is something to be said in favour
of the supposition."
"I confess that there is, but it is none the less a dishonourable
imputation on me, and you in your turn must confess that those who think
that I won by sleight of hand, or by an agreement with a rascal, insult
me grievously."
"That depends on the way you look at it. I confess they insult you, if
you think yourself insulted; but they are not aware of that, and their
intention being quite different there is no insult at all in the matter.
I promise you no one will tell you to your face that you cheated, but how
are you going to prevent them thinking so?"
"Well, let them think what they like, but let them take care not to tell
me their thoughts."
I went home angry with Grimaldi, Rinaldi, and everyone else. My anger
vexed me, I should properly have only laughed, for in the state of morals
at Genoa, the accusation, whether true or false, could not injure my
honour. On the contrary I gained by it a reputation for being a genius, a
term which the Genoese prefer to that Methodistical word, "a rogue,"
though the meaning is the same. Finally I was astonished to find myself
reflecting that I should have had no scruple in breaking the bank in the
way suggested, if it had only been for the sake of making the company
laugh. What vexed me most was that I was credited with an exploit I had
not performed.
When dinner-time drew near I endeavoured to overcome my ill temper for
the sake of the company I was going to receive. My niece was adorned only
with her native charms, for the rascal Croce had sold all her jewels; but
she was elegantly dressed, and her beautiful hair was more precious than
a crown of rubies.
Rosalie came in richly dressed and looking very lovely. Her husband, her
uncle, and her aunt were with her, and also two friends, one of whom was
the aspirant for the hand of my niece.
Madame Isola-Bella and her shadow, M. Grimaldi, came late, like great
people. Just as we were going to sit down, Clairmont told me that a man
wanted to speak to me.
"Shew him in."
As soon as he appeared M. Grimaldi exclaimed:
"The man with the bag!"
"What do you want?" I said, dryly.
"Sir, I am come to ask you to help me. I am a family man, and it is
thought that . . ."
I did not let him finish.
"I have never refused to aid the unfortunate," said I. "Clairmont, give
him ten sequins. Leave the room."
This incident spoke in my favour, and made me in a better temper.
We sat down to table, and a letter was handed to me. I recognized
Possano's writing, and put it in my pocket without reading it.
The dinner was delicious, and my cook was pronounced to have won his
spurs. Though her exalted rank and the brilliance of her attire gave
Signora Isoia-Bella the first place of right, she was nevertheless
eclipsed by my two nieces. The young Genoese was all attention for the
fair Marseillaise, and I could see that she was not displeased. I
sincerely wished to see her in love with someone, and I liked her too
well to bear the idea of her burying herself in a convent. She could
never be happy till she found someone who would make her forget the
rascal who had brought her to the brink of ruin.
I seized the opportunity, when all my guests were engaged with each
other, to open Possano's letter. It ran as follows:
"I went to the bank to change the piece of gold you gave me. It was
weighed, and found to be ten carats under weight. I was told to name the
person from whom I got it, but of course I did not do so. I then had to
go to prison, and if you do not get me out of the scrape I shall be
prosecuted, though of course I am not going to get myself hanged for
anybody."
I gave the letter to Grimaldi, and when we had left the table he took me
aside, and said,--
"This is a very serious matter, for it may end in the gallows for the man
who clipped the coin."
"Then they can hang the biribanti! That won't hurt me much."
"No, that won't do; it would compromise Madame Isola-Bella, as biribi is
strictly forbidden. Leave it all to me, I will speak to the State
Inquisitors about it. Tell Possano to persevere in his silence, and that
you will see him safely through. The laws against coiners and clippers
are only severe with regard to these particular coins, as the Government
has special reasons for not wishing them to be depreciated."
I wrote to Possano, and sent for a pair of scales. We weighed the gold I
had won at biribi, and every single piece had been clipped. M. Grimaldi
said he would have them defaced and sold to a jeweller.
When we got back to the dining-room we found everybody at play. M.
Grimaldi proposed that I should play at quinze with him. I detested the
game, but as he was my guest I felt it would be impolite to refuse, and
in four hours I had lost five hundred sequins.
Next morning the marquis told me that Possano was out of prison, and that
he had been given the value of the coin. He brought me thirteen hundred
sequins which had resulted from the sale of the gold. We agreed that I
was to call on Madame Isola-Bella the next day, when he would give me my
revenge at quinze.
I kept the appointment, and lost three thousand sequins. I paid him a
thousand the next day, and gave him two bills of exchange, payable by
myself, for the other two thousand. When these bills were presented I was
in England, and being badly off I had to have them protested. Five years
later, when I was at Barcelona, M. de Grimaldi was urged by a traitor to
have me imprisoned, but he knew enough of me to be sure that if I did not
meet the bills it was from sheer inability to do so. He even wrote me a
very polite letter, in which he gave the name of my enemy, assuring me
that he would never take any steps to compel me to pay the money. This
enemy was Possano, who was also at Barcelona, though I was not aware of
his presence. I will speak of the circumstance in due time, but I cannot
help remarking that all who aided me in my pranks with Madame d'Urfe
proved traitors, with the exception of a Venetian girl, whose
acquaintance the reader will make in the following chapter.
In spite of my losses I enjoyed myself, and had plenty of money, for
after all I had only lost what I had won at biribi. Rosalie often dined
with us, either alone or with her husband, and I supped regularly at her
home with my niece, whose love affair seemed quite promising. I
congratulated her upon the circumstance, but she persisted in her
determination to take refuge from the world in a cloister. Women often do
the most idiotic things out of sheer obstinacy; possibly they deceive
even themselves, and act in good faith; but unfortunately, when the veil
falls from before their eyes, they see but the profound abyss into which
their folly had plunged them.
In the meanwhile, my niece had become so friendly and familiar that she
would often come and sit on my bed in the morning when Annette was still
in my arms. Her presence increased my ardour, and I quenched the fires on
the blonde which the brunette was kindling. My niece seemed to enjoy the
sight, and I could see that her senses were being pleasantly tortured.
Annette was short-sighted, and so did not perceive my distractions, while
my fair niece caressed me slightly, knowing that it would add to my
pleasures. When she thought I was exhausted she told Annette to get up
and leave me alone with her, as she wanted to tell me something. She then
began to jest and toy, and though her dress was extremely disordered she
seemed to think that her charms would exercise no power over me. She was
quite mistaken, but I was careful not to undeceive her for fear of losing
her confidence. I watched the game carefully, and noting how little by
little her familiarity increased, I felt sure that she would have to
surrender at last, if not at Genoa, certainly on the journey, when we
would be thrown constantly in each other's society with nobody to spy
upon our actions, and with nothing else to do but to make love. It is the
weariness of a journey, the constant monotony, that makes one do
something to make sure of one's existence; and when it comes to the
reckoning there is usually more joy than repentance.
But the story of my journey from Genoa to Marseilles was written in the
book of fate, and could not be read by me. All I knew was that I must
soon go as Madame d'Urfe was waiting for me at Marseilles. I knew not
that in this journey would be involved the fate of a Venetian girl of
whom I had never heard, who had never seen me, but whom I was destined to
render happy. My fate seemed to have made me stop at Genoa to wait for
her.
I settled my accounts with the banker, to whom I had been accredited, and
I took a letter of credit on Marseilles, where, however, I was not likely
to want for funds, as my high treasurer, Madame d'Urfe was there. I took
leave of Madame Isola-Bella and her circle that I might be able to devote
all my time to Rosalie and her friends.
CHAPTER II
Disgraceful Behaviour of My Brother, the Abbe, I Relieve Him
of His Mistress--Departure from Genoa--The Prince of Monaco-
-My Niece Overcome--Our Arrival at Antibes
On the Tuesday in Holy Week I was just getting up, when Clairmont came to
tell me that a priest who would not give his name wanted to speak to me.
I went out in my night-cap, and the rascally priest rushed at me and
nearly choked me with his embraces. I did not like so much affection, and
as I had not recognized him at first on account of the darkness of the
room, I took him by the arm and led him to the window. It was my youngest
brother, a good-for-nothing fellow, whom I had always disliked. I had not
seen him for ten years, but I cared so little about him that I had not
even enquired whether he were alive or dead in the correspondence I
maintained with M. de Bragadin, Dandolo, and Barbaro.
As soon as his silly embraces were over, I coldly asked him what chance
had brought him to Genoa in this disgusting state of dirt, rags, and
tatters. He was only twenty-nine, his complexion was fresh and healthy,
and he had a splendid head of hair. He was a posthumous son, born like
Mahomet, three months after the death of his father.
"The story of my misfortunes would be only too long. Take me into your
room, and I will sit down and tell you the whole story."
"First of all, answer my questions. How long have you been here?"
"Since yesterday."
"Who told you that I was here?"
"Count B----, at Milan."
"Who told you that the count knew me?"
"I found out by chance. I was at M. de Bragadin's a month ago, and on his
table I saw a letter from the count to you."
"Did you tell him you were my brother?"
"I had to when he said how much I resembled you."
"He made a mistake, for you are a blockhead."
"He did not think so, at all events, for he asked me to dinner."
"You must have cut a pretty figure, if you were in your present state."
"He gave me four sequins to come here; otherwise, I should never have
been able to do the journey."
"Then he did a very foolish thing. You're a mere beggar, then; you take
alms. Why did you leave Venice? What do you want with me? I can do
nothing for you."
"Ah! do not make me despair, or I shall kill myself."
"That's the very best thing you could do; but you are too great a coward.
I ask again why you left Venice, where you could say mass, and preach,
and make an honest living, like many priests much better than you?"
"That is the kernel of the whole matter. Let us go in and I will tell
you."
"No; wait for me here. We will go somewhere where you can tell me your
story, if I have patience to listen to it. But don't tell any of my
people that you are my brother, for I am ashamed to have such a relation.
Come, take me to the place where you are staying."
"I must tell you that at my inn I am not alone, and I want to have a
private interview with you."
"Who is with you?"
"I will tell you presently, but let us go into a coffeehouse."
"Are you in company with a band of brigands? What are you sighing at?"
"I must confess it, however painful it may be to my feelings. I am with a
woman."
"A woman! and you a priest!"
"Forgive me. I was blinded by love, and seduced by my senses and her
beauty, so I seduced her under a promise to marry her at Geneva. I can
never go back to Venice, for I took her away from her father's house."
"What could you do at Geneva? They would expel you after you had been
there three or four days. Come, we will go to the inn and see the woman
you have deceived. I will speak to you afterwards."
I began to trace my steps in the direction he had pointed out, and he was
obliged to follow me. As soon as we got to the inn, he went on in front,
and after climbing three flights of stairs I entered a wretched den where
I saw a tall young girl, a sweet brunette, who looked proud and not in
the least confused. As soon as I made my appearance she said, without any
greeting,--
"Are you the brother of this liar and monster who has deceived me so
abominably?"
"Yes," said I. "I have the honour."
"A fine honour, truly. Well, have the kindness to send me back to Venice,
for I won't stop any longer with this rascal whom I listened to like the
fool I was, who turned my head with his lying tales. He was going to meet
you at Milan, and you were to give us enough money to go to Geneva, and
there we were to turn Protestants and get married. He swore you were
expecting him at Milan, but you were not there at all, and he contrived
to get money in some way or another, and brought me here miserably
enough. I thank Heaven he has found you at last, for if he had not I
should have started off by myself and begged my way. I have not a single
thing left; the wretch sold all I possessed at Bergamo and Verona. I
don't know how I kept my senses through it all. To hear him talk, the
world was a paradise outside Venice, but I have found to my cost that
there is no place like home. I curse the hour when I first saw the
miserable wretch. He's a beggarly knave; always whining. He wanted to
enjoy his rights as my husband when we got to Padua, but I am thankful to
say I gave him nothing. Here is the writing he gave me; take it, and do
what you like with it. But if you have any heart, send me back to Venice
or I will tramp there on foot."
I had listened to this long tirade without interrupting her. She might
have spoken at much greater length, so far as I was concerned; my
astonishment took my breath away. Her discourse had all the fire of
eloquence, and was heightened by her expressive face and the flaming
glances she shot from her eyes.
My brother, sitting down with his head between his hands, and obliged to
listen in silence to this long catalogue of well-deserved reproaches,
gave something of a comic element to the scene. In spite of that,
however, I was much touched by the sad aspects of the girl's story. I
felt at once that I must take charge of her, and put an end to this
ill-assorted match. I imagined that I should not have much difficulty in
sending her back to Venice, which she might never have quitted if it had
not been for her trust in me, founded on the fallacious promises of her
seducer.
The true Venetian character of the girl struck me even more than her
beauty. Her courage, frank indignation, and the nobility of her aspect
made me resolve not to abandon her. I could not doubt that she had told a
true tale, as my brother continued to observe a guilty silence.
I watched her silently for some time, and, my mind being made up, said,--
"I promise to send you back to Venice with a respectable woman to look
after you; but you will be unfortunate if you carry back with you the
results of your amours."
"What results? Did I not tell you that we were going to be married at
Geneva?"
"Yes, but in spite of that . . ."
"I understand you, sir, but I am quite at ease on that point, as I am
happy to say that I did not yield to any of the wretch's desires."
"Remember," said the abbe, in a plaintive voice, "the oath you took to be
mine for ever. You swore it upon the crucifix."
So saying he got up and approached her with a supplicating gesture, but
as soon as he was within reach she gave him a good hearty box on the ear.
I expected to see a fight, in which I should not have interfered, but
nothing of the kind. The humble abbe gently turned away to the window,
and casting his eyes to heaven began to weep.
"You are too malicious, my dear," I said; "the poor devil is only unhappy
because you have made him in love with you."
"If he is it's his own fault, I should never have thought of him but for
his coming to me and fooling me, I shall never forgive him till he is out
of my sight. That's not the first blow I have given him; I had to begin
at Padua."
"Yes," said the abbe, "but you are excommunicated, for I am a priest."
"It's little I care for the excommunication of a scoundrel like you, and
if you say another word I will give you some more."
"Calm yourself, my child," said I; "you have cause to be angry, but you
should not beat him. Take up your things and follow me."
"Where are you going to take her?" said the foolish priest.
"To my own house, and I should advise you to hold your tongue. Here, take
these twenty sequins and buy yourself some clean clothes and linen, and
give those rags of yours to the beggars. I will come and talk to you
to-morrow, and you may thank your stars that you found me here. As for
you, mademoiselle, I will have you conducted to my lodging, for Genoa
must not see you in my company after arriving here with a priest. We must
not have any scandal. I shall place you under the charge of my landlady,
but whatever you do don't tell her this sad story. I will see that you
are properly dressed, and that you want for nothing."
"May Heaven reward you!"
My brother, astonished at the sight of the twenty sequins, let me go away
without a word. I had the fair Venetian taken to my lodging in a
sedan-chair, and putting her under the charge of my landlady I told the
latter to see that she was properly dressed. I wanted to see how she
would look in decent clothes, for her present rags and tatters detracted
from her appearance. I warned Annette that a girl who had been placed in
my care would eat and sleep with her, and then having to entertain a
numerous company of guests I proceeded to make my toilette.
Although my niece had no rights over me, I valued her esteem, and thought
it best to tell her the whole story lest she should pass an unfavourable
judgment on me. She listened attentively and thanked me for my confidence
in her, and said she should very much like to see the girl and the abbe
too, whom she pitied, though she admitted he was to be blamed for what he
had done. I had got her a dress to wear at dinner, which became her
exquisitely. I felt only too happy to be able to please her in any way,
for her conduct towards myself and the way she treated her ardent lover
commanded my admiration. She saw him every day either at my house or at
Rosalie's. The young man had received an excellent education, though he
was of the mercantile class, and wrote to her in a business-like manner,
that, as they were well suited to each other in every way, there was
nothing against his going to Marseilles and obtaining her father's
consent to the match, unless it were a feeling of aversion on her side.
He finished by requesting her to give him an answer. She shewed me the
letter, and I congratulated her, and advised her to accept, if there was
nothing about the young man which displeased her.
"There is nothing of the kind," she said, "and Rosalie thinks with you."
"Then tell him by word of mouth that you give your consent, and will
expect to see him at Marseilles."
"Very good; as you think so, I will tell him tomorrow."
When dinner was over a feeling of curiosity made me go into the room
where Annette was dining with the Venetian girl, whose name was
Marcoline. I was struck with astonishment on seeing her, for she was
completely changed, not so much by the pretty dress she had on as by the
contented expression of her face, which made her look quite another
person. Good humour had vanquished unbecoming rage, and the gentleness
born of happiness made her features breathe forth love. I could scarcely
believe that this charming creature before me was the same who had dealt
such a vigorous blow to my brother, a priest, and a sacred being in the
eyes of the common people. They were eating, and laughing at not being
able to understand each other, for Marcoline only spoke Venetian, and
Annette Genoese, and the latter dialect does not resemble the former any
more than Bohemian resembles Dutch.
I spoke to Marcoline in her native tongue, which was mine too, and she
said,--
"I seem to have suddenly passed from hell to Paradise."
"Indeed, you look like an angel."
"You called me a little devil this morning. But here is a fair angel,"
said she, pointing to Annette; "we don't see such in Venice."
"She is my treasure."
Shortly after my niece came in, and seeing me talking and laughing with
the two girls began to examine the new-comer. She told me in French that
she thought her perfectly beautiful, and repeating her opinion to the
girl in Italian gave her a kiss. Marcoline asked her plainly in the
Venetian manner who she was.
"I am this gentleman's niece, and he is taking me back to Marseilles,
where my home is."
"Then you would have been my niece too, if I had married his brother. I
wish I had such a pretty niece."
This pleasant rejoinder was followed by a storm of kisses given and
returned with ardour which one might pronounce truly Venetian, if it were
not that this would wound the feelings of the almost equally ardent
Provencals.
I took my niece for a sail in the bay, and after we had enjoyed one of
those delicious evenings which I think can be found nowhere else--sailing
on a mirror silvered by the moon, over which float the odours of the
jasmine, the orange-blossom, the pomegranates, the aloes, and all the
scented flowers which grow along the coasts--we returned to our lodging,
and I asked Annette what had become of Marcoline. She told me that she
had gone to bed early, and I went gently into her room, with no other
intention than to see her asleep. The light of the candle awoke her, and
she did not seem at all frightened at seeing me. I sat by the bed, and
fell to making love to her, and at last made as if I would kiss her, but
she resisted, and we went on talking.
When Annette had put her mistress to bed, she came in and found us
together.
"Go to bed, my dear," said I. "I will come to you directly."
Proud of being my mistress, she gave me a fiery kiss and went away
without a word.
I began to talk about my brother, and passing from him to myself I told
her of the interest I felt for her, saying that I would either have her
taken to Venice, or bring her with me when I went to France.
"Do you want to marry me?"
"No, I am married already."
"That's a lie, I know, but it doesn't matter. Send me back to Venice, and
the sooner the better. I don't want to be anybody's concubine."
"I admire your sentiments, my dear, they do you honour."
Continuing my praise I became pressing, not using any force, but those
gentle caresses which are so much harder for a woman to resist than a
violent attack. Marcoline laughed, but seeing that I persisted in spite
of her resistance, she suddenly glided out of the bed and took refuge in
my niece's room and locked the door after her. I was not displeased; the
thing was done so easily and gracefully. I went to bed with Annette, who
lost nothing by the ardour with which Marcoline had inspired me. I told
her how she had escaped from my hands, and Annette was loud in her
praises.
In the morning I got up early and went into my niece's room to enjoy the
sight of the companion I had involuntarily given her, and the two girls
were certainly a very pleasant sight. As soon as my niece saw me, she
exclaimed,--
"My dear uncle, would you believe it? This sly Venetian has violated me."
Marcoline understood her, and far from denying the fact proceeded to give
my niece fresh marks of her affection, which were well received, and from
the movements of the sheets which covered them I could make a pretty good
guess as to the nature of their amusement.
"This is a rude shock to the respect which your uncle has had for your
prejudices," said I.
"The sports of two girls cannot tempt a man who has just left the arms of
Annette."
"You are wrong, and perhaps you know it, for I am more than tempted."
With these words I lifted the sheets of the bed. Marcoline shrieked but
did not move, but my niece earnestly begged me to replace the
bed-clothes. However, the picture before me was too charming to be
concealed.
At this point Annette came in, and in obedience to her mistress replaced
the coverlet over the two Bacchantes. I felt angry with Annette, and
seizing her threw her on the bed, and then and there gave the two
sweethearts such an interesting spectacle that they left their own play
to watch us. When I had finished, Annette, who was in high glee; said I
was quite right to avenge myself on their prudery. I felt satisfied with
what I had done, and went to breakfast. I then dressed, and visited my
brother.
"How is Marcoline?" said he, as soon as he saw me.
"Very well, and you needn't trouble yourself any more about her. She is
well lodged, well dressed, and well fed, and sleeps with my niece's
maid."
"I didn't know I had a niece."
"There are many things you don't know. In three or four days she will
return to Venice."
"I hope, dear brother, that you will ask me to dine with you to-day."
"Not at all, dear brother. I forbid you to set foot in my house, where
your presence would be offensive to Marcoline, whom you must not see any
more."
"Yes, I will; I will return to Venice, if I have to hang for it."
"What good would that be? She won't have you."
"She loves me."
"She beats you."
"She beats me because she loves me. She will be as gentle as a lamb when
she sees me so well dressed. You do not know how I suffer."
"I can partly guess, but I do not pity you, for you are an impious and
cruel fool. You have broken your vows, and have not hesitated to make a
young girl endure misery and degradation to satisfy your caprice. What
would you have done, I should like to know, if I had given you the cold
shoulder instead of helping you?"
"I should have gone into the street, and begged for my living with her."
"She would have beaten you, and would probably have appealed to the law
to get rid of you."
"But what will you do for me, if I let her go back to Venice without
following her."
"I will take you to France, and try to get you employed by some bishop."
"Employed! I was meant by nature to be employed by none but God."
"You proud fool! Marcoline rightly called you a whiner. Who is your God?
How do you serve Him? You are either a hypocrite or an idiot. Do you
think that you, a priest, serve God by decoying an innocent girl away
from her home? Do you serve Him by profaning the religion you do not even
understand? Unhappy fool! do you think that with no talent, no
theological learning, and no eloquence, you can be a Protestant minister.
Take care never to come to my house, or I will have you expelled from
Genoa."
"Well, well, take me to Paris, and I will see what my brother Francis can
do for me; his heart is not so hard as yours."
"Very good! you shall go to Paris, and we will start from here in three
or four days. Eat and drink to your heart's content, but remain indoors;
I will let you know when we are going. I shall have my niece, my
secretary, and my valet with me. We shall travel by sea."
"The sea makes me sick."
"That will purge away some of your bad humours."
When I got home I told Marcoline what had passed between us.
"I hate him!" said she; "but I forgive him, since it is through him I
know you."
"And I forgive him, too, because unless it had been for him I should
never have seen you. But I love you, and I shall die unless you satisfy
my desires."
"Never; for I know I should be madly in love with you, and then you would
leave me, and I should be miserable again."
"I will never leave you."
"If you will swear that, take me into France and make me all your own.
Here you must continue living with Annette; besides, I have got your
niece to make love to."
The pleasant part of the affair was that my niece was equally taken with
her, and had begged me to let her take meals with us and sleep with her.
As I had a prospect of being at their lascivious play, I willingly
consented, and henceforth she was always present at the table. We enjoyed
her company immensely, for she told us side-splitting tales which kept us
at table till it was time to go to Rosalie's, where my niece's adorer was
certain to be awaiting us.
The next day, which was Holy Thursday, Rosalie came with us to see the
processions. I had Rosalie and Marcoline with me, one on each arm, veiled
in their mezzaros, and my niece was under the charge of her lover. The
day after we went to see the procession called at Genoa Caracce, and
Marcoline pointed out my brother who kept hovering round us, though he
pretended not to see us. He was most carefully dressed, and the stupid
fop seemed to think he was sure to find favour in Marcoline's eyes, and
make her regret having despised him; but he was woefully deceived, for
Marcoline knew how to manage her mezzaro so well that, though he was both
seen and laughed at, the poor devil could not be certain that she had
noticed him at all, and in addition the sly girl held me so closely by
the arm that he must have concluded we were very intimate.
My niece and Marcoline thought themselves the best friends in the world,
and could not bear my telling them that their amorous sports were the
only reason for their attachment. They therefore agreed to abandon them
as soon as we left Genoa, and promised that I should sleep between them
in the felucca, all of us to keep our clothes on. I said I should hold
them to their word, and I fixed our departure for Thursday. I ordered the
felucca to be in readiness and summoned my brother to go on board.
It was a cruel moment when I left Annette with her mother. She wept so
bitterly that all of us had to shed tears. My niece gave her a handsome
dress and I thirty sequins, promising to come and see her again on my
return from England. Possano was told to go on board with the abbe; I had
provisioned the boat for three days. The young merchant promised to be at
Marseilles, telling my niece that by the time he came everything would be
settled. I was delighted to hear it; it assured me that her father would
give her a kind reception. Our friends did not leave us till the moment
we went on board.
The felucca was very conveniently arranged, and was propelled by the
twelve oarsmen. On the deck there were also twenty-four muskets, so that
we should have been able to defend ourselves against a pirate. Clairmont
had arranged my carriage and my trunks so cleverly, that by stretching
five mattresses over them we had an excellent bed, where we could sleep
and undress ourselves in perfect comfort; we had good pillows and plenty
of sheets. A long awning covered the deck, and two lanterns were hung up,
one at each end. In the evening they were lighted and Clairmont brought
in supper. I had warned my brother that at the slightest presumption on
his part he should be flung into the sea, so I allowed him and Possano to
sup with us.
I sat between my two nymphs and served the company merrily, first my
niece, then Marcoline, then my brother, and finally Possano. No water was
drunk at table, so we each emptied a bottle of excellent Burgundy, and
when we had finished supper the rowers rested on their oars, although the
wind was very light. I had the lamps put out and went to bed with my two
sweethearts, one on each side of me.
The light of dawn awoke me, and I found my darlings still sleeping in the
same position. I could kiss neither of them, since one passed for my
niece, and my sense of humanity would not allow me to treat Marcoline as
my mistress in the presence of an unfortunate brother who adored her, and
had never obtained the least favour from her. He was lying near at hand,
overwhelmed with grief and seasickness, and watching and listening with
all his might for the amorous encounter he suspected us of engaging in. I
did not want to have any unpleasantness, so I contented myself with
gazing on them till the two roses awoke and opened their eyes.
When this delicious sight was over, I got up and found that we were only
opposite Final, and I proceeded to reprimand the master.
"The wind fell dead at Savona, sir;" and all the seamen chorused his
excuse.
"Then you should have rowed instead of idling."
"We were afraid of waking you. You shall be at Antibes by tomorrow."
After passing the time by eating a hearty meal, we took a fancy to go on
shore at St. Remo. Everybody was delighted. I took my two nymphs on land,
and after forbidding any of the others to disembark I conducted the
ladies to an inn, where I ordered coffee. A man accosted us, and invited
us to come and play biribi at his house.
"I thought the game was forbidden in Genoa," said I. I felt certain that
the players were the rascals whose bank I had broken at Genoa, so I
accepted the invitation. My niece had fifty Louis in her purse, and I
gave fifteen to Marcoline. We found a large assemblage, room was made for
us, and I recognized the knaves of Genoa. As soon as they saw me they
turned pale and trembled. I should say that the man with the bag was not
the poor devil who had served me so well without wanting to.
"I play harlequin," said I.
"There isn't one."
"What's the bank?"
"There it is. We play for small stakes here, and those two hundred louis
are quite sufficient. You can bet as low as you like, and the highest
stake is of a louis."
"That's all very well, but my louis is full weight."
"I think ours are, too."
"Are you sure?"
"No."
"Then I won't play," said I, to the keeper of the rooms.
"You are right; bring the scales."
The banker then said that when play was over he would give four crowns of
six livres for every louis that the company had won, and the matter was
settled. In a moment the board was covered with stakes.
We each punted a louis at a time, and I and my niece lost twenty Louis,
but Marcoline, who had never possessed two sequins in her life before,
won two hundred and forty Louis. She played on the figure of an abbe
which came out fifth twenty times. She was given a bag full of crown
pieces, and we returned to the felucca.
The wind was contrary, and we had to row all night, and in the morning
the sea was so rough that we had to put in at Mentone. My two sweethearts
were very sick, as also my brother and Possano, but I was perfectly well.
I took the two invalids to the inn, and allowed my brother and Possano to
land and refresh themselves. The innkeeper told me that the Prince and
Princess of Monaco were at Mentone, so I resolved to pay them a visit. It
was thirteen years since I had seen the prince at Paris, where I had
amused him and his mistress Caroline at supper. It was this prince who
had taken me to see the horrible Duchess of Rufec; then he was unmarried,
and now I met him again in his principality with his wife, of whom he had
already two sons. The princess had been a Duchess de Borgnoli, a great
heiress, and a delightful and pretty woman. I had heard all about her,
and I was curious to verify the facts for myself.
I called on the prince, was announced, and after a long wait they
introduced me to his presence. I gave him his title of highness, which I
had never done at Paris, where he was not known under his full style and
title. He received me politely, but with that coolness which lets one
know that one is not an over-welcome visitor.
"You have put in on account of the bad weather, I suppose?" said he.
"Yes, prince, and if your highness will allow me I will spend the whole
day in your delicious villa." (It is far from being delicious.)
"As you please. The princess as well as myself likes it better than our
place at Monaco, so we live here by preference."
"I should be grateful if your highness would present me to the princess."
Without mentioning my name he ordered a page in waiting to present me to
the princess.
The page opened the door of a handsome room and said, "The Princess," and
left me. She was singing at the piano, but as soon as she saw me she rose
and came to meet me. I was obliged to introduce myself, a most unpleasant
thing, and no doubt the princess felt the position, for she pretended not
to notice it, and addressed me with the utmost kindness and politeness,
and in a way that shewed that she was learned in the maxims of good
society. I immediately became very much at my ease, and proceeded in a
lordly manner to entertain her with pleasant talk, though I said nothing
about my two lady friends.
The princess was handsome, clever, and good-natured. Her mother, who knew
that a man like the prince would never make her daughter happy, opposed
the marriage, but the young marchioness was infatuated, and the mother
had to give in when the girl said,--
"O Monaco O monaca." (Either Monaco or a convent.)
We were still occupied in the trifles which keep up an ordinary
conversation, when the prince came in running after a waiting-maid, who
was making her escape, laughing. The princess pretended not to see him,
and went on with what she was saying. The scene displeased me, and I took
leave of the princess, who wished me a pleasant journey. I met the prince
as I was going out, and he invited me to come and see him whenever I
passed that way.
"Certainly," said I; and made my escape without saying any more.
I went back to the inn and ordered a good dinner for three.
In the principality of Monaco there was a French garrison, which was
worth a pension of a hundred thousand francs to the prince--a very
welcome addition to his income.
A curled and scented young officer, passing by our room, the door of
which was open, stopped short, and with unblushing politeness asked us if
we would allow him to join our party. I replied politely, but coldly,
that he did us honour--a phrase which means neither yes nor no; but a
Frenchman who has advanced one step never retreats.
He proceeded to display his graces for the benefit of the ladies, talking
incessantly, without giving them time to get in a word, when he suddenly
turned to me and said that he wondered how it was that the prince had not
asked me and my ladies to dinner. I told him that I had not said anything
to the prince about the treasure I had with me.
I had scarcely uttered the words, when the kindly blockhead rose and
cried enthusiastically,--
"Parbleu! I am no longer surprised. I will go and tell his highness, and
I shall soon have the honour of dining with you at the castle."
He did not wait to hear my answer, but went off in hot haste.
We laughed heartily at his folly, feeling quite sure that we should
neither dine with him nor the prince, but in a quarter of an hour he
returned in high glee, and invited us all to dinner on behalf of the
prince.
"I beg you will thank his highness, and at the same time ask him to
excuse us. The weather has improved, and I want to be off as soon as we
have taken a hasty morsel."
The young Frenchman exerted all his eloquence in vain, and at length
retired with a mortified air to take our answer to the prince.
I thought I had got rid of him at last, but I did not know my man. He
returned a short time after, and addressing himself in a complacent
manner to the ladies, as if I was of no more account, he told them that
he had given the prince such a description of their charms that he had
made up his mind to dine with them.
"I have already ordered the table to be laid for two more, as I shall
have the honour of being of the party. In a quarter of an hour, ladies,
the prince will be here."
"Very good," said I, "but as the prince is coming I must go to the
felucca and fetch a capital pie of which the prince is very fond, I know.
Come, ladies."
"You can leave them here, sir. I will undertake to keep them amused."
"I have no doubt you would, but they have some things to get from the
felucca as well."
"Then you will allow me to come too."
"Certainly with pleasure."
As we were going down the stairs, I asked the innkeeper what I owed him.
"Nothing, sir, I have just received orders to serve you in everything,
and to take no money from you."
"The prince is really magnificent!" During this short dialogue, the
ladies had gone on with the fop. I hastened to rejoin them, and my niece
took my arm, laughing heartily to hear the officer making love to
Marcoline, who did not understand a word he said. He did not notice it in
the least, for his tongue kept going like the wheel of a mill, and he did
not pause for any answers.
"We shall have some fun at dinner," said my niece, "but what are we going
to do on the felucca?"
"We are leaving. Say nothing."
"Leaving?"
"Immediately."
"What a jest! it is worth its weight in gold."
We went on board the felucca, and the officer, who was delighted with the
pretty vessel, proceeded to examine it. I told my niece to keep him
company, and going to the master, whispered to him to let go directly.
"Directly?"
"Yes, this moment."
"But the abbe and your secretary are gone for a walk, and two of my men
are on shore, too."
"That's no matter; we shall pick them up again at Antibes; it's only ten
leagues, and they have plenty of money. I must go, and directly. Make
haste."
"All right."
He tripped the anchor, and the felucca began to swing away from the
shore. The officer asked me in great astonishment what it meant.
"It means that I am going to Antibes and I shall be very glad to take you
there for nothing."
"This is a fine jest! You are joking, surely?"
"Your company will be very pleasant on the journey."
"Pardieu! put me ashore, for with your leave, ladies, I cannot go to
Antibes."
"Put the gentleman ashore," said I to the master, "he does not seem to
like our company."
"It's not that, upon my honour. These ladies are charming, but the prince
would think that I was in the plot to play this trick upon him, which you
must confess is rather strong."
"I never play a weak trick."
"But what will the prince say?"
"He may say what he likes, and I shall do as I like."
"Well, it's no fault of mine. Farewell, ladies! farewell, sir!"
"Farewell, and you may thank the prince for me for paying my bill."
Marcoline who did not understand what was passing gazed in astonishment,
but my niece laughed till her sides ached, for the way in which the poor
officer had taken the matter was extremely comic.
Clairmont brought us an excellent dinner, and we laughed incessantly
during its progress, even at the astonishment of the abbe and Possano
when they came to the quay and found the felucca had flown. However, I
was sure of meeting them again at Antibes, and we reached that port at
six o'clock in the evening.
The motion of the sea had tired us without making us feel sick, for the
air was fresh, and our appetites felt the benefits of it, and in
consequence we did great honour to the supper and the wine. Marcoline
whose stomach was weakened by the sickness she had undergone soon felt
the effects of the Burgundy, her eyes were heavy, and she went to sleep.
My niece would have imitated her, but I reminded her tenderly that we
were at Antibes, and said I was sure she would keep her word. She did not
answer me, but gave me her hand, lowering her eyes with much modesty.
Intoxicated with her submission which was so like love, I got into bed
beside her, exclaiming,--
"At last the hour of my happiness has come!
"And mine too, dearest."
"Yours? Have you not continually repulsed me?"
"Never! I always loved you, and your indifference has been a bitter grief
to me."
"But the first night we left Milan you preferred being alone to sleeping
with me."
"Could I do otherwise without passing in your eyes for one more a slave
to sensual passion than to love? Besides you might have thought I was
giving myself to you for the benefits I had received; and though
gratitude be a noble feeling, it destroys all the sweet delights of love.
You ought to have told me that you loved me and subdued me by those
attentions which conquer the hearts of us women. Then you would have seen
that I loved you too, and our affection would have been mutual. On my
side I should have known that the pleasure you had of me was not given
out of a mere feeling of gratitude. I do not know whether you would have
loved me less the morning after, if I had consented, but I am sure I
should have lost your esteem."
She was right, and I applauded her sentiments, while giving her to
understand that she was to put all notions of benefits received out of
her mind. I wanted to make her see that I knew that there was no more
need for gratitude on her side than mine.
We spent a night that must be imagined rather than described. She told me
in the morning that she felt all had been for the best, as if she had
given way at first she could never have made up her mind to accept the
young Genoese, though he seemed likely to make her happy.
Marcoline came to see us in the morning, caressed us, and promised to
sleep by herself the rest of the voyage.
"Then you are not jealous?" said I.
"No, for her happiness is mine too, and I know she will make you happy."
She became more ravishingly beautiful every day.
Possano and the abbe came in just as we were sitting down to table, and
my niece having ordered two more plates I allowed them to dine with us.
My brother's face was pitiful and yet ridiculous. He could not walk any
distance, so he had been obliged to come on horseback, probably for the
first time in his life.
"My skin is delicate," said he, "so I am all blistered. But God's will be
done! I do not think any of His servants have endured greater torments
than mine during this journey. My body is sore, and so is my soul."
So saying he cast a piteous glance at Marcoline, and we had to hold our
sides to prevent ourselves laughing. My niece could bear it no more, and
said,--
"How I pity you, dear uncle!"
At this he blushed, and began to address the most absurd compliments to
her, styling her "my dear niece." I told him to be silent, and not to
speak French till he was able to express himself in that equivocal
language without making a fool of himself. But the poet Pogomas spoke no
better than he did.
I was curious to know what had happened at Mentone after we had left, and
Pogomas proceeded to tell the story.
"When we came back from our walk we were greatly astonished not to find
the felucca any more. We went to the inn, where I knew you had ordered
dinner; but the inn-keeper knew nothing except that he was expecting the
prince and a young officer to dine with you. I told him he might wait for
you in vain, and just then the prince came up in a rage, and told the
inn-keeper that now you were gone he might look to you for his payment.
'My lord,' said the inn-keeper, 'the gentleman wanted to pay me, but I
respected the orders I had received from your highness and would not take
the money.' At this the prince flung him a louis with an ill grace, and
asked us who we were. I told him that we belonged to you, and that you
had not waited for us either, which put us to great trouble. 'You will
get away easily enough,' said he; and then he began to laugh, and swore
the jest was a pleasant one. He then asked me who the ladies were. I told
him that the one was your niece, and that I knew nothing of the other;
but the abbe interfered, and said she was your cuisine. The prince
guessed he meant to say 'cousin,' and burst out laughing, in which he was
joined by the young officer. 'Greet him from me,' said he, as he went
away, 'and tell him that we shall meet again, and that I will pay him out
for the trick he has played me.' The worthy host laughed, too, when the
prince had gone, and gave us a good dinner, saying that the prince's
Louis would pay for it all. When we had dined we hired two horses, and
slept at Nice. In the morning we rode on again, being certain of finding
you here." Marcoline told the abbe in a cold voice to take care not to
tell anyone else that she was his cuisine, or his cousin, or else it
would go ill with him, as she did not wish to be thought either the one
or the other. I also advised him seriously not to speak French for the
future, as the absurd way in which he had committed himself made everyone
about him ashamed.
Just as I was ordering post-horses to take us to Frejus, a man appeared,
and told me I owed him ten louis for the storage of a carriage which I
had left on his hands nearly three years ago. This was when I was taking
Rosalie to Italy. I laughed, for the carriage itself was not worth five
louis. "Friend," said I, "I make you a present of the article."
"I don't want your present. I want the ten louis you owe me."
"You won't get the ten louis. I will see you further first."
"We will see about that;" and so saying he took his departure.
I sent for horses that we might continue our journey.
A few moments after, a sergeant summoned me to the governor's presence. I
followed him, and was politely requested to pay the ten louis that my
creditor demanded. I answered that, in the agreement I had entered into
for six francs a month, there was no mention of the length of the term,
and that I did not want to withdraw my carriage.
"But supposing you were never to withdraw it?"
"Then the man could bequeath his claim to his heir."
"I believe he could oblige you to withdraw it, or to allow it to be sold
to defray expenses."
"You are right, sir, and I wish to spare him that trouble. I make him a
present of the carriage."
"That's fair enough. Friend, the carriage is yours."
"But sir," said the plaintiff, "it is not enough; the carriage is not
worth ten louis, and I want the surplus."
"You are in the wrong. I wish you a pleasant journey, sir, and I hope you
will forgive the ignorance of these poor people, who would like to shape
the laws according to their needs."
All this trouble had made me lose a good deal of time, and I determined
to put off my departure till the next day. However, I wanted a carriage
for Possano and the abbe, and I got my secretary to buy the one I had
abandoned for four louis. It was in a deplorable state, and I had to have
it repaired, which kept us till the afternoon of the next day; however,
so far as pleasure was concerned, the time was not lost.
CHAPTER III
My Arrival at Marseilles--Madame d'Urfe--My Niece Is
Welcomed by Madame Audibert I Get Rid of My Brother and
Possano--Regeneration--Departure of Madame d'Urfe--Marcoline
Remains Constant
My niece, now my mistress, grew more dear to me every day, and I could
not help trembling when I reflected that Marseilles would be the tomb of
our love. Though I could not help arriving there, I prolonged my
happiness as long as I could by travelling by short stages. I got to
Frejus in less than three hours, and stopped there, and telling Possano
and the abbe to do as they liked during our stay, I ordered a delicate
supper and choice wine for myself and my nymphs. Our repast lasted till
midnight, then we went to bed, and passed the time in sweet sleep and
sweeter pleasures. I made the same arrangements at Lucca, Brignoles, and
Aubayne, where I passed the sixth and last night of happiness.
As soon as I got to Marseilles I conducted my niece to Madame Audibert's,
and sent Possano and my brother to the "Trieze Cantons" inn, bidding them
observe the strictest silence with regard to me, for Madame d'Urfe had
been awaiting me for three weeks, and I wished to be my own herald to
her.
It was at Madame Audibert's that my niece had met Croce. She was a clever
woman, and had known the girl from her childhood, and it was through her
that my niece hoped to be restored to her father's good graces. We had
agreed that I should leave my niece and Marcoline in the carriage, and
should interview Madame Audibert, whose acquaintance I had made before,
and with whom I could make arrangements for my niece's lodging till some
arrangement was come to.
Madame Audibert saw me getting out of my carriage, and as she did not
recognize me her curiosity made her come down and open the door. She soon
recognized me, and consented to let me have a private interview with the
best grace in the world.
I did not lose any time in leading up to the subject, and after I had
given her a rapid sketch of the affair, how misfortune had obliged La
Croix to abandon Mdlle. Crosin, how I had been able to be of service to
her, and finally, how she had had the good luck to meet a wealthy and
distinguished person, who would come to Marseilles to ask her hand in a
fortnight, I concluded by saying that I should have the happiness of
restoring to her hands the dear girl whose preserver I had been.
"Where is she?" cried Madame Audibert.
"In my carriage. I have lowered the blinds."
"Bring her in, quick! I will see to everything. Nobody shall know that
she is in my house."
Happier than a prince, I made one bound to the carriage and, concealing
her face with her cloak and hood, I led my niece to her friend's arms.
This was a dramatic scene full of satisfaction for me. Kisses were given
and received, tears of happiness and repentance shed, I wept myself from
mingled feelings of emotion, happiness, and regret.
In the meanwhile Clairmont had brought up my niece's luggage, and I went
away promising to return and see her another day.
I had another and as important an arrangement to conclude, I mean with
respect to Marcoline. I told the postillions to take me to the worthy old
man's where I had lodged Rosalie so pleasantly. Marcoline was weeping at
this separation from her friend. I got down at the house, and made my
bargain hastily. My new mistress was, I said, to be lodged, fed, and
attended on as if she had been a princess. He shewed me the apartment she
was to occupy; it was fit for a young marchioness, and he told me that
she should be attended by his own niece, that she should not leave the
house, and that nobody but myself should visit her.
Having made these arrangements I made the fair Venetian come in. I gave
her the money she had won, which I had converted into gold and made up to
a thousand ducats.
"You won't want it here," said I, "so take care of it. At Venice a
thousand ducats will make you somebody. Do not weep, dearest, my heart is
with you, and to-morrow evening I will sup with you."
The old man gave me the latch-key, and I went off to the "Treize
Cantons." I was expected, and my rooms were adjacent to those occupied by
Madame d'Urfe.
As soon as I was settled, Bourgnole waited on me, and told me her
mistress was alone and expecting me impatiently.
I shall not trouble my readers with an account of our interview, as it
was only composed of Madame d'Urfe's mad flights of fancy, and of lies on
my part which had not even the merit of probability. A slave to my life
of happy profligacy, I profited by her folly; she would have found
someone else to deceive her, if I had not done so, for it was really she
who deceived herself. I naturally preferred to profit by her rather than
that a stranger should do so; she was very rich, and I did myself a great
deal of good, without doing anyone any harm. The first thing she asked me
was, "Where is Querilinthos?" And she jumped with joy when I told her
that he was under the same roof.
"'Tis he, then, who shall make me young again. So has my genius assured
me night after night. Ask Paralis if the presents I have prepared are
good enough for Semiramis to present to the head of the Fraternity of the
Rosy Cross."
I did not know what these presents were, and as I could not ask to see
them, I answered that, before consulting Paralis, it would be necessary
to consecrate the gifts under the planetary hours, and that Querilinthos
himself must not see them before the consecration. Thereupon she took me
to her closet, and shewed me the seven packets meant for the Rosicrucian
in the form of offerings to the seven planets.
Each packet contained seven pounds of the metal proper to the planet, and
seven precious stones, also proper to the planets, each being seven
carats in weight; there were diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires,
chrysolites, topazes, and opals.
I made up my mind that nothing of this should pass into the hands of the
Genoese, and told the mad woman that we must trust entirely in Paralis
for the method of consecration, which must be begun by our placing each
packet in a small casket made on purpose. One packet, and one only, could
be consecrated in a day, and it was necessary to begin with the sun. It
was now Friday, and we should have to wait till Sunday, the day of the
sun. On Saturday I had a box with seven niches made for the purpose.
For the purposes of consecration I spent three hours every day with
Madame d'Urfe, and we had not finished till the ensuing Saturday.
Throughout this week I made Possano and my brother take their meals with
us, and as the latter did not understand a word the good lady said, he
did not speak a word himself, and might have passed for a mute of the
seraglio. Madame d'Urfe pronounced him devoid of sense, and imagined we
were going to put the soul of a sylph into his body that he might
engender some being half human, half divine.
It was amusing to see my brother's despair and rage at being taken for an
idiot, and when he endeavoured to say something to spew that he was not
one, she only thought him more idiotic than ever. I laughed to myself,
and thought how ill he would have played the part if I had asked him to
do it. All the same the rascal did not lose anything by his reputation,
for Madame d'Urfe clothed him with a decent splendour that would have led
one to suppose that the abbe belonged to one of the first families in
France. The most uneasy guest at Madame d'Urfe's table was Possano, who
had to reply to questions, of the most occult nature, and, not knowing
anything about the subject, made the most ridiculous mistakes.
I brought Madame d'Urfe the box, and having made all the necessary
arrangements for the consecrations, I received an order from the oracle
to go into the country and sleep there for seven nights in succession, to
abstain from intercourse with all mortal women, and to perform ceremonial
worship to the moon every night, at the hour of that planet, in the open
fields. This would make me fit to regenerate Madame d'Urfe myself in case
Querilinthos, for some mystic reasons, might not be able to do so.
Through this order Madame d'Urfe was not only not vexed with me for
sleeping away from the hotel, but was grateful for the pains I was taking
to ensure the success of the operation.
The day after my arrival I called on Madame Audibert, and had the
pleasure of finding my niece wail pleased with the efforts her friend was
making in her favour. Madame Audibert had spoken to her father, telling
him that his daughter was with her, and that she hoped to obtain his
pardon and to return to his house, where she would soon become the bride
of a rich Genoese, who wished to receive her from her father's hands. The
worthy man, glad to find again the lost sheep, said he would come in two
days and take her to her aunt, who had a house at St. Louis, two leagues
from the town. She might then quietly await the arrival of her future
husband, and avoid all occasion of scandal. My niece was surprised that
her father had not yet received a letter from the young man, and I could
see that she was anxious about it; but I comforted her and assured her
that I would not leave Marseilles till I had danced at her wedding.
I left her to go to Marcoline, whom I longed to press to my heart. I
found her in an ecstasy of joy, and she said that if she could understand
what her maid said her happiness would be complete. I saw that her
situation was a painful one, especially as she was a woman, but for the
present I saw no way out of the difficulty; I should have to get an
Italian-speaking servant, and this would have been a troublesome task.
She wept with joy when I told her that my niece desired to be remembered
to her, and that in a day she would be on her father's hearth. Marcoline
had found out that she was not my real niece when she found her in my
arms.
The choice supper which the old man had procured us, and which spewed he
had a good memory for my favorite tastes, made me think of Rosalie.
Marcoline heard me tell the story with great interest, and said that it
seemed to her that I only went about to make unfortunate girls happy,
provided I found them pretty.
"I almost think you are right," said I; "and it is certain that I have
made many happy, and have never brought misfortune to any girl."
"God will reward you, my dear friend."
"Possibly I am not worth His taking the trouble!"
Though the wit and beauty of Marcoline had charmed me, her appetite
charmed me still more; the reader knows that I have always liked women
who eat heartily. And in Marseilles they make an excellent dish of a
common fowl, which is often so insipid.
Those who like oil will get on capitally in Provence, for it is used in
everything, and it must be confessed that if used in moderation it makes
an excellent relish.
Marcoline was charming in bed. I had not enjoyed the Venetian vices for
nearly eight years, and Marcoline was a beauty before whom Praxiteles
would have bent the knee. I laughed at my brother for having let such a
treasure slip out of his hands, though I quite forgave him for falling in
love with her. I myself could not take her about, and as I wanted her to
be amused I begged my kind old landlord to send her to the play every
day, and to prepare a good supper every evening. I got her some rich
dresses that she might cut a good figure, and this attention redoubled
her affection for me.
The next day, which was the second occasion on which I had visited her,
she told me that she had enjoyed the play though she could not understand
the dialogues; and the day after she astonished me by saying that my
brother had intruded himself into her box, and had said so many
impertinent things that if she had been at Venice she would have boxed
his ears.
"I am afraid," she added, "that the rascal has followed me here, and will
be annoying me."
"Don't be afraid," I answered, "I will see what I can do."
When I got to the hotel I entered the abbe's room, and by Possano's bed I
saw an individual collecting lint and various surgical instruments.
"What's all this? Are you ill?"
"Yes, I have got something which will teach me to be wiser for the
future."
"It's rather late for this kind of thing at sixty."
"Better late than never."
"You are an old fool. You stink of mercury."
"I shall not leave my room."
"This will harm you with the marchioness, who believes you to be the
greatest of adepts, and consequently above such weaknesses."
"Damn the marchioness! Let me be."
The rascal had never talked in this style before. I thought it best to
conceal my anger, and went up to my brother who was in a corner of the
room.
"What do you mean by pestering Marcoline at the theatre yesterday?"
"I went to remind her of her duty, and to warn her that I would not be
her complaisant lover."
"You have insulted me and her too, fool that you are! You owe all to
Marcoline, for if it had not been for her, I should never have given you
a second glance; and yet you behave in this disgraceful manner."
"I have ruined myself for her sake, and I can never shew my face in
Venice again. What right have you to take her from me?"
"The right of love, blockhead, and the right of luck, and the right of
the strongest! How is it that she is happy with me, and does not wish to
leave me?"
"You have dazzled her."
"Another reason is that with you she was dying of misery and hunger."
"Yes, but the end of it will be that you will abandon her as you have
done with many others, whereas I should have married her."
"Married her! You renegade, you seem to forget that you are a priest. I
do not propose to part with her, but if I do I will send her away rich."
"Well, well, do as you please; but still I have the right to speak to her
whenever I like."
"I have forbidden you to do so, and you may trust me when I tell you that
you have spoken to her for the last time."
So saying I went out and called on an advocate. I asked him if I could
have a foreign abbe, who was indebted to me, arrested, although I had no
proof of the debt.
"You can do so, as he is a foreigner, but you will have to pay
caution-money. You can have him put under arrest at his inn, and you can
make him pay unless he is able to prove that he owes you nothing. Is the
sum a large one?"
"Twelve louis."
"You must come with me before the magistrate and deposit twelve louis,
and from that moment you will be able to have him arrested. Where is he
staying?"
"In the same hotel as I am, but I do not wish to have him arrested there,
so I will get him to the 'Ste. Baume,' and put him under arrest. Here are
the twelve louis caution-money, so you can get the magistrate's order,
and we will meet again to-morrow."
"Give me his name, and yours also."
I returned in haste to the "Treize Cantons," and met the abbe, dressed up
to the nines, and just about to go out.
"Follow me," said I, "I am going to take you to Marcoline, and you shall
have an explanation in her presence."
"With pleasure."
He got into a carriage with me, and I told the coachman to take us to the
"Ste. Baume" inn. When we got there, I told him to wait for me, that I
was going to fetch Marcoline, and that I would return with her in a
minute.
I got into the carriage again, and drove to the advocate, who gave the
order for arrest to a policeman, who was to execute it. I then returned
to the "Treize Cantons" and put his belongings into a trunk, and had them
transported to his new abode.
I found him under arrest, and talking to the astonished host, who could
not understand what it was all about. I told the landlord the mythical
history of the abbe debt to me, and handed over the trunk, telling him
that he had nothing to fear with regard to the bill, as I would take care
that he should be well paid.
I then began my talk with the abbe, telling him that he must get ready to
leave Marseilles the next day, and that I would pay for his journey to
Paris; but that if he did not like to do so, I should leave him to his
fate, and in three days he would be expelled from Marseilles. The coward
began to weep and said he would go to Paris.
"You must start for Lyons to-morrow, but you will first write me out an I
O U for twelve louis."
"Why?"
"Because I say so. If you do so I will give you twelve louis and tear up
the document before your face."
"I have no choice in the matter."
"You are right."
When he had written the I O U, I went to take a place in the diligence
for him, and the next morning I went with the advocate to withdraw the
arrest and to take back the twelve louis, which I gave to my brother in
the diligence, with a letter to M. Bono, whom I warned not to give him
any money, and to send him on to Paris by the same diligence. I then tore
up his note of hand, and wished him a pleasant journey.
Thus I got rid of this foolish fellow, whom I saw again in Paris in a
month's time.
The day I had my brother arrested and before I went to dine with Madame
d'Urfe I had an interview with Possano in the hope of discovering the
reason of his ill humour.
"The reason is," said he, "that I am sure you are going to lay hands on
twenty or thirty thousand crowns in gold and diamonds, which the
marchioness meant me to have."
"That may be, but it is not for you to know anything about it. I may tell
you that it rests entirely with me to prevent your getting anything. If
you think you can succeed go to the marchioness and make your complaints
to her. I will do nothing to prevent you."
"Then you think I am going to help you in your imposture for nothing; you
are very much mistaken. I want a thousand louis, and I will have it,
too."
"Then get somebody to give it you," said I; and I turned my back on him.
I went up to the marchioness and told her that dinner was ready, and that
we should dine alone, as I had been obliged to send the abbe away.
"He was an idiot; but how about Querilinthos?"
"After dinner Paralis will tell us all about him. I have strong
suspicions that there is something to be cleared up."
"So have I. The man seems changed. Where is he?"
"He is in bed, ill of a disease which I dare not so much as name to you."
"That is a very extraordinary circumstance; I have never heard of such a
thing before. It must be the work of an evil genius."
"I have never heard of such a thing, either; but now let us dine. We
shall have to work hard to-day at the consecration of the tin."
"All the better. We must offer an expiatory sacrifice to Oromasis, for,
awful thought! in three days he would have to regenerate me, and the
operation would be performed in that condition."
"Let us eat now," I repeated; "I fear lest the hour of Jupiter be
over-past."
"Fear nothing, I will see that all goes well."
After the consecration of the tin had been performed, I transferred that
of Oromasis to another day, while I consulted the oracle assiduously, the
marchioness translating the figures into letters. The oracle declared
that seven salamanders had transported the true Querilinthos to the Milky
Way, and that the man in the next room was the evil genius, St. Germain,
who had been put in that fearful condition by a female gnome, who had
intended to make him the executioner of Semiramis, who was to die of the
dreadful malady before her term had expired. The oracle also said that
Semiramis should leave to Payaliseus Galtinardus (myself) all the charge
of getting rid of the evil genius, St. Germain; and that she was not to
doubt concerning her regeneration, since the word would be sent me by the
true Querilinthos from the Milky Way on the seventh night of my worship
of the moon. Finally the oracle declared that I was to embrace Semiramis
two days before the end of the ceremonies, after an Undine had purified
us by bathing us in the room where we were.
I had thus undertaken to regenerate the worthy Semiramis, and I began to
think how I could carry out my undertaking without putting myself to
shame. The marchioness was handsome but old, and I feared lest I should
be unable to perform the great act. I was thirty-eight, and I began to
feel age stealing on me. The Undine, whom I was to obtain of the moon,
was none other than Marcoline, who was to give me the necessary
generative vigour by the sight of her beauty and by the contact of her
hands. The reader will see how I made her come down from heaven.
I received a note from Madame Audibert which made me call on her before
paying my visit to Marcoline. As soon as I came in she told me joyously
that my niece's father had just received a letter from the father of the
Genoese, asking the hand of his daughter for his only son, who had been
introduced to her by the Chevalier de Seingalt, her uncle, at the
Paretti's.
"The worthy man thinks himself under great obligations to you," said
Madame Audibert. "He adores his daughter, and he knows you have cared for
her like a father. His daughter has drawn your portrait in very
favourable colors, and he would be extremely pleased to make your
acquaintance. Tell me when you can sup with me; the father will be here
to meet you, though unaccompanied by his daughter."
"I am delighted at what you tell me, for the young man's esteem for his
future wife will only be augmented when he finds that I am her father's
friend. I cannot come to supper, however; I will be here at six and stop
till eight."
As the lady left the choice of the day with me I fixed the day after
next, and then I repaired to my fair Venetian, to whom I told my news,
and how I had managed to get rid of the abbe.
On the day after next, just as we were sitting down to dinner, the
marchioness smilingly gave me a letter which Possano had written her in
bad but perfectly intelligible French. He had filled eight pages in his
endeavour to convince her that I was deceiving her, and to make sure he
told the whole story without concealing any circumstance to my
disadvantage. He added that I had brought two girls with me to
Marseilles; and though he did not know where I had hidden them, he was
sure that it was with them that I spent my nights.
After I had read the whole letter through, with the utmost coolness I
gave it back to her, asking her if she had had the patience to read it
through. She replied that she had run through it, but that she could not
make it out at all, as the evil genius seemed to write a sort of
outlandish dialect, which she did not care to puzzle herself over, as he
could only have written down lies calculated to lead her astray at the
most important moment of her life. I was much pleased with the
marchioness's prudence, for it was important that she should have no
suspicions about the Undine, the sight and the touch of whom were
necessary to me in the great work I was about to undertake.
After dining, and discharging all the ceremonies and oracles which were
necessary to calm the soul of my poor victim, I went to a banker and got
a bill of a hundred louis on Lyons, to the order of M. Bono, and I
advised him of what I had done, requesting him to cash it for Possano if
it were presented on the day named thereon.
I then wrote the advice for Possano to take with him, it ran as follows:
"M. Bonno, pay to M. Possano, on sight, to himself, and not to order, the
sum of one hundred louis, if these presents are delivered to you on the
30th day of April, in the year 1763; and after the day aforesaid my order
to become null and void."
With this letter in my hand I went to the traitor who had been lanced an
hour before.
"You're an infamous traitor," I began, "but as Madame d'Urfe knows of the
disgraceful state you are in she would not so much as read your letter. I
have read it, and by way of reward I give you two alternatives which you
must decide on immediately. I am in a hurry. You will either go to the
hospital--for we can't have pestiferous fellows like you here--or start
for Lyons in an hour. You must not stop on the way, for I have only given
you sixty hours, which is ample to do forty posts in. As soon as you get
to Lyons present this to M. Bono, and he will give you a hundred louis.
This is a present from me, and afterwards I don't care what you do, as
you are no longer in my service. You can have the carriage I bought for
you at Antibes, and there is twenty-five louis for the journey: that is
all. Make your choice, but I warn you that if you go to the hospital I
shall only give you a month's wages, as I dismiss you from my service now
at this instant."
After a moment's reflection he said he would go to Lyons, though it would
be at the risk of his life, for he was very ill.
"You must reap the reward of your treachery," said I, "and if you die it
will be a good thing for your family, who will come in for what I have
given you, but not what I should have given you if you had been a
faithful servant."
I then left him and told Clairmont to pack up his trunk. I warned the
inn-keeper of his departure and told him to get the post horses ready as
soon as possible.
I then gave Clairmont the letter to Bono and twenty-five Louis, for him
to hand them over to Possano when he was in the carriage and ready to go
off.
When I had thus successfully accomplished my designs by means of the
all-powerful lever, gold, which I knew how to lavish in time of need, I
was once more free for my amours. I wanted to instruct the fair
Marcoline, with whom I grew more in love every day. She kept telling me
that her happiness would be complete if she knew French, and if she had
the slightest hope that I would take her to England with me.
I had never flattered her that my love would go as far as that, but yet I
could not help feeling sad at the thought of parting from a being who
seemed made to taste voluptuous pleasures, and to communicate them with
tenfold intensity to the man of her choice. She was delighted to hear
that I had got rid of my two odious companions, and begged me to take her
to the theatre, "for," said she, "everybody is asking who and what I am,
and my landlord's niece is quite angry with me because I will not let her
tell the truth."
I promised I would take her out in the course of the next week, but that
for the present I had a most important affair on hand, in which I had
need of her assistance.
"I will do whatever you wish, dearest."
"Very good! then listen to me. I will get you a disguise which will make
you look like a smart footman, and in that costume you will call on the
marchioness with whom I live, at the hour I shall name to you, and you
will give her a note. Have you sufficient courage for that?"
"Certainly. Will you be there?"
"Yes. She will speak, but you must pretend to be dumb, as the note you
bring with you will tell us; as also that you have come to wait upon us
while we are bathing. She will accept the offer, and when she tells you
to undress her from head to foot you will do so. When you have done,
undress yourself, and gently rub the marchioness from the feet to the
waist, but not higher. In the meanwhile I shall have taken off my
clothes, and while I hold her in a close embrace you must stand so that I
can see all your charms.
"Further, sweetheart, when I leave you you must gently wash her
generative organs, and afterwards wipe them with a fine towel. Then do
the same to me, and try to bring me to life again. I shall proceed to
embrace the marchioness a second time, and when it is over wash her again
and embrace her, and then come and embrace me and kiss in your Venetian
manner the instrument with which the sacrifice is consummated. I shall
then clasp the marchioness to my arms a third time, and you must caress
us till the act is complete. Finally, you will wash us for the third
time, then dress, take what she gives you and come here, where I will
meet you in the course of an hour."
"You may reckon on my following all your instructions, but you must see
that the task will be rather trying to my feelings."
"Not more trying than to mine. I could do nothing with the old woman if
you were not present."
"Is she very old?"
"Nearly seventy."
"My poor sweetheart! I do pity you. But after this painful duty is over
you must sup here and sleep with me."
"Certainly."
On the day appointed I had a long and friendly interview with the father
of my late niece. I told him all about his daughter, only suppressing the
history of our own amours, which were not suitable for a father's ears.
The worthy man embraced me again and again, calling me his benefactor,
and saying that I had done more for his daughter than he would have done
himself, which in a sense was perhaps true. He told me that he had
received another letter from the father, and a letter from the young man
himself, who wrote in the most tender and respectful manner possible.
"He doesn't ask anything about the dower," said he, "a wonderful thing
these days, but I will give her a hundred and fifty thousand francs, for
the marriage is an excellent one, above all after my poor simpleton's
escape. All Marseilles knows the father of her future husband, and
to-morrow I mean to tell the whole story to my wife, and I am sure she
will forgive the poor girl as I have done."
I had to promise to be present at the wedding, which was to be at Madame
Audibert's. That lady knowing me to be very fond of play, and there being
a good deal of play going on at her house, wondered why she did not see
more of me; but I was at Marseilles to create and not to destroy: there
is a time for everything.
I had a green velvet jacket made for Marcoline, with breeches of the same
and silver-lace garters, green silk stockings, and fine leather shoes of
the same colour. Her fine black hair was confined in a net of green silk,
with a silver brooch. In this dress the voluptuous and well-rounded form
of Marcoline was displayed to so much advantage, that if she had shewn
herself in the street all Marseilles would have run after her, for, in
spite of her man's dress, anybody could see that she was a girl. I took
her to my rooms in her ordinary costume, to shew her where she would have
to hide after the operation was over.
By Saturday we had finished all the consecrations, and the oracle fixed
the regeneration of Semiramis for the following Tuesday, in the hours of
the sun, Venus, and Mercury, which follow each other in the planetary
system of the magicians, as also in Ptolemy's. These hours were in
ordinary parlance the ninth, tenth, and eleventh of the day, since the
day being a Tuesday, the first hour was sacred to Mars. And as at the
beginning of May the hours are sixty-five minutes long, the reader,
however little of a magician he may be, will understand that I had to
perform the great work on Madame d'Urfe, beginning at half-past two and
ending at five minutes to six. I had taken plenty of time, as I expected
I should have great need of it.
On the Monday night, at the hour of the moon, I had taken Madame d'Urfe
to the sea-shore, Clairmont following behind with the box containing the
offerings, which weighed fifty pounds.
I was certain that nobody could see us, and I told my companion that the
time was come. I told Clairmont to put down the box beside us, and to go
and await us at the carriage. When we were alone we addressed a solemn
prayer to Selenis, and then to the great satisfaction of the marchioness
the box was consigned to the address. My satisfaction however was still
greater than hers, for the box contained fifty pounds of lead. The real
box, containing the treasure, was comfortably hidden in my room.
When we got back to the "Treize Cantons," I left Madame d'Urfe alone,
telling her that I would return to the hotel when I had performed my
conjurations to the moon, at the same hour and in the same place in which
I had performed the seven consecrations.
I spoke the truth. I went to Marcoline, and while she was putting on her
disguise I wrote on a sheet of white paper, in large and odd-looking
letters, the following sentences, using, instead of ink, rock-alum:
"I am dumb but not deaf. I am come from the Rhone to bathe you. The hour
of Oromasis has begun."
"This is the note you are to give to the marchioness," I said, "when you
appear before her."
After supper we walked to the hotel and got in without anyone seeing us.
I hid Marcoline in a large cupboard, and then putting on my dressing-gown
I went to the marchioness to inform her that Selenis had fixed the next
day for the hour of regeneration, and that we must be careful to finish
before the hour of the moon began, as otherwise the operation would be
annulled or at least greatly enfeebled.
"You must take care," I added, "that the bath be here beside your bed,
and that Brougnole does not interrupt us."
"I will tell her to go out. But Selenis promised to send an Undine."
"True, but I have not yet seen such a being."
"Ask the oracle."
"Willingly."
She herself asked the question imploring Paralis not to delay the time of
her regeneration, even though the Undine were lacking, since she could
very well bathe herself.
"The commands of Oromasis change not," came the reply; "and in that you
have doubted them you have sinned."
At this the marchioness arose and performed an expiatory sacrifice, and
it appeared, on consulting the oracle, that Oromasis was satisfied.
The old lady did not move my pity so much as my laughter. She solemnly
embraced me and said,--
"To-morrow, Galtinardus, you will be my spouse and my father." When I got
back to my room and had shut the door, I drew the Undine out of her place
of concealment. She undressed, and as she knew that I should be obliged
to husband my forces, she turned her back on me, and we passed the night
without giving each other a single kiss, for a spark would have set us
all ablaze.
Next morning, before summoning Clairmont, I gave her her breakfast, and
then replaced her in the cupboard. Later on, I gave her her instructions
over again, telling her to do everything with calm precision, a cheerful
face, and, above all, silence.
"Don't be afraid," said she, "I will make no mistakes."
As we were to dine at noon exactly, I went to look for the marchioness,
but she was not in her room, though the bath was there, and the bed which
was to be our altar was prepared.
A few moments after, the marchioness came out of her dressing-room,
exquisitely painted, her hair arranged with the choicest lace, and
looking radiant. Her breasts, which forty years before had been the
fairest in all France, were covered with a lace shawl, her dress was of
the antique kind, but of extremely rich material, her ear-rings were
emeralds, and a necklace of seven aquamarines of the finest water, from
which hung an enormous emerald, surrounded by twenty brilliants, each
weighing a carat and a half, completed her costume. She wore on her
finger the carbuncle which she thought worth a million francs, but which
was really only a splendid imitation.
Seeing Semiramis thus decked out for the sacrifice, I thought it my
bounden duty to offer her my homage. I would have knelt before her and
kissed her hand, but she would not let me, and instead opened her arms
and strained me to her breast.
After telling Brougnole that she could go out till six o'clock, we talked
over our mysteries till the dinner was brought in.
Clairmont was the only person privileged to see us at dinner, at which
Semiramis would only eat fish. At half-past one I told Clairmont I was
not at home to anyone, and giving him a louis I told him to go and amuse
himself till the evening.
The marchioness began to be uneasy, and I pretended to be so, too. I
looked at my watch, calculated how the planetary hours were proceeding,
and said from time to time,--
"We are still in the hour of Mars, that of the sun has not yet
commenced."
At last the time-piece struck half-past two, and in two minutes
afterwards the fair and smiling Undine was seen advancing into the room.
She came along with measured steps, and knelt before Madame d'Urfe, and
gave her the paper she carried. Seeing that I did not rise, the
marchioness remained seated, but she raised the spirit with a gracious
air and took the paper from her. She was surprised, however, to find that
it was all white.
I hastened to give her a pen to consult the oracle on the subject, and
after I had made a pyramid of her question, she interpreted it and found
the answer:
"That which is written in water must be read in water."
"I understand now," said she, and going to the bath she plunged the paper
into it, and then read in still whiter letters: "I am dumb, but not deaf.
I am come from the Rhone to bathe you. The hour of Oromasis has begun."
"Then bathe me, divine being," said Semiramis, putting down the paper and
sitting on the bed.
With perfect exactitude Marcoline undressed the marchioness, and
delicately placed her feet in the water, and then, in a twinkling she had
undressed herself, and was in the bath, beside Madame d'Urfe. What a
contrast there was between the two bodies; but the sight of the one
kindled the flame which the other was to quench.
As I gazed on the beautiful girl, I, too, undressed, and when I was ready
to take off my shirt I spoke as follows: "O divine being, wipe the feet
of Semiramis, and be the witness of my union with her, to the glory of
the immortal Horomadis, King of the Salamanders."
Scarcely had I uttered my prayer when it was granted, and I consummated
my first union with Semiramis, gazing on the charms of Marcoline, which I
had never seen to such advantage before.
Semiramis had been handsome, but she was then what I am now, and without
the Undine the operation would have failed. Nevertheless, Semiramis was
affectionate, clean, and sweet in every respect, and had nothing
disgusting about her, so I succeeded.
When the milk had been poured forth upon the altar, I said,--
"We must now await the hour of Venus."
The Undine performed the ablutions, embraced the bride, and came to
perform the same office for me.
Semiramis was in an ecstasy of happiness, and as she pointed out to me
the beauties of the Undine I was obliged to confess that I had never seen
any mortal woman to be compared to her in beauty. Semiramis grew excited
by so voluptuous a sight, and when the hour of Venus began I proceeded to
the second assault, which would be the severest, as the hour was of
sixty-five minutes. I worked for half an hour, steaming with
perspiration, and tiring Semiramis, without being able to come to the
point. Still I was ashamed to trick her. She, the victim, wiped the drops
of sweat from my forehead, while the Undine, seeing my exhaustion,
kindled anew the flame which the contact of that aged body had destroyed.
Towards the end of the hour, as I was exhausted and still unsuccessful, I
was obliged to deceive her by making use of those movements which are
incidental to success. As I went out of the battle with all the signs of
my strength still about me, Semiramis could have no doubts as to the
reality of my success, and even the Undine was deceived when she came to
wash me. But the third hour had come, and we were obliged to satisfy
Mercury. We spent a quarter of the time in the bath, while the Undine
delighted Semiramis by caresses which would have delighted the regent of
France, if he had ever known of them. The good marchioness, believing
these endearments to be peculiar to river spirits, was pleased with
everything, and begged the Undine to shew me the same kindness. Marcoline
obeyed, and lavished on me all the resources of the Venetian school of
love. She was a perfect Lesbian, and her caresses having soon restored me
to all my vigour I was encouraged to undertake to satisfy Mercury. I
proceeded to the work, but alas! it was all in vain. I saw how my
fruitless efforts vexed the Undine, and perceiving that Madame d'Urfe had
had enough, I again took the course of deceiving her by pretended
ecstacies and movements, followed by complete rest. Semiramis afterwards
told me that my exertions shewed that I was something more than mortal.
I threw myself into the bath, and underwent my third ablution, then I
dressed. Marcoline washed the marchioness and proceeded to clothe her,
and did so with such a graceful charm that Madame d'Urfe followed the
inspiration of her good genius, and threw her magnificent necklace over
the Undine's neck. After a parting Venetian kiss she vanished, and went
to her hiding place in the cupboard.
Semiramis asked the oracle if the operation had been successful. The
answer was that she bore within her the seed of the sun, and that in the
beginning of next February she would be brought to bed of another self of
the same sex as the creator; but in order that the evil genii might not
be able to do her any harm she must keep quiet in her bed for a hundred
and seven hours in succession.
The worthy marchioness was delighted to receive this order, and looked
upon it as a good omen, for I had tired her dreadfully. I kissed her,
saying that I was going to the country to collect together what remained
of the substances that I had used in my ceremonies, but I promised to
dine with her on the morrow.
I shut myself up in my room with the Undine, and we amused ourselves as
best we could till it was night, for she could not go out while it was
light in her spiritual costume. I took off my handsome wedding garment,
and as soon as it was dusk we crept out, and went away to Marcoline's
lodging in a hackney coach, carrying with us the planetary offerings
which I had gained so cleverly.
We were dying of hunger, but the delicious supper which was waiting for
us brought us to life again. As soon as we got into the room Marcoline
took off her green clothes and put on her woman's dress, saying,--
"I was not born to wear the breeches. Here, take the beautiful necklace
the madwoman gave me!"
"I will sell it, fair Undine, and you shall have the proceeds."
"Is it worth much?"
"At least a thousand sequins. By the time you get back to Venice you will
be worth at least five thousand ducats, and you will be able to get a
husband and live with him in a comfortable style."
"Keep it all, I don't want it; I want you. I will never cease to love
you; I will do whatever you tell me, and I promise never to be jealous. I
will care for you--yes, as if you were my son."
"Do not let us say anything more about it, fair Marcoline, but let us go
to bed, for you have never inspired me with so much ardour as now."
"But you must be tired."
"Yes, but not exhaustion, for I was only able to perform the distillation
once."
"I thought you sacrificed twice on that old altar. Poor old woman! she is
still pretty, and I have no doubt that fifty years ago she was one of the
first beauties in France. How foolish of her to be thinking of love at
that age."
"You excited me, but she undid your work even more quickly."
"Are you always obliged to have--a girl beside you when you make love to
her?"
"No; before, there was no question of making a son."
"What? you are going to make her pregnant? That's ridiculous! Does she
imagine that she has conceived?"
"Certainly; and the hope makes her happy."
"What a mad idea! But why did you try to do it three times?"
"I thought to shew my strength, and that if I gazed on you I should not
fail; but I was quite mistaken."
"I pity you for having suffered so much."
"You will renew my strength."
As a matter of fact, I do not know whether to attribute it to the
difference between the old and the young, but I spent a most delicious
night with the beautiful Venetian--a night which I can only compare to
those I passed at Parma with Henriette, and at Muran with the beautiful
nun. I spent fourteen hours in bed, of which four at least were devoted
to expiating the insult I had offered to love. When I had dressed and
taken my chocolate I told Marcoline to dress herself with elegance, and
to expect me in the evening just before the play began. I could see that
she was intensely delighted with the prospect.
I found Madame d'Urfe in bed, dressed with care and in the fashion of a
young bride, and with a smile of satisfaction on her face which I had
never remarked there before.
"To thee, beloved Galtinardus, I owe all my happiness," said she, as she
embraced me.
"I am happy to have contributed to it, divine Semiramis, but you must
remember I am only the agent of the genii."
Thereupon the marchioness began to argue in the most sensible manner, but
unfortunately the foundation of her argument was wholly chimerical.
"Marry me," said she; "you will then be able to be governor of the child,
who will be your son. In this manner you will keep all my property for
me, including what I shall have from my brother M. de Pontcarre, who is
old and cannot live much longer. If you do not care for me in February
next, when I shall be born again, into what hands shall I fall! I shall
be called a bastard, and my income of twenty-four thousand francs will be
lost to me. Think over it, dear Galtinardus. I must tell you that I feel
already as if I were a man. I confess I am in love with the Undine, and I
should like to know whether I shall be able to sleep with her in fourteen
or fifteen years time. I shall be so if Oromasis will it, and then I
shall be happy indeed. What a charming creature she is? Have you ever
seen a woman like her? What a pity she is dumb!"
"She, no doubt, has a male water-spirit for a lover. But all of them are
dumb, since it is impossible to speak in the water. I wonder she is not
deaf as well. I can't think why you didn't touch her. The softness of her
skin is something wonderful--velvet and satin are not to be compared to
it! And then her breath is so sweet! How delighted I should be if I could
converse with such an exquisite being."
"Dear Galtinardus, I beg you will consult the oracle to find out where I
am to be brought to bed, and if you won't marry me I think I had better
save all I have that I may have some provision when I am born again, for
when I am born I shall know nothing, and money will be wanted to educate
me. By selling the whole a large sum might be realized which could be put
out at interest. Thus the interest would suffice without the capital
being touched."
"The oracle must be our guide," said I. "You will be my son, and I will
never allow anyone to call you a bastard."
The sublime madwoman was quiet by this assurance.
Doubtless many a reader will say that if I had been an honest man I
should have undeceived her, but I cannot agree with them; it would have
been impossible, and I confess that even if it had been possible I would
not have done so, for it would only have made me unhappy.
I had told Marcoline to dress with elegance, and I put on one of my
handsomest suits to accompany her to the theatre. Chance brought the two
sisters Rangoni, daughters of the Roman consul, into our box. As I had
made their acquaintance on my first visit to Marseilles, I introduced
Marcoline to them as my niece, who only spoke Italian. As the two young
ladies spoke the tongue of Tasso also, Marcoline was highly delighted.
The younger sister, who was by far the handsomer of the two, afterwards
became the wife of Prince Gonzaga Solferino. The prince was a cultured
man, and even a genius, but very poor. For all that he was a true son of
Gonzaga, being a son of Leopold, who was also poor, and a girl of the
Medini family, sister to the Medini who died in prison at London in the
year 1787.
Babet Rangoni, though poor, deserved to become a princess, for she had
all the airs and manners of one. She shines under her name of Rangoni
amongst the princess and princesses of the almanacs. Her vain husband is
delighted at his wife being thought to belong to the illustrious family
of Medini--an innocent feeling, which does neither good nor harm. The
same publications turn Medini into Medici, which is equally harmless.
This species of lie arises from the idiotic pride of the nobles who think
themselves raised above the rest of humanity by their titles which they
have often acquired by some act of baseness. It is of no use interfering
with them on this point, since all things are finally appreciated at
their true value, and the pride of the nobility is easily discounted when
one sees them as they really are.
Prince Gonzaga Solferino, whom I saw at Venice eighteen years ago, lived
on a pension allowed him by the empress. I hope the late emperor did not
deprive him of it, as it was well deserved by this genius and his
knowledge of literature.
At the play Marcoline did nothing but chatter with Babet Rangoni, who
wanted me to bring the fair Venetian to see her, but I had my own reasons
for not doing so.
I was thinking how I could send Madame d'Urfe to Lyons, for I had no
further use for her at Marseilles, and she was often embarrassing. For
instance, on the third day after her regeneration, she requested me to
ask Paralis where she was to die--that is, to be brought to bed. I made
the oracle reply that she must sacrifice to the water-spirits on the
banks of two rivers, at the same hour, and that afterwards the question
of her lying-in would be resolved. The oracle added that I must perform
three expiatory sacrifices to Saturn, on account of my too harsh
treatment of the false Querilinthos, and that Semiramis need not take
part in these ceremonies, though she herself must perform the sacrifices
to the water-spirits.
As I was pretending to think of a place where two rivers were
sufficiently near to each other to fulfil the requirements of the oracle,
Semiramis herself suggested that Lyons was watered by the Rhone and the
Saone, and that it would be an excellent place for the ceremony. As may
be imagined, I immediately agreed with her. On asking Paralis if there
were any preparations to be made, he replied that it Would be necessary
to pour a bottle of sea-water into each river a fortnight before the
sacrifice, and that this ceremony was to be performed by Semiramis in
person, at the first diurnal hour of the moon.
"Then," said the marchioness, "the bottles must be filled here, for the
other French ports are farther off. I will go as soon as ever I can leave
my bed, and will wait for you at Lyons; for as you have to perform
expiatory sacrifices to Saturn in this place, you cannot come with me."
I assented, pretending sorrow at not being able to accompany her. The
next morning I brought her two well-sealed bottles of sea-water, telling
her that she was to pour them out into the two rivers on the 15th of May
(the current month). We fixed her departure for the 11th, and I promised
to rejoin her before the expiration of the fortnight. I gave her the
hours of the moon in writing, and also directions for the journey.
As soon as the marchioness had gone I left the "Treize Cantons" and went
to live with Marcoline, giving her four hundred and sixty louis, which,
with the hundred and forty she had won at biribi, gave her a total of six
hundred louis, or fourteen thousand four hundred francs. With this sum
she could look the future in the face fearlessly.
The day after Madame d'Urfe's departure, the betrothed of Mdlle. Crosin
arrived at Marseilles with a letter from Rosalie, which he handed to me
on the day of his arrival. She begged me in the name of our common honour
to introduce the bearer in person to the father of the betrothed. Rosalie
was right, but as the lady was not my real niece there were some
difficulties in the way. I welcomed the young man and told him that I
would first take him to Madame Audibert, and that we could then go
together to his father-in-law in prospective.
The young Genoese had gone to the "Treize Cantons," where he thought I
was staying. He was delighted to find himself so near the goal of his
desires, and his ecstacy received a new momentum when he saw how
cordially Madame Audibert received him. We all got into my carriage and
drove to the father's who gave him an excellent reception, and then
presented him to his wife, who was already friendly disposed towards him.
I was pleasantly surprised when this good and sensible man introduced me
to his wife as his cousin, the Chevalier de Seingalt, who had taken such
care of their daughter. The good wife and good mother, her husband's
worthy partner, stretched out her hand to me, and all my trouble was
over.
My new cousin immediately sent an express messenger to his sister,
telling her that he and his wife, his future son-in-law, Madame Audibert,
and a cousin she had not met before, would come and dine with her on the
following day. This done he invited us, and Madame Audibert said that she
would escort us. She told him that I had another niece with me, of whom
his daughter was very fond, and would be delighted to see again. The
worthy man was overjoyed to be able to increase his daughter's happiness.
I, too, was pleased with Madame Audibert's tact and thoughtfulness; and
as making Marcoline happy was to make me happy also, I expressed my
gratitude to her in very warm terms.
I took the young Genoese to the play, to Marcoline's delight, for she
would have liked the French very much if she could have understood them.
We had an excellent supper together, in the course of which I told
Marcoline of the pleasure which awaited her on the morrow. I thought she
would have gone wild with joy.
The next day we were at Madame Audibert's as punctually as Achilles on
the field of battle. The lady spoke Italian well, and was charmed with
Marcoline, reproaching me for not having introduced her before. At eleven
we got to St. Louis, and my eyes were charmed with the dramatic
situation. My late niece had an air of dignity which became her to
admiration, and received her future husband with great graciousness; and
then, after thanking me with a pleasant smile for introducing him to her
father, she passed from dignity to gaiety, and gave her sweetheart a
hundred kisses.
The dinner was delicious, and passed off merrily; but I alone preserved a
tender melancholy, though I laughed to myself when they asked me why I
was sad. I was thought to be sad because I did not talk in my usual
vivacious manner, but far from being really sad that was one of the
happiest moments of my life. My whole being was absorbed in the calm
delight which follows a good action. I was the author of the comedy which
promised such a happy ending. I was pleased with the thought that my
influence in the world was more for good than for ill, and though I was
not born a king yet I contrived to make many people happy. Everyone at
table was indebted to me for some part of their happiness, and the
father, the mother, and the betrothed pair wholly so. This thought made
me feel a peaceful calm which I could only enjoy in silence.
Mdlle. Crosin returned to Marseilles with her father, her mother, and her
future husband, whom the father wished to take up his abode with them. I
went back with Madame Audibert, who made me promise to bring the
delightful Marcoline to sup with her.
The marriage depended on the receipt of a letter from the young man's
father, in answer to one from my niece's father. It will be taken for
granted that we were all asked to the wedding, and Marcoline's affection
for me increased every day.
When we went to sup with Madame Audibert we found a rich and witty young
wine merchant at her house. He sat beside Marcoline, who entertained him
with her sallies; and as the young man could speak Italian, and even the
Venetian dialect (for he had spent a year at Venice), he was much
impressed by the charms of my new niece.
I have always been jealous of my mistresses; but when a rival promises to
marry them and give them a good establishment, jealousy gives way to a
more generous feeling. For the moment I satisfied myself by asking Madame
Audibert who he was, and I was delighted to hear that he had an excellent
reputation, a hundred thousand crowns, a large business, and complete
independence.
The next day he came to see us in our box at the theatre, and Marcoline
received him very graciously. Wishing to push the matter on I asked him
to sup with us, and when he came I was well pleased with his manners and
his intelligence; to Marcoline he was tender but respectful. On his
departure I told him I hoped he would come and see us again, and when we
were alone I congratulated Marcoline on her conquest, and shewed her that
she might succeed almost as well as Mdlle. Crosin. But instead of being
grateful she was furiously, angry.
"If you want to get rid of me," said she, "send me back to Venice, but
don't talk to me about marrying."
"Calm yourself, my angel! I get rid of you? What an idea! Has my
behaviour led you to suppose that you are in my way? This handsome,
well-educated, and rich young man has come under my notice. I see he
loves you and you like him, and as I love you and wish to see you
sheltered from the storms of fortune, and as I think this pleasant young
Frenchman would make you happy, I have pointed out to you these
advantages, but instead of being grateful you scold me. Do not weep,
sweetheart, you grieve my very soul!"
"I am weeping because you think that I can love him."
"It might be so, dearest, and without my honour taking any hurt; but let
us say no more about it and get into bed."
Marcoline's tears changed to smiles and kisses, and we said no more about
the young wine merchant. The next day he came to our box again, but the
scene had changed; she was polite but reserved, and I dared not ask him
to supper as I had done the night before. When we had got home Marcoline
thanked me for not doing so, adding that she had been afraid I would.
"What you said last night is a sufficient guide for me for the future."
In the morning Madame Audibert called on behalf of the wine merchant to
ask us to sup with him. I turned towards the fair Venetian, and guessing
my thoughts she hastened to reply that she would be happy to go anywhere
in company with Madame Audibert. That lady came for us in the evening,
and took us to the young man's house, where we found a magnificent
supper, but no other guests awaiting us. The house was luxuriously
furnished, it only lacked a mistress. The master divided his attention
between the two ladies, and Marcoline looked ravishing. Everything
convinced me that she had kindled the ardour of the worthy young wine
merchant.
The next day I received a note from Madame Audibert, asking me to call on
her. When I went I found she wanted to give my consent to the marriage of
Marcoline with her friend.
"The proposal is a very agreeable one to me," I answered, "and I would
willingly give her thirty thousand francs as a dowry, but I can have
nothing to do with the matter personally. I will send her to you; and if
you can win her over you may count on my word, but do not say that you
are speaking on my behalf, for that might spoil everything."
"I will come for her, and if you like she shall dine with me, and you can
take her to the play in the evening."
Madame Audibert came the following day, and Marcoline went to dinner with
her. I called for her at five o'clock, and finding her looking pleased
and happy I did not know what to think. As Madame Audibert did not take
me aside I stifled my curiosity and went with Marcoline to the theatre,
without knowing what had passed.
On the way Marcoline sang the praises of Madame Audibert, but did not say
a word of the proposal she must have made to her. About the middle of the
piece, however, I thought I saw the explanation of the riddle, for the
young man was in the pit, and did not come to our box though there were
two empty places.
We returned home without a word about the merchant or Madame Audibert,
but as I knew in my own mind what had happened, I felt disposed to be
grateful, and I saw that Marcoline was overjoyed to find me more
affectionate than ever. At last, amidst our amorous assaults, Marcoline,
feeling how dearly I loved her, told me what had passed between her and
Madame Audibert.
"She spoke to me so kindly and so sensibly," said she, "but I contented
myself with saying that I would never marry till you told me to do so.
All the same I thank you with all my heart for the ten thousand crowns
you are willing to give me. You have tossed the ball to me and I have
sent it back. I will go back to Venice whenever you please if you will
not take me to England with you, but I will never marry. I expect we
shall see no more of the young gentleman, though if I had never met you I
might have loved him."
It was evidently all over, and I liked her for the part she had taken,
for a man who knows his own worth is not likely to sigh long at the feet
of an obdurate lady.
The wedding-day of my late niece came round. Marcoline was there, without
diamonds, but clad in a rich dress which set off her beauty and satisfied
my vanity.
CHAPTER IV
I Leave Marseilles--Henriette at Aix--Irene at Avignon--
Treachery of Possano--Madame d'Urfe Leaves Lyon
The wedding only interested me because of the bride. The plentiful rather
than choice repast, the numerous and noisy company, the empty
compliments, the silly conversation, the roars of laughter at very poor
jokes--all this would have driven me to despair if it had not been for
Madame Audibert, whom I did not leave for a moment. Marcoline followed
the young bride about like a shadow, and the latter, who was going to
Genoa in a week, wanted Marcoline to come in her train, promising to have
her taken to Venice by a person of trust, but my sweetheart would listen
to no proposal for separating her from me,--
"I won't go to Venice," she said, "till you send me there."
The splendours of her friend's marriage did not make her experience the
least regret at having refused the young wine merchant. The bride beamed
with happiness, and on my congratulating her she confessed her joy to be
great, adding that it was increased by the fact that she owed it all to
me. She was also very glad to be going to Genoa, where she was sure of
finding a true friend in Rosalie, who would sympathize with her, their
fortunes having been very similar.
The day after the wedding I began to make preparations for my departure.
The first thing I disposed of was the box containing the planetary
offerings. I kept the diamonds and precious stones, and took all the gold
and silver to Rousse de Cosse, who still held the sum which Greppi had
placed to my credit. I took a bill of exchange on Tourton and Bauer, for
I should not be wanting any money at Lyons as Madame d'Urfe was there,
and consequently the three hundred louis I had about me would be ample. I
acted differently where Marcoline was concerned. I added a sufficient sum
to her six hundred louis to give her a capital in round numbers of
fifteen thousand francs. I got a bill drawn on Lyons for that amount, for
I intended at the first opportunity to send her back to Venice, and with
that idea had her trunks packed separately with all the linen and dresses
which I had given her in abundance.
On the eve of our departure we took leave of the newly-married couple and
the whole family at supper, and we parted with tears, promising each
other a lifelong friendship.
The next day we set out intending to travel all night and not to stop
till we got to Avignon, but about five o'clock the chain of the carriage
broke, and we could go no further until a wheelwright had repaired the
damage. We settled ourselves down to wait patiently, and Clairmont went
to get information at a fine house on our right, which was approached by
an alley of trees. As I had only one postillion, I did not allow him to
leave his horses for a moment. Before long we saw Clairmont reappear with
two servants, one of whom invited me, on behalf of his master, to await
the arrival of the wheelwright at his house. It would have been churlish
to refuse this invitation which was in the true spirit of French
politeness, so leaving Clairmont in charge Marcoline and I began to wend
our way towards the hospitable abode.
Three ladies and two gentleman came to meet us, and one of the gentlemen
said they congratulated themselves on my small mishap, since it enabled
madam to offer me her house and hospitality. I turned towards the lady
whom the gentleman had indicated, and thanked her, saying, that I hoped
not to trouble her long, but that I was deeply grateful for her kindness.
She made me a graceful curtsy, but I could not make out her features, for
a stormy wind was blowing, and she and her two friends had drawn their
hoods almost entirely over their faces. Marcoline's beautiful head was
uncovered and her hair streaming in the breeze. She only replied by
graceful bows and smiles to the compliments which were addressed to her
on all sides. The gentleman who had first accosted me asked me, as he
gave her his arm, if she were my daughter. Marcoline smiled and I
answered that she was my cousin, and that we were both Venetians.
A Frenchman is so bent on flattering a pretty woman that he will always
do so, even if it be at the expense of a third party. Nobody could really
think that Marcoline was my daughter, for though I was twenty years older
than she was, I looked ten years younger than my real age, and so
Marcoline smiled suggestively.
We were just going into the house when a large mastiff ran towards us,
chasing a pretty spaniel, and the lady, being afraid of getting bitten,
began to run, made a false step, and fell to the ground. We ran to help
her, but she said she had sprained her ankle, and limped into the house
on the arm of one of the gentlemen. Refreshments were brought in, and I
saw that Marcoline looked uneasy in the company of a lady who was talking
to her. I hastened to excuse her, saying that she did not speak French.
As a matter of fact, Marcoline had begun to talk a sort of French, but
the most charming language in the world will not bear being spoken badly,
and I had begged her not to speak at all till she had learned to express
herself properly. It is better to remain silent than to make strangers
laugh by odd expressions and absurd equivocations.
The less pretty, or rather the uglier, of the two ladies said that it was
astonishing that the education of young ladies was neglected in such a
shocking manner at Venice. "Fancy not teaching them French!"
"It is certainly very wrong, but in my country young ladies are neither
taught foreign languages nor round games. These important branches of
education are attended to afterwards."
"Then you are a Venetian, too?"
"Yes, madam."
"Really, I should not have thought so."
I made a bow in return for this compliment, which in reality was only an
insult; for if flattering to me it was insulting to the rest of my
fellow-countrymen, and Marcoline thought as much for she made a little
grimace accompanied by a knowing smile.
"I see that the young lady understands French," said our flattering
friend, "she laughs exactly in the right place."
"Yes, she understands it, and as for her laughter it was due to the fact
that she knows me to be like all other Venetians."
"Possibly, but it is easy to see that you have lived a long time in
France."
"Yes, madam," said Marcoline; and these words in her pretty Venetian
accent were a pleasure to hear.
The gentleman who had taken the lady to her room said that she found her
foot to be rather swollen, and had gone to bed hoping we would all come
upstairs.
We found her lying in a splendid bed, placed in an alcove which the thick
curtains of red satin made still darker. I could not see whether she was
young or old, pretty or ugly. I said that I was very sorry to be the
indirect cause of her mishap, and she replied in good Italian that it was
a matter of no consequence, and that she did not think she could pay too
dear for the privilege of entertaining such pleasant guests.
"Your ladyship must have lived in Venice to speak the language with so
much correctness."
"No, I have never been there, but I have associated a good deal with
Venetians."
A servant came and told me that the wheelwright had arrived, and that he
would take four hours to mend my carriage, so I went downstairs. The man
lived at a quarter of a league's distance, and by tying the carriage pole
with ropes, I could drive to his place, and wait there for the carriage
to be mended. I was about to do so, when the gentleman who did the
honours of the house came and asked me, on behalf of the lady, to sup and
pass the night at her house, as to go to the wheelwright's would be out
of my way; the man would have to work by night, I should be
uncomfortable, and the work would be ill done. I assented to the
countess's proposal, and having agreed with the man to come early the
next day and bring his tools with him, I told Clairmont to take my
belongings into the room which was assigned to me.
When I returned to the countess's room I found everyone laughing at
Marcoline's sallies, which the countess translated. I was not astonished
at seeing the way in which my fair Venetian caressed the countess, but I
was enraged at not being able to see her, for I knew Marcoline would not
treat any woman in that manner unless she were pretty.
The table was spread in the bedroom of the countess, whom I hoped to see
at supper-time, but I was disappointed; for she declared that she could
not take anything, and all supper-time she talked to Marcoline and
myself, shewing intelligence, education, and a great knowledge of
Italian. She let fall the expression, "my late husband," so I knew her
for a widow, but as I did not dare to ask any questions, my knowledge
ended at that point. When Clairmont was undressing me he told me her
married name, but as I knew nothing of the family that was no addition to
my information.
When we had finished supper, Marcoline took up her old position by the
countess's bed, and they talked so volubly to one another that nobody
else could get in a word.
When politeness bade me retire, my pretended cousin said she was going to
sleep with the countess. As the latter laughingly assented, I refrained
from telling my madcap that she was too forward, and I could see by their
mutual embraces that they were agreed in the matter. I satisfied myself
with saying that I could not guarantee the sex of the countess's
bed-fellow, but she answered,
"Never mind; if there be a mistake I shall be the gainer."
This struck me as rather free, but I was not the man to be scandalized. I
was amused at the tastes of my fair Venetian, and at the manner in which
she contrived to gratify them as she had done at Genoa with my last
niece. As a rule the Provencal women are inclined this way, and far from
reproaching them I like them all the better for it.
The next day I rose at day-break to hurry on the wheelwright, and when
the work was done I asked if the countess were visible. Directly after
Marcoline came out with one of the gentlemen, who begged me to excuse the
countess, as she could not receive me in her present extremely scanty
attire; "but she hopes that whenever you are in these parts you will
honour her and her house by your company, whether you are alone or with
friends."
This refusal, gilded as it was, was a bitter pill for me to swallow, but
I concealed my disgust, as I could only put it down to Marcoline's
doings; she seemed in high spirits, and I did not like to mortify her. I
thanked the gentleman with effusion, and placing a Louis in the hands of
all the servants who were present I took my leave.
I kissed Marcoline affectionately, so that she should not notice my ill
humour, and asked how she and the countess spent the night.
"Capitally," said she. "The countess is charming, and we amused ourselves
all night with the tricks of two amorous women."
"Is she pretty or old?"
"She is only thirty-three, and, I assure you, she is as pretty as my
friend Mdlle. Crosin. I can speak with authority for we saw each other in
a state of nature."
"You are a singular creature; you were unfaithful to me for a woman, and
left me to pass the night by myself."
"You must forgive me, and I had to sleep with her as she was the first to
declare her love."
"Really? How was that?"
"When I gave her the first of my kisses she returned it in the Florentine
manner, and our tongues met. After supper, I confess, I was the first to
begin the suggestive caresses, but she met me half-way. I could only make
her happy by spending the night with her. Look, this will shew you how
pleased she was."
With these words Marcoline drew a superb ring, set with brilliants, from
her finger. I was astonished.
"Truly," I said, "this woman is fond of pleasure and deserves to have
it."
I gave my Lesbian (who might have vied with Sappho) a hundred kisses,
and forgave her her infidelity.
"But," I remarked, "I can't think why she did not want me to see her; I
think she has treated me rather cavalierly."
"No, I think the reason was that she was ashamed to be seen by my lover
after having made me unfaithful to him; I had to confess that we were
lovers."
"Maybe. At all events you have been well paid; that ring is worth two
hundred louis:"
"But I may as well tell you that I was well enough paid for the pleasure
I gave by the pleasure I received."
"That's right; I am delighted to see you happy."
"If you want to make me really happy, take me to England with you. My
uncle will be there, and I could go back to Venice with him."
"What! you have an uncle in England? Do you really mean it? It sounds
like a fairy-tale. You never told me of it before."
"I have never said anything about it up to now, because I have always
imagined that this might prevent your accomplishing your desire."
"Is your uncle a Venetian? What is he doing in England? Are you sure that
he will welcome you?"
"Yes."
"What is his name? And how are we to find him in a town of more than a
million inhabitants?"
"He is ready found. His name is Mattio Boisi, and he is valet de chambre
to M. Querini, the Venetian ambassador sent to England to congratulate
the new king; he is accompanied by the Procurator Morosini. My uncle is
my mother's brother; he is very fond of me, and will forgive my fault,
especially when he finds I am rich. When he went to England he said he
would be back in Venice in July, and we shall just catch him on the point
of departure."
As far as the embassy went I knew it was all true, from the letters I had
received from M. de Bragadin, and as for the rest Marcoline seemed to me
to be speaking the truth. I was flattered by her proposal and agreed to
take her to England so that I should possess her for five or six weeks
longer without committing myself to anything.
We reached Avignon at the close of the day, and found ourselves very
hungry. I knew that the "St. Omer" was an excellent inn, and when I got
there I ordered a choice meal and horses for five o'clock the next
morning. Marcoline, who did not like night travelling, was in high glee,
and threw her arms around my neck, saying,--
"Are we at Avignon now?"
"Yes, dearest."
"Then I conscientiously discharge the trust which the countess placed in
me when she embraced me for the last time this morning. She made me swear
not to say a word about it till we got to Avignon."
"All this puzzles me, dearest; explain yourself."
"She gave me a letter for you."
"A letter?"
"Will you forgive me for not placing it in your hands sooner?"
"Certainly, if you passed your word to the countess; but where is this
letter?"
"Wait a minute."
She drew a large bundle of papers from her pocket, saying,--
"This is my certificate of baptism."
"I see you were born in 1746."
"This is a certificate of 'good conduct.'"
"Keep it, it may be useful to you."
"This is my certificate of virginity."
"That's no use. Did you get it from a midwife?"
"No, from the Patriarch of Venice."
"Did he test the matter for himself?"
"No, he was too old; he trusted in me."
"Well, well, let me see the letter."
"I hope I haven't lost it."
"I hope not, to God."
"Here is your brother's promise of marriage; he wanted to be a
Protestant."
"You may throw that into the fire."
"What is a Protestant?"
"I will tell you another time. Give me the letter."
"Praised be God, here it is!"
"That's lucky; but it has no address."
My heart beat fast, as I opened it, and found, instead of an address,
these words in Italian:
"To the most honest man of my acquaintance."
Could this be meant for me? I turned down the leaf, and read one
word--Henriette! Nothing else; the rest of the paper was blank.
At the sight of that word I was for a moment annihilated.
"Io non mori, e non rimasi vivo."
Henriette! It was her style, eloquent in its brevity. I recollected her
last letter from Pontarlier, which I had received at Geneva, and which
contained only one word--Farewell!
Henriette, whom I had loved so well, whom I seemed at that moment to love
as well as ever. "Cruel Henriette," said I to myself, "you saw me and
would not let me see you. No doubt you thought your charms would not have
their old power, and feared lest I should discover that after all you
were but mortal. And yet I love you with all the ardour of my early
passion. Why did you not let me learn from your own mouth that you were
happy? That is the only question I should have asked you, cruel fair one.
I should not have enquired whether you loved me still, for I feel my
unworthiness, who have loved other women after loving the most perfect of
her sex. Adorable Henriette, I will fly to you to-morrow, since you told
me that I should be always welcome."
I turned these thoughts over in my own mind, and fortified myself in this
resolve; but at last I said,--
"No, your behaviour proves that you do not wish to see me now, and your
wishes shall be respected; but I must see you once before I die."
Marcoline scarcely dared breathe to see me thus motionless and lost in
thought, and I do not know when I should have come to myself if the
landlord had not come in saying that he remembered my tastes, and had got
me a delicious supper. This brought me to my senses, and I made my fair
Venetian happy again by embracing her in a sort of ecstacy.
"Do you know," she said, "you quite frightened me? You were as pale and
still as a dead man, and remained for a quarter of an hour in a kind of
swoon, the like of which I have never seen. What is the reason? I knew
that the countess was acquainted with you, but I should never have
thought that her name by itself could have such an astonishing effect."
"Well, it is strange; but how did you find out that the countess knew
me?"
"She told me as much twenty times over in the night, but she made me
promise to say nothing about it till I had given you the letter."
"What did she say to you about me?"
"She only repeated in different ways what she has written for an
address."
"What a letter it is! Her name, and nothing more."
"It is very strange."
"Yes, but the name tells all."
"She told me that if I wanted to be happy I should always remain with
you. I said I knew that well; but that you wanted to send me back to
Venice, though you were very fond of me. I can guess now that you were
lovers. How long ago was it?"
"Sixteen or seventeen years."
"She must have been very young, but she cannot have been prettier than
she is now."
"Be quiet, Marcoline."
"Did your union with her last long?"
"We lived together four months in perfect happiness."
"I shall not be happy for so long as that."
"Yes you will, and longer, too; but with another man, and one more
suitable to you in age. I am going to England to try to get my daughter
from her mother."
"Your daughter? The countess asked me if you were married, and I said
no."
"You were right; she is my illegitimate daughter. She must be ten now,
and when you see her you will confess that she must belong to me."
Just as we were sitting down to table we heard someone going downstairs
to the table d'hote in the room where I had made Madame Stuard's
acquaintance, our door was open, and we could see the people on the
stairs; and one of them seeing us gave a cry of joy, and came running in,
exclaiming, "My dear papa!" I turned to the light and saw Irene, the same
whom I had treated so rudely at Genoa after my discussion with her father
about biribi. I embraced her effusively, and the sly little puss,
pretending to be surprised to see Marcoline, made her a profound bow,
which was returned with much grace. Marcoline listened attentively to our
conversation.
"What are you doing here, fair Irene?"
"We have been here for the last fortnight. Good heavens! how lucky I am
to find you again. I am quite weak. Will you allow me to sit down,
madam?"
"Yes, yes, my dear," said I, "sit down;" and I gave her a glass of wine
which restored her.
A waiter came up, and said they were waiting for her at supper, but she
said, "I won't take any supper;" and Marcoline, always desirous of
pleasing me, ordered a third place to be laid. I made her happy by giving
an approving nod.
We sat down to table, and ate our meal with great appetite. "When we have
done," I said to Irene, "you must tell us what chance has brought you to
Avignon."
Marcoline, who had not spoken a word hitherto, noticing how hungry Irene
was, said pleasantly that it would have been a mistake if she had not
taken any supper. Irene was delighted to hear Venetian spoken, and
thanked her for her kindness, and in three or four minutes they had
kissed and become friends.
It amused me to see the way in which Marcoline always fell in love with
pretty women, just as if she had been a man.
In the course of conversation I found that Irene's father and mother were
at the table d'hote below, and from sundry exclamations, such as "you
have been brought to Avignon out of God's goodness," I learned that they
were in distress. In spite of that Irene's mirthful countenance matched
Marcoline's sallies, and the latter was delighted to hear that Irene had
only called me papa because her mother had styled her my daughter at
Milan.
We had only got half-way through our supper when Rinaldi and his wife
came in. I asked them to sit down, but if it had not been for Irene I
should have given the old rascal a very warm reception. He began to chide
his daughter for troubling me with her presence when I had such fair
company already, but Marcoline hastened to say that Irene could only have
given me pleasure, for in my capacity of her uncle I was always glad when
she was able to enjoy the society of a sweet young girl.
"I hope," she added, "that if she doesn't mind she will sleep with me."
"Yes, yes," resounded on all sides, and though I should have preferred to
sleep with Marcoline by herself, I laughed and agreed; I have always been
able to accommodate myself to circumstances.
Irene shared Marcoline's desires, for when it was settled that they
should sleep together they seemed wild with joy, and I added fuel to the
fire by plying them with punch and champagne.
Rinaldi and his wife did not leave us till they were quite drunk. When we
had got rid of them, Irene told us how a Frenchman had fallen in love
with her at Genoa, and had persuaded her father to go to Nice where high
play was going on, but meeting with no luck there she had been obliged to
sell what she had to pay the inn-keeper. Her lover had assured her that
he would make it up to her at Aix, where there was some money owing to
him, and she persuaded her father to go there; but the persons who owed
the money having gone to Avignon, there had to be another sale of goods.
"When we got here the luck was no better, and the poor young man, whom my
father reproached bitterly, would have killed himself if I had not given
him the mantle you gave me that he might pawn it and go on his quest. He
got four louis for it, and sent me the ticket with a very tender letter,
in which he assured me that he would find some money at Lyons, and that
he would then return and take us to Bordeaux, where we are to find
treasures. In the meanwhile we are penniless, and as we have nothing more
to sell the landlord threatens to turn us out naked."
"And what does your father mean to do?"
"I don't know. He says Providence will take care of us."
"What does your mother say?"
"Oh! she was as quiet as usual."
"How about yourself?"
"Alas! I have to bear a thousand mortifications every day. They are
continually reproaching me with having fallen in love with this
Frenchman, and bringing them to this dreadful pass."
"Were you really in love with him?"
"Yes, really."
"Then you must be very unhappy."
"Yes, very; but not on account of my love, for I shall get over that in
time, but because of that which will happen to-morrow."
"Can't you make any conquests at the table-d'hote?"
"Some of the men say pretty things to me, but as they all know how poor
we are they are afraid to come to our room."
"And yet in spite of all you keep cheerful; you don't look sad like most
of the unhappy. I congratulate you on your good spirits." Irene's tale
was like the fair Stuard's story over again, and Marcoline, though she
had taken rather too much champagne, was deeply moved at this picture of
misery. She kissed the girl, telling her that I would not forsake her,
and that in the meanwhile they would spend a pleasant night.
"Come! let us to bed!" said she; and after taking off her clothes she
helped Irene to undress. I had no wish to fight, against two, and said
that I wanted to rest. The fair Venetian burst out laughing and said,--
"Go to bed and leave us alone."
I did so, and amused myself by watching the two Bacchantes; but Irene,
who had evidently never engaged in such a combat before, was not nearly
so adroit as Marcoline.
Before long Marcoline brought Irene in her arms to my bedside, and told
me to kiss her.
"Leave me alone, dearest," said I, "the punch has got into your head, and
you don't know what you are doing."
This stung her; and urging Irene to follow her example, she took up a
position in my bed by force; and as there was not enough room for three,
Marcoline got on top of Irene, calling her her wife.
I was virtuous enough to remain a wholly passive spectator of the scene,
which was always new to me, though I had seen it so often; but at last
they flung themselves on me with such violence that I was obliged to give
way, and for the most part of the night I performed my share of the work,
till they saw that I was completely exhausted. We fell asleep, and I did
not wake up till noon, and then I saw my two beauties still asleep, with
their limbs interlaced like the branches of a tree. I thought with a sigh
of the pleasures of such a sleep, and got out of bed gently for fear of
rousing them. I ordered a good dinner to be prepared, and countermanded
the horses which had been waiting several hours.
The landlord remembering what I had done for Madame Stuard guessed I was
going to do the same for the Rinaldis, and left them in peace.
When I came back I found my two Lesbians awake, and they gave me such an
amorous welcome that I felt inclined to complete the work of the night
with a lover's good morning; but I began to feel the need of husbanding
my forces, so I did nothing, and bore their sarcasms in silence till one
o'clock, when I told them to get up, as we ought to have done at five
o'clock, and here was two o'clock and breakfast not done.
"We have enjoyed ourselves," said Marcoline, "and time that is given to
enjoyment is never lost."
When they were dressed, I had coffee brought in, and I gave Irene sixteen
louis, four of which were to redeem her cloak. Her father and mother who
had just dined came in to bid us good-day, and Irene proudly gave her
father twelve Louis telling him to scold her a little less in future. He
laughed, wept, and went out, and then came back and said he found a good
way of getting to Antibes at a small cost, but they would have to go
directly, as the driver wanted to get to St. Andiol by nightfall.
"I am quite ready."
"No, dear Irene," said I, "you shall not go; you shall dine with your
friend, and your driver can wait. Make him do so, Count Rinaldi; my niece
will pay, will you not, Marcoline?"
"Certainly. I should like to dine here, and still better to put off our
departure till the next day."
Her wishes were my orders. We had a delicious supper at five o'clock, and
at eight we went to bed and spent the night in wantonness, but at five in
the morning all were ready to start. Irene, who wore her handsome cloak,
shed hot tears at parting from Marcoline, who also wept with all her
heart. Old Rinaldi, who proved himself no prophet, told me that I should
make a great fortune in England, and his daughter sighed to be in
Marcoline's place. We shall hear of Rinaldi later on.
We drove on for fifteen posts without stopping, and passed the night at
Valence. The food was bad, but Marcoline forgot her discomfort in talking
of Irene.
"Do you know," said she, "that if it had been in my power I should have
taken her from her parents. I believe she is your daughter, though she is
not like you."
"How can she be my daughter when I have never known her mother?"
"She told me that certainly."
"Didn't she tell you anything else?"
"Yes, she told me that you lived with her for three days and bought her
maidenhead for a thousand sequins."
"Quite so, but did she tell you that I paid the money to her father?"
"Yes, the little fool doesn't keep anything for herself. I don't think I
should ever be jealous of your mistresses, if you let me sleep with them.
Is not that a mark of a good disposition? Tell me."
"You have, no doubt, a good disposition, but you could be quite as good
without your dominant passion."
"It is not a passion. I only have desires for those I love."
"Who gave you this taste?"
"Nature. I began at seven, and in the last ten years I have certainly had
four hundred sweethearts."
"You begin early. But when did you begin to have male sweethearts?"
"At eleven."
"Tell me all about it."
"Father Molini, a monk, was my confessor, and he expressed a desire to
know the girl who was then my sweetheart. It was in the carnival time,
and he gave us a moral discourse, telling us that he would take us to the
play if we would promise to abstain for a week. We promised to do so, and
at the end of the week we went to tell him that we had kept our word
faithfully. The next day Father Molini called on my sweetheart's aunt in
a mask, and as she knew him, and as he was a monk and a confessor, we
were allowed to go with him. Besides, we were mere children; my
sweetheart was only a year older than I.
"After the play the father took us to an inn, and gave us some supper;
and when the meal was over he spoke to us of our sin, and wanted to see
our privates. 'It's a great sin between two girls,' said he, 'but between
a man and a woman it is a venial matter. Do you know how men are made?'
We both knew, but we said no with one consent. 'Then would you like to
know?' said he. We said we should like to know very much, and he added,
'If you will promise to keep it a secret, I may be able to satisfy your
curiosity.' We gave our promises, and the good father proceeded to
gratify us with a sight of the riches which nature had lavished on him,
and in the course of an hour he had turned us into women. I must confess
that he understood so well how to work on our curiosity that the request
came from us. Three years later, when I was fourteen, I became the
mistress of a young jeweller. Then came your brother; but he got nothing
from me, because he began by saying that he could not ask me to give him
any favours till we were married."
"You must have been amused at that."
"Yes, it did make me laugh, because I did not know that a priest could
get married; and he excited my curiosity by telling me that they managed
it at Geneva. Curiosity and wantonness made me escape with him; you know
the rest."
Thus did Marcoline amuse me during the evening, and then we went to bed
and slept quietly till the morning. We started from Valence at five, and
in the evening we were set down at the "Hotel du Parc" at Lyons.
As soon as I was settled in the pleasant apartments allotted to me I went
to Madame d'Urfe, who was staying in the Place Bellecour, and said, as
usual, that she was sure I was coming on that day. She wanted to know if
she had performed the ceremonies correctly, and Paralis, of course,
informed her that she had, whereat she was much flattered. The young
Aranda was with her, and after I had kissed him affectionately I told the
marchioness that I would be with her at ten o'clock the next morning, and
so I left her.
I kept the appointment and we spent the whole of the day in close
conference, asking of the oracle concerning her being brought to bed, how
she was to make her will, and how she should contrive to escape poverty
in her regenerated shape. The oracle told her that she must go to Paris
for her lying-in, and leave all her possessions to her son, who would not
be a bastard, as Paralis promised that as soon as I got to London an
English gentleman should be sent over to marry her. Finally, the oracle
ordered her to prepare to start in three days, and to take Aranda with
her. I had to take the latter to London and return him to his mother, for
his real position in life was no longer a mystery, the little rascal
having confessed all; however, I had found a remedy for his indiscretion
as for the treachery of the Corticelli and Possano.
I longed to return him to the keeping of his mother, who constantly wrote
me impertinent letters. I also wished to take my daughter, who, according
to her mother, had become a prodigy of grace and beauty.
After the oracular business had been settled, I returned to the "Hotel du
Parc" to dine with Marcoline. It was very late, and as I could not take
my sweetheart to the play I called on M. Bono to enquire whether he had
sent my brother to Paris. He told me that he had gone the day before, and
that my great enemy, Possano, was still in Lyons, and that I would do
well to be on my guard as far as he was concerned.
"I have seen him," said Bono; "he looks pale and undone, and seems
scarcely able to stand. 'I shall die before long,' said he, 'for that
scoundrel Casanova has had me poisoned; but I will make him pay dearly
for his crime, and in this very town of Lyons, where I know he will come,
sooner or later.'
"In fact, in the course of half an hour, he made some terrible
accusations against you, speaking as if he were in a fury. He wants all
the world to know that you are the greatest villain unhung, that you are
ruining Madame d'Urfe with your impious lies; that you are a sorcerer, a
forger, an utter of false moneys, a poisoner--in short, the worst of men.
He does not intend to publish a libellous pamphlet upon you, but to
accuse you before the courts, alleging that he wants reparation for the
wrongs you have done his person, his honour, and his life, for he says
you are killing him by a slow poison. He adds that for every article he
possesses the strongest proof.
"I will say nothing about the vague abuse he adds to these formal
accusations, but I have felt it my duty to warn you of his treacherous
designs that you may be able to defeat them. It's no good saying he is a
miserable wretch, and that you despise him; you know how strong a thing
calumny is."
"Where does the fellow live?"
"I don't know in the least."
"How can I find out?"
"I can't say, for if he is hiding himself on purpose it would be hard to
get at him."
"Nevertheless, Lyons is not so vast a place."
"Lyons is a perfect maze, and there is no better hiding-place, especially
to a man with money, and Possano has money."
"But what can he do to me?"
"He can institute proceedings against you in the criminal court, which
would cause you immense anxiety and bring down your good name to the
dust, even though you be the most innocent, the most just of men."
"It seems to me, then, that the best thing I can do will be to be first
in the field."
"So I think, but even then you cannot avoid publicity."
"Tell me frankly if you feel disposed to bear witness to what the rascal
has said in a court of justice."
"I will tell all I know with perfect truth."
"Be kind enough to tell me of a good advocate."
"I will give you the address of one of the best; but reflect before you
do anything. The affair will make a noise."
"As I don't know where he lives, I have really no choice in the matter."
If I had known where he lived I could have had Possano expelled from
Lyons through the influence of Madame d'Urfe, whose relative, M. de la
Rochebaron, was the governor; but as it was, I had no other course than
the one I took.
Although Possano was a liar and an ungrateful, treacherous hound, yet I
could not help being uneasy. I went to my hotel, and proceeded to ask for
police protection against a man in hiding in Lyons, who had designs
against my life and honour.
The next day M. Bono came to dissuade me from the course I had taken.
"For," said he, "the police will begin to search for him, and as soon as
he hears of it he will take proceedings against you in the criminal
courts, and then your positions will be changed. It seems to me that if
you have no important business at Lyons you had better hasten your
departure."
"Do you think I would do such a thing for a miserable fellow like
Possano? No! I would despise myself if I did. I would die rather than
hasten my departure on account of a rascal whom I loaded with kindnesses,
despite his unworthiness! I would give a hundred louis to know where he
is now."
"I am delighted to say that I do not know anything about it, for if I did
I would tell you, and then God knows what would happen! You won't go any
sooner; well, then, begin proceedings, and I will give my evidence by
word of mouth or writing whenever you please."
I went to the advocate whom M. Bono had recommended to me, and told him
my business. When he heard what I wanted he said,----
"I can do nothing for you, sir, as I have undertaken the case of your
opponent. You need not be alarmed, however, at having spoken to me, for I
assure you that I will make no use whatever of the information. Possano's
plea or accusation will not be drawn up till the day after to-morrow, but
I will not tell him to make baste for fear of your anticipating him, as I
have only been informed of your intentions by hazard. However, you will
find plenty of advocates at Lyons as honest as I am, and more skilled."
"Could you give me the name of one?"
"That would not be etiquette, but M. Bono, who seems to have kindly
spoken of me with some esteem, will be able to serve you."
"Can you tell me where your client lives?"
"Since his chief aim is to remain hidden, and with good cause, you will
see that I could not think of doing such a thing."
In bidding him farewell I put a louis on the table, and though I did it
with the utmost delicacy he ran after me and made me take it back.
"For once in a way," I said to myself, "here's an honest advocate."
As I walked along I thought of putting a spy on Possano and finding out
his abode, for I felt a strong desire to have him beaten to death; but
where was I to find a spy in a town of which I knew nothing? M. Bono gave
me the name of another advocate, and advised me to make haste.
"'Tis in criminal matters," said he, "and in such cases the first comer
always has the advantage."
I asked him to find me a trusty fellow to track out the rascally Possano,
but the worthy man would not hear of it. He shewed me that it would be
dishonourable to set a spy on the actions of Possano's advocate. I knew
it myself; but what man is there who has not yielded to the voice of
vengeance, the most violent and least reasonable of all the passions.
I went to the second advocate, whom I found to be a man venerable not
only in years but in wisdom. I told him all the circumstances of the
affair, which he agreed to take up, saying he would present my plea in
the course of the day.
"That's just what I want you to do," said I, "for his own advocate told
me that his pleas would be presented the day after to-morrow."
"That, sir," said her "would not induce me to act with any greater
promptness, as I could not consent to your abusing the confidence of my
colleague."
"But there is nothing dishonourable in making use of information which
one has acquired by chance."
"That may be a tenable position in some cases, but in the present
instance the nature of the affair justifies prompt action. 'Prior in
tempore, Potior in jure'. Prudence bids us attack our enemy. Be so kind,
if you please, to call here at three o'clock in the afternoon."
"I will not fail to do so, and in the meanwhile here are six louis."
"I will keep account of my expenditure on your behalf."
"I want you not to spare money."
"Sir, I shall spend only what is absolutely necessary."
I almost believed that probity had chosen a home for herself amongst the
Lyons advocates, and here I may say, to the honour of the French bar,
that I have never known a more honest body of men than the advocates of
France.
At three o'clock, having seen that the plan was properly drawn up, I went
to Madame d'Urfe's, and for four hours I worked the oracle in a manner
that filled her with delight, and in spite of my vexation I could not
help laughing at her insane fancies on the subject of her pregnancy. She
was certain of it; she felt all the symptoms. Then she said how sorry she
felt that she would not be alive to laugh at all the hypotheses of the
Paris doctors as to her being delivered of a child, which would be
thought very extraordinary in a woman of her age.
When I got back to the inn I found Marcoline very melancholy. She said
she had been waiting for me to take her to the play, according to my
promise, and that I should not have made her wait in vain.
"You are right, dearest, but an affair of importance has kept me with the
marchioness. Don't be put out."
I had need of some such advice myself, for the legal affair worried me,
and I slept very ill. Early the next morning I saw my counsel, who told
me that my plea had been laid before the criminal lieutenant.
"For the present," said he, "there is nothing more to be done, for as we
don't know where he is we can't cite him to appear."
"Could I not set the police on his track?"
"You might, but I don't advise you to do so. Let us consider what the
result would be. The accuser finding himself accused would have to defend
himself and prove the accusation he has made against you. But in the
present state of things, if he does not put in an appearance we will get
judgment against him for contempt of court and also for libel. Even his
counsel will leave him in the lurch if he persistently refuses to shew
himself."
This quieted my fears a little, and I spent the rest of the day with
Madame d'Urfe, who was going to Paris on the morrow. I promised to be
with her as soon as I had dealt with certain matters which concerned the
honour of the Fraternity R. C..
Her great maxim was always to respect my secrets, and never to trouble me
with her curiosity. Marcoline, who had been pining by herself all day,
breathed again when I told her that henceforth I should be all for her.
In the morning M. Bono came to me and begged me to go with him to
Possano's counsel, who wanted to speak to me. The advocate said that his
client was a sort of madman who was ready to do anything, as he believed
himself to be dying from the effects of a slow poison.
"He says that even if you are first in the field he will have you
condemned to death. He says he doesn't care if he is sent to prison, as
he is certain of coming out in triumph as he has the proof of all his
accusations. He shews twenty-five louis which you gave him, all of which
are clipped, and he exhibits documents dated from Genoa stating that you
clipped a number of gold pieces, which were melted by M. Grimaldi in
order that the police might not find them in your possession. He has even
a letter from your brother, the abbe, deposing against you. He is a
madman, a victim to syphilis, who wishes to send you to the other world
before himself, if he can. Now my advice to you is to give him some money
and get rid of him. He tells me that he is the father of a family, and
that if M. Bono would give him a thousand louis he would sacrifice
vengeance to necessity. He told me to speak to M. Bono about it; and now,
sir what do you say?"
"That which my just indignation inspires me to say regarding a rascal
whom I rescued from poverty, and who nevertheless pursues me with
atrocious calumnies; he shall not have one single farthing of mine."
I then told the Genoa story, putting things in their true light, and
adding that I could call M. Grimaldi as a witness if necessary.
"I have delayed presenting the plea," said the counsel, "to see if the
scandal could be hushed up in any way, but I warn you that I shall now
present it."
"Do so; I shall be greatly obliged to you."
I immediately called on my advocate, and told him of the rascal's
proposal; and he said I was quite right to refuse to have any dealings
with such a fellow. He added that as I had M. Bono as a witness I ought
to make Possano's advocate present his plea, and I authorized him to take
proceedings in my name.
A clerk was immediately sent to the criminal lieutenant, praying him to
command the advocate to bring before him, in three days, the plea of one
Anami, alias Pogomas, alias Possano, the said plea being against Jacques
Casanova, commonly called the Chevalier de Seingalt. This document, to
which I affixed my signature, was laid before the criminal lieutenant.
I did not care for the three days' delay, but my counsel told me it was
always given, and that I must make up my mind to submit to all the
vexation I should be obliged to undergo, even if we were wholly
successful.
As Madame d'Urfe had taken her departure in conformity with the orders of
Paralis, I dined with Marcoline at the inn, and tried to raise my spirits
by all the means in my power. I took my mistress to the best milliners
and dressmakers in the town, and bought her everything she took a fancy
to; and then we went to the theatre, where she must have been pleased to
see all eyes fixed on her. Madame Pernon, who was in the next box to
ours, made me introduce Marcoline to her; and from the way they embraced
each other when the play was over I saw they were likely to become
intimate, the only obstacle to their friendship being that Madame Pernon
did not know a word of Italian, and that Marcoline did not dare to speak
a word of French for fear of making herself ridiculous. When we got back
to the inn, Marcoline told me that her new friend had given her the
Florentine kiss: this is the shibboleth of the sect.
The pretty nick-nacks I had given her had made her happy; her ardour was
redoubled, and the night passed joyously.
I spent the next day in going from shop to shop, making fresh purchases
for Marcoline, and we supped merrily at Madame Pernon's.
The day after, M. Bono came to see me at an early hour with a smile of
content on his face.
"Let us go and breakfast at a coffee-house," said he; "we will have some
discussion together."
When we were breakfasting he shewed me a letter written by Possano, in
which the rascal said that he was ready to abandon proceedings provided
that M. de Seingalt gave him a hundred louis, on receipt of which he
promised to leave Lyons immediately.
"I should be a great fool," said I, "if I gave the knave more money to
escape from the hands of justice. Let him go if he likes, I won't prevent
him; but he had better not expect me to give him anything. He will have a
writ out against him to-morrow. I should like to see him branded by the
hangman. He has slandered me, his benefactor, too grievously; let him
prove what he says, or be dishonoured before all men."
"His abandoning the proceedings," said M. Bono, "would in my opinion
amount to the same thing as his failing to prove his charges, and you
would do well to prefer it to a trial which would do your reputation no
good, even if you were completely successful. And the hundred louis is
nothing in comparison with the costs of such a trial."
"M. Bono, I value your advice very highly, and still more highly the
kindly feelings which prompt you, but you must allow me to follow my own
opinion in this case."
I went to my counsel and told him of the fresh proposal that Possano had
made, and of my refusal to listen to it, begging him to take measures for
the arrest of the villain who had vowed my death.
The same evening I had Madame Pernon and M. Bono, who was her lover, to
sup with me; and as the latter had a good knowledge of Italian Marcoline
was able to take part in the merriment of the company.
The next day Bono wrote to tell me that Possano had left Lyons never to
return, and that he had signed a full and satisfactory retraction. I was
not surprised to hear of his flight, but the other circumstance I could
not understand. I therefore hastened to call on Bono, who showed me the
document, which was certainly plain enough.
"Will that do?" said he.
"So well that I forgive him, but I wonder he did not insist on the
hundred Louis."
"My dear sir, I gave him the money with pleasure, to prevent a scandalous
affair which would have done us all harm in becoming public. If I had
told you nothing, you couldn't have taken any steps in the matter, and I
felt myself obliged to repair the mischief I had done in this way. You
would have known nothing about it, if you had said that you were not
satisfied. I am only too glad to have been enabled to skew my friendship
by this trifling service. We will say no more about it."
"Very good," said I, embracing him, "we will say no more, but please to
receive the assurance of my gratitude."
I confess I felt much relieved at being freed from this troublesome
business.
EPISODE 21 -- TO LONDON
CHAPTER V
I Meet the Venetian Ambassadors at Lyons, and also Marcoline's Uncle--I
Part from Marcoline and Set Out for Paris--An Amorous Journey
Thus freed from the cares which the dreadful slanders of Possano had
caused me, I gave myself up to the enjoyment of my fair Venetian, doing
all in my power to increase her happiness, as if I had had a premonition
that we should soon be separated from one another.
The day after the supper I gave to Madame Pernon and M. Bono, we went to
the theatre together, and in the box opposite to us I saw M. Querini, the
procurator, Morosini, M. Memmo, and Count Stratico, a Professor of the
University of Padua. I knew all these gentlemen; they had been in London,
and were passing through Lyons on their return to Venice.
"Farewell, fair Marcoline!" I said to myself, feeling quite
broken-hearted, but I remained calm, and said nothing to her. She did not
notice them as she was absorbed in her conversation with M. Bono, and
besides, she did not know them by sight. I saw that M. Memmo had seen me
and was telling the procurator of my presence, and as I knew the latter
very well I felt bound to pay them my respects then and there.
Querini received me very politely for a devotee, as also did Morosini,
while Memmo seemed moved; but no doubt he remembered that it was chiefly
due to his mother that I had been imprisoned eight years ago. I
congratulated the gentlemen on their embassy to England, on their return
to their native land, and for form's sake commended myself to their good
offices to enable me to return also. M. Morosini, noticing the richness
of my dress and my general appearance of prosperity, said that while I
had to stay away he had to return, and that he considered me the luckier
man.
"Your excellency is well aware," said I, "that nothing is sweeter than
forbidden fruit."
He smiled, and asked me whither I went and whence I came.
"I come from Rome," I answered, "where I had some converse with the Holy
Father, whom I knew before, and I am going through Paris on my way to
London.
"Call on me here, if you have time, I have a little commission to give
you."
"I shall always have time to serve your excellency in. Are you stopping
here for long?"
"Three or four days."
When I 'got back to my box Marcoline asked me who were the gentlemen to
whom I had been speaking. I answered coolly and indifferently, but
watching her as I spoke, that they were the Venetian ambassadors on their
way from London. The flush of her cheek died away and was replaced by
pallor; she raised her eyes to heaven, lowered them, and said not a word.
My heart was broken. A few minutes afterwards she asked me which was M.
Querini, and after I had pointed him out to her she watched him furtively
for the rest of the evening.
The curtain fell, we left our box, and at the door of the theatre we
found the ambassadors waiting for their carriage. Mine was in the same
line as theirs. The ambassador Querini said,--
"You have a very pretty young lady with you."
Marcoline stepped forward, seized his hand, and kissed it before I could
answer.
Querini, who was greatly astonished, thanked her and said,--
"What have I done to deserve this honour?"
"Because," said Marcoline, speaking in the Venetian dialect, "I have the
honour of knowing his excellency M. Querini."
"What are you doing with M. Casanova?"
"He is my uncle."
My carriage came up. I made a profound bow to the ambassadors, and called
out to the coachman, "To the 'Hotel du Parc'." It was the best hotel in
Lyons, and I was not sorry for the Venetians to hear where I was staying.
Marcoline was in despair, for she saw that the time for parting was near
at hand.
"We have three or four days before us," said I, "in which we can contrive
how to communicate with your uncle Mattio. I must commend you highly for
kissing M. Querini's hand. That was a masterstroke indeed. All will go
off well; but I hope you will be merry, for sadness I abhor."
We were still at table when I heard the voice of M. Memmo in the
ante-chamber; he was a young man, intelligent and good-natured. I warned
Marcoline not to say a word about our private affairs, but to display a
moderate gaiety. The servant announced the young nobleman, and we rose to
welcome him; but he made us sit down again, and sat beside us, and drank
a glass of wine with the utmost cordiality. He told me how he had been
supping with the old devotee Querini, who had had his hand kissed by a
young and fair Venetian. The ambassadors were much amused at the
circumstance, and Querini himself, in spite of his scrupulous conscience,
was greatly flattered.
"May I ask you, mademoiselle," he added, "how you came to know M.
Querini?"
"It's a mystery, sir."
"A mystery, is it? What fun we shall have tomorrow! I have come," he
said, addressing himself to me, "to ask you to dine with us to-morrow,
and you must bring your charming niece."
"Would you like to go, Marcoline?"
"'Con grandissimo piacere'! We shall speak Venetian, shall we not?"
"Certainly."
"'E viva'! I cannot learn French."
"M. Querini is in the same position," said M. Memmo.
After half an hour's agreeable conversation he left us, and Marcoline
embraced me with delight at having made such a good impression on these
gentlemen.
"Put on your best dress to-morrow," said I, "and do not forget your
jewels. Be agreeable to everybody, but pretend not to see your Uncle
Mattio, who will be sure to wait at table."
"You may be sure I shall follow your advice to the letter."
"And I mean to make the recognition a scene worthy of the drama. I intend
that you shall be taken back to Venice by M. Querini himself, while your
uncle will take care of you by his special orders."
"I shall be delighted with this arrangement, provided it succeeds."
"You may trust to me for that."
At nine o'clock the next day I called on Morosini concerning the
commissions he had for me. He gave me a little box and a letter for Lady
Harrington, and another letter with the words,--
"The Procurator Morosini is very sorry not to have been able to take a
last leave of Mdlle. Charpillon."
"Where shall I find her?"
"I really don't know. If you find her, give her the letter; if not, it
doesn't matter. That's a dazzling beauty you have with you, Casanova."
"Well, she has dazzled me."
"But how did she know Querini?"
"She has seen him at Venice, but she has never spoken to him."
"I thought so; we have been laughing over it, but Querini is hugely
pleased. But how did you get hold of her? She must be very young, as
Memmo says she cannot speak French."
"It would be a long story to tell, and after all we met through a mere
chance."
"She is not your niece."
"Nay, she is more--she is my queen."
"You will have to teach her French, as when you get to London."
"I am not going to take her there; she wants to return to Venice."
"I pity you if you are in love with her! I hope she will dine with us?"
"Oh, yes! she is delighted with the honour."
"And we are delighted to have our poor repast animated by such a charming
person."
"You will find her worthy of your company; she is full of wit."
When I got back to the inn I told Marcoline that if anything was said at
dinner about her return to Venice, she was to reply that no one could
make her return except M. Querini, but that if she could have his
protection she would gladly go back with him.
"I will draw you out of the difficulty," said I; and she promised to
carry out my instructions.
Marcoline followed my advice with regard to her toilette, and looked
brilliant in all respects; and I, wishing to shine in the eyes of the
proud Venetian nobles, had dressed myself with the utmost richness. I
wore a suit of grey velvet, trimmed with gold and silver lace; my point
lace shirt was worth at least fifty louis; and my diamonds, my watches,
my chains, my sword of the finest English steel, my snuff-box set with
brilliants, my cross set with diamonds, my buckles set with the same
stones, were altogether worth more than fifty thousand crowns. This
ostentation, though puerile in itself, yet had a purpose, for I wished M.
de Bragadin to know that I did not cut a bad figure in the world; and I
wished the proud magistrates who had made me quit my native land to learn
that I had lost nothing, and could laugh at their severity.
In this gorgeous style we drove to the ambassador's dinner at half-past
one.
All present were Venetians, and they welcomed Marcoline enthusiastically.
She who was born with the instinct of good manners behaved with the grace
of a nymph and the dignity of a French princess; and as soon as she was
seated between two grave and reverend signors, she began by saying that
she was delighted to find herself the only representative of her sex in
this distinguished company, and also that there were no Frenchmen
present.
"Then you don't like the French," said M. Memmo.
"I like them well enough so far as I know them, but I am only acquainted
with their exterior, as I don't speak or understand the language."
After this everybody knew how to take her, and the gaiety became general.
She answered all questions to the point, and entertained the company with
her remarks on French manners, so different to Venetian customs.
In the course of dinner M. Querini asked how she had known him, and she
replied that she had often seen him at Divine service, whereat the
devotee seemed greatly flattered. M. Morosini, pretending not to know
that she was to return to Venice, told her that unless she made haste to
acquire French, the universal language, she would find London very
tedious, as the Italian language was very little known there.
"I hope," she replied, "that M. de Seingalt will not bring me into the
society of people with whom I cannot exchange ideas. I know I shall never
be able to learn French."
When we had left the table the ambassadors begged me to tell the story of
my escape from The Leads, and I was glad to oblige them. My story lasted
for two whole hours; and as it was noticed that Marcoline's eyes became
wet with tears when I came to speak of my great danger. She was rallied
upon the circumstance, and told that nieces were not usually so
emotional.
"That may be, gentlemen," she replied, "though I do not see why a niece
should not love her uncle. But I have never loved anyone else but the
hero of the tale, and I cannot see what difference there can be between
one kind of love and another."
"There are five kinds of love known to man," said M. Querini. "The love
of one's neighbour, the love of God, which is beyond compare, the highest
of all, love matrimonial, the love of house and home, and the love of
self, which ought to come last of all, though many place it in the first
rank."
The nobleman commented briefly on these diverse kinds of love, but when
he came to the love of God he began to soar, and I was greatly astonished
to see Marcoline shedding tears, which she wiped away hastily as if to
hide them from the sight of the worthy old man whom wine had made more
theological than usual. Feigning to be enthusiastic, Marcoline took his
hand and kissed it, while he in his vain exaltation drew her towards him
and kissed her on the brow, saying, "Poveretta, you are an angel!"
At this incident, in which there was more love of our neighbour than love
of God, we all bit our lips to prevent ourselves bursting out laughing,
and the sly little puss pretended to be extremely moved.
I never knew Marcoline's capacities till then, for she confessed that her
emotion was wholly fictitious, and designed to win the old man's good
graces; and that if she had followed her own inclinations she would have
laughed heartily. She was designed to act a part either upon the stage or
on a throne. Chance had ordained that she should be born of the people,
and her education had been neglected; but if she had been properly
tutored she would have been fit for anything.
Before returning home we were warmly invited to dinner the next day.
As we wanted to be together, we did not go to the theatre that day and
when we got home I did not wait for Marcoline to undress to cover her
with kisses.
"Dear heart," said I, "you have not shewn me all your perfections till
now, when we are about to part; you make me regret you are going back to
Venice. Today you won all hearts."
"Keep me then, with you, and I will ever be as I have been to-day. By the
way, did you see my uncle?"
"I think so. Was it not he who was in continual attendance?"
"Yes. I recognized him by his ring. Did he look, at me?"
"All the time, and with an air of the greatest astonishment. I avoided
catching his eye, which roved from you to me continually."
"I should like to know what the good man thinks! You will see him again
to-morrow. I am sure he will have told M. Querini that, I am his niece,
and consequently not yours.
"I expect so, too."
"And if M. Querini says as much to me to-morrow, I, expect I shall have
to, admit the fact. What do you think?"
"You must undoubtedly tell him the truth, but frankly and openly, and so
as not to let him think that you have need of him to return to Venice. He
is not your father, and has no right over your liberty."
"Certainly not."
"Very good. You must also agree that I am not your uncle, and that the
bond between us is, of the most tender description. Will, there be any
difficulty is that?"
"How can you ask me such a question? The link between us makes me feel
proud, and will ever do so."
"Well, well, I say no more. I trust entirely in your tact. Remember that
Querini and no other must take you back to Venice; he must treat you as
if you were his daughter. If he will not consent, you shall not return at
all."
"Would to God it were so!"
Early the next morning I got a note from M. Querini requesting me to call
on him, as he wanted to speak to me on a matter of importance.
"We are getting on," said Marcoline. "I am very glad that things have
taken this turn, for when you come back you can tell me the whole story,
and I can regulate my conduct accordingly."
I found Querini and Morosini together. They gave me their hands when I
came in, and Querini asked me to sit down, saying that there would be
nothing in our discussion which M. Morosini might not hear.
"I have a confidence to make to you, M. Casanova," he began; "but first I
want you to do me the same favor."
"I can have no secrets from your excellency."
"I am obliged to you, and will try to deserve your good opinion. I beg
that you will tell me sincerely whether you know the young person who is
with you, for no one believes that she is your niece."
"It is true that she is--not my niece, but not being acquainted with her
relations or family I cannot be said to know her in the sense which your
excellency gives to the word. Nevertheless, I am proud to confess that I
love her with an affection which will not end save with my life."
"I am delighted to hear you say so. How long have you had her?"
"Nearly two months."
"Very good! How did she fall into your hands?"
"That is a point which only concerns her, and you will allow me not to
answer that question."
"Good! we will go on. Though you are in love with her, it is very
possible that you have never made any enquiries respecting her family."
"She has told me that she has a father and a mother, poor but honest, but
I confess I have never been curious enough to enquire her name. I only
know her baptismal name, which is possibly not her true one, but it does
quite well for me."
"She has given you her true name."
"Your excellency surprises me! You know her, then?"
"Yes; I did not know her yesterday, but I do now. Two months . . .
Marcoline . . . yes, it must be she. I am now certain that my man is not
mad."
"Your man?"
"Yes, she is his niece. When we were at London he heard that she had left
the paternal roof about the middle of Lent. Marcoline's mother, who is
his sister, wrote to him. He was afraid to speak to her yesterday,
because she looked so grand. He even thought he must be mistaken, and he
would have been afraid of offending me by speaking to a grand lady at my
table. She must have seen him, too."
"I don't think so, she has said nothing about it to me."
"It is true that he was standing behind her all the time. But let us come
to the point. Is Marcoline your wife, or have you any intention of
marrying her?"
"I love her as tenderly as any man can love a woman, but I cannot make
her a wife; the reasons are known only to herself and me."
"I respect your secret; but tell me if you would object to my begging her
to return to Venice with her uncle?"
"I think Marcoline is happy, but if she has succeeded in gaining the
favour of your excellency, she is happier still; and I feel sure that if
she were to go back to Venice under the exalted patronage of your
excellency, she would efface all stains on her reputation. As to
permitting her to go, I can put no stumbling-block in the way, for I am
not her master. As her lover I would defend her to the last drop of my
blood, but if she wants to leave me I can only assent, though with
sorrow."
"You speak with much sense, and I hope you will not be displeased at my
undertaking this good work. Of course I shall do nothing without your
consent."
"I respect the decrees of fate when they are promulgated by such a man as
you. If your excellency can induce Marcoline to leave me, I will make no
objection; but I warn you that she must be won mildly. She is
intelligent, she loves me, and she knows that she is independent; besides
she reckons on me, and she has cause to do so. Speak to her to-day by
herself; my presence would only be in your way. Wait till dinner is over;
the interview might last some time."
"My dear Casanova, you are an honest man. I am delighted to have made
your acquaintance."
"You do me too much honour. I may say that Marcoline will hear nothing of
all this."
When I got back to the inn, I gave Marcoline an exact account of the
whole conversation, warning her that she would be supposed to know
nothing about it.
"You must execute a masterly stroke, dearest," said I, "to persuade M.
Querini that I did not lie in saying that you had not seen your uncle. As
soon as you see him, you must give a shout of surprise, exclaim, 'My dear
uncle!' and rush to his arms. This would be a splendid and dramatic
situation, which would do you honour in the eyes of all the company."
"You may be sure that I shall play the part very well, although my heart
be sad."
At the time appointed we waited on the ambassadors, and found that all
the other guests had assembled. Marcoline, as blithe and smiling as
before, first accosted M. Querini, and then did the polite to all the
company. A few minutes before dinner Mattio brought in his master's
spectacles on a silver tray. Marcoline, who was sitting next to M.
Querini, stopped short in something she was saying, and staring at the
man, exclaimed in a questioning voice,--
"My uncle?"
"Yes, my dear niece."
Marcoline flung herself into his arms, and there was a moving scene,
which excited the admiration of all.
"I knew you had left Venice, dear uncle, but I did not know you were in
his excellency's service. I am so glad to see you again! You will tell my
father and mother about me? You see I am happy. Where were you
yesterday?"
"Here."
"And you didn't see me?"
"Yes; but your uncle there . . ."
"Well," said I, laughing, "let us know each other, cousin, and be good
friends. Marcoline, I congratulate you on having such an honest man for
an uncle."
"That is really very fine," said M. Querini; and everybody exclaimed,
"Very affecting, very affecting indeed!"
The newly-found uncle departed, and we sat down to dinner, but in spirits
which differed from those of yesterday. Marcoline bore traces of those
mingled emotions of happiness and regret which move loyal hearts when
they call to mind ther native land. M. Querini looked at her admiringly,
and seemed to have all the confidence of success which a good action
gives to the mind. M. Morosini sat a pleased spectator. The others were
attentive and curious as to what would come next. They listened to what
was said, and hung on Marcoline's lips.
After the first course there was greater unison in the company, and M.
Morosini told Marcoline that if she would return to Venice she would be
sure of finding a husband worthy of her.
"I must be the judge of that," said she.
"Yes, but it is a good thing to have recourse to the advice of discreet
persons who are interested in the happiness of both parties."
"Excuse me, but I do not think so. If I ever marry, my husband will have
to please me first."
"Who has taught you this maxim?" said Querini.
"My uncle, Casanova, who has, I verily believe, taught me everything that
can be learnt in the two months I have been happy enough to live with
him."
"I congratulate the master and the pupil, but you are both too young to
have learnt all the range of science. Moral science cannot be learnt in
two months."
"What his excellency has just said," said I, turning to Marcoline, "is
perfectly correct. In affairs of marriage both parties should rely to a
great extent on the advice of friends, for mere marriages of inclination
are often unhappy."
"That is a really philosophical remark, my dear Marcoline," said Querini;
"but tell me the qualities which in your opinion are desirable in a
husband."
"I should be puzzled to name them, but they would all become manifest in
the man that pleased me."
"And supposing he were a worthless fellow?"
"He would certainly not please me, and that's the reason why I have made
up my mind never to marry a man whom I have not studied."
"Supposing you made a mistake?"
"Then I would weep in secret."
"How if you were poor?"
"She need never fear poverty, my lord," said I. "She has an income of
fifty crowns a month for the remainder of her life."
"Oh, that's a different matter. If that is so, sweetheart, you are
privileged. You will be able to live at Venice in perfect independence."
"I think that to live honourably there I only need the protection of a
lord like your excellency."
"As to that, Marcoline, I give you my word that I will do all in my power
for you if you come to Venice. But let me ask you one question, how are
you sure of your income of fifty crowns a month? You are laughing."
"I laugh because I am such a silly little thing. I don't have any heed
for my own business. My friend there will tell you all about it."
"You have not been joking, have you?" said the worthy old man to me.
"Marcoline," said I, "has not only capital which will produce a larger
sum than that which I have named, but she has also valuable possessions.
Your excellency will note her wisdom in saying that she would need your
lordship's protection at Venice, for she will require someone to look
after the investment of her capital. The whole amount is in my hands, and
if she likes Marcoline can have it all in less than two hours."
"Very good; then you must start for Venice the day after to-morrow.
Mattio is quite ready to receive you."
"I have the greatest respect and love for my uncle, but it is not to his
care that your excellency must commend me if I resolve to go."
"Then to whom?"
"To your own care, my lord. Your excellency has called me dear daughter
two or three times, lead me, then, to Venice, like a good father, and I
will come willingly; otherwise I protest I will not leave the man to whom
I owe all I have. I will start for London with him the day after
to-morrow."
At these words which delighted me silence fell on all. They waited for M.
Querini to speak, and the general opinion seemed to be that he had gone
too far to be able to draw back. Nevertheless, the old man kept silence;
perhaps in his character of devotee he was afraid of being led into
temptation, or of giving occasion to scandal, and the other guests were
silent like him, and ate to keep each other in countenance. Mattio's hand
trembled as he waited; Marcoline alone was calm and collected. Dessert
was served, and still no one dared to say a word. All at once this
wonderful girl said, in an inspired voice, as if speaking to herself,--
"We must adore the decrees of Divine Providence, but after the issue,
since mortals are not able to discern the future, whether it be good or
whether it be evil."
"What does that reflection relate to, my dear daughter?" said M. Querini,
"and why do you kiss my hand now?"
"I kiss your hand because you have called me your dear daughter for the
fourth time."
This judicious remark elicited a smile of approval from all, and restored
the general gaiety; but M. Querini asked Marcoline to explain her
observation on Providence.
"It was an inspiration, and the result of self-examination. I am well; I
have learned something of life; I am only seventeen, and in the course of
two months I have become rich by honest means. I am all happy, and yet I
owe my happiness to the greatest error a maiden can commit. Thus I humble
myself before the decrees, of Providence and adore its wisdom."
"You are right, but, none the less you ought to repent of what you have
done."
"That's where I am puzzled; for before I can repent; I must think of it,
and when I think of it I find nothing for which to repent. I suppose I
shall have to consult some great theologian on the point."
"That will not be necessary; you are, intelligent, and your heart is
good, and I will give you the necessary instruction on the way. When one
repents there is no need to think of the pleasure which our sins have
given us."
In his character of apostle the good M. Querini was becoming piously
amorous of his fair proselyte. He left the table for a few moments, and
when he returned he, told Marcoline that if he had a young lady to take
to, Venice he should be obliged to leave her in the care of his
housekeeper, Dame Veneranda, in whom he had every confidence.
"I have just been speaking to her; and if you would like to come, all is
arranged. You shall sleep with her, and dine with us till we get to
Venice, and then I will deliver, you into your mother's keeping, in the
presence of your uncle. What do you say?"
"I will come with pleasure:"
"Come and see Dame Veneranda."
"Willingly."
"Come with us, Casanova."
Dame Veneranda looked a perfect cannoness, and I did not think that
Marcoline would fall, in love with her, but she seemed sensible and
trustworthy. M. Querini told her in our presence what he had just told
Marcoline, and the duenna assured him that she would take, the utmost
care of the young lady. Marcoline kissed her and called her mother, thus
gaining the old lady's, good graces. We rejoined, the company, who
expressed to Marcoline their intense pleasure at having her for a
companion on their journey.
"I shall have to put my steward in another carriage," said M. Querini,
"as the calash only holds two."
"That will not be necessary," I remarked, "for Marcoline has her
carriage, and Mistress Veneranda will find it a very comfortable one. It
will hold her luggage as well."
"You, want to give me your carriage," said Marcoline. "You are too good
to me."
I could made no reply, my emotion was so great. I turned aside and wiped,
away my tears. Returning to the company, I found that Marcoline had
vanished and M. Morosini, who, was also much affected told me she had
gome, to speak to Mistress Veneranda. Everybody was melancholy, and
seeing that I was the cause I began to talk about England, where I hoped
to make my fortune with a project of mine, the success of which only
depended on Lord Egremont. M. de Morosini said he would give me a letter
for Lord Egremont and another for M. Zuccata, the Venetian ambassador.
"Are you not afraid," said M. Querini, "of getting into, trouble with the
State Inquisitors for recommending M. Casanova?"
Morosini replied coldly that as the Inquisitors had, not told him for
what crime I was condemned, he did not feel himself bound to share their
judgment. Old Querini, who was extremely particular, shook his head and
said nothing.
Just then Marcoline came back to the room, and everybody could see that
she had been weeping. I confess that this mark of her affection was as
pleasing to my vanity as to my love; but such is man, and such,
doubtless, is the reader who may be censuring my conduct. This charming
girl, who still, after all these years, dwells in my old heart, asked me
to take her back to the inn, as she wanted to pack up her trunks. We left
directly, after having promised to come to dinner on the following day.
I wept bitterly when I got to my room. I told Clairmont to see that the
carriage was in good order, and then, hastily undressing, I flung myself
on the bed in my dressing-gown, and wept as if some blessing was being
taken from me against my will. Marcoline, who was much more sensible, did
what she could to console me, but I liked to torment myself, and her
words did but increase my despair.
"Reflect," said she, "that it is not I who am leaving you, but you who
are sending me away; that I long to spend the rest of my days with you,
and that you have only got to say a word to keep me."
I knew that she was right; but still a fatal fear which has always swayed
me, the fear of being bound to anyone, and the hypocrisy of a libertine
ever longing for change, both these feelings made me persist in my
resolution and my sadness.
About six o'clock MM. Morosini and Querini came into the courtyard and
looked at the carriage, which was being inspected by the wheelwright.
They spoke to Clairmont, and then came to see us.
"Good heavens!" said M. Querini, seeing the numerous boxes which she was
going to place on her carriage; and when he had heard that her carriage
was the one he had just looked at, he seemed surprised; it was indeed a
very good vehicle.
M. Morosini told Marcoline that if she liked to sell it when she got to
Venice he would give her a thousand Venetian ducats, or three thousand
francs for it.
"You might give her double that amount," said I, "for it is worth three
thousand ducats."
"We will arrange all that," said he; and Querini added,--
"It will be a considerable addition to the capital she proposes to
invest."
After some agreeable conversation I told M. Querini that I would give him
a bill of exchange for five thousand ducats, which, with the three or
four thousand ducats the sale of her jewellery would realize, and the
thousand for the carriage, would give her a capital of nine or ten
thousand ducats, the interest of which would bring her in a handsome
income.
Next morning I got M. Bono to give me a bill of exchange on M. Querini's
order, and at dinner-time Marcoline handed it over to her new protector,
who wrote her a formal receipt. M. Morosini gave me the letters he had
promised, and their departure was fixed for eleven o'clock the next day.
The reader may imagine that our dinner-party was not over gay. Marcoline
was depressed, I as gloomy as a splenetic Englishman, and between us we
made the feast more like a funeral than a meeting of friends.
I will not attempt to describe the night I passed with my charmer. She
asked me again and again how I could be my own executioner; but I could
not answer, for I did not know. But how often have I done things which
caused me pain, but to which I was impelled by some occult force it was
my whim not to resist.
In the morning, when I had put on my boots and spurs, and told Clairmont
not to be uneasy if I did not return that night, Marcoline and I drove to
the ambassadors' residence. We breakfasted together, silently enough, for
Marcoline had tears in her eyes, and everyone knowing my noble conduct
towards her respected her natural grief. After breakfast we set out, I
sitting in the forepart of the carriage, facing Marcoline and Dame
Veneranda, who would have made me laugh under any other circumstances,
her astonishment at finding herself in a more gorgeous carriage than the
ambassador's was so great. She expatiated on the elegance and comfort of
the equipage, and amused us by saying that her master was quite right in
saying that the people would take her for the ambassadress. But in spite
of this piece of comedy, Marcoline and I were sad all the way. M.
Querini, who did not like night travelling, made us stop at
Pont-Boivoisin, at nine o'clock, and after a bad supper everyone went to
bed to be ready to start at daybreak. Marcoline was to sleep with
Veneranda, so I accompanied her, and the worthy old woman went to bed
without any ceremony, lying so close to the wall that there was room for
two more; but after Marcoline had got into bed I sat down on a chair, and
placing my head beside hers on the pillow we mingled our sobs and tears
all night.
When Veneranda, who had slept soundly, awoke, she was much astonished to
see me still in the same position. She was a great devotee, but women's
piety easily gives place to pity, and she had moved to the furthest
extremity of the bed with the intention of giving me another night of
love. But my melancholy prevented my profiting by her kindness.
I had ordered a saddle horse to be ready for me in the morning. We took a
hasty cup of coffee and bade each other mutual farewells. I placed
Marcoline in the carriage, gave her a last embrace, and waited for the
crack of the postillion's whip to gallop back to Lyons. I tore along like
a madman, for I felt as if I should like to send the horse to the ground
and kill myself. But death never comes to him that desires it, save in
the fable of the worthy Lafontaine. In six hours I had accomplished the
eighteen leagues between Pont-Boivoisin and Lyons, only stopping to
change horses. I tore off my clothes and threw myself on the bed, where
thirty hours before I had enjoyed all the delights of love. I hoped that
the bliss I had lost would return to me in my dreams. However, I slept
profoundly, and did not wake till eight o'clock. I had been asleep about
nineteen hours.
I rang for Clairmont, and told him to bring up my breakfast, which I
devoured eagerly. When my stomach was restored in this manner I fell
asleep again, and did not get up till the next morning, feeling quite
well, and as if I could support life a little longer.
Three days after Marcoline's departure I bought a comfortable two-wheeled
carriage with patent springs, and sent my trunks to Paris by the
diligence. I kept a portmanteau containing the merest necessaries, for I
meant to travel in a dressing-gown and night-cap, and keep to myself all
the way to Paris. I intended this as a sort of homage to Marcoline, but I
reckoned without my host.
I was putting my jewellery together in a casket when Clairmont announced
a tradesman and his daughter, a pretty girl whom I had remarked at
dinner, for since the departure of my fair Venetian I had dined at the
table-d'hote by way of distraction.
I shut up my jewels and asked them to come in, and the father addressed
me politely, saying,--
"Sir, I have come to ask you to do me a favour which will cost you but
little, while it will be of immense service to my daughter and myself."
"What can I do for you? I am leaving Lyons at day-break to-morrow."
"I know it, for you said so at dinner; but we shall be ready at any hour.
Be kind enough to give my daughter a seat in your carriage. I will, of
course, pay for a third horse, and will ride post."
"You cannot have seen the carriage."
"Excuse me, I have done so. It is, I know, only meant for one, but she
could easily squeeze into it. I know I am troubling you, but if you were
aware of the convenience it would be to me I am sure you would not
refuse. All the places in the diligence are taken up to next week, and if
I don't get to Paris in six days I might as well stay away altogether. If
I were a rich man I would post, but that would cost four hundred francs,
and I cannot afford to spend so much. The only course open to me is to
leave by the diligence tomorrow, and to have myself and my daughter bound
to the roof. You see, sir, the idea makes her weep, and I don't like it
much better myself."
I looked attentively at the girl, and found her too pretty for me to keep
within bounds if I travelled alone with her. I was sad, and the torment I
had endured in parting from Marcoline had made me resolve to avoid all
occasions which might have similar results. I thought this resolve
necessary for my peace of mind.
"This girl," I said to myself, "may be so charming that I should fall in
love with her if I yield to the father's request, and I do not wish for
any such result."
I turned to the father and said,--
"I sympathize with you sincerely; but I really don't see what I can do
for you without causing myself the greatest inconvenience."
"Perhaps you think that I shall not be able to ride so many posts in
succession, but you needn't be afraid on that score:"
"The horse might give in; you might have a fall, and I know that I should
feel obliged to stop, and I am in a hurry. If that reason does not strike
you as a cogent one, I am sorry, for to me it appears unanswerable."
"Let us run the risk, sir, at all events."
"There is a still greater risk of which I can tell you nothing. In brief,
sir, you ask what is impossible."
"In Heaven's name, sir," said the girl, with a voice and a look that
would have pierced a heart of stone, "rescue me from that dreadful
journey on the roof of the diligence! The very idea makes me shudder; I
should be afraid of falling off all the way; besides, there is something
mean in travelling that way. Do but grant me this favour, and I will sit
at your feet so as not to discomfort you."
"This is too much! You do not know me, mademoiselle. I am neither cruel
nor impolite, especially where your sex is concerned, though my refusal
must make you feel otherwise. If I give way you may regret it afterwards,
and I do not wish that to happen." Then, turning to the father, I said,--
"A post-chaise costs six Louis. Here they are; take them. I will put off
my departure for a few hours, if necessary, to answer for the chaise,
supposing you are not known here, and an extra horse will cost four Louis
take them. As to the rest, you would have spent as much in taking two
places in the diligence."
"You are very kind, sir, but I cannot accept your gift. I am not worthy
of it, and I should be still less worthy if I accepted the money. Adele,
let us go. Forgive us, sir, if we have wasted half an hour of your time.
Come, my poor child."
"Wait a moment, father."
Adele begged him to wait, as her sobs almost choked her. I was furious
with everything, but having received one look from her beautiful eyes I
could not withstand her sorrow any longer, and said,
"Calm yourself, mademoiselle. It shall never be said that I remained
unmoved while beauty wept. I yield to your request, for if I did not I
should not be able to sleep all night. But I accede on one condition," I
added, turning to her father, "and that is that you sit at the back of
the carriage."
"Certainly; but what is to become of your servant?"
"He will ride on in front. Everything is settled. Go to bed now, and be
ready to start at six o'clock."
"Certainly, but you will allow me to pay for the extra horse?"
"You shall pay nothing at all; it would be a shame if I received any
money from you. You have told me you are poor, and poverty is no
dishonour; well, I may tell you that I am rich, and riches are no honour
save when they are used in doing good. Therefore, as I said, I will pay
for all."
"Very good, but I will pay for the extra horse in the carriage."
"Certainly not, and let us have no bargaining, please; it is time to go
to bed. I will put you down at Paris without the journey costing you a
farthing, and then if you like you may thank me; these are the only
conditions on which I will take you. Look! Mdlle. Adele is laughing,
that's reward enough for me."
"I am laughing for joy at having escaped that dreadful diligence roof."
"I see, but I hope you will not weep in my carriage, for all sadness is
an abomination to me."
I went, to bed, resolved to struggle against my fate no longer. I saw
that I could not withstand the tempting charms of this new beauty, and I
determined that everything should be over in a couple of days. Adele had
beautiful blue eyes, a complexion wherein were mingled the lily and the
rose, a small mouth, excellent teeth, a figure still slender but full of
promise; here, surely, were enough motives for a fresh fall. I fell
asleep, thanking my good genius for thus providing me with amusement on
the journey.
Just before we started the father came and asked if it was all the same
to me whether we went by Burgundy or the Bourbonnais.
"Certainly. Do you prefer any particular route?"
"If I went through Nevers I might be able to collect a small account."
"Then we will go by the Bourbonnais."
Directly after Adele, simply but neatly dressed, came down and wished me
good day, telling me that her father was going to put a small trunk
containing their belongings at the back of the carriage. Seeing me busy,
she asked if she could help me in any way.
"No," I replied, "you had better take a seat."
She did so, but in a timid manner, which annoyed me, because it seemed to
express that she was a dependent of mine. I told her so gently, and made
her take some coffee with me, and her shyness soon wore off.
We were just stepping into the carriage when a man came and told me that
the lamps were out of repair and would come off if something were not
done to them. He offered to put them into good repair in the course of an
hour. I was in a terrible rage, and called Clairmont and began to scold
him, but he said that the lamps were all right a short while ago, and
that the man must have put them out of order that he might have the task
of repairing them.
He had hit it off exactly. I had heard of the trick before, and I called
out to the man; and on his answering me rather impudently, I began to
kick him, with my pistol in my hand. He ran off swearing, and the noise
brought up the landlord and five or six of his people. Everybody said I
was in the right, but all the same I had to waste two hours as it would
not have been prudent to travel without lamps.
Another lamp-maker was summoned; he looked at the damage, and laughed at
the rascally trick his fellow-tradesman had played me.
"Can I imprison the rascal?" I said to the landlord. "I should like to
have the satisfaction of doing so, were it to cost me two Louis."
"Two Louis! Your honour shall be attended to in a moment."
I was in a dreadful rage, and did not notice Adele, who was quite afraid
of me. A police official came up to take my information, and examine
witnesses, and to draw up the case.
"How much is your time worth, sir?" he asked me.
"Five louis."
With these words I slid two louis into his hand, and he immediately wrote
down a fine of twenty louis against the lamp-maker, and then went his
way, saying,--
"Your man will be in prison in the next ten minutes." I breathed again at
the prospect of vengeance. I then begged Mdlle. Adele's pardon, who asked
mine in her turn, not knowing how I had offended her. This might have led
to some affectionate passages, but her father came in saying that the
rascal was in prison, and that everyone said I was right.
"I am perfectly ready to swear that he did the damage," said he.
"You saw him, did you?"
"No, but that's of no consequence, as everybody is sure he did it."
This piece of simplicity restored my good temper completely, and I began
to ask Moreau, as he called himself, several questions. He told me he was
a widower, that Adele was his only child, that he was going to set up in
business at Louviers, and so on.
In the course of an hour the farce turned into a tragedy, in the
following manner. Two women, one of them with a baby at her breast, and
followed by four brats, all of whom might have been put under a bushel
measure, came before me, and falling on their knees made me guess the
reason of this pitiful sight. They were the wife, the mother, and the
children of the delinquent.
My heart was soon moved with pity for them, for my vengeance had been
complete, and I did not harbour resentment; but the wife almost put me in
a fury again by saying that her husband was an innocent man, and that
they who had accused him were rascals.
The mother, seeing the storm ready to burst, attacked me more adroitly,
admitting that her son might be guilty, but that he must have been driven
to it by misery, as he had got no bread wherewith to feed his children.
She added:
"My good sir, take pity on us, for he is our only support. Do a good deed
and set him free, for he would stay in prison all his days unless we sold
our beds to pay you."
"My worthy woman, I forgive him completely. Hand this document to the
police magistrate and all will be well."
At the same time I gave her a louis and told her to go, not wishing to be
troubled with her thanks. A few moments after, the official came to get
my signature for the man's release, and I had to pay him the legal costs.
My lamps cost twelve francs to mend, and at nine o'clock I started,
having spent four or five louis for nothing.
Adele was obliged to sit between my legs, but she was ill at ease. I told
her to sit further back, but as she would have had to lean on me, I did
not urge her; it would have been rather a dangerous situation to begin
with. Moreau sat at the back of the carriage, Clairmont went on in front,
and we were thus neck and neck, or rather neck and back, the whole way.
We got down to change horses, and as we were getting into the carriage
again Adele had to lift her leg, and shewed me a pair of black breeches.
I have always had a horror of women with breeches, but above all of black
breeches.
"Sir," said I to her father, "your daughter has shewn me her black
breeches."
"It's uncommonly lucky for her that she didn't shew you something else."
I liked the reply, but the cursed breeches had so offended me that I
became quite sulky. It seemed to me that such clothes were a kind of
rampart or outwork, very natural, no doubt, but I thought a young girl
should know nothing of the danger, or, at all events, pretend ignorance
if she did not possess it. As I could neither scold her nor overcome my
bad temper, I contented myself with being polite, but I did not speak
again till we got to St. Simphorien, unless it was to ask her to sit more
comfortably.
When we got to St. Simphorien I told Clairmont to go on in front and
order us a good supper at Roanne, and to sleep there. When we were about
half-way Adele told me that she must be a trouble to me, as I was not so
gay as I had been. I assured her that it was not so, and that I only kept
silence that she might be able to rest.
"You are very kind," she answered, "but it is quite a mistake for you to
think that you would disturb me by talking. Allow me to tell you that you
are concealing the real cause of your silence."
"Do you know the real cause?"
"Yes, I think I do."
"Well, what is it?"
"You have changed since you saw my breeches."
"You are right, this black attire has clothed my soul with gloom."
"I am very sorry, but you must allow that in the first place I was not to
suppose that you were going to see my breeches, and in the second place
that I could not be aware that the colour would be distasteful to you."
"True again, but as I chanced to see the articles you must forgive my
disgust. This black has filled my soul with funereal images, just as
white would have cheered me. Do you always wear those dreadful breeches?"
"I am wearing them for the first time to-day."
"Then you must allow that you have committed an unbecoming action."
"Unbecoming?"
"Yes, what would you have said if I had come down in petticoats this
morning? You would have pronounced them unbecoming. You are laughing."
"Forgive me, but I never heard anything so amusing. But your comparison
will not stand; everyone would have seen your petticoats, whereas no one
has any business to see my breeches."
I assented to her logic, delighted to find her capable of tearing my
sophism to pieces, but I still preserved silence.
At Roanne we had a good enough supper, and Moreau, who knew very well
that if it had not been for his daughter there would have been no free
journey and free supper for him, was delighted when I told him that she
kept me good company. I told him about our discussion on breeches, and he
pronounced his daughter to be in the wrong, laughing pleasantly. After
supper I told him that he and his daughter were to sleep in the room in
which we were sitting, while I would pass the night in a neighbouring
closet.
Just as we were starting the next morning, Clairmont told me that he
would go on in front, to see that our beds were ready, adding that as we
had lost one night it would not do much harm if we were to lose another.
This speech let me know that my faithful Clairmont began to feel the need
of rest, and his health was dear to me. I told him to stop at St. Pierre
le Mortier, and to take care that a good supper was ready for us. When we
were in the carriage again, Adele thanked me.
"Then you don't like night travelling?" I said.
"I shouldn't mind it if I were not afraid of going to sleep and falling
on you."
"Why, I should like it. A pretty girl like you is an agreeable burden."
She made no reply, but I saw that she understood; my declaration was
made, but something more was wanted before I could rely on her docility.
I relapsed into silence again till we got to Varennes, and then I said,--
"If I thought you could eat a roast fowl with as good an appetite as
mine, I would dine here."
"Try me, I will endeavour to match you."
We ate well and drank better, and by the time we started again we were a
little drunk. Adele, who was only accustomed to drink wine two or three
times a year, laughed at not being able to stand upright, but seemed to
be afraid that something would happen. I comforted her by saying that the
fumes of champagne soon evaporated; but though she strove with all her
might to keep awake, nature conquered, and letting her pretty head fall
on my breast she fell asleep, and did not rouse herself for two hours. I
treated her with the greatest respect, though I could not resist
ascertaining that the article of clothing which had displeased me so much
had entirely disappeared.
While she slept I enjoyed the pleasure of gazing on the swelling curves
of her budding breast, but I restrained my ardour, as the disappearance
of the black breeches assured me that I should find her perfectly
submissive whenever I chose to make the assault. I wished, however, that
she should give herself up to me of her own free will, or at any rate
come half-way to meet me, and I knew that I had only to smooth the path
to make her do so.
When she awoke and found that she had been sleeping in my arms, her
astonishment was extreme. She apologized and begged me to forgive her,
while I thought the best way to put her at ease would be to give her an
affectionate kiss. The result was satisfactory; who does not know the
effect of a kiss given at the proper time?
As her dress was in some disorder she tried to adjust it, but we were
rather pushed for space, and by an awkward movement she uncovered her
knee. I burst out laughing and she joined me, and had the presence of
mind to say:
"I hope the black colour has given you no funereal thoughts this time."
"The hue of the rose, dear Adele, can only inspire me with delicious
fancies."
I saw that she lowered her eyes, but in a manner that shewed she was
pleased.
With this talk--and, so to speak, casting oil on the flames--we reached
Moulin, and got down for a few moments. A crowd of women assailed us with
knives and edged tools of all sorts, and I bought the father and daughter
whatever they fancied. We went on our way, leaving the women quarrelling
and fighting because some had sold their wares and others had not.
In the evening we reached St. Pierre; but during the four hours that had
elapsed since we left Moulin we had made way, and Adele had become quite
familiar with me.
Thanks to Clairmont, who had arrived two hours before, an excellent
supper awaited us. We supped in a large room, where two great white beds
stood ready to receive us.
I told Moreau that he and his daughter should sleep in one bed, and I in
the other; but he replied that I and Adele could each have a bed to
ourselves, as he wanted to start for Nevers directly after supper, so as
to be able to catch-his debtor at daybreak, and to rejoin us when we got
there the following day.
"If you had told me before, we would have gone on to Nevers and slept
there."
"You are too kind. I mean to ride the three and a half stages. The riding
will do me good, and I like it. I leave my daughter in your care. She
will not be so near you as in the carriage."
"Oh, we will be very discreet, you may be sure!"
After his departure I told Adele to go to bed in her clothes, if she were
afraid of me.
"I shan't be offended," I added.
"It would be very wrong of me," she answered, "to give you such a proof
of my want of confidence."
She rose, went out a moment, and when she came back she locked the door,
and as soon as she was ready to slip off her last article of clothing
came and kissed me. I happened to be writing at the time, and as she had
come up on tiptoe I was surprised, though in a very agreeable manner. She
fled to her bed, saying saucily,
"You are frightened of me, I think?"
"You are wrong, but you surprised me. Come back, I want to see you fall
asleep in my arms."
"Come and see me sleep."
"Will you sleep all the time?"
"Of course I shall."
"We will see about that."
I flung the pen down, and in a moment I held her in my arms, smiling,
ardent, submissive to my desires, and only entreating me to spare her. I
did my best, and though she helped me to the best of her ability, the
first assault was a labour of Hercules. The others were pleasanter, for
it is only the first step that is painful, and when the field had been
stained with the blood of three successive battles, we abandoned
ourselves to repose. At five o'clock in the morning Clairmont knocked,
and I told him to get us some coffee. I was obliged to get up without
giving fair Adele good day, but I promised that she should have it on the
way.
When she was dressed she looked at the altar where she had offered her
first sacrifice to love, and viewed the signs of her defeat with a sigh.
She was pensive for some time, but when we were in the carriage again her
gaiety returned, and in our mutual transports we forgot to grieve over
our approaching parting.
We found Moreau at Nevers; he was in a great state because he could not
get his money before noon. He dared not ask me to wait for him, but I
said that we would have a good dinner and start when the money was paid.
While dinner was being prepared we shut ourselves up in a room to avoid
the crowd of women who pestered us to buy a thousand trifles, and at two
o'clock we started, Moreau having got his money. We got to Cosne at
twilight, and though Clairmont was waiting for us at Briane, I decided on
stopping where I was, and this night proved superior to the first. The
next day we made a breakfast of the meal which had been prepared for our
supper, and we slept at Fontainebleau, where I enjoyed Adele for the last
time. In the morning I promised to come and see her at Louviers, when I
returned from England, but I could not keep my word.
We took four hours to get from Fontainebleau to Paris, but how quickly
the time passed. I stopped the carriage near the Pont St. Michel,
opposite to a clockmaker's shop, and after looking at several watches I
gave one to Adele, and then dropped her and her father at the corner of
the Rue aux Ours. I got down at the "Hotel de Montmorenci," not wanting
to stop with Madame d'Urfe, but after dressing I went to dine with her.
CHAPTER VI
I Drive My Brother The Abbe From Paris--Madame du Rumain
Recovers Her Voice Through My Cabala--A Bad Joke--The
Corticelli--I Take d'Aranda to London My Arrival At Calais
As usual, Madame d'Urfe received me with open arms, but I was surprised
at hearing her tell Aranda to fetch the sealed letter she had given him
in the morning. I opened it, found it was dated the same day, and
contained the following:
"My genius told me at day-break that Galtinardus was starting from
Fontainebleau, and that he will come and dine with me to-day."
She chanced to be right, but I have had many similar experiences in the
course of my life-experiences which would have turned any other man's
head. I confess they have surprised me, but they have never made me lose
my reasoning powers. Men make a guess which turns out to be correct, and
they immediately claim prophetic power; but they forgot all about the
many cases in which they have been mistaken. Six months ago I was silly
enough to bet that a bitch would have a litter of five bitch pups on a
certain day, and I won. Everyone thought it a marvel except myself, for
if I had chanced to lose I should have been the first to laugh.
I naturally expressed my admiration for Madame d'Urfe's genius, and
shared her joy in finding herself so well during her pregnancy. The
worthy lunatic had given orders that she was not at home to her usual
callers, in expectation of my arrival, and so we spent the rest of the
day together, consulting how we could make Aranda go to London of his own
free will; and as I did not in the least know how it was to be done, the
replies of the oracle were very obscure. Madame d'Urfe had such a strong
dislike to bidding him go, that I could not presume on her obedience to
that extent, and I had to rack my brains to find out some way of making
the little man ask to be taken to London as a favour.
I went to the Comedie Italienne, where I found Madame du Rumain, who
seemed glad to see me back in Paris again.
"I want to consult the oracle on a matter of the greatest importance,"
said she, "and I hope you will come and see me tomorrow."
I, of course, promised to do so.
I did not care for the performance, and should have left the theatre if I
had not wanted to see the ballet, though I could not guess the peculiar
interest it would have for me. What was my surprise to see the Corticelli
amongst the dancers. I thought I would like to speak to her, not for any
amorous reasons, but because I felt curious to hear her adventures. As I
came out I met the worthy Baletti, who told me he had left the stage and
was living on an annuity. I asked him about the Corticelli, and he gave
me her address, telling me that she was in a poor way.
I went to sup with my brother and his wife, who were delighted to see me,
and told me that I had come just in time to use a little gentle
persuasion on our friend the abbe, of whom they had got tired.
"Where is he?"
"You will see him before long, for it is near supper-time; and as eating
and drinking are the chief concerns of his life, he will not fail to put
in an appearance."
"What has he done?"
"Everything that a good-for-nothing can do; but I hear him coming, and I
will tell you all about it in his presence."
The abbe was astonished to see me, and began a polite speech, although I
did not favour him with so much as a look. Then he asked me what I had
against him.
"All that an honest man can have against a monster. I have read the
letter you wrote to Possano, in which I am styled a cheat, a spy, a
coiner, and a poisoner. What does the abbe think of that?"
He sat down to table without a word, and my brother began as follows:
"When this fine gentleman first came here, my wife and I gave him a most
cordial welcome. I allowed him a nice room, and told him to look upon my
house as his own. Possibly with the idea of interesting us in his favour,
he began by saying that you were the greatest rascal in the world. To
prove it he told us how he had carried off a girl from Venice with the
idea of marrying her, and went to you at Genoa as he was in great
necessity. He confesses that you rescued him from his misery, but he says
that you traitorously took possession of the girl, associating her with
two other mistresses you had at that time. In fine, he says that you lay
with her before his eyes, and that you drove him from Marseilles that you
might be able to enjoy her with greater freedom.
"He finished his story by saying that as he could not go back to Venice,
he needed our help till he could find some means of living on his talents
or through his profession as a priest. I asked him what his talents were,
and he said he could teach Italian; but as he speaks it vilely, and
doesn't know a word of French, we laughed at him. We were therefore
reduced to seeing what we could do for him in his character of priest,
and the very next day my wife spoke to M. de Sauci, the ecclesiastical
commissioner, begging him to give my brother an introduction to the
Archbishop of Paris, who might give him something that might lead to his
obtaining a good benefice. He would have to go to our parish church, and
I spoke to the rector of St. Sauveur, who promised to let him say mass,
for which he would receive the usual sum of twelve sols. This was a very
good beginning, and might have led to something worth having; but when we
told the worthy abbe of our success, he got into a rage, saying that he
was not the man to say mass for twelve sols, nor to toady the archbishop
in the hope of being taken into his service. No, he was not going to be
in anyone's service. We concealed our indignation, but for the three
weeks he has been here he has turned everything upside down. My wife's
maid left us yesterday, to our great annoyance, because of him; and the
cook says she will go if he remains, as he is always bothering her in the
kitchen. We are therefore resolved that he shall go, for his society is
intolerable to us. I am delighted to have you here, as I think we ought
to be able to drive him away between us, and the sooner the better."
"Nothing easier," said I; "if he likes to stay in Paris, let him do so.
You can send off his rags to some furnished apartments, and serve him
with a police order not to put foot in your house again. On the other
hand if he wants to go away, let him say where, and I will pay his
journey-money this evening."
"Nothing could be more generous. What do you say, abbe?"
"I say that this is the way in which he drove me from Marseilles. What
intolerable violence!"
"Give God thanks, monster, that instead of thrashing you within an inch
of your life as you deserve, I am going to give you some money! You
thought you would get me hanged at Lyons, did you?"
"Where is Marcoline?"
"What is that to you? Make haste and choose between Rome and Paris, and
remember that if you choose Paris you will have nothing to live on."
"Then I will go to Rome."
"Good! The journey only costs twenty louis, but I will give you
twenty-five."
"Hand them over."
"Patience. Give me pens, ink and paper."
"What are you going to write?"
"Bills of exchange on Lyons, Turin, Genoa, Florence, and Rome. Your place
will be paid as far as Lyons, and there you will be able to get five
louis, and the same sum in the other towns, but as long as you stay in
Paris not one single farthing will I give you. I am staying at the 'Hotel
Montmorenci;' that's all you need know about me."
I then bade farewell to my brother and his wife, telling them that we
should meet again. Checco, as we called my brother, told me he would send
on the abbe's trunk the day following, and I bade him do so by all means.
The next day trunk and abbe came together. I did not even look at him,
but after I had seen that a room had been assigned to him, I called out
to the landlord that I would be answerable for the abbe's board and
lodging for three days, and not a moment more. The abbe tried to speak to
me, but I sternly declined to have anything to say to him, strictly
forbidding Clairmont to admit him to my apartments.
When I went to Madame du Rumain's, the porter said,--
"Sir, everybody is still asleep, but who are you? I have instructions."
"I am the Chevalier de Seingalt."
"Kindly come into my lodge, and amuse yourself with my niece. I will soon
be with you."
I went in, and found a neatly-dressed and charming girl.
"Mademoiselle," said I, "your uncle has told me to come and amuse myself
with you."
"He is a rascal, for he consulted neither of us."
"Yes, but he knew well enough that there could be no doubt about my
opinion after I had seen you."
"You are very flattering, sir, but I know the value of compliments."
"Yes, I suppose that you often get them, and you well deserve them all."
The conversation, as well as the pretty eyes of the niece, began to
interest me, but fortunately the uncle put an end to it by begging me to
follow him. He took me to the maid's room, and I found her putting on a
petticoat, and grumbling the while.
"What is the matter, my pretty maid? You don't seem to be in a good
humour."
"You would have done better to come at noon; it is not nine o'clock yet,
and madame did not come home till three o'clock this morning. I am just
going to wake her, and I am sorry for her."
I was taken into the room directly, and though her eyes were half closed
she thanked me for awaking her, while I apologized for having disturbed
her sleep.
"Raton," said she, "give us the writing materials, and go away. Don't
come till I call you, and if anyone asks for me, I am asleep."
"Very good, madam, and I will go to sleep also."
"My dear M. Casanova, how is it that the oracle has deceived us? M. du
Rumain is still alive, and he ought to have died six months ago. It is
true that he is not well, but we will not go into all that again. The
really important question is this: You know that music is my favourite
pursuit, and that my voice is famous for its strength and compass; well,
I have completely lost it. I have not sung a note for three months. The
doctors have stuffed me with remedies which have had no effect: It makes
me very unhappy, for singing was the one thing that made me cling to
life. I entreat you to ask the oracle how I can recover my voice. How
delighted I should be if I could sing by to-morrow. I have a great many
people coming here, and I should enjoy the general astonishment. If the
oracle wills it I am sure that it might be so, for I have a very strong
chest. That is my question; it is a long one, but so much the better; the
answer will be long too, and I like long answers."
I was of the same opinion, for when the question was a long one, I had
time to think over the answer as I made the pyramid. Madame Rumain's
complaint was evidently something trifling, but I was no physician, and
knew nothing about medicine. Besides, for the honour of the cabala, the
oracle must have nothing to do with mere empiric remedies. I soon made up
my mind that a little care in her way of living would soon restore the
throat to its normal condition, and any doctor with brains in his head
could have told her as much. In the position I was in, I had to make use
of the language of a charlatan, so I resolved on prescribing a ceremonial
worship to the sun, at an hour which would insure some regularity in her
mode of life.
The oracle declared that she would recover her voice in twenty-one days,
reckoning from the new moon, if she worshipped the rising sun every
morning, in a room which had at least one window looking to the east.
A second reply bade her sleep seven hours in succession before she
sacrificed to the sun, each hour symbolizing one of the seven planets;
and before she went to sleep she was to take a bath in honour of the
moon, placing her legs in lukewarm water up to the knees. I then pointed
out the psalms which she was to recite to the moon, and those which she
was to say in the face of the rising sun, at a closed window.
This last direction filled her with admiration, "for," said she, "the
oracle knew that I should catch cold if the window were open. I will do
everything the oracle bids me," added the credulous lady, "but I hope you
will get me everything necessary for the ceremonies."
"I will not only take care that you have all the requisites, but as a
proof of my zeal for you, I will come and do the suffumigations myself
that you may learn how it is done."
She seemed deeply moved by this offer, but I expected as much. I knew how
the most trifling services are assessed at the highest rates; and herein
lies the great secret of success in the world, above all, where ladies of
fashion are concerned.
As we had to begin the next day, being the new moon, I called on her at
nine o'clock. As she had to sleep for seven successive hours before
performing the ceremonies to the rising sun, she would have to go to bed
before ten; and the observance of all these trifles was of importance, as
anyone can understand.
I was sure that if anything could restore this lady's voice a careful
regimen would do it. I proved to be right, and at London I received a
grateful letter announcing the success of my method.
Madame du Rumain, whose daughter married the Prince de Polignac, was a
lover of pleasure, and haunted grand supper-parties. She could not expect
to enjoy perfect health, and she had lost her voice by the way in which
she had abused it. When she had recovered her voice, as she thought, by
the influence of the genii, she laughed at anyone who told her that there
was no such thing as magic.
I found a letter from Therese at Madame d'Urfe's, in which she informed
me that she would come to Paris and take her son back by force if I did
not bring him to London, adding that she wanted a positive reply. I did
not ask for anything more, but I thought Therese very insolent.
I told Aranda that his mother would be waiting for us at Abbeville in a
week's time, and that she wanted to see him.
"We will both give her the pleasure of seeing us."
"Certainly," said he; "but as you are going on to London, how shall I
come back?"
"By yourself," said Madame d'Urfe, "dressed as a postillion."
"What shall I ride post? How delightful!"
"You must only cover eight or ten posts a day, for you have no need to
risk your life by riding all night."
"Yes, yes; but I am to dress like a postillion, am I not?"
"Yes; I will have a handsome jacket and a pair of leather breeches made
for you, and you shall have a flag with the arms of France on it."
"They will take me for a courier going to London."
With the idea that to throw difficulties in the way would confirm him in
his desire to go, I said roughly that I could not hear of it, as the
horse might fall and break his neck. I had to be begged and entreated for
three days before I would give in, and I did so on the condition that he
should only ride on his way back.
As he was certain of returning to Paris, he only took linen sufficient
for a very short absence; but as I knew that once at Abbeville he could
not escape me, I sent his trunk on to Calais, where we found it on our
arrival. However, the worthy Madame d'Urfe got him a magnificent
postillion's suit, not forgetting the top-boots.
This business which offered a good many difficulties was happily arranged
by the action of pure chance; and I am glad to confess that often in my
life has chance turned the scale in my favour.
I called on a banker and got him to give me heavy credits on several of
the most important houses in London, where I wished to make numerous
acquaintances.
While I was crossing the Place des Victoires, I passed by the house where
the Corticelli lived, and my curiosity made me enter. She was astonished
to see me, and after a long silence she burst into tears, and said,--
"I should never have been unhappy if I had never known you."
"Yes, you would, only in some other way; your misfortunes are the result
of your bad conduct. But tell me what are your misfortunes."
"As I could not stay in Turin after you had dishonoured me . . ."
"You came to dishonour yourself here, I suppose. Drop that tone, or else
I will leave you."
She began her wretched tale, which struck me with consternation, for I
could not help feeling that I was the first and final cause of this long
list of woes. Hence I felt it was my duty to succour her, however ill she
had treated me in the past.
"Then," said I, "you are at present the victim of a fearful disease,
heavily in debt, likely to be turned out of doors and imprisoned by your
creditors. What do you propose to do?"
"Do! Why, throw myself in the Seine, to be sure; that's all that is left
for me to do. I have not a farthing left."
"And what would you do if you had some money?"
"I would put myself under the doctor's hands, in the first place, and
then if any money was left I would go to Bologna and try to get a living
somehow. Perhaps I should have learnt a little wisdom by experience."
"Poor girl, I pity you! and in spite of your bad treatment of me, which
has brought you to this pass, I will not abandon you. Here are four louis
for your present wants, and to-morrow I will tell you where you are to go
for your cure. When you have got well again, I will give you enough money
for the journey. Dry your tears, repent, amend your ways, and may God
have mercy on you!"
The poor girl threw herself on the ground before me, and covered one of
my hands with kisses, begging me to forgive her for the ill she had done
me. I comforted her and went my way, feeling very sad. I took a coach and
drove to the Rue de Seine, where I called on an old surgeon I knew, told
him the story, and what I wanted him to do. He told me he could cure her
in six weeks without anybody hearing about it, but that he must be paid
in advance.
"Certainly; but the girl is poor, and I am doing it out of charity."
The worthy man took a piece of paper and gave me a note addressed to a
house in the Faubourg St. Antoine, which ran as follows:
"You will take in the person who brings you this note and three hundred
francs, and in six weeks you will send her back cured, if it please God.
The person has reasons for not wishing to be known."
I was delighted to have managed the matter so speedily and at such a
cheap rate, and I went to bed in a calmer state of mind, deferring my
interview with my brother till the next day.
He came at eight o'clock, and, constant to his folly, told me he had a
plan to which he was sure I could have no objection.
"I don't want to hear anything about it; make your choice, Paris or
Rome."
"Give me the journey-money, I will remain at Paris; but I will give a
written engagement not to trouble you or your brother again. That should
be sufficient."
"It is not for you to judge of that. Begone! I have neither the time nor
the wish to listen to you. Remember, Paris without a farthing, or Rome
with twenty-five louis."
Thereupon I called Clairmont, and told him to put the abbe out.
I was in a hurry to have done with the Corticelli affair, and went to the
house in the Faubourg St. Antoine, where I found a kindly and
intelligent-looking man and woman, and all the arrangements of the house
satisfactory and appropriate to the performance of secret cures. I saw
the room and the bath destined for the new boarder, everything was clean
and neat, and I gave them a hundred crowns, for which they handed me a
receipt. I told them that the lady would either come in the course of the
day, or on the day following.
I went to dine with Madame d'Urfe and the young Count d'Aranda. After
dinner the worthy marchioness talked to me for a long time of her
pregnancy, dwelling on her symptoms, and on the happiness that would be
hers when the babe stirred within her. I had put to a strong restrain
upon myself to avoid bursting out laughing. When I had finished with her
I went to the Corticelli, who called me her saviour and her guardian
angel. I gave her two louis to get some linen out of pawn, and promised
to come and see her before I left Paris, to give her a hundred crowns,
which would take her back to Bologna. Then I waited on Madame du Rumain
who had said farewell to society for three weeks.
This lady had an excellent heart, and was pretty as well, but she had so
curious a society-manner that she often made me laugh most heartily. She
talked of the sun and moon as if they were two Exalted Personages, to
whom she was about to be presented. She was once discussing with me the
state of the elect in heaven, and said that their greatest happiness was,
no doubt, to love God to distraction, for she had no idea of calm and
peaceful bliss.
I gave her the incense for the fumigation, and told her what psalms to
recite, and then we had a delicious supper. She told her chamber-maid to
escort me at ten o'clock to a room on the second floor which she had
furnished for me with the utmost luxury, adding,--
"Take care that the Chevalier de Seingalt is able to come into my room at
five o'clock to-morrow."
At nine o'clock I placed her legs in a bath of lukewarm water, and taught
her how to suffumigate. Her legs were moulded by the hand of the Graces
and I wiped them amorously, laughing within myself at her expression of
gratitude, and I then laid her in bed, contenting myself with a solemn
kiss on her pretty forehead. When it was over I went up to my room where
I was waited on by the pretty maid, who performed her duties with that
grace peculiar to the French soubrette, and told me that as I had become
her mistress's chambermaid it was only right that she should be my valet.
Her mirth was infectious, and I tried to make her sit down on my knee;
but she fled away like a deer, telling me that I ought to take care of
myself if I wanted to cut a good figure at five o'clock the next day. She
was wrong, but appearances were certainly against us, and it is well
known that servants do not give their masters and mistresses the benefit
of the doubt.
At five o'clock in the morning I found Madame du Rumain nearly dressed
when I went into her room, and we immediately went into another, from
which the rising sun might have been see if the "Hotel de Bouillon" had
not been in the way, but that, of course, was a matter of no consequence.
Madame du Rumain performed the ceremonies with all the dignity of an
ancient priestess of Baal. She then sat down to her piano, telling me
that to find some occupation for the long morning of nine hours would
prove the hardest of all the rules, for she did not dine till two, which
was then the fashionable hour. We had a meat breakfast without coffee,
which I had proscribed, and I left her, promising to call again before I
left Paris.
When I got back to my inn, I found my brother there looking very uneasy
at my absence at such an early hour. When I saw him I cried,--
"Rome or Paris, which is it to be?"
"Rome," he replied, cringingly.
"Wait in the antechamber. I will do your business for you."
When I had finished I called him in, and found my other brother and his
wife, who said they had come to ask me to give them a dinner.
"Welcome!" said I. "You are come just in time to see me deal with the
abbe, who has resolved at last to go to Rome and to follow my
directions."
I sent Clairmont to the diligence office, and told him to book a place
for Lyons; and then I wrote out five bills of exchange, of five louis
each, on Lyons, Turin, Genoa, Florence, and Rome.
"Who is to assure me that these bills will be honoured?"
"I assure you, blockhead. If you don't like them you can leave them."
Clairmont brought the ticket for the diligence and I gave it to the abbe,
telling him roughly to be gone.
"But I may dine with you, surely?" said he.
"No, I have done with you. Go and dine with Possano, as you are his
accomplice in the horrible attempt he made to murder me. Clairmont, shew
this man out, and never let him set foot here again."
No doubt more than one of my readers will pronounce my treatment of the
abbe to have been barbarous; but putting aside the fact that I owe no man
an account of my thoughts, deeds, and words, nature had implanted in me a
strong dislike to this brother of mine, and his conduct as a man and a
priest, and, above all, his connivance with Possano, had made him so
hateful to me that I should have watched him being hanged with the utmost
indifference, not to say with the greatest pleasure. Let everyone have
his own principles and his own passions, and my favourite passion has
always been vengeance.
"What did you do with the girl he eloped with?" said my sister-in-raw.
"I sent her back to Venice with the ambassadors the better by thirty
thousand francs, some fine jewels, and a perfect outfit of clothes. She
travelled in a carriage I gave her which was worth more than two hundred
louis."
"That's all very fine, but you must make some allowance for the abbe's
grief and rage at seeing you sleep with her."
"Fools, my dear sister, are made to suffer such grief, and many others
besides. Did he tell you that she would not let him have anything to do
with her, and that she used to box his ears?"
"On the the contrary, he was always talking of her love for him."
"He made himself a fine fellow, I have no doubt, but the truth is, it was
a very ugly business."
After several hours of pleasant conversation my brother left, and I took
my sister-in-law to the opera. As soon as we were alone this poor sister
of mine began to make the most bitter complaints of my brother.
"I am no more his wife now," said she, "than I was the night before our
marriage."
"What! Still a maid?"
"As much a maid as at the moment I was born. They tell me I could easily
obtain a dissolution of the marriage, but besides the scandal that would
arise, I unhappily love him, and I should not like to do anything that
would give him pain."
"You are a wonderful woman, but why do you not provide a substitute for
him?"
"I know I might do so, without having to endure much remorse, but I
prefer to bear it."
"You are very praiseworthy, but in the other ways you are happy?"
"He is overwhelmed with debt, and if I liked to call upon him to give me
back my dowry he would not have a shirt to his back. Why did he marry me?
He must have known his impotence. It was a dreadful thing to do."
"Yes, but you must forgive him for it."
She had cause for complaint, for marriage without enjoyment is a thorn
without roses. She was passionate, but her principles were stronger than
her passions, or else she would have sought for what she wanted
elsewhere. My impotent brother excused himself by saying that he loved
her so well that he thought cohabitation with her would restore the
missing faculty; he deceived himself and her at the same time. In time
she died, and he married another woman with the same idea, but this time
passion was stronger than virtue, and his new wife drove him away from
Paris. I shall say more of him in twenty years time.
At six o'clock the next morning the abbe went off in the diligence, and I
did not see him for six years. I spent the day with Madame d'Urfe, and I
agreed, outwardly, that young d'Aranda should return to Paris as a
postillion. I fixed our departure for the day after next.
The following day, after dining with Madame d'Urfe who continued to revel
in the joys of her regeneration, I paid a visit to the Corticelli in her
asylum. I found her sad and suffering, but content, and well pleased with
the gentleness of the surgeon and his wife, who told me they would effect
a radical cure. I gave her twelve louis, promising to send her twelve
more as soon as I had received a letter from her written at Bologna. She
promised she would write to me, but the poor unfortunate was never able
to keep her word, for she succumbed to the treatment, as the old surgeon
wrote to me, when I was at London. He asked what he should do with the
twelve louis which she had left to one Madame Laura, who was perhaps
known to me. I sent him her address, and the honest surgeon hastened to
fulfil the last wishes of the deceased.
All the persons who helped me in my magical operations with Madame d'Urfe
betrayed me, Marcoline excepted, and all save the fair Venetian died
miserably. Later on the reader will hear more of Possano and Costa.
The day before I left for London I supped with Madame du Rumain, who told
me that her voice was already beginning to return. She added a sage
reflection which pleased me highly.
"I should think," she observed, "that the careful living prescribed by
the cabala must have a good effect on my health."
"Most certainly," said I, "and if you continue to observe the rules you
will keep both your health and your voice."
I knew that it is often necessary to deceive before one can instruct; the
shadows must come before the dawn.
I took leave of my worthy Madame d'Urfe with an emotion which I had never
experienced before; it must have been a warning that I should never see
her again. I assured her that I would faithfully observe all my promises,
and she replied that her happiness was complete, and that she knew she
owed it all to me. In fine, I took d'Aranda and his top-boots, which he
was continually admiring, to my inn, whence we started in the evening, as
he had begged me to travel by night. He was ashamed to be seen in a
carriage dressed as a courier.
When we reached Abbeville he asked me where his mother was.
"We will see about it after dinner."
"But you can find out in a moment whether she is here or not?"
"Yes, but there is no hurry."
"And what will you do if she is not here?"
"We will go on till we meet her on the way. In the meanwhile let us go
and see the famous manufactory of M. Varobes before dinner."
"Go by yourself. I am tired, and I will sleep till you come back."
"Very good."
I spent two hours in going over the magnificent establishment, the owner
himself shewing it me, and then I went back to dinner and called for my
young gentleman.
"He started for Paris riding post," replied the innkeeper, who was also
the post-master, "five minutes after you left. He said he was going after
some dispatches you had left at Paris."
"If you don't get him back I will ruin you with law-suits; you had no
business to let him have a horse without my orders."
"I will capture the little rascal, sir, before he has got to Amiens."
He called a smart-looking postillion, who laughed when he heard what was
wanted.
"I would catch him up," said he, "even if he had four hours start. You
shall have him here at six o'clock."
"I will give you two louis."
"I would catch him for that, though he were a very lark."
He was in the saddle in five minutes, and by the rate at which he started
I did not doubt his success. Nevertheless I could not enjoy my dinner. I
felt so ashamed to have been taken in by a lad without any knowledge of
the world. I lay down on a bed and slept till the postillion aroused me
by coming in with the runaway, who looked half dead. I said nothing to
him, but gave orders that he should be locked up in a good room, with a
good bed to sleep on, and a good supper; and I told the landlord that I
should hold him answerable for the lad as long as I was in his inn. The
postillion had caught him up at the fifth post, just before Amiens, and
as he was already quite tired out the little man surrendered like a lamb.
At day-break I summoned him before me, and asked him if he would come to
London of his own free will or bound hand and foot.
"I will come with you, I give you my word of honour; but you must let me
ride on before you. Otherwise, with this dress of mine, I should be
ashamed to go. I don't want it to be thought that you had to give chase
to me, as if I had robbed you."
"I accept your word of honour, but be careful to keep it. Embrace me, and
order another saddle-horse."
He mounted his horse in high spirits, and rode in front of the carriage
with Clairmont. He was quite astonished to find his trunk at Calais,
which he reached two hours before me.
CHAPTER VII
My Arrival in London; Madame Cornelis--I Am Presented at
Court--I Rent a Furnished House--I Make a Large Circle of
Acquaintance--Manners of the English
[Illustration: Chapter 7]
When I got to Calais I consigned my post-chaise to the care of the
landlord of the inn, and hired a packet. There was only one available for
a private party, there being another for public use at six francs apiece.
I paid six guineas in advance, taking care to get a proper receipt, for I
knew that at Calais a man finds himself in an awkward position if he is
unable to support his claim by documents.
Before the tide was out Clairmont got all my belongings on board, and I
ordered my supper. The landlord told me that louis were not current in
England, and offered to give me guineas in exchange for mine; but I was
surprised when I found he gave me the same number of guineas as I had
given him of louis. I wanted him to take the difference--four per
cent.--but he refused, saying that he did not allow anything when the
English gave him guineas for louis. I do not know whether he found his
system a profitable one on the whole, but it was certainly so for me.
The young Count d'Aranda, to whom I had restored his humble name of
Trenti, was quite resigned, but proud of having given me a specimen of
his knowingness by riding post. We were just going to sit down at table,
well pleased with one another, when I heard a loud conversation in
English going on near my door, and mine host came in to tell me what it
was about.
"It's the courier of the Duke of Bedford, the English ambassador," said
he; "he announces the approach of his master, and is disputing with the
captain of the packet. He says he hired the boat by letter, and that the
captain had no right to let it to you. The master maintains that he has
received no such letter, and no one can prove that he is telling a lie."
I congratulated myself on having taken the packet and paid the
earnest-money, and went to bed. At day-break the landlord said that the
ambassador had arrived at midnight, and that his man wanted to see me.
He came in and told me that the nobleman, his master, was in a great
hurry to get to London, and that I should oblige him very much by
yielding the boat to him.
I did not answer a word, but wrote a note which ran as follows:
"My lord duke may dispose of the whole of the packet, with the exception
of the space necessary for my own accommodation, that of two other
persons, and my luggage. I am delighted to have the opportunity of
obliging the English ambassador."
The valet took the note, and returned to thank me on behalf of his
master, who stipulated, however, that he should be allowed to pay for the
packet.
"Tell him that it is out of the question, as the boat is paid for
already."
"He will give you the six guineas."
"Tell your master that I cannot allow him to pay. I do not buy to sell
again."
The duke called on me in the course of half an hour, and said that we
were both of us in the right.
"However," he added, "there is a middle course, let us adopt it, and I
shall be just as much indebted to you."
"What is that, my lord?"
"We will each pay half."
"My desire to oblige you, my lord, will not allow me to refuse, but it is
I who will be indebted to you for the honour your lordship does me. We
will start as soon as you like, and I can make my arrangements
accordingly."
He shook my hand and left the room, and when he had gone I found three
guineas on the table. He had placed them there without my noticing them.
An hour afterwards I returned his call, and then told the master to take
the duke and his carriages on board.
We took two hours and a half in crossing the Channel; the wind was
strong, but we made a good passage.
The stranger who sets his foot on English soil has need of a good deal of
patience. The custom-house officials made a minute, vexatious and even an
impertinent perquisition; but as the duke and ambassador had to submit, I
thought it best to follow his example; besides, resistance would be
useless. The Englishman, who prides himself on his strict adherence to
the law of the land, is curt and rude in his manner, and the English
officials cannot be compared to the French, who know how to combine
politeness with the exercise of their rights.
English is different in every respect from the rest of Europe; even the
country has a different aspect, and the water of the Thames has a taste
peculiar to itself. Everything has its own characteristics, and the fish,
cattle, horses, men, and women are of a type not found in any other land.
Their manner of living is wholly different from that of other countries,
especially their cookery. The most striking feature in their character is
their national pride; they exalt themselves above all other nations.
My attention was attracted by the universal cleanliness, the beauty of
the country, the goodness of the roads, the reasonable charges for
posting, the quickness of the horses, although they never go beyond a
trot; and lastly, the construction of the towns on the Dover road;
Canterbury and Rochester for instance, though large and populous, are
like long passages; they are all length and no breadth.
We got to London in the evening and stopped at the house of Madame
Cornelis, as Therese called herself. She was originally married to an
actor named Imer, then to the dancer Pompeati, who committed suicide at
Venice by ripping up his stomach with a razor.
In Holland she had been known as Madame Trenti, but at London she had
taken the name of her lover Cornelius Rigerboos, whom she had contrived
to ruin.
She lived in Soho Square, almost facing the house of the Venetian
ambassador. When I arrived I followed the instructions I had received in
her last letter. I left her son in the carriage, and sent up my name,
expecting she would fly to meet me; but the porter told me to wait, and
in a few minutes a servant in grand livery brought me a note in which
Madame Cornelis asked me to get down at the house to which her servant
would conduct me. I thought this rather strange behaviour, but still she
might have her reasons for acting in this manner, so I did not let my
indignation appear. When we got to the house, a fat woman named Rancour,
and two servants, welcomed us, or rather welcomed my young friend; for
the lady embraced him, told him how glad she was to see him, and did not
appear to be aware of my existence.
Our trunks were taken in, and Madame Rancour having ascertained which
belonged to Cornelis, had them placed in a fine suite of three rooms, and
said, pointing out to him the apartment and the two servants,
"This apartment and the two servants are for you, and I, too, am your
most humble servant."
Clairmont told me that he had put my things in a room which communicated
with Cornelis's. I went to inspect it, and saw directly that I was being
treated as if I were a person of no consequence. The storm of anger was
gathering, but wonderful to relate, I subdued myself, and did not say a
word.
"Where is your room?" I said to Clairmont.
"Near the roof, and I am to share it with one of those two louts you
saw."
The worthy Clairmont, who knew my disposition, was surprised at the calm
with which I said,--
"Take your trunk there."
"Shall I open yours?"
"No. We will see what can be done to-morrow."
I still kept on my mask, and returned to the room of the young gentleman
who seemed to be considered as my master. I found him listening with a
foolish stare to Madame Rancour, who was telling him of the splendid
position his mother occupied, her great enterprise, her immense credit,
the splendid house she had built, her thirty-three servants, her two
secretaries, her six horses, her country house, etc., etc.
"How is my sister Sophie?" said the young gentleman.
"Her name is Sophie, is it? She is only known as Miss Cornelis. She is a
beauty, a perfect prodigy, she plays at sight on several instruments,
dances like Terpsichore, speaks English, French, and Italian equally
well--in a word, she is really wonderful. She has a governess and a maid.
Unfortunately, she is rather short for her age; she is eight."
She was ten, but as Madame Rancour was not speaking to me I refrained
from interrupting her.
My lord Cornelis, who felt very tired, asked at what hour they were to
sup.
"At ten o'clock and not before," said the duenna, "for Madame Cornelis is
always engaged till then. She is always with her lawyer, on account of an
important law-suit she has against Sir Frederick Fermer."
I could see that I should learn nothing worth learning by listening to
the woman's gossip, so I took my hat and cane and went for a walk in the
immense city, taking care not to lose my way.
It was seven o'clock when I went out, and a quarter of an hour after,
seeing a number of people in a coffeehouse, I entered it. It was the most
notorious place in London, the resort of all the rascally Italians in
town. I had heard of it at Lyons, and had taken a firm resolve never to
set foot in it, but almighty chance made me go there unknown to myself.
But it was my only visit.
I sat down by myself and called for a glass of lemonade, and before long
a man came and sat by me to profit by the light. He had a printed paper
in his hand, and I could see that the words were Italian. He had a pencil
with which he scratched out some words and letters, writing the
corrections in the margin. Idle curiosity made me follow him in his work,
and I noticed him correcting the word 'ancora', putting in an 'h' in the
margin. I was irritated by this barbarous spelling, and told him that for
four centuries 'ancora' had been spelt without an 'h'.
"Quite so," said he, "but I am quoting from Boccaccio, and one should be
exact in quotations."
"I apologize, sir; I see you are a man of letters."
"Well, in a small way. My name is Martinelli."
"Then you are in a great way indeed. I know you by repute, and if I am
not mistaken you are a relation of Calsabigi, who has spoken of you to
me. I have read some of your satires."
"May I ask to whom I have the honour of speaking?"
"My name is Seingalt. Have you finished your edition of the Decameron?"
"I am still at work on it, and trying to increase the number of my
subscribers."
"If you will be so kind I should be glad to be of the number."
"You do me honour."
He gave me a ticket, and seeing that it was only for a guinea I took
four, and telling him I hoped to see him again at the same coffee-house,
the name of which I asked him, he told it me, evidently astonished at my
ignorance; but his surprise vanished when I informed him that I had only
been in London for an hour, and that it was my first visit to the great
city.
"You will experience some trouble in finding your way back," said he,
"allow me to accompany you."
When we had got out he gave me to understand that chance had led me to
the "Orange Coffee House," the most disreputable house in London.
"But you go there."
"Yes, but I can say with Juvenal:
"'Cantabit vacuus coram latrone viator.'
"The rogues can't hurt me; I know them and they know me; we never trouble
each other."
"You have been a long time in London, I suppose."
"Five years."
"I presume you know a good many people."
"Yes, but I seldom wait on anyone but Lord Spencer. I am occupied with
literary work and live all by myself. I don't make much, but enough to
live on. I live in furnished apartments, and have twelve shirts and the
clothes you see on my back, and that is enough for my happiness.
"'Nec ultra deos lacesso.'"
I was pleased with this honest man, who spoke Italian with the most
exquisite correctness.
On the way back I asked him what I had better do to get a comfortable
lodging. When he heard the style in which I wished to live and the time I
proposed to spend in London, he advised me to take a house completely
furnished.
"You will be given an inventory of the goods," said he, "and as soon as
you get a surety your house will be your castle."
"I like the idea," I answered, "but how shall I find such a house?"
"That is easily done."
He went into a shop, begged the mistress to lend him the Advertiser,
noted down several advertisements, and said,--
"That's all we have to do."
The nearest house was in Pall Mall and we went to see it. An old woman
opened the door to us, and shewed us the ground floor and the three
floors above. Each floor contained two rooms and a closet. Everything
shone with cleanliness; linen, furniture, carpets, mirrors, and china,
and even the bells and the bolts on the doors. The necessary linen was
kept in a large press, and in another was the silver plate and several
sets of china. The arrangements in the kitchen were excellent, and in a
word, nothing was lacking in the way of comfort. The rent was twenty
guineas a week, and, not stopping to bargain, which is never of any use
in London, I told Martinelli that I would take it on the spot.
Martinelli translated what I said to the old woman, who told me that if I
liked to keep her on as housekeeper I need not have a surety, and that it
would only be necessary for me to pay for each week in advance. I
answered that I would do so, but that she must get me a servant who could
speak French or Italian as well as English. She promised to get one in a
day's time, and I paid her for four weeks' rent on the spot, for which
she gave me a receipt under the name of the Chevalier de Seingalt. This
was the name by which I was known during the whole of my stay in London.
Thus in less than two hours I was comfortably settled in a town which is
sometimes described as a chaos, especially for a stranger. But in London
everything is easy to him who has money and is not afraid of spending it.
I was delighted to be able to escape so soon from a house where I was
welcomed so ill, though I had a right to the best reception; but I was
still more pleased at the chance which had made me acquainted with
Martinelli, whom I had known by repute for six years.
When I got back Madame Cornelis had not yet arrived, though ten o'clock
had struck. Young Cornelis was asleep on the sofa. I was enraged at the
way the woman treated me, but I resolved to put a good face on it.
Before long three loud knocks announced the arrival of Madame Cornelis in
a sedan-chair, and I heard her ascending the stairs. She came in and
seemed glad to see me, but did not come and give me those caresses which
I had a right to expect. She ran to her son and took him on her knee, but
the sleepy boy did not respond to her kisses with any great warmth.
"He is very tired, like myself," said I, "and considering that we are
travellers in need of rest you have kept us waiting a long time."
I do not know whether she would have answered at all, or, if so, what her
answer would have been, for just at that moment a servant came in and
said that supper was ready. She rose and did me the honour to take my
arm, and we went into another room which I had not seen. The table was
laid for four, and I was curious enough to enquire who was the fourth
person.
"It was to have been my daughter, but I left her behind, as when I told
her that you and her brother had arrived she asked me if you were well."
"And you have punished her for doing so?"
"Certainly, for in my opinion she ought to have asked for her brother
first and then for you. Don't you think I was right?"
"Poor Sophie! I am sorry for her. Gratitude has evidently more influence
over her than blood relationship."
"It is not a question of sentiment, but of teaching young persons to
think with propriety."
"Propriety is often far from proper."
The woman told her son that she was working hard to leave him a fortune
when she died, and that she had been obliged to summon him to England as
he was old enough to help her in her business.
"And how am I to help you, my dear mother?"
"I give twelve balls and twelve suppers to the nobility, and the same
number to the middle classes in the year. I have often as many as six
hundred guests at two guineas a head. The expenses are enormous, and
alone as I am I must be robbed, for I can't be in two places at once. Now
that you are here you can keep everything under lock and key, keep the
books, pay and receive accounts, and see that everyone is properly
attended to at the assemblies; in fine, you will perform the duties of
the master."
"And do you think that I can do all that?"
"You will easily learn it."
"I think it will be very difficult."
"One of my secretaries will come and live with you, and instruct you in
everything. During the first year you will only have to acquire the
English language, and to be present at my assemblies, that I may
introduce you to the most distinguished people in London. You will get
quite English before long."
"I would rather remain French."
"That's mere prejudice, my dear, you will like the sound of Mister
Cornelis by-and-bye."
"Cornelis?"
"Yes; that is your name."
"It's a very funny one."
"I will write it down, so that you may not forget it." Thinking that her
dear son was joking. Madame Cornelis looked at me in some astonishment,
and told him to go to bed, which he did instantly. When we were alone she
said he struck her as badly educated, and too small for his age.
"I am very much afraid," said she, "that we shall have to begin his
education all over again. What has he learnt in the last six years?"
"He might have learnt a great deal, for he went to the best boarding
school in Paris; but he only learnt what he liked, and what he liked was
not much. He can play the flute, ride, fence, dance a minuet, change his
shirt every day, answer politely, make a graceful bow, talk elegant
trifles, and dress well. As he never had any application, he doesn't know
anything about literature; he can scarcely write, his spelling is
abominable, his arithmetic limited, and I doubt whether he knows in what
continent England is situated."
"He has used the six years well, certainly."
"Say, rather, he has wasted them; but he will waste many more."
"My daughter will laugh at him; but then it is I who have had the care of
her education. He will be ashamed when he finds her so well instructed
though she is only eight."
"He will never see her at eight, if I know anything of reckoning; she is
fully ten."
"I think I ought to know the age of my own daughter. She knows geography,
history, languages, and music; she argues correctly, and behaves in a
manner which is surprising in so young a child. All the ladies are in
love with her. I keep her at a school of design all day; she shews a
great taste for drawing. She dines with me on Sundays, and if you would
care to come to dinner next Sunday you will confess that I have not
exaggerated her capacities."
It was Monday. I said nothing, but I thought it strange that she did not
seem to consider that I was impatient to see my daughter. She should have
asked me to meet her at supper the following evening.
"You are just in time," said she, "to witness the last assembly of the
year; for in a few weeks all the nobility will leave town in order to
pass the summer in the country. I can't give you a ticket, as they are
only issued to the nobility, but you can come as my friend and keep close
to me. You will see everything. If I am asked who you are, I will say
that you have superintended the education of my son in Paris, and have
brought him back to me."
"You do me too much honour."
We continued talking till two o'clock in the morning, and she told me all
about the suit she had with Sir Frederick Fermer. He maintained that the
house she had built at a cost of ten thousand guineas belonged to him as
he had furnished the money. In equity he was right, but according to
English law wrong, for it was she who had paid the workmen, the
contractors, and the architect; it was she that had given and received
receipts, and signed all documents. The house, therefore, belonged to
her, and Fermer admitted as much; but he claimed the sum he had
furnished, and here was the kernel of the whole case, for she had defied
him to produce a single acknowledgment of money received.
"I confess," said this honest woman, "that you have often given me a
thousand pounds at a time, but that was a friendly gift, and nothing to
be wondered at in a rich Englishman, considering that we were lovers and
lived together."
She had won her suit four times over in two years, but Fermer took
advantage of the intricacies of English law to appeal again and again,
and now he had gone to the House of Lords, the appeal to which might last
fifteen years.
"This suit," said the honest lady, "dishonours Fermer."
"I should think it did, but you surely don't think it honours you."
"Certainly I do."
"I don't quite understand how you make that out."
"I will explain it all to you."
"We will talk it over again."
In the three hours for which we talked together this woman did not once
ask me how I was, whether I was comfortable, how long I intended to stay
in London, or whether I had made much money. In short she made no
enquiries what ever about me, only saying with a smile, but not
heedlessly,--
"I never have a penny to spare."
Her receipts amounted to more than twenty-four thousand pounds per annum,
but her expenses were enormous and she had debts.
I avenged myself on her indifference by not saying a word about myself. I
was dresssed simply but neatly, and had not any jewellry or diamonds
about my person.
I went to bed annoyed with her, but glad to have discovered the badness
of her heart. In spite of my longing to see my daughter I determined not
to take any steps to meet her till the ensuing Sunday, when I was invited
to dinner.
Early next morning I told Clairmont to pull all my goods and chattels in
a carriage, and when all was ready I went to take leave of young
Cornelis, telling him I was going to live in Pall Mall, and leaving him
my address.
"You are not going to stay with me, then?" said he.
"No, your mother doesn't know how to welcome or to treat me."
"I think you are right. I shall go back to Paris."
"Don't do anything so silly. Remember that here you are at home, and that
in Paris you might not find a roof to shelter you. Farewell; I shall see
you on Sunday."
I was soon settled in my new house, and I went out to call on M. Zuccato,
the Venetian ambassador. I gave him M. Morosini's letter, and he said,
coldly, that he was glad to make my acquaintance. When I asked him to
present me at Court the insolent fool only replied with a smile, which
might fairly be described as contemptuous. It was the aristocratic pride
coming out, so I returned his smile with a cold bow, and never set foot
in his house again.
On leaving Zuccato I called on Lord Egremont, and finding him ill left my
letter with the porter. He died a few days after, so M. Morosini's
letters were both useless through no fault of his. We shall learn
presently what was the result of the little note.
I then went to the Comte de Guerchi, the French ambassador, with a letter
from the Marquis Chauvelin, and I received a warm welcome. This nobleman
asked me to dine with him the following day, and told me that if I liked
he would present me at Court after chapel on Sunday. It was at that
ambassador's table that I made the acquaintance of the Chevalier d'Eon,
the secretary of the embassy, who afterwards became famous. This
Chevalier d'Eon was a handsome woman who had been an advocate and a
captain of dragoons before entering the diplomatic service; she served
Louis XV. as a valiant soldier and a diplomatist of consummate skill. In
spite of her manly ways I soon recognized her as a woman; her voice was
not that of a castrato, and her shape was too rounded to be a man's. I
say nothing of the absence of hair on her face, as that might be an
accident.
In the first days of my stay in London I made the acquaintance of my
bankers; who held at least three hundred thousand francs of my money.
They all honoured my drafts and offered their services to me, but I did
not make use of their good offices.
I visited the theatres of Covent Garden and Drury Lane, but I could not
extract much enjoyment out of the performances as I did not know a word of
English. I dined at all the taverns, high and low, to get some insight
into the peculiar manners of the English. In the morning I went on
'Change, where I made some friends. It was there that a merchant to whom
I spoke got me a Negro servant who spoke English, French, and Italian
with equal facility; and the same individual procured me a cook who spoke
French. I also visited the bagnios where a rich man can sup, bathe, and
sleep with a fashionable courtezan, of which species there are many in
London. It makes a magnificent debauch and only costs six guineas. The
expense may be reduced to a hundred francs, but economy in pleasure is
not to my taste.
On Sunday I made an elegant toilette and went to Court about eleven, and
met the Comte de Guerchi as we had arranged. He introduced me to George
III., who spoke to me, but in such a low voice that I could not
understand him and had to reply by a bow. The queen made up for the king,
however, and I was delighted to observe that the proud ambassador from my
beloved Venice was also present. When M. de Guerchi introduced me under
the name of the Chevalier de Seingalt, Zuccato looked astonished, for Mr.
Morosini had called me Casanova in his letter. The queen asked me from
what part of France I came, and understanding from my answer that I was
from Venice, she looked at the Venetian ambassador, who bowed as if to
say that he had no objection to make. Her Majesty then asked me if I knew
the ambassadors extraordinary, who had been sent to congratulate the
king, and I replied that I had the pleasure of knowing them intimately,
and that I had spent three days in their society at Lyons, where M.
Morosini gave me letters for my Lord d'Egremont and M. Zuccato.
"M. Querini amused me extremely," said the queen; "he called me a little
devil."
"He meant to say that your highness is as witty as an angel."
I longed for the queen to ask me why I had not been presented by M.
Zuccatto, for I had a reply on the tip of my tongue that would have
deprived the ambassador of his sleep for a week, while I should have
slept soundly, for vengeance is a divine pleasure, especially when it is
taken on the proud and foolish; but the whole conversation was a compound
of nothings, as is usual in courts.
After my interview was over I got into my sedan-chair and went to Soho
Square. A man in court dress cannot walk the streets of London without
being pelted with mud by the mob, while the gentleman look on and laugh.
All customs must be respected; they are all at once worthy and absurd.
When I got to the house of Madame Cornelis, I and my Negro Jarbe were
shewn upstairs, and conducted through a suite of gorgeous apartments to a
room where the lady of the house was sitting with two English ladies and
two English gentlemen. She received me with familiar politeness, made me
sit down in an armchair beside her, and then continued the conversation
in English without introducing me. When her steward told her that dinner
was ready, she gave orders for the children to be brought down.
I had long desired this meeting, and when I saw Sophie I ran to meet her;
but she, who had profited by her mother's instructions, drew back with
profound courtesy and a compliment learnt by heart. I did not say
anything for fear I should embarrass her, but I felt grieved to the
heart.
Madame Cornelis then brought forward her son, telling the company that I
had brought him to England after superintending his education for six
years. She spoke in French, so I was glad to see that her friends
understood that language.
We sat down to table; Madame Cornelis between her two children, and I
between the two Englishwomen, one of whom delighted me by her pleasant
wit. I attached myself to her as soon as I noticed that the mistress of
the house only spoke to me by chance, and that Sophie did not look at me.
She was so like me that no mistake was possible. I could see that she had
been carefully tutored by her mother to behave in this manner, and I felt
this treatment to be both absurd and impertinent.
I did not want to let anyone see that I was angry, so I began to
discourse in a pleasant strain on the peculiarities of English manners,
taking care, however, not to say anything which might wound the insular
pride of the English guests. My idea was to make them laugh and to make
myself agreeable, and I succeeded, but not a word did I speak to Madame
Cornelis; I did not so much as look at her.
The lady next to me, after admiring the beauty of my lace, asked me what
was the news at Court.
"It was all news to me," said I, "for I went there to-day for the first
time."
"Have you seen the king?" said Sir Joseph Cornelis.
"My dear, you should not ask such questions," said his mother.
"Why not?"
"Because the gentleman may not wish to answer them."
"On the contrary, madam, I like being questioned. I have been teaching
your son for the last six years to be always asking something, for that
is the way to acquire knowledge. He who asks nothing knows nothing."
I had touched her to the quick, and she fell into a sulky silence.
"You have not told me yet," said the lad, "whether you saw the king."
"Yes, my man, I saw the king and the queen, and both their majesties did
me the honour to speak to me."
"Who introduced you?"
"The French ambassador."
"I think you will agree with me," said the mother, "that last question
was a little too much."
"Certainly it would be if it were addressed to a stranger, but not to me
who am his friend. You will notice that the reply he extracted from me
did me honour. If I had not wished it to be known that I had been at
Court, I should not have come here in this dress."
"Very good; but as you like to be questioned, may I ask you why you were
not presented by your own ambassador?"
"Because the Venetian ambassador would not present me, knowing that his
Government have a bone to pick with me."
By this time we had come to the dessert, and poor Sophie had not uttered
a syllable.
"Say something to M. de Seingalt," said her mother.
"I don't know what to say," she answered. "Tell M. de Seingalt to ask me
some questions, and I will answer to the best of my ability."
"Well, Sophie, tell me in what studies you are engaged at the present
time."
"I am learning drawing; if you like I will shew you some of my work."
"I will look at it with pleasure; but tell me how you think you have
offended me; you have a guilty air."
"I, sir? I do not think I have done anything amiss."
"Nor do I, my dear; but as you do not look at me when you speak I thought
you must be ashamed of something. Are you ashamed of your fine eyes? You
blush. What have you done?"
"You are embarrassing her," said the mother. "Tell him, my dear, that you
have done nothing, but that a feeling of modesty and respect prevents you
from gazing at the persons you address."
"Yes," said I; "but if modesty bids young ladies lower their eyes,
politeness should make them raise them now and again."
No one replied to this objection, which was a sharp cut for the absurd
woman; but after an interval of silence we rose from the table, and
Sophie went to fetch her drawings.
"I won't look at anything, Sophie, unless you will look at me."
"Come," said her mother, "look at the gentleman."
She obeyed as quickly as lightning, and I saw the prettiest eyes
imaginable.
"Now," said I, "I know you again, and perhaps you may remember having
seen me."
"Yes, although it is six years ago since we met, I recognized you
directly."
"And yet you did not look me in the face! If you knew how impolite it was
to lower your eyes when you are addressing anyone, you would not do it.
Who can have given you such a bad lesson?"
The child glanced towards her mother, who was standing by a window, and I
saw who was her preceptress.
I felt that I had taken sufficient vengeance, and began to examine her
drawings, to praise them in detail, and to congratulate her on her
talents. I told her that she ought to be thankful to have a mother who
had given her so good an education. This indirect compliment pleased
Madame Cornelis, and Sophie, now free from all restraint, gazed at me
with an expression of child-like affection which ravished me. Her
features bore the imprint of a noble soul within, and I pitied her for
having to grow up under the authority of a foolish mother. Sophie went to
the piano, played with feeling, and then sang some Italian airs, to the
accompaniment of the guitar, too well for her age. She was too
precocious, and wanted much more discretion in her education than Madame
Cornelis was able to give her.
When her singing had been applauded by the company, her mother told her
to dance a minuet with her brother, who had learnt in Paris, but danced
badly for want of a good carriage. His sister told him so with a kiss,
and then asked me to dance with her, which I did very readily. Her
mother, who thought she had danced exquisitely, as was indeed the case,
told her that she must give me a kiss. She came up to me, and drawing her
on my knee I covered her face with kisses, which she returned with the
greatest affection. Her mother laughed with all her heart, and then
Sophie, beginning to be doubtful again, went up to her and asked if she
were angry. Her mother comforted her with a kiss.
After we had taken coffee, which was served in the French fashion, Madame
Cornelis shewed me a magnificent hall which she had built, in which she
could give supper to four hundred persons seated at one table. She told
me, and I could easily believe her, that there was not such another in
all London.
The last assembly was given before the prorogation of Parliament; it was
to take place in four or five days. She had a score of pretty girls in
her service, and a dozen footmen all in full livery.
"They all rob me," said she, "but I have to put up with it. What I want
is a sharp man to help me and watch over my interests; if I had such an
one I should make an immense fortune in a comparatively short time; for
when it is a question of pleasure, the English do not care what they
spend."
I told her I hoped she would find such man and make the fortune, and then
I left her, admiring her enterprise.
When I left Soho Square I went to St. James's Park to see Lady Harrington
for whom I bore a letter, as I have mentioned. This lady lived in the
precincts of the Court, and received company every Sunday. It was
allowable to play in her house, as the park is under the jurisdiction of
the Crown. In any other place there is no playing cards or singing on
Sundays. The town abounds in spies, and if they have reason to suppose
that there is any gaming or music going on, they watch for their
opportunity, slip into the house, and arrest all the bad Christians, who
are diverting themselves in a manner which is thought innocent enough in
any other country. But to make up for this severity the Englishman may go
in perfect liberty to the tavern or the brothel, and sanctify the Sabbath
as he pleases.
I called on Lady Harrington, and having sent up my letter she summoned me
into her presence. I found her in the midst of about thirty persons, but
the hostess was easily distinguished by the air of welcome she had for
me.
After I had made my bow she told me she had seen me at Court in the
morning, and that without knowing who I was she had been desirous of
making my acquaintance. Our conversation lasted three-quarters of an
hour, and was composed of those frivolous observations and idle questions
which are commonly addressed to a traveller.
The lady was forty, but she was still handsome. She was well known for
her gallantries and her influence at Court. She introduced me to her
husband and her four daughters, charming girls of a marriageable age. She
asked me why I had come to London when everybody was on the point of
going out of town. I told her that as I always obeyed the impulse of the
moment, I should find it difficult to answer her question; besides, I
intended staying for a year, so that the pleasure would be deferred but
not lost.
My reply seemed to please her by its character of English independence,
and she offered with exquisite grace to do all in her power for me.
"In the meanwhile," said she, "we will begin by letting you see all the
nobility at Madame Cornelis's on Thursday next. I can give you a ticket
to admit to ball and supper. It is two guineas."
I gave her the money, and she took the ticket again, writing on it,
"Paid.--Harrington."
"Is this formality necessary, my lady?"
"Yes; or else they would ask you for the money at the doors."
I did not think it necessary to say anything about my connection with the
lady of Soho Square.
While Lady Harrington was making up a rubber at whist, she asked me if I
had any other letters for ladies.
"Yes," said I, "I have one which I intend to present to-morrow. It is a
singular letter, being merely a portrait."
"Have you got it about you?"
"Yes, my lady."
"May I see it?"
"Certainly. Here it is."
"It is the Duchess of Northumberland. We will go and give it her."
"With pleasure!"
"Just wait till they have marked the game."
Lord Percy had given me this portrait as a letter of introduction to his
mother.
"My dear duchess," said Lady Harrington, "here is a letter of
introduction which this gentleman begs to present to you."
"I know, it is M. de Seingalt. My son has written to me about him. I am
delighted to see you, Chevalier, and I hope you will come and see me. I
receive thrice a week."
"Will your ladyship allow me to present my valuable letter in person?"
"Certainly. You are right."
I played a rubber of whist for very small stakes, and lost fifteen
guineas, which I paid on the spot. Directly afterwards Lady Harrington
took me apart, and gave me a lesson which I deem worthy of record.
"You paid in gold," said she; "I suppose you had no bank notes about
you?"
"Yes, my lady, I have notes for fifty and a hundred pounds."
"Then you must change one of them or wait till another time to play, for
in England to pay in gold is a solecism only pardonable in a stranger.
Perhaps you noticed that the lady smiled?"
"Yes; who is she?"
"Lady Coventry, sister of the Duchess of Hamilton."
"Ought I to apologize?"
"Not at all, the offence is not one of those which require an apology.
She must have been more surprised than offended, for she made fifteen
shillings by your paying her in gold."
I was vexed by this small mischance, for Lady Coventry was an exquisitely
beautiful brunette. I comforted myself, however, without much trouble.
The same day I made the acquaintance of Lord Hervey, the nobleman who
conquered Havana, a pleasant an intelligent person. He had married Miss
Chudleigh, but the marriage was annulled. This celebrated Miss Chudleigh
was maid of honour to the Princess Dowager of Wales, and afterwards
became Duchess of Kingston. As her history is well known I shall say
something more of her in due course. I went home well enough pleased with
my day's work.
The next day I began dining at home, and found my cook very satisfactory;
for, besides the usual English dishes, he was acquainted with the French
system of cooking, and did fricandeaus, cutlets, ragouts, and above all,
the excellent French soup, which is one of the principal glories of
France.
My table and my house were not enough for my happiness. I was alone, and
the reader will understand by this that Nature had not meant me for a
hermit. I had neither a mistress nor a friend, and at London one may
invite a man to dinner at a tavern where he pays for himself, but not to
one's own table. One day I was invited by a younger son of the Duke of
Bedford to eat oysters and drink a bottle of champagne. I accepted the
invitation, and he ordered the oysters and the champagne, but we drank
two bottles, and he made me pay half the price of the second bottle. Such
are manners on the other side of the Channel. People laughed in my face
when I said that I did not care to dine at a tavern as I could not get
any soup.
"Are you ill?" they said, "soup is only fit for invalids."
The Englishman is entirely carnivorous. He eats very little bread, and
calls himself economical because he spares himself the expense of soup
and dessert, which circumstance made me remark that an English dinner is
like eternity: it has no beginning and no end. Soup is considered very
extravagant, as the very servants refuse to eat the meat from which it
has been made. They say it is only fit to give to dogs. The salt beef
which they use is certainly excellent. I cannot say the same for their
beer, which was so bitter that I could not drink it. However, I could not
be expected to like beer after the excellent French wines with which the
wine merchant supplied me, certainly at a very heavy cost.
I had been a week in my new home without seeing Martinelli. He came on a
Monday morning, and I asked him to dine with me. He told me that he had
to go to the Museum, and my curiosity to see the famous collection which
is such an honour to England made me accompany him. It was there that I
made the acquaintance of Dr. Mati, of whom I shall speak in due course.
At dinner Martinelli made himself extremely pleasant. He had a profound
knowledge of the English manners and customs which it behoved me to know
if I wished to get on. I happened to speak of the impoliteness of which I
had been guilty in paying a gaming debt in gold instead of paper, and on
this text he preached me a sermon on the national prosperity,
demonstrating that the preference given to paper shews the confidence
which is felt in the Bank, which may or may not be misplaced, but which
is certainly a source of wealth. This confidence might be destroyed by a
too large issue of paper money, and if that ever took place by reason of
a protracted or unfortunate war, bankruptcy would be inevitable, and no
one could calculate the final results.
After a long discussion on politics, national manners, literature, in
which subjects Martinelli shone, we went to Drury Lane Theatre, where I
had a specimen of the rough insular manners. By some accident or other
the company could not give the piece that had been announced, and the
audience were in a tumult. Garrick, the celebrated actor who was buried
twenty years later in Westminster Abbey, came forward and tried in vain
to restore order. He was obliged to retire behind the curtain. Then the
king, the queen, and all the fashionables left the theatre, and in less
than an hour the theatre was gutted, till nothing but the bare walls were
left.
After this destruction, which went on without any authority interposing,
the mad populace rushed to the taverns to consume gin and beer. In a
fortnight the theatre was refitted and the piece announced again, and
when Garrick appeared before the curtain to implore the indulgence of the
house, a voice from the pit shouted, "On your knees." A thousand voices
took up the cry "On your knees," and the English Roscius was obliged to
kneel down and beg forgiveness. Then came a thunder of applause, and
everything was over. Such are the English, and above all, the Londoners.
They hoot the king and the royal family when they appear in public, and
the consequence is, that they are never seen, save on great occasions,
when order is kept by hundreds of constables.
One day, as I was walking by myself, I saw Sir Augustus Hervey, whose
acquaintance I had made, speaking to a gentleman, whom he left to come to
me. I asked him whom he had been speaking to.
"That's the brother of Earl Ferrers," said he, "who was hanged a couple
of months ago for murdering one of his people."
"And you speak to his brother?"
"Why shouldn't I?"
"Is he not dishonoured by the execution of his relative?"
"Dishonoured! Certainly not; even his brother was not dishonoured. He
broke the law, but he paid for it with his life, and owed society nothing
more. He's a man of honour, who played high and lost; that's all. I don't
know that there is any penalty in the statute book which dishonours the
culprit; that would be tyrannical, and we would not bear it. I may break
any law I like, so long as I am willing to pay the penalty. It is only a
dishonour when the criminal tries to escape punishment by base or
cowardly actions."
"How do you mean?"
"To ask for the royal mercy, to beg forgiveness of the people, and the
like."
"How about escaping from justice?"
"That is no dishonour, for to fly is an act of courage; it continues the
defiance of the law, and if the law cannot exact obedience, so much the
worse for it. It is an honour for you to have escaped from the tyranny of
your magistrates; your flight from The Leads was a virtuous action. In
such cases man fights with death and flees from it. 'Vir fugiens denuo
pugnabit'."
"What do you think of highway robbers, then?"
"I detest them as wretches dangerous to society, but I pity them when I
reflect that they are always riding towards the gallows. You go out in a
coach to pay a visit to a friend three or four miles out of London. A
determined and agile-looking fellow springs upon you with his pistol in
his hand, and says, 'Your money or your life.' What would you do in such
a case?"
"If I had a pistol handy I would blow out his brains, and if not I would
give him my purse and call him a scoundrelly assassin."
"You would be wrong in both cases. If you killed him, you would be
hanged, for you have no right to take the law into your own hands; and if
you called him an assassin, he would tell you that he was no assassin as
he attacked you openly and gave you a free choice. Nay, he is generous,
for he might kill you and take your money as well. You might, indeed,
tell him he has an evil trade, and he would tell you that you were right,
and that he would try to avoid the gallows as long as possible. He would
then thank you and advise you never to drive out of London without being
accompanied by a mounted servant, as then no robber would dare to attack
you. We English always carry two purses on our journeys; a small one for
the robbers and a large one for ourselves."
What answer could I make to such arguments, based as they were on the
national manners? England is a rich sea, but strewn with reefs, and those
who voyage there would do well to take precautions. Sir Augustus Hervey's
discourse gave me great pleasure.
Going from one topic to another, as is always the way with a desultory
conversation, Sir Augustus deplored the fate of an unhappy Englishman who
had absconded to France with seventy thousand pounds, and had been
brought back to London, and was to be hanged.
"How could that be?" I asked.
"The Crown asked the Duc de Nivernois to extradite him, and Louis XV.
granted the request to make England assent to some articles of the peace.
It was an act unworthy of a king, for it violates the right of nations.
It is true that the man is a wretch, but that has nothing to do with the
principle of the thing."
"Of course they have got back the seventy thousand pounds?"
"Not a shilling of it."
"How was that?"
"Because no money was found on him. He has most likely left his little
fortune to his wife, who can marry again as she is still young and
pretty."
"I wonder the police have not been after her."
"Such a thing is never thought of. What could they do? It's not likely
that she would confess that her husband left her the stolen money. The
law says robbers shall be hanged, but it says nothing about what they
have stolen, as they are supposed to have made away with it. Then if we
had to take into account the thieves who had kept their theft and thieves
who had spent it, we should have to make two sets of laws, and make all
manner of allowances; the end of it would be inextricable confusion. It
seems to us Englishmen that it would not be just to ordain two
punishments for theft. The robber becomes the owner of what he has
stolen; true, he 'got it by violence, but it is none the less his, for he
can do what he likes with it. That being the case, everyone should be
careful to keep what he has, since he knows that once stolen he will
never see it again. I have taken Havana from Spain: this was robbery on a
large scale."
He talked at once like a philosopher and a faithful subject of his king.
Engaged in this discussion we walked towards the Duchess of
Northumberland's, where I made the acquaintance of Lady Rochefort, whose
husband had just been appointed Spanish ambassador. This lady's
gallantries were innumerable, and furnished a fresh topic of conversation
every day.
The day before the assembly at Soho Square Martinelli dined with me, and
told me that Madame Cornelis was heavily in debt, and dared not go out
except on Sundays, when debtors are privileged.
"The enormous and unnecessary expense which she puts herself to," said
he, "will soon bring her to ruin. She owes four times the amount of her
assets, even counting in the house, which is a doubtful item, as it is
the subject of litigation."
This news only distressed me for her children's sake, for I thought that
she herself well deserved such a fate.
CHAPTER VIII
The Assembly--Adventure at Ranelagh The English Courtezans--
Pauline
[Illustration: Chapter 8]
I went in due time to the assembly, and the secretary at the door wrote
down my name as I handed in my ticket. When Madame Cornelis saw me she
said she was delighted I had come in by ticket, and that she had had some
doubts as to whether I would come.
"You might have spared yourself the trouble of doubting," said I, "for
after hearing that I had been to Court you might have guessed that a
matter of two guineas would not have kept me away. I am sorry for our old
friendship's sake that I did not pay the money to you; for you might have
known that I would not condescend to be present in the modest manner you
indicated."
This address, delivered with an ironical accent, embarrassed Madame
Cornelis, but Lady Harrington, a great supporter of hers, came to her
rescue.
"I have a number of guineas to hand over to you, my dear Cornelis, and
amongst others two from M. de Seingalt, who, I fancy, is an old friend of
yours. Nevertheless, I did not dare to tell him so," she added, with a
sly glance in my direction.
"Why not, my lady? I have known Madame Cornelis for many years."
"I should think you have," she answered, laughing, "and I congratulate
you both. I suppose you know the delightful Miss Sophie too, Chevalier?"
"Certainly, my lady, who so knows the mother knows the daughter."
"Quite so, quite so."
Sophie was standing by, and after kissing her fondly Lady Harrington
said,--
"If you love yourself, you ought to love her, for she is the image of
you."
"Yes, it is a freak of nature."
"I think there is something more than a freak in this instance."
With these words the lady took Sophie's hand, and leaning on my arm she
led us through the crowd, and I had to bear in silence the remarks of
everyone.
"There is Madame Cornelis's husband."
"That must be M. Cornelis."
"Oh! there can be no doubt about it."
"No, no," said Lady Harrington, "you are all quite wrong."
I got tired of these remarks, which were all founded on the remarkable
likeness between myself and Sophie. I wanted Lady Harrington to let the
child go, but she was too much amused to do so.
"Stay by me," she said, "if you want to know the names of the guests."
She sat down, making me sit on one side and Sophie on the other.
Madame Cornelis then made her appearance, and everyone asked her the same
questions, and made the same remarks about me. She said bravely that I
was her best and her oldest friend, and that the likeness between me and
her daughter might possibly be capable of explanation. Everyone laughed
and said it was very natural that it should be so. To change the subject,
Madame Cornelis remarked that Sophie had learnt the minuet and danced it
admirably.
"Then fetch a violin player," said Lady Harrington, "that we may have the
pleasure of witnessing the young artist's performance."
The ball had not yet begun, and as soon as the violinist appeared, I
stepped forward and danced with Sophie, to the delight of the select
circle of spectators.
The ball lasted all night without ceasing, as the company ate by relays,
and at all times and hours; the waste and prodigality were worthy of a
prince's palace. I made the acquaintance of all the nobility and the
Royal Family, for they were all there, with the exception of the king and
queen, and the Prince of Wales. Madame Cornelis must have received more
than twelve hundred guineas, but the outlay was enormous, without any
control or safeguard against the thefts, which must have been perpetrated
on all sides. She tried to introduce her son to everybody, but the poor
lad looked like a victim, and did nothing but make profound bows. I
pitied him from my heart.
As soon as I got home I went to bed and spent the whole of the next day
there. The day after I went to the "Staven Tavern," as I had been told
that the prettiest girls in London resorted to it. Lord Pembroke gave me
this piece of information; he went there very frequently himself. When I
got to the tavern I asked for a private room, and the landlord,
perceiving that I did not know English, accosted me in French, and came
to keep me company. I was astonished at his grave and reverend manner of
speaking, and did not like to tell him that I wanted to dine with a
pretty Englishwoman. At last, however, I summoned up courage to say, with
a great deal of circumlocution, that I did not know whether Lord Pembroke
had deceived me in informing me that I should find the prettiest girls in
London at his house.
"No, sir," said he, "my lord has not deceived you, and you can have as
many as you like."
"That's what I came for."
He called out some name, and a tidy-looking lad making his appearance, he
told him to get me a wench just as though he were ordering a bottle of
champagne. The lad went out, and presently a girl of herculean
proportions entered.
"Sir," said I, "I don't like the looks of this girl."
"Give her a shilling and send her away. We don't trouble ourselves about
ceremonies in London."
This put me at my ease, so I paid my shilling and called for a prettier
wench. The second was worse than the first, and I sent her away, and ten
others after her, while I could see that my fastidiousness amused the
landlord immensely.
"I'll see no more girls," said I at last, "let me have a good dinner. I
think the procurer must have been making game of me for the sake of the
shillings."
"It's very likely; indeed it often happens so when a gentleman does not
give the name and address of the wench he wants."
In the evening as I was walking in St. James's Park, I remembered it was
a Ranelagh evening, and wishing to see the place I took a coach and drove
there, intending to amuse myself till midnight, and to find a beauty to
my taste.
I was pleased with the rotunda. I had some tea, I danced some minuets,
but I made no acquaintances; and although I saw several pretty women, I
did not dare to attack any of them. I got tired, and as it was near
midnight I went out thinking to find my coach, for which I had not paid,
still there, but it was gone, and I did not know what to do. An extremely
pretty woman who was waiting for her carriage in the doorway, noticed my
distress, and said that if I lived anywhere near Whitehall, she could
take me home. I thanked her gratefully, and told her where I lived. Her
carriage came up, her man opened the door, and she stepped in on my arm,
telling me to sit beside her, and to stop the carriage when it got to my
house.
As soon as we were in the carriage, I burst out into expressions of
gratitude; and after telling her my name I expressed my regret at not
having seen her at Soho Square.
"I was not in London," she replied, "I returned from Bath to-day."
I apostrophised my happiness in having met her. I covered her hands with
kisses, and dared to kiss her on the cheek; and finding that she smiled
graciously, I fastened my lips on hers, and before long had given her an
unequivocal mark of the ardour with which she had inspired me.
She took my attentions so easily that I flattered myself I had not
displeased her, and I begged her to tell me where I could call on her and
pay my court while I remained in London, but she replied,--
"We shall see each other again; we must be careful."
I swore secrecy, and urged her no more. Directly after the carriage
stopped, I kissed her hand and was set down at my door, well pleased with
the ride home.
For a fortnight I saw nothing of her, but I met her again in a house
where Lady Harrington had told me to present myself, giving her name. It
was Lady Betty German's, and I found her out, but was asked to sit down
and wait as she would be in soon. I was pleasantly surprised to find my
fair friend of Ranelagh in the room, reading a newspaper. I conceived the
idea of asking her to introduce me to Lady Betty, so I went up to her and
proffered my request, but she replied politely that she could not do so
not having the honour to know my name.
"I have told you my name, madam. Do you not remember me?"
"I remember you perfectly, but a piece of folly is not a title of
acquaintance."
I was dumbfounded at the extraordinary reply, while the lady calmly
returned to her newspaper, and did not speak another word till the
arrival of Lady Betty.
The fair philosopher talked for two hours without giving the least sign
of knowing who I was, although she answered me with great politeness
whenever I ventured to address her. She turned out to be a lady of high
birth and of great reputation.
Happening to call on Martinelli, I asked him who was the pretty girl who
was kissing her hands to me from the house opposite. I was pleasantly
surprised to hear that she was a dancer named Binetti. Four years ago she
had done me a great service at Stuttgart, but I did not know she was in
London. I took leave of Martinelli to go and see her, and did so all the
more eagerly when I heard that she had parted from her husband, though
they were obliged to dance together at the Haymarket.
She received me with open arms, telling me that she had recognized me
directly.
"I am surprised, my dear elder," said she, "to see you in London."
She called me "elder" because I was the oldest of her friends.
"Nor did I know that you were here. I came to town after the close of the
opera. How is it that you are not living with your husband?"
"Because he games, loses, and despoils me of all I possess. Besides, a
woman of my condition, if she be married, cannot hope that a rich lover
will come and see her, while if she be alone she can receive visits
without any constraint."
"I shouldn't have thought they would be afraid of Binetti; he used to be
far from jealous."
"Nor is he jealous now; but you must know that there is an English law
which allows the husband to arrest his wife and her lover if he finds
them in 'flagrante delicto'. He only wants two witnesses, and it is
enough that they are sitting together on a bed. The lover is forced to
pay to the husband the half of all he possesses. Several rich Englishmen
have been caught in this way, and now they are very shy of visiting
married women, especially Italians."
"So you have much to be thankful for. You enjoy perfect liberty, can
receive any visitors you like, and are in a fair way to make a fortune."
"Alas! my dear friend, you do not know all. When he has information from
his spies that I have had a visitor, he comes to me in a sedan-chair at
night, and threatens to turn me out into the street if I do not give him
all the money I have. He is a terrible rascal!"
I left the poor woman, after giving her my address, and telling her to
come and dine with me whenever she liked. She had given me a lesson on
the subject of visiting ladies. England has very good laws, but most of
them are capable of abuse. The oath which jurymen have to take to execute
them to the letter has caused several to be interpreted in a manner
absolutely contrary to the intention of the legislators, thus placing the
judges in a difficult predicament. Thus new laws have constantly to be
made, and new glosses to explain the old ones.
My Lord Pembroke, seeing me at my window, came in, and after examining my
house, including the kitchen, where the cook was at work, told me that
there was not a nobleman in town who had such a well-furnished and
comfortable house. He made a calculation, and told me that if I wanted to
entertain my friends I should require three hundred pounds a month. "You
can't live here," said he, "without a pretty girl, and those who know
that you keep bachelor's hall are of opinion that you are very wise, and
will save a great deal of useless expense."
"Do you keep a girl, my lord?"
"No, for I am unfortunate enough to be disgusted with a woman after I
have had her for a day."
"Then you require a fresh one every day?"
"Yes, and without being as comfortable as you I spend four times as much.
You must know that I live in London like a stranger. I never dine at my
own house. I wonder at your dining alone."
"I can't speak English. I like soup and good wine, and that is enough to
keep me from your taverns."
"I expect so, with your French tastes."
"You will confess that they are not bad tastes."
"You are right, for, good Englishman as I am, I get on very well in
Paris."
He burst out laughing when I told him how I had dispatched a score of
wenches at the "Staven Tavern," and that my disappointment was due to
him.
"I did not tell you what names to send for, and I was wrong."
"Yes, you ought to have told me."
"But even if I did they wouldn't have come, for they are not at the
orders of the procurers. If you will promise to pay them as I do, I will
give you some tickets which will make them come."
"Can I have them here?"
"Just as you like."
"That will be most convenient for me. Write out the tickets and let them
know French if you can."
"That's the difficulty; the prettiest only speak English."
"Never mind, we shall understand each other well enough for the purpose I
dare say."
He wrote several tickets for four and six guineas each; but one was
marked twelve guineas.
"She is doubly pretty, is she?" said I.
"Not exactly, but she has cuckolded a duke of Great Britain who keeps
her, and only uses her once or twice a month."
"Would you do me the honour of testing the skill of my cook?"
"Certainly, but I can't make an appointment."
"And supposing I am out."
"I'll go to the tavern."
Having nothing better to do I sent Jarbe to one of the four-guinea
wenches, telling him to advise her that she would dine with me. She came.
She did not attract me sufficiently to make me attempt more than some
slight toying. She went away well pleased with her four guineas, which
she had done nothing to earn. Another wench, also at four guineas, supped
with me the following evening. She had been very pretty, and, indeed, was
so still, but she was too melancholy and quiet for my taste, and I could
not makeup my mind to tell her to undress.
The third day, not feeling inclined to try another ticket, I went to
Covent Garden, and on meeting an attractive young person I accosted her
in French, and asked her if she would sup with me.
"How much will you give me at dessert?"
"Three guineas."
"Come along."
After the play I ordered a good supper for two, and she displayed an
appetite after mine own heart. When we had supped I asked for her name
and address, and I was astonished to find that she was one of the girls
whom Lord Pembroke had assessed at six guineas. I concluded that it was
best to do one's own business, or, at any rate, not to employ noblemen as
agents. As to the other tickets, they procured me but little pleasure.
The twelve-guinea one, which I had reserved for the last, as a choice
morsel, pleased me the least of all, and I did not care to cuckold the
noble duke who kept her.
Lord Pembroke was young, handsome, rich, and full of wit. I went to see
him one day, and found him just getting out of bed. He said he would walk
with me and told his valet to shave him.
"But," said I, "there's not a trace of beard on your face."
"There never is," said he, "I get myself shaved three times a day."
"Three times?"
"Yes, when I change my shirt I wash my hands; when I wash my hands I have
to wash my face, and the proper way to wash a man's face is with a
razor."
"When do you make these three ablutions?"
"When I get up, when I dress for dinner, and when I go to bed, for I
should not like the woman who is sleeping with me to feel my beard."
We had a short walk together, and then I left him as I had some writing
to do. As we parted, he asked me if I dined at home. I replied in the
affirmative, and foreseeing that he intended dining with me I warned my
cook to serve us well, though I did not let him know that I expected a
nobleman to dinner. Vanity has more than one string to its bow.
I had scarcely got home when Madame Binetti came in, and said that if she
were not in the way, she would be glad to dine with me. I gave her a warm
welcome, and she said I was really doing her a great service, as her
husband would suffer the torments of hell in trying to find out with whom
she had dined.
This woman still pleased me; and though she was thirty-five, nobody would
have taken her for more than twenty-five. Her appearance was in every way
pleasing. Her lips were of the hue of the rose, disclosing two exquisite
rows of teeth. A fine complexion, splendid eyes, and a forehead where
Innocence might have been well enthroned, all this made an exquisite
picture. If you add to this, that her breast was of the rarest
proportions, you will understand that more fastidious tastes than mine
would have been satisfied with her.
She had not been in my house for half an hour when Lord Pembroke came in.
They both uttered an exclamation, and the nobleman told me that he had
been in love with her for the last six months; that he had written ardent
letters to her of which she had taken no notice.
"I never would have anything to do with him," said she, "because he is
the greatest profligate in all England; and it's a pity," she added,
"because he is a kindhearted nobleman."
This explanation was followed by a score of kisses, and I saw that they
were agreed.
We had a choice dinner in the French style, and Lord Pembroke swore he
had not eaten so good a dinner for the last year.
"I am sorry for you," he said, "when I think of you being alone every
day."
Madame Binetti was as much a gourmet as the Englishman, and when we rose
from table we felt inclined to pass from the worship of Comus to that of
Venus; but the lady was too experienced to give the Englishman anything
more than a few trifling kisses.
I busied myself in turning over the leaves of some books I had bought the
day before, and left them to talk together to their heart's content; but
to prevent their asking me to give them another dinner I said that I
hoped chance would bring about such another meeting on another occasion.
At six o'clock, after my guests had left me, I dressed and went to
Vauxhaull, where I met a French officer named Malingan, to whom I had
given some money at Aix-la-Chapelle. He said he would like to speak to
me, so I gave him my name and address. I also met a well-known character,
the Chevalier Goudar, who talked to me about gaming and women. Malingan
introduced me to an individual who he said might be very useful to me in
London. He was a man of forty, and styled himself son of the late
Theodore, the pretender to the throne of Corsica, who had died miserably
in London fourteen years before, after having been imprisoned for debt
for seven years. I should have done better if I had never gone to
Vauxhall that evening.
The entrance-fee at Vauxhall was half the sum charged at Ranelagh, but in
spite of that the amusements were of the most varied kinds. There was
good fare, music, walks in solitary alleys, thousands of lamps, and a
crowd of London beauties, both high and low.
In the midst of all these pleasures I was dull, because I had no girl to
share my abode or my good table, and make it dear to me. I had been in
London for six weeks; ana in no other place had I been alone for so long.
My house seemed intended for keeping a mistress with all decency, and as
I had the virtue of constancy a mistress was all I wanted to make me
happy. But how was I to find a woman who should be the equal of those
women I had loved before? I had already seen half a hundred of girls,
whom the town pronounced to be pretty, and who did not strike me as even
passable. I thought the matter over continually, and at last an odd idea
struck me.
I called the old housekeeper, and told her by the servant, who acted as
my interpreter, that I wanted to let the second or third floor for the
sake of company; and although I was at perfect liberty to do what I liked
with the house, I would give her half-a-guinea a week extra. Forthwith I
ordered her to affix the following bill to the window:
Second or third floor to be let, furnished, to a young lady speaking
English and French, who receives no visitors, either by day or night.
The old Englishwoman, who had seen something of the world, began to laugh
so violently when the document was translated to her that I thought she
would have choked.
"What are you laughing at, my worthy woman?"
"Because this notice is a laughing matter."
"I suppose you think I shall have no applications?"
"Not at all, the doorstep will be crowded from morn to night, but I shall
leave it all to Fanny. Only tell me how much to ask."
"I will arrange about the rent in my interview with the young lady. I
don't think I shall have so many enquiries, for the young lady is to
speak French and English, and also to be respectable. She must not
receive any visits, not even from her father and mother, if she has
them."
"But there will be a mob in front of the house reading the notice."
"All the better. Nothing is the worse for being a little odd."
It happened just as the old woman had foretold; as soon as the notice was
up, everybody stopped to read it, made various comments, and passed on.
On the second day after it was up, my Negro told me that my notice was
printed in full in the St. James's Chronicle, with some amusing remarks.
I had the paper brought up to me, and Fanny translated it. It ran as
follows:
"The landlord of the second and third floors probably occupies the first
floor himself. He must be a man of the world and of good taste, for he
wants a young and pretty lodger; and as he forbids her to receive visits,
he will have to keep her company himself."
He added,--
"The landlord should take care lest he become his own dupe, for it is
very likely that the pretty lodger would only take the room to sleep in,
and possibly only to sleep in now and then; and if she chose she would
have a perfect right to refuse to receive the proprietor's visits."
These sensible remarks delighted me, for after reading them I felt
forewarned.
Such matters as these give their chief interest to the English
newspapers. They are allowed to gossip about everything, and the writers
have the knack of making the merest trifles seem amusing. Happy is the
nation where anything may be written and anything said!
Lord Pembroke was the first to come and congratulate me on my idea, and
he was succeeded by Martinelli; but he expressed some fears as to the
possible consequences, "for," said he, "there are plenty of women in
London who would come and lodge with you to be your ruin."
"In that case," I answered, "it would be a case of Greek meeting Greek;
however, we shall see. If I am taken in, people will have the fullest
right to laugh at me, for I have been warned."
I will not trouble my readers with an account of the hundred women who
came in the first ten days, when I refused on one pretext or another,
though some of them were not wanting in grace and beauty. But one day,
when I was at dinner, I received a visit from a girl of from twenty to
twenty-four years, simply but elegantly dressed; her features were sweet
and gracious, though somewhat grave, her complexion pale, and her hair
black. She gave me a bow which I had to rise to return, and as I remained
standing she politely begged me not to put myself out, but to continue my
dinner. I begged her to be seated and to take dessert, but she refused
with an air of modesty which delighted me.
This fair lady said, not in French, but in Italian worthy of a Sinnese,
its purity was so perfect, that she hoped I would let her have a room on
the third floor, and that she would gladly submit to all my conditions.
"You may only make use of one room if you like, but all the floor will
belong to you."
"Although the notice says the rooms will be let cheaply, I shall not be
able to afford more than one room. Two shillings a week is all I can
spend."
"That's exactly what I want for the whole suite of rooms; so you see you
can use them all. My maid will wait on you, get you whatever food you may
require, and wash your linen as well. You can also employ her to do your
commissions, so that you need not go out for trifles."
"Then I will dismiss my maid," she said; "she robs me of little, it is
true, but still too much for my small means. I will tell your maid what
food to buy for me every day, and she shall have six sots a week for her
pains."
"That will be ample. I should advise you to apply to my cook's wife, who
will get your dinner and supper for you as cheaply as you could buy it."
"I hardly think so, for I am ashamed to tell you how little I spend."
"Even if you only spend two sols a day, she will give you two sols'
worth. All the same I advise you to be content with what you get from the
kitchen, without troubling about the price, for I usually have provision
made for four, though I dine alone, and the rest is the cook's
perquisite. I merely advise you to the best of my ability, and I hope you
will not be offended at my interest in your welfare."
"Really, sir, you are too generous."
"Wait a moment, and you will see how everything will be settled
comfortably."
I told Clairmont to order up the maid and the cook's wife, and I said to
the latter:
"For how much could you provide dinner and supper for this young lady who
is not rich, and only wants to eat to live?"
"I can do it very cheaply; for you usually eat alone, and have enough for
four."
"Very good; then I hope you will treat her very well for the sum she
gives you."
"I can only afford five sols a day."
"That will do nicely."
I gave orders that the bill should be taken down directly, and that the
young lady's room should be made comfortable. When the maid and the
cook's wife had left the room, the young lady told me that she should
only go out on Sundays to hear mass at the Bavarian ambassador's chapel,
and once a month to a person who gave her three guineas to support her.
"You can go out when you like," said I, "and without rendering an account
to anybody of your movements."
She begged me not to introduce anyone to her, and to tell the porter to
deny her to anyone who might come to the door to make enquiries. I
promised that her wishes should be respected, and she went away saying
that she was going for her trunk.
I immediately ordered my household to treat her with the utmost respect.
The old housekeeper told me that she had paid the first week in advance,
taking a receipt, and had gone, as she had come, in a sedan-chair. Then
the worthy old woman made free to tell me to be on my guard.
"Against what? If I fall in love with her, so much the better; that is
just what I want. What name did she give you?"
"Mistress Pauline. She was quite pale when she came, and she went away
covered with blushes."
I was delighted to hear it. I did not want a woman merely to satisfy my
natural desires, for such can be found easily enough; I wished for some
one whom I could love. I expected beauty, both of the body and the soul;
and my love increased with the difficulties and obstacles I saw before
me. As to failure, I confess I did not give it a moment's thought, for
there is not a woman in the world who can resist constant and loving
attentions, especially when her lover is ready to make great sacrifices.
When I got back from the theatre in the evening the maid told me that the
lady had chosen a modest closet at the back, which was only suitable for
a servant. She had had a moderate supper, only drinking water, and had
begged the cook's wife only to send her up soup and one dish, to which
the woman had replied that she must take what was served, and what she
did not eat would do for the servant.
"When she finished she shut herself up to write, and wished me good
evening with much politeness."
"What is she going to take in the morning?"
"I asked her, and she said she would only take a little bread."
"Then you had better tell her that it is the custom of the house for the
cook to serve everybody with coffee, chocolate, or tea, according to
taste, in the morning, and that I shall be pained if she refuses to fare
like the rest of us. But don't tell her I said so. Here's a crown for
you, and you shall have one every week if you will wait upon and care for
her properly."
Before going to bed I wrote her a polite note, begging her to leave the
closet. She did so, but she went into another back room, and consented to
take coffee for her breakfast. Wishing to make her dine and sup with me,
I was dressing myself, and preparing to proffer my request in such a way
as to make a refusal impossible, when young Cornelis was announced. I
received him smilingly, and thanked him for the first visit he had paid
me in the course of six weeks.
"Mamma hasn't allowed me to come. I have tried to do so a score of times
without her leave. Read this letter, and you will find something which
will surprise you."
I opened the letter and read as follows:
"Yesterday a bailiff waited for my door to be opened and slipped in and
arrested me. I was obliged to go with him, and I am now in the
sponging-house, and if I can't get bail by to-day he will take me to
Kings Bench Prison. The bail I require is to the amount of two hundred
pounds, to pay a bill which has fallen due. Dear friend, come and succour
me or else my other creditors will get wind of my imprisonment and I
shall be ruined. You surely will not allow that to happen, if not for my
sake at least for the sake of my innocent children. You cannot bail me
yourself, but you can easily get a householder to do so. If you have the
time come and call on me, and I will shew you that I could not help doing
the bill, otherwise I could not have given my last ball, as the whole of
my plate and china was pledged."
I felt angry with the impudent woman who had hitherto paid me so little
attention, and I wrote that I could only pity her, and that I had no time
to go and see her, and that I should be ashamed to ask anyone to bail her
out.
When young Cornelis had gone away in a melancholy mood, I told Clairmont
to ask Pauline if she would allow me to bid her a good day. She sent word
that I was at liberty to do so, and on going upstairs to her room I found
her sitting at a table on which were several books.
Some linen on a chest of drawers did not give me the idea that she was
very poor.
"I am immensely obliged," said she, "for all your goodness to me."
"Say nothing of that, madam; it is I who have need of your goodness."
"What can I do to shew my gratitude?"
"Could you trouble yourself to take your meals with me? When I am alone I
eat like an ogre, and my health suffers. If you do not feel inclined to
grant me that favour, do not hesitate to refuse, and I assure you you
shall fare just as well as if you had acceded to my request."
"I shall be delighted to dine and sup with you; sir, whenever you are
alone and you like to send for me. Nevertheless, I am not sure that my
society will amuse you."
"Very good, I am grateful to you, and I promise you you shall never
repent of your kindness. I will do my best to amuse you, and I hope I
shall succeed, for you have inspired me with the liveliest interest. We
will dine at one to-day."
I did not sit down or look at her books, or even ask her if she had spent
a good night. The only thing I noted was that she had looked pale and
careworn when I came in, and when I went out her cheeks were the colour
of the rose.
I went for a walk in the park, feeling quite taken with this charming
woman, and resolved to make her love me, for I did not want to owe
anything to gratitude. I felt curious to know where she came from, and
suspected she was an Italian; but I determined to ask her no questions
for fear of offending her.
When I got home Pauline came down of her own free will, and I was
delighted with this, which I took for a good omen. As we had half an hour
before us, I asked her how she found her health.
"Nature," she replied, "has favoured me with such a good constitution
that I have never had the least sickness in my life, except on the sea."
"You have made a voyage, then."
"I must have done so to come to England."
"You might be an Englishwoman."
"Yes, for the English language has been familiar to me from my
childhood."
We were seated on a sofa, and on the table in front of us was a
chess-board. Pauline toyed with the pawns, and I asked her if she could
play chess.
"Yes, and pretty well too from what they tell me."
"Then we will have a game together; my blunders will amuse you."
We began, and in four moves I was checkmated. She laughed, and I admired
her play. We began again, and I was checkmated in five moves. My
agreeable guest laughed heartily, and while she laughed I became
intoxicated with love, watching the play of her features, her exquisite
teeth, and her happy expression. We began another game, Pauline played
carelessly, and I placed her in a difficult position.
"I think you may conquer me," said she.
"What happiness for me!"
The servant came in to tell us that dinner was ready.
"Interruptions are often extremely inconvenient," said I, as I offered
her my arm, feeling quite sure that she had not lost the significance of
my last words, for women find a meaning for everything.
We were just sitting down to table when Clairmont announced my daughter
and Madame Rancour.
"Tell them that I am at dinner, and that I shall not be disengaged till
three o'clock."
Just as my man was leaving the room to carry back my answer, Sophie
rushed in and knelt before me, choking with sobs.
This was too much for me, and raising her I took her on my knees, saying
I knew what she had come for, and that for love of her I would do it.
Passing from grief to joy the dear child kissed me, calling me her
father, and at last made me weep myself.
"Dine with us, dear Sophie," said I, "I shall be the more likely to do
what you wish."
She ran from my arms to embrace Pauline, who was weeping out of sympathy,
and we all dined happily together. Sophie begged me to give Madame
Rancour some dinner.
"It shall be so if you please, but only for your sake, for that woman
Rancour deserves that I should leave her standing at the door to punish
her for her impertinence to me when I came to London."
The child amused us in an astonishing way all dinnertime, Pauline keeping
her ears open and not saying a word, so surprised was she to hear a child
of her age talk in a way that would have excited attention in a woman of
twenty. Although perfectly respectful she condemned her mother's conduct,
and said that she was unfortunate in being obliged to give her a blind
obedience.
"I would wager that you don't love her much."
"I respect, but I cannot love her, for I am always afraid. I never see
her without fearing her."
"Why do you weep, then, at her fate?"
"I pity her, and her family still more, and the expressions she used in
sending me to you were very affecting."
"What were these expressions?"
"'Go,' said she, 'kneel before him, for you and you alone can soften his
heart.'"
"Then you knelt before me because your mother told you to do so."
"Yes, for if I had followed my own inclination I should have rushed to
your arms."
"You answer well. But are you sure of persuading me?"
"No, for one can never be sure of anything; but I have good hopes of
success, remembering what you told me at the Hague. My mother told me
that I was only three then, but I know I was five. She it was who told me
not to look at you when I spoke to you, but fortunately you made her
remove her prohibition. Everybody says that you are my father, and at the
Hague she told me so herself; but here she is always dinning it into my
ears that I am the daughter of M. de Monpernis."
"But, Sophie dear, your mother does wrong in making you a bastard when
you are the legitimate daughter of the dancer Pompeati, who killed
himself at Vienna."
"Then I am not your daughter?"
"Clearly, for you cannot have two fathers, can you?"
"But how is it that I am your image?"
"It's a mere chance."
"You deprive me of a dream which has made me happy."
Pauline said nothing, but covered her with kisses, which Sophie returned
effusively. She asked me if the lady was my wife, and on my replying in
the affirmative she called Pauline her "dear mamma," which made "dear
mamma" laugh merrily.
When the dessert was served I drew four fifty-pound notes out of my
pocket-book, and giving them to Sophie told her that she might hand them
over to her mother if she liked, but that the present was for her and not
for her mother.
"If you give her the money," I said, "she will be able to sleep to-night
in the fine house where she gave me such a poor reception."
"It makes me unhappy to think of it, but you must forgive her."
"Yes, Sophie; but out of love for you."
"Write to her to the effect that it is to me you give the money, not to
her; I dare not tell her so myself."
"I could not do that, my dear; it would be insulting her in her
affliction. Do you understand that?"
"Yes, quite well."
"You may tell her that whenever she sends you to dine or sup with me, she
will please me very much."
"But you can write that down without wounding her, can you not? Do so, I
entreat you. Dear mamma," said she, addressing Pauline, "ask papa to do
so, and then I will come and dine with you sometimes."
Pauline laughed with all her heart as she addressed me as husband, and
begged me to write the desired epistle. The effect on the mother could
only let her know how much I loved her daughter, and would consequently
increase her love for her child. I gave in, saying that I could not
refuse anything to the adorable woman who had honoured me with the name
of husband. Sophie kissed us, and went away in a happy mood.
"It's a long time since I have laughed so much," said Pauline, "and I
don't think I have ever had such an agreeable meal. That child is a
perfect treasure. She is unhappy, poor little girl, but she would not be
so if I were her mother."
I then told her of the true relationship between Sophie and myself, and
the reasons I had for despising her mother.
"I wonder what she will say when Sophie tells her that she found you at
table with your wife."
"She won't believe it, as she knows my horror for the sacrament of
matrimony."
"How is that?"
"I hate it because it is the grave of love."
"Not always."
As she said this Pauline sighed, and lowering her eyes changed the
conversation. She asked me how long I intended to stay in London and when
I had replied, "Nine or ten months," I felt myself entitled to ask her
the same question.
"I really can't say," she answered, "my return to my country depends on
my getting a letter."
"May I ask you what country you come from?"
"I see I shall soon have no secrets from you, but let me have a little
time. I have only made your acquaintance to-day, and in a manner which
makes me have a very high opinion of you."
"I shall try my best to deserve the good opinions you have conceived of
my character."
"You have shewn yourself to me in a thoroughly estimable light."
"Give me your esteem, I desire it earnestly, but don't say anything of
respect, for that seems to shut out friendship; I aspire to yours, and I
warn you that I shall do my best to gain it."
"I have no doubt you are very clever in that way, but you are generous
too, and I hope you will spare me. If the friendship between us became
too ardent, a parting would be dreadful, and we may be parted at any
moment, indeed I ought to be looking forward to it."
Our dialogue was getting rather sentimental, and with that ease which is
only acquired in the best society, Pauline turned it to other topics, and
soon asked me to allow her to go upstairs. I would have gladly spent the
whole day with her, for I have never met a woman whose manners were so
distinguished and at the same time so pleasant.
When she left me I felt a sort of void, and went to see Madame Binetti,
who asked me for news of Pembroke. She was in a rage with him.
"He is a detestable fellow," said she; "he would like to have a fresh
wife every day! What do you think of such conduct?"
"I envy him his happiness."
"He enjoys it because all women are such fools. He caught me through
meeting me at your house; he would never have done so otherwise. What are
you laughing at?"
"Because if he has caught you, you have also caught him; you are
therefore quits."
"You don't know what you are talking about."
I came home at eight o'clock, and as soon as Fanny had told Pauline that
I had returned she came downstairs. I fancied she was trying to captivate
me by her attentions, and as the prospect was quite agreeable to me I
thought we should come to an understanding before very long.
Supper was brought in and we stayed at table till midnight, talking about
trifles, but so pleasantly that the time passed away very quickly. When
she left me she wished me good night, and said my conversation had made
her forget her sorrows.
Pembroke came next morning to ask me to give him breakfast, and
congratulated me on the disappearance of the bill from my window.
"I should very much like to see your boarder," said he.
"I daresay, my lord, but I can't gratify your curiosity just now, for the
lady likes to be alone, and only puts up with my company because she
can't help it."
He did not insist, and to turn the conversation I told him that Madame
Binetti was furious with him for his inconstancy, which was a testimony
to his merits. That made him laugh, and without giving me any answer he
asked me if I dined at home that day.
"No, my lord, not to-day."
"I understand. Well, it's very natural; bring the affair to a happy
conclusion."
"I will do my best."
Martinelli had found two or three parodies of my notice in the
Advertiser, and came and read them to me. I was much amused with them;
they were mostly indecent, for the liberty of the press is much abused in
London. As for Martinelli he was too discreet and delicate a man to ask
me about my new boarder. As it was Sunday, I begged him to take me to
mass at the Bavarian ambassador's chapel; and here I must confess that I
was not moved by any feelings of devotion, but by the hope of seeing
Pauline. I had my trouble for nothing, for, as I heard afterwards, she
sat in a dark corner where no one could see her. The chapel was full, and
Martinelli pointed out several lords and ladies who were Catholics, and
did not conceal their religion.
When I got home I received a note from Madame Cornelis, saying that as it
was Sunday and she could go out freely, she hoped I would let her come to
dinner. I shewed the letter to Pauline, not knowing whether she would
object to dining with her, and she said she would be happy to do so,
provided there were no men. I wrote in answer to Madame Cornelis that I
should be glad to see her and her charming daughter at dinner. She came,
and Sophie did not leave my side for a moment. Madame Cornelis, who was
constrained in Pauline's presence, took me aside to express her gratitude
and to communicate to me some chimerical schemes of hers which were soon
to make her rich.
Sophie was the life and soul of the party, but as I happened to tell her
mother that Pauline was a lady who was lodging in my house, she said,
"Then she is not your wife?"
"No; such happiness is not for me. It was a joke of mine, and the lady
amused herself at the expense of your credulity."
"Well, I should like to sleep with her."
"Really? When?"
"Whenever mamma will let me."
"We must first ascertain," said the mother, "what the lady thinks of the
arrangement."
"She needn't fear a refusal," said Pauline, giving the child a kiss.
"Then you shall have her with pleasure, madam. I will get her governess
to fetch her away to-morrow."
"At three o'clock," said I, "for she must dine with us."
Sophie, taking her mother's silence for consent, went up to her and
kissed her, but these attentions were but coldly received. She
unfortunately did not know how to inspire love.
After Madame Cornelis had gone, I asked Pauline if she would like to take
a walk with Sophie and myself in the suburbs, where nobody would know
her.
"In prudence," said she, "I cannot go out unless I am alone."
"Then shall we stay here?"
"We could not do better."
Pauline and Sophie sang Italian, French, and English duets, and the
concert of their voices seemed to me ravishing. We supped gaily, and at
midnight I escorted them to the third floor, telling Sophie that I would
come and breakfast with her in the morning, but that I should expect to
find her in bed. I wanted to see if her body was as beautiful as her
face. I would gladly have asked Pauline to grant me the same favour, but
I did not think things had advanced far enough for that. In the morning I
found Pauline up and dressed.
When Sophie saw me she laughed and hid her head under the sheets, but as
soon as she felt me near her she soon let me see her pretty little face,
which I covered with kisses.
When she had got up we breakfasted together, and the time went by as
pleasantly as possible till Madame Rancour came for her little charge,
who went away with a sad heart. Thus I was left alone with my Pauline who
began to inspire me with such ardent desires that I dreaded an explosion
every moment. And yet I had not so much as kissed her hand.
When Sophie had gone I made her sit beside me, and taking her hand I
kissed it rapturously, saying,
"Are you married, Pauline?"
"Yes."
"Do you know what it is to be a mother?"
"No, but I can partly imagine what happiness it must be."
"Are you separated from your husband?"
"Yes, by circumstances and against our will. We were separated before we
had cohabited together."
"Is he at London?"
"No, he is far away, but please don't say anything more about it."
"Only tell me whether my loss will be his gain."
"Yes, and I promise not to leave you till I have to leave England--that
is, unless you dismiss me--and I shall leave this happy island to be
happy with the husband of my choice."
"But I, dear Pauline, will be left unhappy, for I love you with all my
heart, and am afraid to give you any proof of my love."
"Be generous and spare me, for I am not my own mistress, and have no
right to give myself to you; and perhaps, if you were so ungenerous as to
attack me, I should not have the strength to resist."
"I will obey, but I shall still languish. I cannot be unhappy unless I
forfeit your favour."
"I have duties to perform, my dear friend, and I cannot neglect them
without becoming contemptible in my own eyes and yours too."
"I should deem myself the most miserable of men if I despised a woman for
making me happy."
"Well, I like you too well to think you capable of such conduct, but let
us be moderate, for we may have to part to-morrow. You must confess that
if we yielded to desire, this parting would be all the more bitter. If
you are of another opinion, that only shews that your ideas of love and
mine are different."
"Then tell me of what sort of love is that with which I am happy enough
to have inspired you?"
"It is of such a kind that enjoyment would only increase it, and yet
enjoyment seems to me a mere accident."
"Then what is its essence?"
"To live together in perfect unity."
"That's a blessing we can enjoy from morning to eve, but why should we
not add the harmless accident which would take so short a time, and give
us such peace and tranquillity. You must confess, Pauline, that the
essence cannot exist long without the accident."
"Yes, but you in your turn, you will agree that the food often proves in
time to be deadly."
"No, not when one loves truly, as I do. Do you think that you will not
love me so well after having possessed me?"
"No, it's because I think quite otherwise, that I dread to make the
moment of parting so bitter."
"I see I must yield to your logic. I should like to see the food on which
you feed your brain, otherwise your books. Will you let me come
upstairs?"
"Certainly, but you will be caught."
"How?"
"Come and see."
We went to her room, and I found that all her books were Portuguese, with
the exception of Milton, in English, Ariosto, in Italian, and Labruyere's
"Characters," in French.
"Your selection gives me a high idea of your mental qualities," said I,
"but tell me, why do you give such a preference to Camoens and all these
Portuguese authors?"
"For a very good reason, I am Portuguese myself."
"You Portuguese? I thought you were Italian. And so you already know five
languages, for you doubtless know Spanish."
"Yes, although Spanish is not absolutely necessary."
"What an education you have had!"
"I am twenty-two now, but I knew all these languages at eighteen."
"Tell me who you are, tell me all about yourself. I am worthy of your
confidence."
"I think so too, and to give you a proof of my trust in you I am going to
tell you my history, for since you love me you can only wish to do me
good."
"What are all these manuscripts?"
"My history, which I have written down myself. Let us sit down:"
CHAPTER IX
Pauline's Story--I Am Happy--Pauline Leaves Me
I am the only daughter of the unfortunate Count X---- o, whom Carvailho
Oeiras killed in prison on suspicion of being concerned in the attempt on
the king's life, in which the Jesuits were supposed to have had a hand. I
do not know whether my father was innocent or guilty, but I do know that
the tyrannical minister did not dare to have him tried, or to confiscate
the estates, which remain in my possession, though I can only enjoy them
by returning to my native land.
"My mother had me brought up in a convent where her sister was abbess. I
had all kinds of masters, especially an Italian from Leghorn, who in six
years taught me all that he thought proper for me to know. He would
answer any questions I chose to put him, save on religious matters, but I
must confess that his reserve made me all the fonder of him, for in
leaving me to reflect on certain subjects by myself he did a great deal
to form my judgment.
"I was eighteen when my grandfather removed me from the convent, although
I protested that I would gladly stay there till I got married. I was
fondly attached to my aunt, who did all in her power after my mother's
death to make me forget the double loss I had sustained. My leaving the
convent altered the whole course of my existence, and as it was not a
voluntary action I have nothing to repent of.
"My grandfather placed me with his sister-in-law, the Marchioness X----o,
who gave me up half her house. I had a governess, a companion, maids,
pages, and footmen, all of whom, though in my service, were under the
orders of my governess, a well-born lady, who was happily honest and
trustworthy.
"A year after I had left the convent my grandfather came and told me in
the presence of my governess that Count Fl---- had asked my hand for his
son, who was coming from Madrid end would arrive that day.
"'What answer did you give him, dear grandfather?'
"'That the marriage would be acceptable to the whole of the nobility, and
also to the king and royal family.'
"'But are you quite sure that the young count will like me and that I
shall like the count?'
"'That, my dear daughter, is a matter of course, and there need be no
discussion on the subject.'
"'But it is a question in which I am strongly interested, and I should
like to consider it very carefully. We shall see how matters arrange
themselves.'
"'You can see each other before deciding, but you must decide all the
same.'
"'I hope so, but let us not be too certain. We shall see.'
"As soon as my grandfather had gone I told my governess that I had made
up my mind never to give my hand save where I had given my heart, and
that I should only marry a man whose character and tastes I had carefully
studied. My governess gave me no answer, and on my pressing her to give
me her opinion, she replied that she thought her best course would be to
keep silence on such a delicate question. This was as much as to tell me
that she thought I was right; at least I persuaded myself that it was so.
"The next day I went to the convent, and told the story to my aunt, the
abbess, who listened to me kindly and said it was to be hoped that I
should fall in love with him and he with me, but that even if it were
otherwise she was of opinion that the marriage would take place, as she
had reasons for believing that the scheme came from the Princess of
Brazil, who favoured Count Fl----.
"Though this information grieved me, I was still glad to hear it, and my
resolution never to marry save for love was all the more strongly
confirmed.
"In the course of a fortnight the count arrived, and my grandfather
presented him to me, several ladies being in the company. Nothing was
said about marrying, but there was a deal of talk about the strange lands
and peoples the new arrival had seen. I listened with the greatest
attention, not opening my mouth the whole time. I had very little
knowledge of the world, so I could not make any comparisons between my
suitor and other men, but my conclusion was that he could never hope to
please any woman, and that he would certainly never be mine. He had an
unpleasant sneering manner, joked in bad taste, was stupid, and a
devotee, or rather a fanatic. Furthermore he was ugly and ill-shapen, and
so great a fop that he was not ashamed to relate the story of his
conquests in France and Italy.
"I went home hoping with all my heart that he had taken a dislike to me,
and a week which passed away without my hearing anything on the subject
confirmed me in this belief, but I was doomed to be disappointed. My
great-aunt asked me to dinner, and when I went I found the foolish young
man and his father present, together with my grandfather, who formally
introduced him to me as my future husband, and begged me to fix the
wedding day. I made up my mind that I would rather die than marry him,
and answered politely but coldly that I would name the day when I had
decided on marrying, but I should require time to think it over. The
dinner went off silently, and I only opened my mouth to utter
monosyllables in reply to questions which I could not avoid. After the
coffee had been served I left the house, taking no notice of anyone
besides my aunt and my grandfather.
"Some time elapsed; and I again began to hope that I had effectually
disgusted my suitor, but one morning my governess told me that Father
Freire was waiting to speak to me in the ante-chamber. I ordered him to
be sent in. He was the confessor of the Princess of Brazil, and after
some desultory conversation he said the princess had sent him to
congratulate me on my approaching marriage with Count Fl----.
"I did not evince any surprise, merely replying that I was sensible of
her highness's kindness, but that nothing had been decided so far, as I
was not thinking of getting married.
"The priest, who was a perfect courtier, smiled in a manner, half kindly,
half sardonic, and said that I was at that happy age when I had no need
to think of anything, as my kind friends and relations did all my
thinking for me.
"I only answered by an incredulous smile, which, for all his monastic
subtlety, struck him as the expression of a young girl's coyness.
"Foreseeing the persecution to which I should be subjected, I went the
next day to my aunt the abbess, who could not refuse me her advice. I
began by stating my firm resolve to die rather than wed a being I
detested.
"The worthy nun replied that the count had been introduced to her, and
that to tell the truth she thought him insufferable; all the same, she
said she was afraid I should be made to marry him.
"These words were such a shock to me that I turned the conversation, and
spoke of other subjects for the remainder of my visit. But when I got
back to my house I pursued an extraordinary course. I shut myself up in
my closet and wrote a letter to the executioner of my unhappy father, the
pitiless Oeiras, telling him the whole story, and imploring him to
protect me and to speak to the king in my favour; 'for,' said I, 'as you
have made me an orphan it is your duty before God to care for me.' I
begged him to shelter me from the anger of the Princess of Brazil, and to
leave me at liberty to dispose of my hand according to my pleasure.
"Though I did not imagine Oeiras to be a humane man, yet I thought he
must have some sort of a heart; besides, by this extraordinary step and
the firmness of my language, I hoped to appeal to his pride and to
interest him in my favour. I felt sure that he would do me justice, if
only to prove that he had not been unjust to my father. I was right, as
will be seen, and although I was but an inexperienced girl my instinct
served me well.
"Two days elapsed before I was waited on by a messenger from Oeiras, who
begged the honour of a private interview with me. The messenger told me
that the minister wished me to reply to all who pressed me to marry that
I should not decide until I was assured that the princess desired the
match. The minister begged me to excuse his not answering my letter, but
he had good reasons for not doing so. The messenger assured me that I
could count on his master's support.
"His message delivered, the gentleman took leave with a profound bow, and
went back without waiting for an answer. I must confess that the young
man's looks had made a great impression on me. I cannot describe my
feelings, but they have exerted great influence on my conduct, and will
no doubt continue to do so for the rest of my life.
"This message put me quite at ease, for he would never have given me the
instructions he did without being perfectly sure that the princess would
not interfere any farther with my marriage; and so I gave myself up
entirely to the new sentiments which possessed my heart. Though strong,
the flame would no doubt soon have died down if it had not received fresh
fuel every day, for when I saw the young messenger a week later in church
I scarcely recognized him. From that moment, however, I met him
everywhere; out walking, in the theatre, in the houses where I called,
and especially when I was getting in or out of my carriage he was ever
beside me, ready to offer his hand; and I got so used to his presence
that when I missed his face I felt a void at my heart that made me
unhappy.
"Almost every day I saw the two Counts Fl---- at my great-aunt's, but as
there was no longer any engagement between us their presence neither
joyed me nor grieved me. I had forgiven them but I was not happy. The
image of the young messenger, of whom I knew nothing, was ever before me,
and I blushed at my thoughts though I would not ask myself the reasons.
"Such was my state of mind, when one day I heard a voice, which was
unknown to me, in my maid's room. I saw a quantity of lace on a table and
proceeded to examine it without paying any attention to a girl who was
standing near the table and curtsying to me. I did not like any of the
lace, so the girl said that she would bring me some more to choose from
the next day, and as I raised my eyes I was astonished to see that she
had the face of the young man who was always in my thoughts. My only
resource was to doubt their identity and to make myself believe that I
had been deceived by a mere chance likeness. I was reassured on second
thoughts; the girl seemed to me to be taller than the young man, whom I
hesitated to believe capable of such a piece of daring. The girl gathered
up her lace and went her way without raising her eyes to mine, and this
made me feel suspicious again.
"'Do you know that girl?' I said, coldly, to my maid, and she replied
that she had never seen her before. I went away without another word, not
knowing what to think.
"I thought it over and resolved to examine the girl when she came on the
following day, and to unmask her if my suspicions proved to be well
founded. I told myself that she might be the young man's sister, and that
if it were otherwise it would be all the more easy to cure myself of my
passion. A young girl who reasons on love falls into love, especially if
she have no one in whom to confide.
"The pretended lace-seller duly came the next day with a box of lace. I
told her to come into my room, and then speaking to her to force her to
raise her eyes I saw before me the being who exerted such a powerful
influence over me. It was such a shock that I had no strength to ask her
any of the questions I had premeditated. Besides, my maid was in the
room, and the fear of exposing myself operated, I think, almost as
strongly as emotion. I set about choosing some pieces of lace in a
mechanical way, and told my maid to go and fetch my purse. No sooner had
she left the room than the lace-seller fell at my feet and exclaimed
passionately,
"'Give me life or death, madam, for I see you know who I am.'
"'Yes, I do know you, and I think you must have gone mad.'
"'Yes, that may be; but I am mad with love. I adore you.'
"'Rise, for my maid will come back directly.'
"'She is in my secret.'
"'What! you have dared--'
"He got up, and the maid came in and gave him his money with the utmost
coolness. He picked up his lace, made me a profound bow, and departed.
"It would have been natural for me to speak to my maid, and still more
natural if I had dismissed her on the spot. I had no courage to do so,
and my weakness will only astonish those rigorous moralists who know
nothing of a young girl's heart, and do not consider my painful position,
passionately in love and with no one but myself to rely on.
"I did not follow at once the severe dictates of duty; afterwards it was
too late, and I easily consoled myself with the thought that I could
pretend not to be aware that the maid was in the secret. I determined to
dissemble, hoping that I should never see the adventurous lover again,
and that thus all would be as if it had never happened.
"This resolve was really the effect of anger, for a fortnight passed by
without my seeing the young man in the theatre, the public walks, or in
any of the public places he used to frequent, and I became sad and
dreamy, feeling all the time ashamed of my own wanton fancies. I longed
to know his name, which I could only learn from my maid, and it was out
of the question for me to ask Oeiras. I hated my maid, and I blushed when
I saw her, imagining that she knew all. I was afraid that she would
suspect my honour, and at another time I feared lest she might think I
did not love him; and this thought nearly drove me mad. As for the young
adventurer I thought him more to be pitied than to be blamed, for I did
not believe that he knew I loved him, and it seemed to me that the idea
of my despising him was enough vengeance for his audacity. But my
thoughts were different when my vanity was stronger than love, for then
despair avenged itself on pride, and I fancied he would think no more of
me, and perhaps had already forgotten me.
"Such a state cannot last long, for if nothing comes to put an end to the
storm which tosses the soul to and fro, it ends at last by making an
effort of itself to sail into the calm waters of peace.
"One day I put on a lace kerchief I had bought from him, and asked my
maid,
"'What has become of the girl who sold me this kerchief?'
"I asked this question without premeditation; it was, as it were, an
inspiration from my 'good or my evil genius.
"As crafty as I was simple, the woman answered that to be sure he had not
dared to come again, fearing that I had found out his disguise.
"'Certainly,' I replied, 'I found it out directly, but I was astonished
to hear that you knew this lace-seller was a young man.'
"'I did not think I should offend you, madam, I know him well.'
"'Who is he?
"'Count d'Al----; you ought to know him, for he paid you a visit about
four months ago.'
"'True, and it is possible that I did not know him, but why did you tell
a lie when I asked you, "Do you know that girl?"'
"'I lied to spare your feelings, madam, and I was afraid you would be
angry at the part I had taken:
"'You would have honoured me more by supposing the contrary. When you
went out, and I told him he was mad, and that you would find him on his
knees when you returned, he told me you were in the secret.'
"'If it be a secret, but it seems to me a mere joke:
"'I wished to think so too, but nevertheless it seemed of such weight to
me, that I resolved to be silent that I might not be obliged to send you
away.'
"'My idea was that you would have been amused, but as you take it
seriously I am sorry that I have failed in my strict duty.'
"So weak is a woman in love that in this explanation which should have
shewn me the servant's fault in all its enormity I only saw a full
justification. In fact she had given peace to my heart, but my mind was
still uneasy. I knew that there was a young Count d'Al---- belonging to a
noble family, but almost penniless. All he had was the minister's
patronage, and the prospect of good State employments. The notion that
Heaven meant me to remedy the deficiencies in his fortune made me fall
into a sweet reverie, and at last I found myself deciding that my maid
who put it all down as a jest had more wit than I. I blamed myself for my
scrupulous behaviour, which seemed no better than prudery. My love was
stronger than I thought, and this is my best excuse, besides I had no one
to guide or counsel me.
"But after sunshine comes shadow. My soul was like the ebb and tide of
the sea, now in the heights and now in the depths. The resolve, which the
count seemed to have taken, to see me no more, either shewed him to be a
man of little enterprise or little love, and this supposition humiliated
me. 'If,' I said to myself, 'the count is offended with me for calling
him a madman, he can have no delicacy and no discretion; he is unworthy
of my love.'
"I was in this dreadful state of uncertainty when my maid took upon
herself to write to the count that he could come and see me under the
same disguise. He followed her advice, and one fine morning the crafty
maid came into my chamber laughing, and told me that the lace-seller was
in the next room. I was moved exceedingly, but restraining myself I began
to laugh also, though the affair was no laughing matter for me.
"'Shall I shew her in? said the maid.
"'Are you crazy?
"Shall I send her away?
"'No, I will go and speak to him myself.'
"This day was a memorable one. My maid left the room now and again, and
we had plenty of time to disclose our feelings to one another. I frankly
confessed that I loved him, but added that it were best that I should
forget him, as it was not likely that my relations would consent to our
marriage. In his turn he told me that the minister having resolved to
send him to England, he would die of despair unless he carried with him
the hope of one day possessing me, for he said he loved me too well to
live without me. He begged me to allow him to come and see me under the
same disguise, and though I could not refuse him anything I said that we
might be discovered.
"'It is enough for me,' he replied, tenderly, 'that you will incur no
danger, my visits will be set down to the account of your maid.'
"'But I am afraid for you,' I replied, 'your disguise is a crime in
itself; your reputation will suffer, and that will not tend to bring the
wish of your heart nearer.'
"In spite of my objections, my heart spoke in his favour, and he pleaded
so well and promised to be so discreet that at last I said I would see
him gladly whenever he liked to come.
"Count Al---- is twenty-two, and is shorter than I; he is small-boned, and
in his disguise as a lace-seller it was hard to recognize him, even by
his voice, which is very soft. He imitated the gestures and ways of women
to perfection, and not a few women would be only too glad to be like him.
"Thus for nearly three months the disguised count came to see me three or
four times a week, always in my maid's room, and mostly in her presence.
But even if we had been perfectly alone his fear of my displeasure was
too great to allow him to take the slightest liberties. I think now that
this mutual restraint added fuel to our flames, for when we thought of
the moment of parting it was with dumb sadness and with no idea of taking
the opportunity of rendering one another happy. We flattered ourselves
that Heaven would work some miracle in our favour, and that the day would
never come wherein we should be parted.
"But one morning the count came earlier than usual, and, bursting into
tears, told me that the minister had given him a letter for M. de Saa,
the Portuguese ambassador at London, and another letter open for the
captain of a ship which was shortly to sail for London. In this letter
the minister ordered the captain to embark Count Al----, to take him to
London, and to treat him with distinction.
"My poor lover was overwhelmed, he was nearly choked with sobs, and his
brain was all confusion. For his sake, and taking pity on his grief and
my love, I conceived the plan of accompanying him as his servant, or
rather to avoid disguising my sex, as his wife. When I told him, he was
at once stupefied and dazzled. He was beyond reasoning, and left
everything in my hands. We agreed to discuss the matter at greater length
on the following day, and parted.
"Foreseeing that it would be difficult for me to leave the house in
woman's dress, I resolved to disguise myself as a man. But if I kept to
my man's dress I should be obliged to occupy the position of my lover's
valet, and have to undertake tasks beyond my strength. This thought made
me resolve to impersonate the master myself, but thinking that I should
not care to see my lover degraded to the rank of a servant, I determined
that he should be my wife, supposing that the captain of the ship did not
know him by sight.
"'As soon as we get to England,' I thought, 'we will get married, and can
resume our several dresses. This marriage will efface whatever shame may
be attached to our flight; they will say, perhaps, that the count carried
me off; but a girl is not carried off against her will, and Oeiras surely
will not persecute me for having made the fortune of his favourite. As to
our means of subsistence, till I get my rents, I can sell my diamonds,
and they will realize an ample sum.'
"The next day, when I told my lover of this strange plan, he made no
objections. The only obstacle which he thought of was the circumstance
that the sea-captain might know him by sight, and this would have been
fatal; but as he did not think it likely we determined to run the risk,
and it was agreed that he should get me the clothes for the new part I
was to play.
"I saw my lover again after an interval of three days; it was nightfall
when he came. He told me that the Admiralty had informed him that the
ship was riding at the mouth of the Tagus, and that the captain would put
out to sea as soon as he had delivered his dispatches and had received
fresh instructions. Count Al was consequently requested to be at a
certain spot at midnight, and a boat would be in waiting to take him on
board.
"I had made up my mind, and this was enough for me; and after having
fixed the time and place of meeting, I shut myself up, pretending to be
unwell. I put a few necessaries into a bag, not forgetting the precious
jewel-casket, and I dressed myself up as a man and left the house by a
stair only used by the servants. Even the porter did not see me as I made
my escape.
"Fearing lest I should go astray the count was waiting for me at a short
distance, and I was pleasantly surprised when he took me by the arm,
saying, ''Tis I.' From this careful action, simple though it was, I saw
that he had intelligence; he was afraid to catch hold of me without
making himself known. We went to a house where he had his trunk, and in
half an hour his disguise was made. When all was ready a man came for our
slight baggage, and we walked to the river where the count was waiting
for us. It was eleven o'clock when we left land, and thinking my jewels
would be safer in his pocket than in my bag, I gave them to him, and we
anxiously awaited the arrival of the captain. He came aboard with his
officers at midnight, and accosted me politely, saying he had received
orders to treat me with distinction. I thanked him cordially, and
introduced my wife to him, whom he greeted respectfully, saying he was
delighted to have such a charming passenger, who would doubtless give us
a fortunate voyage. He was too polite to be astonished that the minister
had made no mention of the count's wife in his letter.
"We got to the frigate in less than an hour; she was three leagues from
land, and as soon as we got on board the captain ordered the men to set
sail. He took us to a room which was extremely comfortable, considering
it was only a cabin, and after doing the honours left us to ourselves.
"When we were alone we thanked Heaven that everything had gone off so
well, and far from going to sleep we spent the night in discussing the
bold step we had taken, or rather, only just begun to take; however, we
hoped it would have as fortunate an ending as beginning. When the day
dawned our hearts were gladdened because Lisbon was no longer in sight,
and as we were in need of rest I laid down on a seat, while the count got
into a hammock, neither of us troubling to undress.
"We were just falling asleep, when we began to feel the approach of
sea-sickness, and for three days we knew no peace.
"On the fourth day, scarcely being able to stand upright for weakness, we
began to be hungry, and had to exercise a careful moderation, so as not
to become seriously ill. Happily for us the captain had a store of good
food, and our meals were delicate and well-served.
"My lover, whose sickness has been more severe than mine, used this as a
pretext for not leaving his room. The captain only came to see us once;
this must have been out of extreme politeness, for in Portugal one may be
jealous and yet not ridiculous. As for me, I stood upon the bridge nearly
all day; the fresh air did me good, and I amused myself by scanning the
horizon with my telescope.
"The seventh day of the voyage my heart trembled as with a presentiment
of misfortune, when the sailors said that a vessel which could be seen in
the distance was a corvette which was due to sail a day after us, but
being a swift sailor would probably reach England two or three days
before us.
"Though the voyage from Lisbon to England is a long one we had a fair
wind all the way, and in fourteen days we dropped anchor at day-break in
the port of Plymouth.
"The officer sent ashore by the captain to ask leave to disembark
passengers came on board in the evening with several letters. One the
captain read with peculiar attention, and then called me to one side and
said,
"'This letter comes from Count Oeiras, and enjoins me, on my life, not to
let any Portuguese young lady land, unless she be known to me. I am to
take her back to Lisbon after having executed my various commissions.
There is neither wife nor maid on my frigate, except the countess your
wife. If you can prove that she is really your wife she may land with
you; otherwise, you see, I cannot disobey the minister's orders.'
"'She is my wife,' I said, coolly; 'but as I could not foresee this
accident I have no papers to prove the fact.'
"'I am sorry to hear it, as in that case she must go back to Lisbon. You
may be sure I will treat her with all possible respect.'
"'But a wife may not be parted from her husband.'
"'Quite so, but I cannot disobey orders. If you like you can return to
Lisbon in the corvette; you will be there before us.'
"'Why cannot I return in this frigate?
"'Because I have distinct orders to put you on land. And now I come to
think of it, how was it that there was not a word about your wife in the
letter you gave me when we started? If the lady is not the person meant
by the minister, you may be sure she will be sent back to join you in
London.'
"'You will allow me to go and speak to her?
"'Certainly, but in my presence.'
"My heart was broken; nevertheless, I had to put a good face on the
losing game I was playing. I went to the count, and addressing him as my
dear wife communicated the order which was to part us.
"I was afraid he would betray himself, but he was strong-minded enough to
restrain his emotion, and only replied that we must needs submit, and
that we should see each other again in a couple of months.
"As the captain stood beside us, I could only utter common-places. I
warned him, however, that I should write to the abbess directly I got to
London, who was the first person he must go and see at Lisbon, as she
would have my address. I took care not to ask for my jewel-case, as the
captain might have thought that my false wife was some rich young lady
whom I had seduced.
"We had to abandon ourselves to our destiny. We embraced each other and
mingled our ears, and the captain wept, too, when he heard me say,
"'Trust in all things to the worthy captain, and let us not fear at all.'
"The count's trunk was lowered into the boat, and as I did not dare to
take my bag I found myself loaded with nothing but a man's clothes, which
would not have fitted me, even if I had intended to keep up my disguise.
"When I came to the custom-house I saw my possessions. There were books,
letters, linen, some suits of clothes, a sword and two pairs of pistols,
one pair of which I put in my pockets, and then I went to an inn where
the host said that if I wanted to travel to London the next morning I
should only have to pay for one horse.
"'Who are the people,' said I, 'who desire a companion?
"'You shall sup with them if you like,' said he.
"I accepted the offer, and found the party consisted of a minister of
religion and two ladies whose faces pleased me. I was fortunate enough to
win their good graces, and early the next day we got to London and
alighted in the Strand at an inn where I only dined, going out to seek a
lodging appropriate to my means and the kind of life I wished to lead.
Fifty Lisbon pieces and a ring of about the same value was all that I
possessed in the world.
"I took a room on the third floor, being attracted by the honest and
kindly expression of the landlady. I could only trust in God and confide
my position to her. I agreed to pay her ten shillings a week, and begged
her to get me some woman's clothes, for I was afraid to go out in my
man's dress any longer.
"The next day I was clothed like a poor girl who desires to escape
notice. I spoke English well enough to seem a native of the country, and
I knew how I must behave if I wished to be let alone. Although the
landlady was a worthy woman, her house was not exactly suitable for me;
my stay in England might be protracted, and if I came to destitution I
should be wretched indeed; so I resolved to leave the house. I received
no visitors, but I could not prevent the inquisitive from hovering round
my door, and the more it became known that I saw no one, the more their
curiosity increased. The house was not quiet enough. It was near the
Exchange, and the neighborhood swarmed with young men who came to dine on
the first floor of the house, and did their best to cure me of my
sadness, as they called it, though I had not shewn any signs of wishing
to be cured.
"I made up my mind not to spend more than a guinea a week, and resolved
to sell my ring if I could have the money paid to me at intervals. An old
jeweler who lodged next door, and for whose honesty my landlady answered,
told me it was worth a hundred and fifty guineas, and asked me to let him
have it if I had no better offer. I had not thought it to be so valuable,
and I sold it to him on condition that he would pay me four guineas a
month, and that I should be at liberty to buy it back if I could do so
before all the payments had been made.
"I wanted to keep my ready money, which I still have by me, so as to be
able to go back to Lisbon by land when I can do so in safety, for I could
not face the horrors of a sea voyage a second time.
"I told my case to my worthy landlady who still befriends me, and she
helped me to get another lodging, but I had to procure a servant to fetch
me my food; I could not summon up courage to have my meals in a
coffee-house. However, all my servants turned out ill; they robbed me
continually, and levied a tax on all their purchases.
"The temperance I observed--for I almost lived on bread and water--made
me get thinner every day, still I saw no way of mending my existence till
chance made me see your singular announcement. I laughed at it; and then
drawn by some irresistible power, or perhaps by the curiosity that falls
to the lot of most of us women, I could not resist going in and speaking
to you. Instinct thus pointed out the way to improve my lot without
increasing my expenditure.
"When I got back I found a copy of the Advertiser on my landlady's table;
it contained some editorial fun on the notice I had just read. The writer
said that the master of the house was an Italian, and had therefore
nothing to fear from feminine violence. On my side I determined to hazard
everything, but I feel I have been too hasty, and that there are certain
attacks which it is pleasant not to resist. I was brought up by an
Italian, a clever and good man, and I have always had a great respect for
your fellow-countrymen."
My fair Portuguese had finished her story, and I observed,--
"Really, your history has amused me very much; it has all the air of a
romance."
"Quite so," said she; "but it is a strictly historical romance. But the
most amusing thing to me is that you have listened to it without
weariness."
"That is your modesty, madam; not only, has your tale interested me, but
now that I know you are a Portuguese I am at peace with the nation."
"Were you at war with us, then?"
"I have never forgiven you for letting your Portuguese Virgil die
miserably two hundred years ago."
"You mean Camoens. But the Greeks treated Homer in the same way."
"Yes, but the faults of others are no excuse for our own."
"You are right; but how can you like Camoens so much if you do not know
Portuguese?"
"I have read a translation in Latin hexameters so well done that I
fancied I was reading Virgil."
"Is that truly so?"
"I would never lie to you."
"Then I make a vow to learn Latin."
"That is worthy of you, but it is of me that you must learn the language.
I will go to Portugal and live and die there, if you will give me your
heart.'
"My heart! I have only one, and that is given already. Since I have known
you I have despised myself, for I am afraid I have an inconstant nature."
"It will be enough for me if you will love me as your father, provided I
may sometimes take my daughter to my arms. But go on with your story, the
chief part is yet untold. What became of your lover, and what did your
relations do when they found out your flight?"
"Three days after I arrived in this vast city I wrote to the abbess, my
aunt, and told her the whole story, begging her to protect my lover, and
to confirm me in my resolution never to return to Lisbon till I could do
so in security, and have no obstacles placed in the way of my marriage. I
also begged her to write and inform me of all that happened, addressing
her letters to 'Miss Pauline,' under cover of my landlady.
"I sent my letter by Paris and Madrid, and I had to wait three months
before I got an answer. My aunt told me that the frigate had only
returned a short time, and that the captain immediately on his arrival
wrote to the minister informing him that the only lady who was in his
ship when he sailed was still on board, for he had brought her back with
him, despite the opposition of Count Al----, who declared she was his
wife. The captain ended by asking his excellency for further orders with
respect to the lady aforesaid.
"Oeiras, feeling sure that the lady was myself, told the captain to take
her to the convent of which my aunt was abbess, with a letter he had
written. In this letter he told my aunt that he sent her her niece, and
begged her to keep the girl securely till further orders. My aunt was
extremely surprised, but she would have been still more surprised if she
had not got my letter a few days before. She thanked the captain for his
care, and took the false niece to a room and locked her up. She then
wrote to Oeiras, telling him that she had received into her convent a
person supposed to be his niece, but as this person was really a man in
woman's dress she begged his excellency to remove him as soon as
possible.
"When the abbess had written this curious letter she paid a visit to the
count, who fell on his knees before her. My good aunt raised him, and
shewed him my letter. She said that she had been obliged to write to the
minister, and that she had no doubt he would be removed from the convent
in the course of a few hours. The count burst into tears, and begging the
abbess to protect us both gave her my jewel-casket, which the worthy
woman received with great pleasure. She left him, promising to write to
me of all that happened.
"The minister was at one of his country estates, and did not receive the
abbess's letter till the next day, but hastened to reply in person. My
aunt easily convinced his excellency of the need for keeping the matter
secret, for a man had been sent into the convent, which would be to her
dishonour. She shewed the proud minister the letter she had had from me,
and told him how the honest young man had given her my jewel-casket. He
thanked her for her open dealing, and begged her pardon with a smile for
sending a fine young man to her nunnery.
"'The secret,' said he, 'is of the greatest importance; we must see that
it goes no farther. I will relieve you of your false niece, and take her
away in my carriage.'
"My aunt took him at his word and brought out the young recluse, who
drove away with the minister. The abbess tells me that from that day she
has heard nothing about him, but that all Lisbon is talking over the
affair, but in a wholly distorted manner. They say that the minister
first of all put me under the care of my aunt, but soon after took me
away, and has kept me in some secret place ever since. Count Al---- is
supposed to be in London, and I in the minister's power, and probably we
are supposed to have entered into a tender relationship. No doubt his
excellency is perfectly well informed of my doings here, for he knows my
address and has spies everywhere.
"On the advice of my aunt I wrote to Oeiras a couple of months ago,
telling him that I am ready to return to Lisbon, if I may marry Count
Al---- and live in perfect liberty. Otherwise, I declared, I would stay in
London, where the laws guaranteed my freedom. I am waiting for his answer
every day, and I expect it will be a favourable one, for no one can
deprive me of my estates, and Oeiras will probably be only too glad to
protect me to lessen the odium which attaches to his name as the murderer
of my father."
Pauline made no mystery of the names of the characters, but she may be
still alive, and I respect her too well to run the risk of wounding her,
though these Memoirs will not see the light of day during my lifetime. It
is sufficient to say that the story is known to all the inhabitants of
Lisbon, and that the persons who figure in it are public characters in
Portugal.
I lived with dear Pauline in perfect harmony, feeling my love for her
increase daily, and daily inspiring her with tenderer feelings towards
myself. But as my love increased in strength, I grew thin and feeble; I
could not sleep nor eat. I should have languished away if I had not
succeeded in gratifying my passion. On the other hand, Pauline grew
plumper and prettier every day.
"If my sufferings serve to increase your charms," said I, "you ought not
to let me die, for a dead man has no suffering."
"Do you think that your sufferings are due to your love for me?"
"Certainly."
"There may be something in it, but, believe me, the tender passion does
not destroy the appetite nor take away the power of sleep. Your
indisposition is undoubtedly due to the sedentary life you have been
leading of late. If you love me, give me a proof of it; go out for a
ride."
"I cannot refuse you anything, dearest Pauline, but what then?"
"Then you shall find me grateful to you, you will have a good appetite,
and will sleep well."
"A horse, a horse! Quick! My boots!" I kissed her hand--for I had not got
any farther than that--and began to ride towards Kingston. I did not care
for the motion of trotting, so I put my horse at a gallop, when all of a
sudden he stumbled, and in an instant I was lying on the ground in front
of the Duke of Kingston's house. Miss Chudleigh happened to be at the
window, and seeing me thrown to the ground uttered a shriek. I raised my
head and she recognized me, and hastened to send some of her people to
help me. As soon as I was on my feet I wanted to go and thank her, but I
could not stir, and a valet who knew something of surgery examined me,
and declared that I had put out my collar-bone and would require a week's
rest.
The young lady told me that if I liked to stay in her house the greatest
care should be taken of me. I thanked her warmly, but begged her to have
me taken home, as I should not like to give her so much trouble. She
immediately gave the necessary orders, and I was driven home in a
comfortable carriage. The servants in charge would not accept any money,
and I saw in the incident a proof of that hospitality for which the
English are famed, although they are at the same time profoundly
egotistic.
When I got home I went to bed, and sent for a surgeon, who laughed when I
told him that I had put out a bone.
"I'll wager it is nothing more than a sprain. I only wish it was put out
that I might have some chance of shewing my skill."
"I am delighted," I said, "not to be in a position to call for that
amount of talent, but I shall have a high opinion of you if you set me up
in a short time."
I did not see Pauline, much to my astonishment. I was told she had gone
out in a sedan-chair, and I almost felt jealous. In two hours she came in
looking quite frightened, the old house-keeper having told her that I had
broken my leg, and that the doctor had been with me already.
"Unhappy wretch that I am!" she exclaimed as she came to my bedside,
"'tis I that have brought you to this."
With these words she turned pale and almost fell in a swoon beside me.
"Divine being!" I cried, as I pressed her to my breast, "it is nothing;
only a sprain."
"What pain that foolish old woman has given me!
"God be praised that it is no worse! Feel my heart."
"Oh, yes! I felt it with delight. It was a happy fall for me."
Fastening my lips on hers, I felt with delight that our transports were
mutual, and I blessed the sprain that had brought me such bliss.
After these ecstasies I felt that Pauline was laughing.
"What are you laughing at, sweetheart?"
"At the craft of love, which always triumphs at last."
"Where have you been?"
"I went to my old jeweler's to redeem my ring, that you might have a
souvenir of me; here it is."
"Pauline! Pauline! a little love would have been much more precious to me
than this beautiful ring."
"You shall have both. Till the time of my departure, which will come only
too soon, we will live together like man and wife; and to-night shall be
our wedding night, and the bed the table for the feast."
"What sweet news you give me, Pauline! I cannot believe it till my
happiness is actually accomplished."
"You may doubt, if you like; but let it be a slight doubt, or else you
will do me wrong. I am tired of living with you as a lover and only
making you wretched, and the moment I saw you on horseback I determined
to belong to you. Consequently I went to redeem the ring directly you
left, and I do not intend to leave you until I receive the fatal message
from Lisbon. I have dreaded its arrival every day for the last week."
"May the messenger that brings it be robbed on the way."
"No such luck, I am afraid."
As Pauline was standing, I asked her to come to my arms, for I longed to
give her some palpable signs of my love.
"No, dearest, one can love and yet be wise; the door is open."
She got down Ariosto and began to read to me the adventure of
Ricciardetto with Fiordespina, an episode which gives its beauty to the
twenty-ninth canto of that beautiful poem which I knew by heart. She
imagined that she was the princess, and I Ricciardetto. She liked to
fancy,
'Che il ciel L'abbia concesso,
Bradamante cangiata in miglior sesso.'
When she came to the lines;
'Le belle braccia al collo indi mi getta,
E dolcemente stringe, a baccia in bocca:
Tu puoi pensar se allora la saetta
Dirizza Amor, se in mezzo al cor mi tocca.'
She wanted some explanations on the expression 'baccia in bocca', and on
the love which made Ricciardetto's arrow so stiff, and I, only too ready
to comment on the text, made her touch an arrow as stiff as
Ricciardetto's. Of course, she was angry at that, but her wrath did not
last long. She burst out laughing when she came to the lines,
'Io il veggo, io il sento, e a pena vero parmi:
Sento in maschio in femina matarsi.'
And then,
'Cosi le dissi, e feci ch'ella stessa
Trovo con man la veritade expressa.
She expressed her, wonder that this poem abounding in obscenities had not
been put on the "Index" at Rome.
"What you call obscenity is mere license, and there is plenty of that at
Rome."
"That's a joke which should bring the censures of the Church upon you.
But what do you call obscenities, if Ariosto is not obscene?"
"Obscenity disgusts, and never gives pleasure."
"Your logic is all your own, but situated as I am I cannot reargue your
proposition. I am amused at Ariosto's choosing a Spanish woman above all
others to conceive that strange passion for Bradamante."
"The heat of the Spanish climate made him conclude that the Spanish
temperament was also ardent, and consequently whimsical in its tastes."
"Poets are a kind of madmen who allow themselves to give utterance to all
their fancies."
The reading was continued, and I thought my time had come when she read
the verses:
Io senza scale in su la rooca salto,
E to stendardo piantovi di botto,
E la nemica mia mi caccio sotto**
**I scaled the rock without a ladder, I planted my standard suddenly, and
held my enemy beneath me.
I wanted to give her a practical illustration of the lines, but with that
sensibility so natural to women, and which they can use so well as a goad
to passion, she said,--
"Dearest, you might make yourself worse; let us wait till your sprain is
cured."
"Are we to wait till I am cured for the consummation of our marriage?"
"I suppose so, for if I am not mistaken the thing can't be done without a
certain movement."
"You are wrong, dear Pauline, but it would make no difference to me even
if it were so. You may be sure I would not put it off till to-morrow,
even if it cost me my leg. Besides, you shall see that there are ways and
means of satisfying our passions without doing me any harm. Is that
enough for you?"
"Well, well, as it is written that a wife should obey her husband, you
will find me docile."
"When?"
"After supper."
"Then we will have no supper. We shall dine with all the better appetite
to-morrow. Let us begin now."
"No, for the suspicions of the servants might be aroused. Love has its
rules of decency like everything else."
"You talk as wisely as Cato, and I am obliged to confess that you are
right in all you say."
Supper was served as usual; it was delicate enough, but the thought of
approaching bliss had taken away our appetites, and we ate only for
form's sake. At ten o'clock we were at liberty, and could indulge our
passion without any fear of being disturbed.
But this delightful woman, who had so plainly told me a few hours before
that when I was cured we would live together as man and wife, was now
ashamed to undress before me. She could not make up her mind, and told me
so, laughing at herself. From this circumstance I gathered that the
decency of the body is more tenacious in its grasp than the purity of the
soul.
"But, sweetheart," said I, "you dressed and undressed for a fortnight
before your betrothed."
"Yes, but he was always lying in his hammock with his back towards me at
night, and in the morning he never turned round and wished me good day
till he knew I was dressed."
"What, he never turned?"
"I never let him take any liberties."
"Such virtue is incomprehensible to me."
"You see the count was to be my husband, and I was to be his wife, and in
such cases a young woman is careful. Besides, I believe that if one will
but refrain from taking the first step, continence is easy. Then the
count was naturally timid, and would never have taken any liberties
without my encouraging him, which I took care not to do. For this once,
you will allow me to sleep with you in my clothes."
"Certainly, if you wish me to be dressed also, otherwise it would be
unbearable for both of us."
"You are very cruel."
"But, dearest, are you not ashamed of these foolish scruples?"
"Well, well, put out the candles, and in a minute I will be beside you."
"Very good; though the want of light will deprive me of a great pleasure.
Quick, out with them!"
My charming Portuguese did not reflect that the moon shone full into the
room, and that the muslin curtains would not prevent my seeing her
exquisite figure, which shewed to greater advantage in the position she
happened to take. If Pauline had been a coquette I should have considered
her scruples as mere artifice calculated to increase my ardour; but she
had no need to use such stratagems. At last she was within my arms, and
we clasped each other closely and in silence that was only broken by the
murmur of our kisses. Soon our union became closer, and her sighs and the
ardour of her surrender shewed me that her passion was more in need of
relief than mine. I was sufficiently master of myself to remember that I
must have a care for her honour, greatly to her astonishment, for she
confessed she had never thought of such a thing, and had given herself up
freely, resolved to brave the consequences which she believed to be
inevitable. I explained the mystery and made her happy.
Till this moment love alone had swayed me, but now that the bloody
sacrifice was over I felt full of respect and gratitude. I told her
effusively that I knew how great was my happiness, and that I was ready
to sacrifice my life to her to prove my love.
The thought that our embraces would have no dangerous result had put
Pauline at her ease, and she have reins to her ardent temperament, while
I did valiant service, till at last we were exhausted and the last
sacrifice was not entirely consummated. We abandoned ourselves to a
profound and peaceful sleep. I was the first to awake; the sun was
shining in through the window, and I gazed on Pauline. As I looked at
this woman, the first beauty in Portugal, the only child of an
illustrious family, who had given herself to me all for love, and whom I
should possess for so short a time, I could not restrain a profound sigh.
Pauline awoke, and her gaze, as bright as the rising sun in springtime,
fixed itself on me truthfully and lovingly.
"What are you thinking of, dearest?"
"I am trying to convince myself that my happiness is not a dream, and if
it be real I want it to last for ever. I am the happy mortal to whom you
have given up your great treasure, of which I am unworthy, though I love
you tenderly."
"Sweetheart, you are worthy of all my devotion and affection, if you have
not ceased to respect me."
"Can you doubt it, Pauline?"
"No, dearest, I think you love me, and that I shall never repent having
trusted in you."
The sweet sacrifice was offered again, and Pauline rose and laughed to
find that she was no longer ashamed of her nakedness before me. Then,
passing from jest to earnest, she said,--
"If the loss of shame is the result of knowledge, how was it that our
first parents were not ashamed till they had acquired knowledge?"
"I don't know, dearest, but tell me, did you ever ask your learned
Italian master that same question?"
"Yes, I did."
"What did he say?"
"That their shame arose not from their enjoyment, but from disobedience;
and that in covering the parts which had seduced them, they discovered,
as it were, the sin they had committed. Whatever may be said on the
subject, I shall always think that Adam was much more to blame than Eve."
"How is that?"
"Because Adam had received the prohibition from God, while Eve had only
received it from Adam."
"I thought that both of them received the prohibition directly from God."
"You have not read Genesis, then."
"You are laughing at me."
"Then you have read it carelessly, because it is distinctly stated that
God made Eve after he had forbidden Adam to eat of the fruit."
"I wonder that point has not been remarked by our commentators; it seems
a very important one to me."
"They are a pack of knaves, all sworn enemies of women."
"No, no, they give proofs of quite another feeling only too often."
"We won't say anything more about it. My teacher was an honest man."
"Was he a Jesuit?"
"Yes, but of the short robe."
"What do you mean?"
"We will discuss the question another time."
"Very good; I should like to have it proved to me that a man can be a
Jesuit and honest at the same time."
"There are exceptions to all rules."
My Pauline was a profound thinker, and strongly attached to her religion.
I should never have discovered that she possessed this merit if I had not
slept with her. I have known several women of the same stamp; if you wish
to know the elevation of their souls, you must begin by damning them.
When this is done, one enjoys their confidence, for they have no secrets
for the happy victor. This is the reason why the charming though feeble
sex loves the brave and despises the cowardly. Sometimes they appear to
love cowards, but always for their physical beauty. Women amuse
themselves with such fellows, but are the first to laugh if they get
caned.
After the most delicious night I had ever passed, I resolved not to leave
my house till Pauline had to return to Portugal. She did not leave me for
a moment, save to hear mass on Sundays. I shut my door to everybody, even
to the doctor, for my sprain disappeared of itself. I did not fail to
inform Miss Chudleigh of my rapid cure; she had sent twice a day ever
since the accident to learn how I was.
Pauline went to her room after our amorous conflict, and I did not see
her again till dinner-time; but when I did see her I thought her an
angel. Her face had caught the hues of the lily and the rose, and had an
air of happiness I could not help admiring.
As we both wanted to have our portraits taken, I asked Martinelli to send
me the best miniature-painter in London. He sent a Jew, who succeeded
admirably. I had my miniature mounted in a ring and gave it to Pauline;
and this was the only present she would accept from me, who would have
thought myself all the richer if she had accepted all I had.
We spent three weeks in a happy dream which no pen can describe. I was
quite well again, and we tasted all the sweets of love together. All day
and all night we were together, our desires were satisfied only to be
renewed; we enjoyed the extremest bliss. In a word, it is difficult to
form a just idea of the state of two individuals who enjoy all the range
of physical and mental pleasures together, whose life is for the present
without thought of the future; whose joys are mutual and continual; such,
nevertheless, was the position of myself and my divine Pauline.
Every day I discovered in her some fresh perfection which made me love
her more; her nature was inexhaustible in its treasures, for her mental
qualities even surpassed her physical beauties, and an excellent
education had wonderfully increased the powers of her intelligence. With
all the beauty and grace of a woman she had that exalted character which
is the lot of the best of men. She began to flatter herself that the
fatal letter would never come, and the count was little more than a dream
of the past. Sometimes she would say that she could not understand how a
pretty face could exercise such a strong influence over us in spite of
our reason.
"I have found out too late," she added, "that chance alone can make a
marriage, contracted for such physical reasons, happy."
The 1st of August was a fatal day for both of us. Pauline received a
letter from Lisbon, which summoned her home without delay, and I had a
letter from Paris announcing the death of Madame d'Urfe. Madame du Rumain
told me that on the evidence of her maid the doctors had pronounced her
death to be due to an overdose of the liquid she called "The Panacea."
She added that a will had been found which savoured of a lunatic asylum,
for she had left all her wealth to the son or daughter that should be
born of her, declaring that she was with child. I was to be the governor
of the infant; this vexed me exceedingly, as I knew I should be the
laughing-stock of Paris for a week at least. Her daughter, the Comtesse
de Chatelet, had taken possession of all her real estate and of her
pocket-book, which contained, to my surprise, four hundred thousand
francs. It was a great shock for me, but the contents of the two letters
Pauline had received was a greater blow. One was from her aunt, and the
other from Oeiras, who begged her to return to Lisbon as soon as
possible, and assured her that she should be put in possession of her
property on her arrival, and would be at liberty to marry Count Al---- in
the sight of all the world. He sent her a cheque for twenty million reis.
I was not aware of the small value of the coin, and was in an ecstasy;
but Pauline laughed, and said it only came to two thousand pounds, which
was a sufficient sum, however, to allow her to travel in the style of a
duchess. The minister wanted her to come by sea, and all she had to do
was to communicate with the Portuguese ambassador, who had orders to give
her a passage on a Portuguese frigate which happened to be riding in an
English port. Pauline would not hear of the voyage, or of applying to the
ambassador, for she did not want anyone to think that she had been
obliged to return. She was angry with the minister for having sent her a
cheque, thinking that he must be aware that she had been in need, but I
soon brought her to see reason on this point, telling her that it was a
very thoughtful and delicate proceeding on the part of Oeiras, and that
he had merely lent-her the money, and not given it to her.
Pauline was rich, and she was a high-minded woman. Her generosity may be
estimated by her giving me her ring when she was in want, and she
certainly never counted on my purse, though she may have felt sure that I
would not abandon her. I am sure she believed me to be very rich, and my
conduct was certainly calculated to favour that idea.
The day and even the night passed sadly. The next day Pauline addressed
me as follows:
"We must part, dear friend, and try to forget one another, for my honour
obliges me to become the wife of the count as soon as I arrive in Lisbon.
The first fancy of my heart, which you have almost effaced, will regain
all its old force when I see you no longer, and I am sure I shall love my
husband, for he is a goodhearted, honest, and pleasant young man; that
much I know from the few days we lived together.
"Now I have a favour to ask of you, which I am sure you will grant.
Promise me never to come to Lisbon without my permission. I hope you will
not seek to know my reasons; you would not, I am sure, come to trouble my
peace, for if I sinned I should be unhappy, and you would not desire that
for me. I have dreamed we have lived together as man and wife, and now we
are parted I shall fancy myself a widow about to undertake another
marriage."
I burst into tears, and pressing her to my breast promised I would do as
she wished.
Pauline wrote to her aunt and Oeiras that she would be in Lisbon in
October, and that they should have further news of her when she reached
Spain. She had plenty of money, and bought a carriage and engaged a maid,
and these arrangements took up her time during the last week she spent
with me. I made her promise me to let Clairmont accompany her as far as
Madrid. She was to send me back my faithful servant when she reached the
Spanish capital, but fate had decreed that I should see his face no more.
The last few days were spent partly in sorrow and partly in delight. We
looked at each other without speaking, and spoke without knowing what we
said. We forgot to eat, and went to bed hoping that love and anguish
would keep us awake, but our exhausted bodies fell into a heavy sleep,
and when we awoke we could only sigh and kiss again.
Pauline allowed me to escort her as far as Calais, and we started on the
10th of August, only stopping at Dover to embark the carriage on the
packet, and four hours afterwards we disembarked at Calais, and Pauline,
considering her widowhood had begun, begged me to sleep in another room.
She started on the 12th of August, preceded by my poor Clairmont, and
resolved only to travel by daytime.
The analogy between my parting with Pauline and my parting with Henriette
fifteen years before, was exceedingly striking; the two women were of
very similar character, and both were equally beautiful, though their
beauty was of a different kind. Thus I fell as madly in love with the
second as with the first, both being equally intelligent. The fact that
one had more talent and less prejudices than the other must have been an
effect of their different educations. Pauline had the fine pride of her
nation, her mind was a serious cast, and her religion was more an affair
of the heart than the understanding. She was also a far more ardent
mistress than Henriette. I was successful with both of them because I was
rich; if I had been a poor man I should never have known either of them.
I have half forgotten them, as everything is forgotten in time, but when
I recall them to my memory I find that Henriette made the profounder
impression on me, no doubt because I was twenty-five when I knew her,
while I was thirty-seven in London.
The older I get the more I feel the destructive effects of old age; and I
regret bitterly that I could not discover the secret of remaining young
and happy for ever. Vain regrets! we must finish as we began, helpless
and devoid of sense.
I went back to England the same day, and had a troublesome passage.
Nevertheless, I did not rest at Dover; and as soon as I got to London I
shut myself up with a truly English attack of the spleen, while I thought
of Pauline and strove to forget her. Jarbe put me to bed, and in the
morning, when he came into my room, he made me shudder with a speech at
which I laughed afterwards.
"Sir," said he, "the old woman wants to know whether she is to put up the
notice again."
"The old hag! Does she want me to choke her?"
"Good heavens-no, sir! She is very fond of you, seeing you seemed so sad,
she thought . . . ."
"Go and tell her never to think such things again, and as for you . . . ."
"I will do as you wish, sir."
"Then leave me."
EPISODE 23--THE ENGLISH
CHAPTER X
Eccentricity of the English--Castelbajac Count Schwerin--
Sophie at School--My Reception at the Betting Club--
The Charpillon
I passed a night which seemed like a never-ending nightmare, and I got up
sad and savage, feeling as if I could kill a man on the smallest
provocation. It seemed as if the house, which I had hitherto thought so
beautiful, was like a millstone about my neck. I went out in my
travelling clothes, and walked into a coffee-house, where I saw a score
of people reading the papers.
I sat down, and, not understanding English, passed my time in gazing at
the goers and comers. I had been there some time when my attention was
attracted by the voice of a man speaking as follows in French:
"Tommy has committed suicide, and he was wise, for he was in such a state
that he could only expect unhappiness for the rest of his life."
"You are quite mistaken," said the other, with the greatest composure. "I
was one of his creditors myself, and on making an inventory of his
effects I feel satisfied that he has done a very foolish and a very
childish thing; he might have lived on comfortably, and not killed
himself for fully six months."
At any other time this calculation would have made me laugh, and, as it
was, I felt as if the incident had done me good.
I left the coffee-house without having said a word or spent a penny, and
I went towards the Exchange to get some money. Bosanquet gave me what I
wanted directly, and as I walked out with him I noticed a curious-looking
individual, whose name I asked.
"He's worth a hundred thousand," said the banker.
"And who is that other man over there?"
"He's not worth a ten-pound note."
"But I don't want to hear what they are worth; it's their names I want."
"I really don't know."
"How can you tell how much they are worth, not knowing their names?"
"Names don't go for anything here. What we want to know about a man is
how much he has got? Besides; what's in a name? Ask me for a thousand
pounds and give me a proper receipt, and you can do it under the name of
Socrates or Attila, for all I care. You will pay me back my money as
Socrates or Attila, and not as Seingalt; that is all."
"But how about signing bills of exchange?"
"That's another thing; I must use the name which the drawer gives me."
"I don't understand that."
"Well, you see, you are not English, nor are you a business man."
On leaving him I walked towards the park, but wishing to change a
twenty-pound note before going in I went to a fat merchant, an epicure
whose acquaintance I had made at the tavern, and put down the note on his
counter, begging him to cash it for me.
"Come again in an hour," said he, "I have no money by me just now."
"Very good; I will call again when I come from the park."
"Take back your note; you shall give it to me when I hand you the money."
"Never mind; keep it. I don't doubt your honesty."
"Don't be so foolish. If you left me the note I should certainly decline
to hand over the money, if only for the sake of giving you a lesson."
"I don't believe you are capable of such dishonesty."
"Nor am I, but when it comes to such a simple thing as putting a bank
note in your pocket, the most honest man in the world would never dream
of having such a thing in his possession without having paid the money
for it, and the least slip of memory might lead to a dispute in which you
would infallibly come off second best."
"I feel the force of your arguments, especially in a town where so much
business is carried on."
When I got into the park I met Martinelli and thanked him for sending me
a copy of the Decameron, while he congratulated me on my re-appearance in
society, and on the young lady of whom I had been the happy possessor and
no doubt the slave.
"My Lord Pembroke has seen her," said he, "and thought her charming."
"What? Where could he have seen her?"
"In a carriage with you driving fast along the Rochester road. It is
three or four days ago."
"Then I may tell you that I was taking her to Calais; I shall never see
her face again."
"Will you let the room again in the same way?"
"No, never again, though the god of love has been propitious to me. I
shall be glad to see you at my house whenever you like to come."
"Shall I send you a note to warn you?"
"Not at all."
We walked on talking about literature, manners, and so forth, in an
aimless way. All at once, as we approached Buckingham House, I saw five
or six persons, relieving nature amidst the bushes, with their hinder
parts facing the passers-by. I thought this a disgusting piece of
indecency, and said as much to Martinelli, adding that the impudent
rascals might at least turn their faces towards the path.
"Not at all," he exclaimed, "for then they might be recognized; whereas
in exposing their posteriors they run no such risk; besides the sight
makes squeamish persons turn away."
"You are right, but you will confess that the whole thing strikes a
stranger as very revolting."
"Yes, there is nothing so ineradicable as national prejudice. You may
have noticed that when an Englishman wants to ease his sluices in the
street, he doesn't run up an alley or turn to the wall like we do."
"Yes, I have noticed them turning towards the middle of the street, but
if they thus escape the notice of the people in the shops and on the
pavement they are seen by everybody who is driving in a carriage, and
that is as bad."
"The people in the carriages need not look."
"That is true."
We walked on to the Green Park, and met Lord Pembroke on horseback. He
stopped and burst into exclamations on seeing me. As I guessed the cause
of his surprise, I hastened to tell him that I was a free man once more,
to my sorrow, and felt lonely amidst my splendour.
"I feel rather curious about it, and perhaps I may come and keep you
company to-day."
We parted, and reckoning on seeing him at dinner I, went back to tell my
cook that dinner was to be served in the large room. Martinelli had an
engagement and could not come to dinner, but he led me out of the park by
a door with which I was not acquainted, and sent me on my way.
As we were going along we saw a crowd of people who seemed to be staring
at something. Martinelli went up to the crowd, and then returned to me,
saying,--
"That's a curious sight for you; you can enter it amidst your remarks on
English manners."
"What is it?"
"A man at the point of death from a blow he has received in boxing with
another sturdy fellow."
"Cannot anything be done?"
"There is a surgeon there who would bleed him, if he were allowed."
"Who could prevent him?"
"That's the curious part of it. Two men have betted on his death or
recovery. One says, 'I'll bet twenty guineas he dies,' and the other
says, 'Done.' Number one will not allow the surgeon to bleed him, for if
the man recovered his twenty guineas would be gone."
"Poor man! what pitiless betters!"
"The English are very strange in their betting proclivities; they bet
about everything. There is a Betting Club to which I will introduce you,
if you like."
"Do they speak French there?"
"Most certainly, for it is composed of men of wit and mark."
"What do they do?"
"They talk and argue, and if one man brings forward a proposition which
another denies, and one backs his opinion, the other has to bet too, on
pain of a fine which goes to the common fund."
"Introduce me to this delightful club, by all means; it will make my
fortune, for I shall always take care to be on the right side."
"You had better be careful; they are wary birds."
"But to return to the dying man; what will be done to his antagonist?"
"His hand will be examined, and if it is found to be just the same as
yours or mine it will be marked, and he will be let go."
"I don't understand that, so kindly explain. How do they recognize a
dangerous hand?"
"If it is found to be marked already, it is a proof that he has killed
his man before and has been marked for it, with the warning, 'Take care
not to kill anyone else, for if you do you will be hanged.'"
"But supposing such a man is attacked?"
"He ought to shew his hand, and then his adversary would let him alone."
"But if not?"
"Then he is defending himself; and if he kills his man he is acquitted,
provided he can bring witnesses to swear that he was obliged to fight."
"Since fighting with the fist may cause death, I wonder it is allowed."
"It is only allowed for a wager. If the combatants do not put one or more
pieces of money on the ground before the fight, and there is a death, the
man is hanged."
"What laws! What manners!"
In such ways I learnt much concerning the manner and customs of this
proud nation, at once so great and so little.
The noble lord came to dinner, and I treated him in a manner to make him
wish to come again. Although there were only the two of us, the meal
lasted a long time, as I was anxious for additional information on what I
had heard in the morning, especially on the Betting Club. The worthy
Pembroke advised me not to have anything to do with it, unless I made up
my mind to keep perfect silence for four or five weeks.
"But supposing they ask me a question?"
"Evade it."
"Certainly, if I am not in a position to give my opinion; but if I have
an opinion, the powers of Satan could not shut my mouth."
"All the worse for you."
"Are the members knaves?"
"Certainly not. They are noblemen, philosophers, and epicures; but they
are pitiless where a bet is concerned."
"Is the club treasury rich?"
"Far from it; they are all ashamed to pay a fine, and prefer to bet. Who
will introduce you?"
"Martinelli."
"Quite so; through Lord Spencer, who is a member. I would not become
one."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't like argument."
"My taste runs the other way, so I shall try to get in."
"By the way, M. de Seingalt, do you know that you are a very
extraordinary man?"
"For what reason, my lord?"
"You shut yourself up for a whole month with a woman who spent fourteen
months in London without anybody making her acquaintance or even
discovering her nationality. All the amateurs have taken a lively
interest in the affair."
"How did you find out that she spent fourteen months in London?"
"Because several persons saw her in the house of a worthy widow where she
spent the first month. She would never have anything to say to any
advances, but the bill in your window worked wonders."
"Yes, and all the worse for me, for I feel as if I could never love
another woman."
"Oh, that's childish indeed! You will love another woman in a week-nay,
perhaps to-morrow, if you will come and dine with me at my country house.
A perfect French beauty has asked me to dine with her. I have told some
of my friends who are fond of gaming."
"Does the charming Frenchwoman like gaming?"
"No, but her husband does."
"What's his name?"
"He calls himself Count de Castelbajac."
"Ah! Castelbajac?"
"Yes."
"He is a Gascon?"
"Yes."
"Tall, thin, and dark, and marked with the smallpox?
"Exactly! I am delighted to find you know him. You will agree with me
that his wife is very pretty?"
"I really can't say. I knew Castelbajac, as he calls himself, six years
ago, and I never heard he was married. I shall be delighted to join you,
however. I must warn you not to say anything if he seems not to know me;
he may possibly have good reasons for acting in that manner. Before long
I will tell you a story which does not represent him in a very
advantageous manner. I did not know he played. I shall take care to be on
my guard at the Betting Club, and I advise you, my lord, to be on your
guard in the society of Castelbajac."
"I will not forget the warning."
When Pembroke had left me I went to see Madame Cornelis, who had written
a week before to tell me my daughter was ill, and explained that she had
been turned from my doors on two occasions though she felt certain I was
in. To this I replied that I was in love, and so happy within my own
house that I had excluded all strangers, and with that she had to be
contented, but the state in which I found little Sophie frightened me.
She was lying in bed with high fever, she had grown much thinner, and her
eyes seemed to say that she was dying of grief. Her mother was in
despair, for she was passionately fond of the child, and I thought she
would have torn my eyes out when I told her that if Sophie died she would
only have herself to reproach. Sophie, who was very good-hearted, cried
out, "No, no! papa dear;" and quieted her mother by her caresses.
Nevertheless, I took the mother aside, and told her that the disease was
solely caused by Sophie's dread of her severity.
"In spite of your affection," said I, "you treat her with insufferable
tyranny. Send her to a boarding-school for a couple of years, and let her
associate with girls of good family. Tell her this evening that she is to
go to school, and see if she does not get better."
"Yes," said she, "but a good boarding-school costs a hundred guineas a
year, including masters."
"If I approve of the school you select I will pay a year in advance."
On my making this offer the woman, who seemed to be living so
luxuriously, but was in reality poverty-stricken, embraced me with the
utmost gratitude.
"Come and tell the news to your daughter now," said she, "I should like
to watch her face when she hears it."
"Certainly."
"My dear Sophie," I said, "your mother agrees with me that if you had a
change of air you would get better, and if you would like to spend a year
or two in a good school I will pay the first year in advance."
"Of course, I will obey my dear mother," said Sophie.
"There is no question of obedience. Would you like to go to school? Tell
me truly."
"But would my mother like me to go?"
"Yes, my child, if it would please you."
"Then, mamma, I should like to go very much."
Her face flushed as she spoke, and I knew that my diagnosis had been
correct. I left her saying I should hope to hear from her soon.
At ten o'clock the next day Jarbe came to ask if I had forgotten my
engagement.
"No," said I, "but it is only ten o'clock."
"Yes, but we have twenty miles to go."
"Twenty miles?"
"Certainly, the house is at St. Albans."
"It's very strange Pembroke never told me; how did you find out the
address?"
"He left it when he went away:"
"Just like an Englishman."
I took a post-chaise, and in three hours I had reached my destination.
The English roads are excellent, and the country offers a smiling
prospect on every side. The vine is lacking, for though the English soil
is fertile it will not bear grapes.
Lord Pembroke's house was not a particularly large one, but twenty
masters and their servants could easily be accommodated in it.
The lady had not yet arrived, so my lord shewed me his gardens, his
fountains, and his magnificent hot-houses; also a cock chained by the
leg, and of a truly ferocious aspect.
"What have we here, my lord?"
"A cock."
"I see it is, but why do you chain it?"
"Because it is savage. It is very amorous, and if it were loose it would
go after the hens, and kill all the cocks on the country-side."
"But why do you condemn him to celibacy?"
"To make him fiercer. Here, this is the list of his conquests."
He gave me a list of his cock's victories, in which he had killed the
other bird; this had happened more than thirty times. He then shewed me
the steel spurs, at the sight of which the cock began to ruffle and crow.
I could not help laughing to see such a martial spirit in so small an
animal. He seemed possessed by the demon of strife, and lifted now one
foot and now the other, as if to beg that his arms might be put on.
Pembroke then exhibited the helmet, also of steel.
"But with such arms," said I, "he is sure of conquest."
"No; for when he is armed cap-a-pie he will not fight with a defenceless
cock."
"I can't believe it, my lord."
"It's a well-known fact. Here, read this."
He then gave me a piece of paper with this remarkable biped's pedigree.
He could prove his thirty-two quarters more easily than a good many
noblemen, on the father's side, be it understood, for if he could have
proved pure blood on the mother's side as well, Lord Pembroke would have
decorated him with the Order of the Golden Fleece at least.
"The bird cost me a hundred guineas," said he, "but I would not sell him
for a thousand."
"Has he any offspring?"
"He tries his best, but there are difficulties."
I do not remember whether Lord Pembroke explained what these difficulties
were. Certainly the English offer more peculiarities to the attentive
observer than any other nation.
At last a carriage containing a lady and two gentlemen drove up to the
door. One of the gentlemen was the rascally Castelbajac and the other was
introduced as Count Schwerin, nephew of the famous marshal of that name
who fell on what is commonly called the field of glory. General
Bekw---- an Englishman who was in the service of the King of Prussia, and
was one of Pembroke's guests, received Schwerin politely, saying that he
had seen his uncle die; at this the modest nephew drew the Order of the
Black Eagle from his breast, and shewed it to us all covered with blood.
"My uncle wore it on the day of his death, and the King of Prussia
allowed me to keep it as a noble memorial of my kinsman."
"Yes," said an Englishman who was present, "but the coat-pocket is not
the place for a thing like that."
Schwerin made as if he did not understand, and this enabled me to take
his measure.
Lord Pembroke took possession of the lady, whom I did not think worthy of
being compared to Pauline. She was paler and shorter, and utterly
deficient in Pauline's noble air; besides, when she smiled it spoiled her
face, and this is a defect in a woman, to whom laughter should always be
becoming.
Lord Pembroke introduced us all to each other, and when he came to me
Castelbajac said he was delighted to see me again, although he might
easily have pretended not to know me under my name of Seingalt.
We had a good English dinner, and afterwards the lady proposed a game of
faro. My lord never played, so the general consented to amuse the company
by holding the bank, and placed a hundred guineas and several bank notes
on the table. There might be a thousand guineas in all. He then gave
twenty counters to each punter, saying that every counter was worth ten
shillings. As I only staked gold against gold I would not accept them. By
the third deal Schwerin had lost his twenty counters and asked for twenty
more; but the banker told him he must pay for them, and the self-styled
field-marshal's nephew lapsed into silence and played no more.
At the following deal Castelbajac was in the same position as his friend,
and being on my side he begged to be allowed to take ten pieces.
"You will bring me ill-luck," I said, coldly, warding off his hand; and
he went out to the garden, no doubt to swallow the affront he had
received. The lady said her husband had forgotten his pocketbook. An hour
afterwards the game came to an end, and I took my leave, after inviting
Lord Pembroke and the rest of the company to dine with me the next day.
I got home at eleven o'clock without meeting any highwaymen as I had
expected, indeed I had put up six guineas in a small purse for their
special use and benefit. I woke up my cook to tell him that the next day
I should have twelve people to dinner, and that I hoped he would do me
honour. I found a letter from Madame Cornelis on my table telling me that
she and her daughter would drive with me on the following Sunday, and
that we could go and see the boarding-school she had selected.
Next day Lord Pembroke and the fair Frenchwoman were the first to arrive.
They drove in a carriage with two rather uncomfortable seats, but this
discomfort is favourable to love. The Gascon and the Prussian were the
last to come.
We sat down to table at two and left it at four, all of us well pleased
with the cook, and still more so with the wine merchant; for though we
had emptied forty bottles of wine, not one of us was at all intoxicated.
After coffee had been served the general invited us all to sup with him,
and Madame Castelbajac begged me to hold a bank. I did not wait to be
pressed but placed a thousand guineas on the table, and as I had no
counters of any kind I warned the company that I would only play gold
against gold, and that I should stop playing whenever I thought fit.
Before the game began the two counts paid their losses of the day before
to the general in bank notes, which he begged me to change. I also
changed two other notes presented to me by the same gentleman, and put
them all under my snuff-box. Play began. I had no croupier, so I was
obliged to deal slowly and keep an eye on the two counts, whose method of
play was very questionable. At last both of them were dried up, and
Castelbajac gave me a bill of exchange for two hundred guineas, begging
me to discount it for him.
"I know nothing about business," I replied.
An Englishman took the bill, and after a careful examination said he
neither knew the drawer, the accepter, nor the backer.
"I am the backer," said Castelbajac, "and that ought to be enough, I
think."
Everybody laughed, besides myself, and I gave it him back courteously,
saying politely that he could get it discounted on 'Change the next day.
He got up in a bad temper, and left the room, murmuring some insolent
expressions. Schwering followed him.
After these two worthy gentlemen had left us, I went on dealing till the
night was far advanced, and then left off, though I was at a loss.
However, the general had a run of luck, and I thought it best to stop.
Before leaving he took me and Lord Pembroke aside, and begged me to
contrive that the two knaves should not come to his house the following
day. "For," said he, "if that Gascon were to be half as insolent to me as
he was to you, I should shew him out by the window."
Pembroke said he would tell the lady of the general's wishes.
"Do you think," said I, "that those four notes of theirs can be
forgeries?"
"It's very possible."
"What would you advise my doing to clear the matter up?"
"I would send them to the bank."
"And if they should be forgeries?"
"I would have patience, or I would arrest the rascals."
The next day I went to the bank myself, and the person to whom I gave the
notes gave me them back, saying, coldly,--
"These notes are bad, sir."
"Be kind enough to examine them closely."
"It's no good, they are evident forgeries. Return them to the person from
whom you got them, and he will be only too glad to cash them."
I was perfectly aware that I could put the two knaves under lock and key,
but I did not want to do so. I went to Lord Pembroke to find out their
address, but he was still in bed, and one of his servants took me to
them. They were surprised to see me. I told them coolly enough that the
four notes were forged, and that I should feel much obliged if they would
give me forty guineas and take their notes back.
"I haven't got any money," said Castelbajac, "and what you say astonishes
me very much. I can only return them to the persons who gave them to me,
if the are really the same notes that we gave you yesterday."
At this suggestion the blood rushed to my face, and with a withering
glance and an indignant apostrophe I left them. Lord Pembroke's servant
took me to a magistrate who, having heard my statement on oath, gave me a
paper authorizing me to arrest two counts. I gave the document to an
alderman, who said he would see it was carried out, and I went home ill
pleased with the whole business.
Martinelli was waiting for me; he had come to ask me to give him a
dinner. I told him my story, without adding that the knaves were to be
arrested, and his advice delivered with philosophic calm was to make an
auto-da-fe of the four notes. It was very good advice, but I did not take
it.
The worthy Martinelli, thinking to oblige me, told me that he had
arranged with Lord Spencer the day on which I was to be introduced to the
club, but I answered that my fancy for going there was over. I ought to
have treated this learned and distinguished man with more politeness, but
who can sound human weakness to its depths? One often goes to a wise man
for advice which one has not the courage to follow.
In the evening I went to the general's, and found the self-styled
Countess Castelbajac seated on Lord Pembroke's knees. The supper was a
good one, and passed off pleasantly; the two rascals were not there, and
their absence was not remarked. When we left the table we went into
another room, and played till day-break. I left the board with a loss of
two or three hundred guineas.
I did not wake till late the next morning, and when I did my man told me
that a person wanted to speak to me. I had him shewn in, and as he only
spoke English the negro had to be our interpreter. He was the chief of
the police, and told me that if I would pay for the journey he would
arrest Castelbajac at Dover, for which town he had started at noon. As to
the other he was sure of having him in the course of the night. I gave
him a guinea, and told him it would be enough to catch the one, and that
the other could go where he liked.
The next day was Sunday, the only day on which Madame Cornelis could go
abroad without fear of the bailiff. She came to dine with me, and brought
her daughter, whom the prospect of leaving her mother had quite cured.
The school which Madame Cornelis had chosen was at Harwich, and we went
there after dinner.
The head-mistress was a Catholic, and though she must have been sixty,
she looked keen, witty, and as if she knew the ways of the world. She had
received an introduction from Lady Harrington, and so welcomed the young
lady in the most cordial manner. She had about fifteen young boarders of
thirteen or fourteen years of age. When she presented Sophie to them as a
new companion, they crowded round her and covered her with caresses. Five
or six were perfect angels of beauty, and two or three were hideously
ugly; and such extremes are more common in England than anywhere else. My
daughter was the smallest of them all, but as far as beauty went she had
nothing to fear by comparison, and her talents placed her on a par with
the eldest, while she responded to their caresses with that ease which
later in life is only acquired with great difficulty.
We went over the house, and all the girls followed us, and those who
could speak French or Italian spoke to me, saying how much they would
love my daughter, while those who could not speak sufficiently well held
off as if ashamed of their ignorance. We saw the bedrooms, the
dining-room, the drawing-room, the harps and the pianos--in fact,
everything, and I decided that Sophie could not be better placid. We went
into the head-mistress's private room, and Madame Cornelis paid her a
hundred guineas in advance, and obtained a receipt. We then agreed that
Sophie should be received as a boarder as soon as she liked to come, that
she was to bring her bed with her, and all the necessary linen. Madame
Cornelis made the final arrangements on the ensuing Sunday.
Next day the alderman told me that Count Schwerin was a prisoner, and
wanted to speak to me. I declined at first, but as the alderman's
messenger told me, through Jarbe, that the poor devil had not a farthing
in his pocket, I was moved with compassion. As he was charged with
uttering forged notes he had been taken to Newgate, and was in danger of
being hanged.
I followed the magistrate's messenger, and cannot say how the woeful
aspect, the tears and supplications for mercy of the poor wretch, moved
my heart. He swore that Castelbajac had given him the notes, but he added
that he knew where they came from originally, and would tell me if I
would release him.
A little bitterness still remained in my breast, so I told him that if he
knew who forged the notes he could certainly escape the gallows, but that
I should keep him prisoner till I got my money back. At this threat his
tears and supplications began over again and with renewed force, and
telling me that he was in utter poverty he emptied his pockets one after
the other to shew me that he had no money, and at last offered me the
bloodstained badge of his uncle. I was delighted to be able to relieve
him without any appearance of weakness, and accepted the bauble as a
pledge, telling him that he should have it back on payment of forty
pounds.
I wrote out a formal release, and in his presence and in that of the
alderman I burnt the four notes and set him free.
Two days afterwards the so-called countess came to my house, saying that
now Castelbajac and Schewirin were gone, she knew not where to lay her
head. She complained bitterly of Lord Pembroke, who deserted her after
making her give him the clearest proofs of her affection. By way of
consolation I told her that it would be very foolish of him to have
abandoned her before instead of after.
To get rid of her I was obliged to give her the money to pay her journey
to Calais. She told me she did not want to rejoin the Gascon, who was not
really her husband. We shall hear more of these persons in the course of
three years.
Two or three days later an Italian called on me, and gave me a letter
from my friend Baletti, which recommended the bearer, Constantini, a
native of Vicenza, to my good offices. He had come to London on a matter
of importance in which I could help him.
I assured M. Constantini that I was only too happy to do anything to
justify the confidence placed in my by one of my best friends, and he
said that the long journey had almost exhausted his purse; but he
added,--
"I know that my wife lives here, and that she is rich. I shall easily
find out where she lives, and you know that as I am her husband all that
is hers is mine."
"I was not aware of that."
"Then you don't know the laws of this country?"
"Not at all."
"I am sorry to hear it, but such is the case. I am going to her house,
and I shall turn her out of doors with nothing else than the dress on her
back, for the furniture, clothes, jewels, linen-in fact, all her
possessions, belong to me. May I ask you to be with me when I perform
this exploit?"
I was astonished. I asked him if he had told Baletti what he intended to
do.
"You are the first person to whom I have disclosed my intentions."
I could not treat him as a madman, for he did not look like one, and,
concluding that there really might be the law he had alleged, I replied
that I did not feel inclined to join him in his enterprise, of which I
disapproved very strongly, unless his wife had actually robbed him of
what she possessed.
"She has only robbed me of my honour, sir, and she left me, taking her
talents with her. She must have made a great fortune here, and have I not
a right to take it from her, were it only for vengeance sake?"
"That may be, but I ask you what you would think of me if I agreed to
join you in an undertaking which seems a cruel one to me, however good
your reasons may be. Besides I may know your wife, she may even be a
friend of mine."
"I will tell you her name."
"No, I beg of you not to do so, although I do not know any Madame
Constantini."
"She has changed her name to Calori, and she sings at the 'Haymarket.'"
"I know who she is now. I am sorry you have told me."
"I have no doubt you will keep my secret, and I am now going to find out
where she lives; for that is the principal thing."
He left me weeping, and I pitied him, but at the same time I was sorry
that he had made me the depositary of his secret. A few hours after I
called on Madame Binetti, and she told me the histories of all the
artistes in London. When she came to the Calori she told me that she had
had several lovers out of whom she had made a great deal, but at present
she had no lover, unless it were the violinist Giardini, with whom she
was in love in earnest.
"Where does she come from?"
"From Vicenza."
"Is she married?"
"I don't think so."
I thought no more of this wretched business, but three or four days later
I had a letter from King's Bench Prison. It was from Constantini. The
poor wretch said I was the only friend he had in London, and that he
hoped I would come and see him, were it only to give him some advice.
I thought it my duty to accede to his request, and I went to the prison,
where I found the poor man in a wretched state, with an old English
attorney, who spoke a little bad Italian, and was known to me.
Constantini had been arrested the day before on account of several bills
drawn by his wife which had not been taken up. By these bills she
appeared in debt to the amount of a thousand guineas. The attorney had
got the five bills, and he was trying to make some arrangements with the
husband.
I saw at once that the whole thing was a scandalous swindle, for Madame
Binetti had told me that the Calori was very rich. I begged the attorney
to leave me alone with the prisoner, as I wanted to have some private
conversation with him.
"They have arrested me for my wife's debts," said he, "and they tell me I
must pay them because I am her husband."
"It's a trick your wife has played on you; she must have found out you
were in London."
"She saw me through the window."
"Why did you delay putting your project into execution?"
"I meant to carry it out this morning, but how was I to know that she had
debts?"
"Nor has she any debts; these bills are shams. They must have been
ante-dated, for they were really executed yesterday. It's a bad business,
and she may have to pay dearly for it."
"But in the meanwhile I am in prison."
"Never mind, trust to me, I will see you again tomorrow."
This scurvy trick had made me angry, and I made up my mind to take up the
poor man's cause. I went to Bosanquet, who told me that the device was a
very common one in London, but that people had found out the way to
defeat it. Finally, he said that if the prisoner interested me he would
put the case into the hands of a barrister who would extricate him from
his difficulty, and make the wife and the lover, who had probably helped
her, repent of their day's work. I begged him to act as if my interests
were at stake, and promised to guarantee all expenses.
"That's enough," said he; "don't trouble yourself any more about it."
Same days after Mr. Bosanquet came to tell me that Constantini had left
the prison and England as well, according to what the barrister who had
charge of the case told him.
"Impossible!"
"Not at all. The lover of his wife, foreseeing the storm that was about
to burst over their heads, got round the fellow, and made him leave the
country by means of a sum more or less large."
The affair was over, but it was soon in all the newspapers, garnished
with all the wit imaginable, and Giardini was warmly praised for the
action he had taken.
As for me I was glad enough to have the matter over, but I felt vexed
with Constantini for having fled without giving the lovers a lesson. I
wrote an account of the circumstances to Baletti, and I heard from Madame
Binetti that the Calori had given her husband a hundred guineas to leave
the country. Some years later I saw the Calori at Prague.
A Flemish officer, the man whom I had helped at Aix-la-Chapelle, had
called on me several times, and had even dined three or four times with
me. I reproached myself for not having been polite enough to return his
call, and when we met in the street, and he reproached me for not having
been to see him, I was obliged to blush. He had his wife and daughter
with him, and some feeling of shame and a good deal of curiosity made me
call on him.
When he saw me he threw his arms about my neck, calling me his preserver.
I was obliged to receive all the compliments which knaves make to honest
men when they hope to take them in. A few moments after, an old woman and
a girl came in, and I was introduced as the Chevalier de Seingalt, of
whom he had spoken so often. The girl, affecting surprise, said she had
known a M. Casanova, who was very like me. I answered that Casanova was
my name as well as Seingalt, but that I had not the happiness of
recollecting her.
"My name was Anspergher when I saw you," she replied, "but now it is
Charpillon; and considering that we only met once, and that I was only
thirteen at the time, I do not wonder at your not recollecting me. I have
been in London with my mother and aunts for the last four years."
"But where had I the pleasure of speaking to you?"
"At Paris."
"In what part of Paris?"
"In the Bazaar. You were with a charming lady, and you gave me these
buckles" (she shewed me them on her shoes), "and you also did me the
honour to kiss me."
I recollected the circumstance, and the reader will remember that I was
with Madame Baret, the fair stocking-seller.
"Now I remember you," said I; "but I do not recognize your aunt."
"This is the sister of the one you saw, but if you will take tea with us
you will see her."
"Where do you live?"
"In Denmark Street, Soho."
CHAPTER XI
The Charpillon--Dreadful Consequences of My Acquaintance
With Her
The name Charpillon reminded me that I was the bearer of a letter for
her, and drawing it from my pocket-book I gave it her, saying that the
document ought to cement our acquaintance.
"What!" she exclaimed, "a letter from the dear ambassador Morosini. How
delighted I am to have it! And you have actually been all these months in
London without giving it me?"
"I confess I am to blame, but, as you see, the note has no address on it.
I am grateful for the chance which has enabled me to discharge my
commission to-day."
"Come and dine with us to-morrow."
"I cannot do so, as I am expecting Lord Pembroke to dinner."
"Will you be alone?"
"I expect so."
"I am glad to hear it; you will see my aunt and myself appearing on the
scene."
"Here is my address; and I shall be delighted if you will come and see
me."
She took the address, and I was surprised to see her smile as she read
it.
"Then you are the Italian," she said, "who put up that notice that amused
all the town?"
"I am."
"They say the joke cost you dear."
"Quite the reverse; it resulted in the greatest happiness."
"But now that the beloved object has left you, I suppose you are
unhappy?"
"I am; but there are sorrows so sweet that they are almost joys."
"Nobody knows who she was, but I suppose you do?"
"Yes."
"Do you make a mystery of it?"
"Surely, and I would rather die than reveal it."
"Ask my aunt if I may take some rooms in your house; but I am afraid my
mother would not let me."
"Why do you want to lodge cheaply?"
"I don't want to lodge cheaply, but I should like to punish the audacious
author of that notice."
"How would you punish me?"
"By making you fall in love with me, and then tormenting you. It would
have amused me immensely."
"Then you think that you can inspire me with love, and at the same time
form the dreadful plan of tyrannising over the victim of your charms.
Such a project is monstrous, and unhappily for us poor men, you do not
look a monster. Nevertheless, I am obliged to you for your frankness, and
I shall be on my guard."
"Then you must take care never to see me, or else all your efforts will
be in vain."
As the Charpillon had laughed merrily through the whole of this dialogue,
I took it all as a jest, but I could not help admiring her manner, which
seemed made for the subjugation of men. But though I knew it not, the day
I made that woman's acquaintance was a luckless one for me, as my readers
will see.
It was towards the end of the month of September, 1763, when I met the
Charpillon, and from that day I began to die. If the lines of ascent and
declination are equal, now, on the first day of November, 1797, I have
about four more years of life to reckon on, which will pass by swiftly,
according to the axiom 'Motus in fine velocior'.
The Charpillon, who was well known in London, and I believe is still
alive, was one of those beauties in whom it is difficult to find any
positive fault. Her hair was chestnut coloured, and astonishingly long
and thick, her blue eyes were at once languorous and brilliant, her skin,
faintly tinged with a rosy hue, was of a dazzling whiteness; she was tall
for her age, and seemed likely to become as tall as Pauline. Her breast
was perhaps a little small, but perfectly shaped, her hands were white
and plump, her feet small, and her gait had something noble and gracious.
Her features were of that exquisite sensibility which gives so much charm
to the fair sex, but nature had given her a beautiful body and a deformed
soul. This siren had formed a design to wreck my happiness even before
she knew me, and as if to add to her triumph she told me as much.
I left Malingan's house not like a man who, fond of the fair sex, is glad
to have made the acquaintance of a beautiful woman, but in a state of
stupefaction that the image of Pauline, which was always before me, was
not strong enough to overcome the influence of a creature like the
Charpillon, whom in my heart I could not help despising.
I calmed myself by saying that this strong impression was due to novelty,
and by hoping that I should soon be disenchanted.
"She will have no charm," said I, "when I have once possessed her, and
that will not be long in coming." Perhaps the reader will think that I
was too presumptuous, but why should I suppose that there would be any
difficulty? She had asked me to dinner herself, she had surrendered
herself entirely to Morosini, who was not the man to sigh for long at any
woman's feet, and must have paid her, for he was not young enough nor
handsome enough to inspire her with a fancy for him. Without counting my
physical attractions, I had plenty of money, and I was not afraid of
spending it; and so I thought I could count on an easy victory.
Pembroke had become an intimate friend of mine since my proceedings with
regard to Schwerin. He admired my conduct in not making any claim on the
general for half my loss. He had said we would make a pleasant day of it
together, and when he saw that my table was laid for four he asked who
the other guests were to be. He was extremely surprised when he heard
that they were the Charpillon and her aunt, and that the girl had invited
herself when she heard he was to dine with me.
"I once took a violent fancy for the little hussy," said he. "It was one
evening when I was at Vauxhall, and I offered her twenty guineas if she
would come and take a little walk with me in a dark alley. She said she
would come if I gave her the money in advance, which I was fool enough to
do. She went with me, but as soon as we were alone she ran away, and I
could not catch her again, though I looked for her all the evening."
"You ought to have boxed her ears before everybody."
"I should have got into trouble, and people would have laughed at me
besides. I preferred to despise her and the money too. Are you in love
with her?"
"No; but I am curious, as you were."
"Take care! she will do all in her power to entrap you."
She came in and went up to my lord with the most perfect coolness, and
began to chatter away to him without taking any notice of me. She
laughed, joked, and reproached him for not having pursued her at
Vauxhall. Her stratagem, she said, was only meant to excite him the more.
"Another time," she added, "I shall not escape you."
"Perhaps not, my dear, for another time I shall take care not to pay in
advance."
"Oh, fie! you degrade yourself by talking about paying."
"I suppose I honour you."
"We never talk of such things."
Lord Pembroke laughed at her impertinences, while she made a vigorous
assault on him, for his coolness and indifference piqued her.
She left us soon after dinner, making me promise to dine with her the day
after next.
I passed the next day with the amiable nobleman who initiated me into the
mysteries of the English bagnio, an entertainment which I shall not
describe, for it is well known to all who care to spend six guineas.
On the day appointed, my evil destiny made me go to the Charpillon's; the
girl introduced me to her mother, whom I at once recollected, although
she had aged and altered since I had seen her.
In the year 1759 a Genevan named Bolome had persuaded me to sell her
jewels to the extent of six thousand francs, and she had paid me in bills
drawn by her and her two sisters on this Bolome, but they were then known
as Anspergher. The Genevan became bankrupt before the bills were due, and
the three sisters disappeared. As may be imagined, I was surprised to
find them in England, and especially to be introduced to them by the
Charpillon, who, knowing nothing of the affair of the jewels, had not
told them that Seingalt was the same as Casanova, whom they had cheated
of six thousand francs.
"I am delighted to see you again," were the first words I addressed to
her.
"I recollect you, sir; that rascal Bolome . . . ."
"We will discuss that subject another time. I see you are ill."
"I have been at death's door, but I am better now. My daughter did not
tell me your proper name."
"Yes, she did. My name is Seingalt as well as Casanova. I was known by
the latter name at Paris when I made your daughter's acquaintance, though
I did not know then that she was your daughter."
Just then the grandmother, whose name was also Anspergher, came in with
the two aunts, and a quarter of an hour later three men arrived, one of
whom was the Chevalier Goudar, whom I had met at Paris. I did not know
the others who were introduced to me under the names of Rostaing and
Caumon. They were three friends of the household, whose business it was
to bring in dupes.
Such was the infamous company in which I found myself, and though I took
its measure directly, yet I did not make my escape, nor did I resolve
never to go to the house again. I was fascinated; I thought I would be on
my guard and be safe, and as I only wanted the daughter I looked on all
else as of little moment.
At table I led the conversation, and thought that my prey would soon be
within my grasp. The only thing which annoyed me was that the Charpillon,
after apologizing for having made me sit down to such a poor dinner,
invited herself and all the company to sup with me on any day I liked to
mention. I could make no opposition, so I begged her to name the day
herself, and she did so, after a consultation with her worthy friends.
After coffee had been served we played four rubbers of whist, at which I
lost, and at midnight I went away ill pleased with myself, but with no
purpose of amendment, for this sorceress had got me in her toils.
All the same I had the strength of mind to refrain from seeing her for
two days, and on the third, which was the day appointed for the cursed
supper, she and her aunt paid me a call at nine o'clock in the morning.
"I have come to breakfast with you, and to discuss a certain question,"
said she, in the most engaging manner.
"Will you tell me your business now, or after breakfast?"
"After breakfast; for we must be alone."
We had our breakfast, and then the aunt went into another room, and the
Charpillon, after describing the monetary situation of the family, told
me that it would be much relieved if her aunt could obtain a hundred
guineas.
"What would she do with the money?"
"She would make the Balm of Life, of which she possesses the secret, and
no doubt she would make her fortune, too."
She then began to dilate on the marvellous properties of the balm, on its
probable success in a town like London, and on the benefits which would
accrue to myself, for of course I should share in the profits. She added
that her mother and aunt would give me a written promise to repay the
money in the course of six years.
"I will give you a decided answer after supper."
I then began to caress her, and to make assaults in the style of an
amorous man, but it was all in vain, though I succeeded in stretching her
on a large sofa. She made her escape, however, and ran to her aunt, while
I followed her, feeling obliged to laugh as she did. She gave me her
hand, and said,--
"Farewell, till this evening."
When they were gone, I reflected over what had passed and thought this
first scene of no bad augury. I saw that I should get nothing out of her
without spending a hundred guineas, and I determined not to attempt to
bargain, but I would let her understand that she must make up her mind
not to play prude. The game was in my hands, and all I had to do was to
take care not to be duped.
In the evening the company arrived, and the girl asked me to hold a bank
till supper was ready; but I declined, with a burst of laughter that
seemed to puzzle her.
"At least, let us have a game of whist," said she.
"It seems to me," I answered, "that you don't feel very anxious to hear
my reply."
"You have made up your mind, I suppose?"
"I have, follow me."
She followed me into an adjoining room, and after she had seated herself
on a sofa, I told her that the hundred guineas were at her disposal.
"Then please to give the money to my aunt, otherwise these gentlemen
might think I got it from you by some improper means."
"I will do so."
I tried to get possession of her, but in vain; and I ceased my endeavours
when she said,--
"You will get nothing from me either by money or violence; but you can
hope for all when I find you really nice and quiet."
I re-entered the drawing-room, and feeling my blood boiling I began to
play to quiet myself. She was as gay as ever, but her gaiety tired me. At
supper I had her on my right hand, but the hundred impertinences which,
under other circumstances, would have amused me, only wearied me, after
the two rebuffs I had received from her.
After supper, just as they were going, she took me aside, and told me
that if I wanted to hand over the hundred guineas she would tell her aunt
to go with me into the next room.
"As documents have to be executed," I replied, "it will take some time;
we will talk of it again.
"Won't you fix the time?"
I drew out my purse full of gold, and shewed it her, saying,--
"The time depends entirely on you."
When my hateful guests were gone, I began to reflect, and came to the
conclusion that this young adventuress had determined to plunder me
without giving me anything in return. I determined to have nothing more
to do with her, but I could not get her beauty out of my mind.
I felt I wanted some distraction, something that would give me new aims
and make me forget her. With this idea I went to see my daughter, taking
with me an immense bag of sweets.
As soon as I was in the midst of the little flock, the delight became
general, Sophie distributing the sweetmeats to her friends, who received
them gratefully.
I spent a happy day, and for a week or two I paid several visits to
Harwich. The mistress treated me with the utmost politeness and my
daughter with boundless affection, always calling me "dear papa."
In less than three weeks I congratulated myself on having forgotten the
Charpillon, and on having replaced her by innocent amours, though one of
my daughter's schoolmates pleased me rather too much for my peace of
mind.
Such was my condition when one morning the favourite aunt of the
Charpillon paid me a call, and said that they were all mystified at not
having seen me since the supper I had given them, especially herself, as
her niece had given her to understand that I would furnish her with the
means of making the Balm of Life.
"Certainly; I would have given you the hundred guineas if your niece had
treated me as a friend, but she refused me favours a vestal might have
granted, and you must be aware that she is by no means a vestal."
"Don't mind my laughing. My niece is an innocent, giddy girl; she loves
you, but she is afraid you have only a passing whim for her. She is in
bed now with a bad cold, and if you will come and see her I am sure you
will be satisfied."
These artful remarks, which had no doubt been prepared in advance, ought
to have aroused all my scorn, but instead of that they awakened the most
violent desires. I laughed in chorus with the old woman, and asked what
would be the best time to call.
"Come now, and give one knock."
"Very good, then you may expect me shortly."
I congratulated myself on being on the verge of success, for after the
explanation I had had with the aunt, and having, as I thought, a friend
in her, I did not doubt that I should succeed.
I put on my great coat, and in less than a quarter of an hour I knocked
at their door. The aunt opened to me, and said,--
"Come back in a quarter of an hour; she has been ordered a bath, and is
just going to take it."
"This is another imposture. You're as bad a liar as she is."
"You are cruel and unjust, and if you will promise to be discreet, I will
take you up to the third floor where she is bathing."
"Very good; take me." She went upstairs, I following on tiptoe, and
pushed me into a room, and shut the door upon me. The Charpillon was in a
huge bath, with her head towards the door, and the infernal coquette,
pretending to think it was her aunt, did not move, and said,--
"Give me the towels, aunt."
She was in the most seductive posture, and I had the pleasure of gazing
on her exquisite proportions, hardly veiled by the water.
When she caught sight of me, or rather pretended to do so, she gave a
shriek, huddled her limbs together, and said, with affected anger,--
"Begone!"
"You needn't exert your voice, for I am not going to be duped."
"Begone!"
"Not so, give me a little time to collect myself."
"I tell you, go!"
"Calm yourself, and don't be afraid of my skewing you any violence; that
would suit your game too well."
"My aunt shall pay dearly for this."
"She will find me her friend. I won't touch you, so shew me a little more
of your charms."
"More of my charms?"
"Yes; put yourself as you were when I came in."
"Certainly not. Leave the room."
"I have told you I am not going, and that you need not fear for your
. . . . well, for your virginity, we will say."
She then shewed me a picture more seductive than the first, and
pretending kindliness, said,--
"Please, leave me; I will not fail to shew my gratitude."
Seeing that she got nothing, that I refrained from touching her, and that
the fire she had kindled was in a fair way to be put out, she turned her
back to me to give me to understand that it was no pleasure to her to
look at me. However, my passions were running high, and I had to have
recourse to self-abuse to calm my senses, and was glad to find myself
relieved, as this proved to me that the desire went no deeper than the
senses.
The aunt came in just as I had finished, and I went out without a word,
well pleased to find myself despising a character wherein profit and loss
usurped the place of feeling.
The aunt came to me as I was going out of the house, and after enquiring
if I were satisfied begged me to come into the parlour.
"Yes," said I, "I am perfectly satisfied to know you and your niece. Here
is the reward."
With these words I drew a bank-note for a hundred pounds from my
pocket-book, and was foolish enough to give it her, telling her that she
could make her balm, and need not trouble to give me any document as I
knew if would be of no value. I had not the strength to go away without
giving her anything, and the procuress was sharp enough to know it.
When I got home I reflected on what had happened, and pronounced myself
the conqueror with great triumph. I felt well at ease, and felt sure that
I should never set foot in that house again. There were seven of them
altogether, including servants, and the need of subsisting made them do
anything for a living; and when they found themselves obliged to make use
of men, they summoned the three rascals I have named, who were equally
dependent on them.
Five or six days afterwards, I met the little hussy at Vauxhall in
company with Goudar. I avoided her at first, but she came up to me
reproaching me for my rudeness. I replied coolly enough, but affecting
not to notice my manner, she asked me to come into an arbour with her and
take a cup of tea.
"No, thank you," I replied, "I prefer supper."
"Then I will take some too, and you will give it me, won't you, just to
shew that you bear no malice?"
I ordered supper for four and we sat down together as if we had been
intimate friends.
Her charming conversation combined with her beauty gradually drew me
under her charm, and as the drink began to exercise its influence over
me, I proposed a turn in one of the dark walks, expressing a hope that I
should fare better than Lord Pembroke. She said gently, and with an
appearance of sincerity that deceived me, that she wanted to be mine, but
by day and on the condition that I would come and see her every day.
"I will do so, but first give me one little proof of your love."
"Most certainly not."
I got up to pay the bill, and then I left without a word, refusing to
take her home. I went home by myself and went to bed.
The first thought when I awoke was that I was glad she had not taken me
at my word; I felt very strongly that it was to my interest to break off
all connection between that creature and myself. I felt the strength of
her influence over me, and that my only way was to keep away from her, or
to renounce all pretension to the possession of her charms.
The latter plan seemed to me impossible, so I determined to adhere to the
first; but the wretched woman had resolved to defeat all my plans. The
manner in which she succeeded must have been the result of a council of
the whole society.
A few days after the Vauxhall supper Goudar called on me, and began by
congratulating me on my resolution not to visit the Ansperghers any more,
"for," said he, "the girl would have made you more and more in love with
her, and in the end she would have seduced you to beggary."
"You must think me a great fool. If I had found her kind I should have
been grateful, but without squandering all my money; and if she had been
cruel, instead of ridiculous, I might have given her what I have already
given her every day, without reducing myself to beggary."
"I congratulate you; it shews that you are well off. But have you made up
your mind not to see her again?"
"Certainly."
"Then you are not in love with her?"
"I have been in love, but I am so no longer; and in a few days she will
have passed completely out of my memory. I had almost forgotten her when
I met her with you at Vauxhall."
"You are not cured. The way to be cured of an amour does not lie in
flight, when the two parties live in the same town. Meetings will happen,
and all the trouble has to be taken over again."
"Then do you know a better way?"
"Certainly; you should satiate yourself. It is quite possible that the
creature is not in love with you, but you are rich and she has nothing.
You might have had her for so much, and you could have left her when you
found her to be unworthy of your constancy. You must know what kind of a
woman she is."
"I should have tried this method gladly, but I found her out."
"You could have got the best of her, though, if you had gone to work in
the proper way. You should never have paid in advance. I know
everything."
"What do you mean?"
"I know she has cost you a hundred guineas, and that you have not won so
much as a kiss from her. Why, my dear sir, you might have had her
comfortably in your own bed for as much! She boasts that she took you in,
though you pride yourself on your craft."
"It was an act of charity towards her aunt."
"Yes, to make her Balm of Life; but you know if it had not been for the
niece the aunt would never have had the money."
"Perhaps not, but how come you who are of their party to be talking to me
in this fashion?"
"I swear to you I only speak out of friendship for you, and I will tell
you how I came to make the acquaintance of the girl, her mother, her
grandmother and her two aunts, and then you will no longer consider me as
of their party.
"Sixteen months ago I saw M. Morosini walking about Vauxhall by himself.
He had just come to England to congratulate the king on his accession to
the throne, on behalf of the Republic of Venice. I saw how enchanted he
was with the London beauties, and I went up to him and told him that all
these beauties were at his service. This made him laugh, and on my
repeating that it was not a jest he pointed out one of the girls, and
asked if she would be at his service. I did not know her, so I asked him
to wait awhile, and I would bring him the information he required. There
was no time to be lost, and I could see that the girl was not a vestal
virgin, so I went up to her and told her that the Venetian ambassador was
amorous of her, and that I would take her to him if she would receive his
visits. The aunt said that a nobleman of such an exalted rank could only
bring honour to her niece. I took their address, and on my way back to
the ambassador I met a friend of mine who is learned in such commodities,
and after I had shewed him the address he told me it was the Charpillon."
"And it was she?"
"It was. My friend told me she was a young Swiss girl who was not yet in
the general market, but who would soon be there, as she was not rich, and
had a numerous train to support.
"I rejoined the Venetian, and told him that his business was done, and
asked him at what time I should introduce him the next day, warning him
that as she had a mother and aunts she would not be alone.
"'I am glad to hear it,' said he, 'and also that she is not a common
woman.' He gave me an appointment for the next day, and we parted.
"I told the ladies at what hour I should have the pleasure of introducing
the great man to them, and after warning them that they must appear not
to know him I went home.
"The following day I called on M. de Morosini, and took him to Denmark
Street incognito. We spent an hour in conversation, and then went away
without anything being settled. On the way back the ambassador told me
that he should like to have the girl on conditions which he would give me
in writing at his residence.
"These conditions were that she should live in a furnished house free of
rent, without any companion, and without receiving any visitors. His
excellency would give her fifty guineas a month, and pay for supper
whenever he came and spent the night with her. He told me to get the
house if his conditions were received. The mother was to sign the
agreement.
"The ambassador was in a hurry, and in three days the agreement was
signed; but I obtained a document from the mother promising to let me
have the girl for one night as soon as the Venetian had gone; it was
known he was only stopping in London for a year."
Goudar extracted the document in question from his pocket, and gave it to
me. I read it and re-read it with as much surprise as pleasure, and he
then proceeded with his story.
"When the ambassador had gone, the Charpillon, finding herself at liberty
once more, had Lord Baltimore, Lord Grosvenor, and M. de Saa, the
Portuguese ambassador, in turn, but no titular lover. I insisted on
having my night with her according to agreement, but both mother and
daughter laughed at me when I spoke of it. I cannot arrest her, because
she is a minor, but I will have the mother imprisoned on the first
opportunity, and you will see how the town will laugh. Now you know why I
go to their house; and I assure you you are wrong if you think I have any
part in their councils. Nevertheless, I know they are discussing how they
may catch you, and they will do so if you do not take care."
"Tell the mother that I have another hundred guineas at her service if
she will let me have her daughter for a single night."
"Do you mean that?"
"Assuredly, but I am not going to pay in advance."
"That's the only way not to be duped. I shall be glad to execute your
commission."
I kept the rogue to dinner, thinking he might be useful to me. He knew
everything and everybody, and told me a number of amusing anecdotes.
Although a good-for-nothing fellow, he had his merits. He had written
several works, which, though badly constructed, shewed he was a man of
some wit. He was then writing his "Chinese Spy," and every day he wrote
five or six news-letters from the various coffee-houses he frequented. I
wrote one or two letters for him, with which he was much pleased. The
reader will see how I met him again at Naples some years later.
The next morning, what was my surprise to see the Charpillon, who said
with an air that I should have taken for modesty in any other woman,--
"I don't want you to give me any breakfast, I want an explanation, and to
introduce Miss Lorenzi to you."
I bowed to her and to her companion, and then said,--
"What explanation do you require?"
At this, Miss Lorenzi, whom I had never seen before, thought proper to
leave us, and I told my man that I was not at home to anybody. I ordered
breakfast to be served to the companion of the nymph, that she might not
find the waiting tedious.
"Sir," said the Charpillon, "is it a fact that you charged the Chevalier
Goudar to tell my mother that you would give a hundred guineas to spend
the night with me?"
"No, not to spend a night with you, but after I had passed it. Isn't the
price enough?"
"No jesting, sir, if you please. There is no question of bargaining; all
I want to know is whether you think you have a right to insult me, and
that I am going to bear it?"
"If you think yourself insulted, I may, perhaps, confess I was wrong; but
I confess I did not think I should have to listen to any reproaches from
you. Gondar is one of your intimate friends, and this is not the first
proposal he has taken to you. I could not address you directly, as I know
your arts only too well."
"I shall not pay any attention to your abuse of my self; I will only
remind you of what I said 'that neither money nor violence were of any
use,' and that your only way was to make me in love with you by gentle
means. Shew me where I have broken my word! It is you that have foresworn
yourself in coming into my bath-room, and in sending such a brutal
message to my mother. No one but a rascal like Goudar would have dared to
take such a message."
"Goudar a rascal, is he? Well, he is your best friend. You know he is in
love with you, and that he only got you for the ambassador in the hope of
enjoying you himself. The document in his possession proves that you have
behaved badly towards him. You are in his debt, discharge it, and then
call him a rascal if you have the conscience to do so. You need not
trouble to weep, for I knew the source of those tears; it is defiled."
"You know nothing of it. I love you, and it is hard to have you treat me
so."
"You love me? You have not taken the best way to prove it!"
"As good a way as yours. You have behaved to me as if I were the vilest
of prostitutes, and yesterday you seemed to think I was a brute beast,
the slave of my mother. You should have written to me in person, and
without the intervention of so vile an agent; I should have replied in
the same way, and you need not have been afraid that you would be
deceived."
"Supposing I had written, what would your answer have been?"
"I should have put all money matters out of question. I should have
promised to content you on the condition that you would come and court me
for a fortnight without demanding the slightest favour. We should have
lived a pleasant life; we should have gone to the theatre and to the
parks. I should have become madly in love with you. Then I should have
given myself up to you for love, and nothing but love. I am ashamed to
say that hitherto I have only given myself out of mere complaisance.
Unhappy woman that I am! but I think nature meant me to love, and I
thought when I saw you that my happy star had sent you to England that I
might know the bliss of true affection. Instead of this you have only
made me unhappy. You are the first man that has seen me weep; you have
troubled my peace at home, for my mother shall never have the sum you
promised her were it for nothing but a kiss."
"I am sorry to have injured you, though I did not intend to do so; but I
really don't know what I can do."
"Come and see us, and keep your money, which I despise. If you love me,
come and conquer me like a reasonable and not a brutal lover; and I will
help you, for now you cannot doubt that I love you."
All this seemed so natural to me that I never dreamed it contained a
trap. I was caught, and I promised to do what she wished, but only for a
fortnight. She confirmed her promise, and her countenance became once
more serene and calm. The Charpillon was a born actress.
She got up to go, and on my begging a kiss as a pledge of our
reconciliation she replied, with a smile, the charm of which she well
knew, that it would not do to begin by breaking the term of our
agreement, and she left me more in love than ever, and full of repentance
for my conduct.
CHAPTER XII
Goudar's Chair
If she had written all this to me instead of coming and delivering it
viva voce, it would probably have produced no effect; there would have
been no tears, no ravishing features. She probably calculated all this,
for women have a wonderful instinct in these matters.
That very evening I began my visits, and judged from my welcome that my
triumph was nigh at hand. But love fills our minds with idle visions, and
draws a veil over the truth.
The fortnight went by without my even kissing her hand, and every time I
came I brought some expensive gift, which seemed cheap to me when I
obtained such smiles of gratitude in exchange. Besides these presents,
not a day passed without some excursion to the country or party at the
theatre; that fortnight must have cost me four hundred guineas at the
least.
At last it came to an end, and I asked her in the presence of her mother
where she would spend the night with me, there or at my house. The mother
said that we would settle it after supper, and I made no objection, not
liking to tell her that in my house the supper would be more succulent,
and a better prelude for the kind of exercise I expected to enjoy.
When we had supped the mother took me aside, and asked me to leave with
the company and then to come back. I obeyed, laughing to myself at this
foolish mystery, and when I came back I found the mother and the daughter
in the parlour, in which a bed had been laid on the floor.
Though I did not much care for this arrangement, I was too amorous to
raise any objection at a moment when I thought my triumph was at hand;
but I was astonished when the mother asked me if I would like to pay the
hundred guineas in advance.
"Oh, fie!" exclaimed the girl; and her mother left the room, and we
locked the door.
My amorous feelings, so long pent up within my breast, would soon find
relief. I approached her with open arms; but she avoided my caress, and
gently begged me to get into bed while she prepared to follow me. I
watched her undress with delight, but when she had finished she put out
the candles. I complained of this act of hers, but she said she could not
sleep with the light shining on her. I began to suspect that I might have
some difficulties thrown in my way to sharpen the pleasure, but I
determined to be resigned and to overcome them all.
When I felt her in the bed I tried to clasp her in my arms, but found
that she had wrapped herself up in her long night-gown; her arms were
crossed, and her head buried in her chest. I entreated, scolded, cursed,
but all in vain; she let me go on, and answered not a word.
At first I thought it was a joke, but I soon found out my mistake; the
veil fell from my eyes and I saw myself in my true colours, the degraded
dupe of a vile prostitute.
Love easily becomes fury. I began to handle her roughly, but she resisted
and did not speak. I tore her night-gown to rags, but I could not tear it
entirely off her. My rage grew terrible, my hands became talons, and I
treated her with the utmost cruelty; but all for nothing. At last, with
my hand on her throat, I felt tempted to strangle her; and then I knew it
was time for me to go.
It was a dreadful night. I spoke to this monster of a woman in every
manner and tone-with gentleness, with argument, rage, remonstrance,
prayers, tears, and abuse, but she resisted me for three hours without
abandoning her painful position, in spite of the torments I made her
endure.
At three o'clock in the morning, feeling my mind and body in a state of
exhaustion, I got up and dressed myself by my sense of touch. I opened
the parlour door, and finding the street door locked I shook it till a
servant came and let me out. I went home and got into bed, but excited
nature refused me the sleep I needed so. I took a cup of chocolate, but
it would not stay on my stomach, and soon after a shivering fit warned me
that I was feverish. I continued to be ill till the next day, and then
the fever left me in a state of complete exhaustion.
As I was obliged to keep to my bed for a few days, I knew that I should
soon get my health again; but my chief consolation was that at last I was
cured. My shame had made me hate myself.
When I felt the fever coming on I told my man not to let anybody come to
see me, and to place all my letters in my desk; for I wanted to be
perfectly well before I troubled myself with anything.
On the fourth day I was better, and I told Jarbe to give me my letters. I
found one from Pauline, dated from Madrid, in which she informed me that
Clairmont had saved her life while they were fording a river, and she had
determined to keep him till she got to Lisbon, and would then send him
back by sea. I congratulated myself at the time on her resolve; but it
was a fatal one for Clairmont, and indirectly for me also. Four months
after, I heard that the ship in which he had sailed had been wrecked, and
as I never heard from him again I could only conclude that my faithful
servant had perished amidst the waves.
Amongst my London letters I found two from the infamous mother of the
infamous Charpillon, and one from the girl herself. The first of the
mother's letters, written before I was ill, told me that her daughter was
ill in bed, covered with bruises from the blows I had given her, so that
she would be obliged to institute legal proceedings against me. In the
second letter she said she had heard I too was ill, and that she was
sorry to hear it, her daughter having informed her that I had some reason
for my anger; however, she would not fail to justify herself on the first
opportunity. The Charpillon said in her letter that she knew she had done
wrong, and that she wondered I had not killed her when I took her by the
throat. She added that no doubt I had made up my mind to visit her no
more, but she hoped I would allow her one interview as she had an
important communication to make to me. There was also a note from Goudar,
saying that he wanted to speak to me, and that he would come at noon. I
gave orders that he should be admitted.
This curious individual began by astonishing me; he told me the whole
story of what had taken place, the mother having been his informant.
"The Charpillon," he added, "has not got a fever, but is covered with
bruises. What grieves the old woman most is that she has not got the
hundred guineas."
"She would have had them the next morning," I said, "if her daughter had
been tractable."
"Her mother had made her swear that she would not be tractable, and you
need not hope to possess her without the mother's consent."
"Why won't she consent?"
"Because she thinks that you will abandon the girl as soon as you have
enjoyed her."
"Possibly, but she would have received many valuable presents, and now
she is abandoned and has nothing."
"Have you made up your mind not to have anything more to do with her?"
"Quite."
"That's your wisest plan, and I advise you to keep to it, nevertheless I
want to shew you something which will surprise you. I will be back in a
moment."
He returned, followed by a porter, who carried up an arm-chair covered
with a cloth. As soon as we were alone, Goudar took off the covering and
asked me if I would buy it.
"What should I do with it? It is not a very attractive piece of
furniture."
"Nevertheless, the price of it is a hundred guineas."
"I would not give three."
"This arm-chair has five springs, which come into play all at once as
soon as anyone sits down in it. Two springs catch the two arms and hold
them tightly, two others separate the legs, and the fifth lifts up the
seat."
After this description Goudar sat down quite naturally in the chair and
the springs came into play and forced him into the position of a woman in
labour.
"Get the fair Charpillon to sit in this chair," said he, "and your
business is done."
I could not help laughing at the contrivance, which struck me as at once
ingenious and diabolical, but I could not make up my mind to avail myself
of it.
"I won't buy it," said I, "but I shall be obliged if you will leave it
here till to-morrow."
"I can't leave it here an hour unless you will buy it; the owner is
waiting close by to hear your answer."
"Then take it away and come back to dinner."
He shewed me how I was to release him from his ridiculous position, and
then after covering it up again he called the porter and went away.
There could be no doubt as to the action of the machinery, and it was no
feeling of avarice which hindered me from buying the chair. As I have
said, it seemed rather a diabolical idea, and besides it might easily
have sent me to the gallows. Furthermore, I should never have had the
strength of mind to enjoy the Charpillon forcibly, especially by means of
the wonderful chair, the mechanism of which would have frightened her out
of her wits.
At dinner I told Goudar that the Charpillon had demanded an interview,
and that I had wished to keep the chair so as to shew her that I could
have her if I liked. I shewed him the letter, and he advised me to accede
to her request, if only for curiosity's sake.
I was in no hurry to see the creature while the marks on her face and
neck were still fresh, so I spent seven or eight days without making up
my mind to receive her. Goudar came every day, and told me of the
confabulations of these women who had made up their minds not to live
save by trickery.
He told me that the grandmother had taken the name of Anspergher without
having any right to it, as she was merely the mistress of a worthy
citizen of Berne, by whom she had four daughters; the mother of the
Charpillon was the youngest of the family, and, as she was pretty and
loose in her morals, the Government had exiled her with her mother and
sisters. They had then betaken themselves to Franche-Comte, where they
lived for some time on the Balm of Life. Here it was that the Charpillon
came into the world, her mother attributing her to a Count de
Boulainvilliers. The child grew up pretty, and the family removed to
Paris under the impression that it would be the best market for such a
commodity, but in the course of four years the income from the Balm
having dwindled greatly, the Charpillon being still too young to be
profitable, and debtors closing round them on every side, they resolved
to come to London.
He then proceeded to tell me of the various tricks and cheats which kept
them all alive. I found his narrative interesting enough then, but the
reader would find it dull, and I expect will be grateful for my passing
it over.
I felt that it was fortunate for me that I had Goudar, who introduced me
to all the most famous courtezans in London, above all to the illustrious
Kitty Fisher, who was just beginning to be fashionable. He also
introduced me to a girl of sixteen, a veritable prodigy of beauty, who
served at the bar of a tavern at which we took a bottle of strong beer.
She was an Irishwoman and a Catholic, and was named Sarah. I should have
liked to get possession of her, but Goudar had views of his own on the
subject, and carried her off in the course of the next year. He ended by
marrying her, and she was the Sara Goudar who shone at Naples, Florence,
Venice, and elsewhere. We shall hear of her in four or five years, still
with her husband. Goudar had conceived the plan of making her take the
place of Dubarry, mistress of Louis XV., but a lettre de cachet compelled
him to try elsewhere. Ah! happy days of lettres de cachet, you have gone
never to return!
The Charpillon waited a fortnight for me to reply, and then resolved to
return to the charge in person. This was no doubt the result of a
conference of the most secret kind, for I heard nothing of it from
Gondar.
She came to see my by herself in a sedan-chair, and I decided on seeing
her. I was taking my chocolate and I let her come in without rising or
offering her any breakfast. She asked me to give her some with great
modesty, and put up her face for me to give her a kiss, but I turned my
head away. However, she was not in the least disconcerted.
"I suppose the marks of the blows you gave me make my face so repulsive?"
"You lie; I never struck you."
"No, but your tiger-like claws have left bruises all over me. Look here.
No, you needn't be afraid that what you see may prove too seductive;
besides, it will have no novelty for you."
So saying the wretched creature let me see her body, on which some livid
marks were still visible.
Coward that I was! Why did I not look another way? I will tell you: it
was because she was so beautiful, and because a woman's charms are
unworthy of the name if they cannot silence reason. I affected only to
look at the bruises, but it was an empty farce. I blush for myself; here
was I conquered by a simple girl, ignorant of well nigh everything. But
she knew well enough that I was inhaling the poison at every pore. All at
once she dropped her clothes and came and sat beside me, feeling sure
that I should have relished a continuance of the spectacle.
However, I made an effort and said, coldly, that it was all her own
fault.
"I know it is," said she, "for if I had been tractable as I ought to have
been, you would have been loving instead of cruel. But repentance effaces
sin, and I am come to beg pardon. May I hope to obtain it?"
"Certainly; I am angry with you no longer, but I cannot forgive myself.
Now go, and trouble me no more."
"I will if you like, but there is something you have not heard, and I beg
you will listen to me a moment."
"As I have nothing to do you can say what you have got to say, I will
listen to you."
In spite of the coldness of my words, I was really profoundly touched,
and the worst of it was that I began to believe in the genuineness of her
motives.
She might have relieved herself of what she had to say in a quarter of an
hour, but by dint of tears, sighs, groans, digressions, and so forth, she
took two hours to tell me that her mother had made her swear to pass the
night as she had done. She ended by saying that she would like to be mine
as she had been M. Morosini's, to live with me, and only to go out under
my escort, while I might allow her a monthly sum which she would hand
over to her mother, who would, in that case, leave her alone.
She dined with me, and it was in the evening that she made this
proposition. I suppose because she thought me ripe for another cheat. I
told her that it might be arranged, but that I should prefer to settle
with her mother, and that she would see me at their house the following
day, and this seemed to surprise her.
It is possible that the Charpillon would have granted me any favour on
that day, and then there would have been no question of deception or
resistance for the future. Why did I not press her? Because sometimes
love stupefies instead of quickens, and because I had been in a way her
judge, and I thought it would be base of me to revenge myself on her by
satisfying my amorous desires, and possibly because I was a fool, as I
have often been in the course of my existence. She must have left me in a
state of irritation, and no doubt she registered a vow to revenge herself
on me for the half-contemptuous way in which I had treated her.
Goudar was astonished when he heard of her visit, and of the way in which
I had spent the day. I begged him to get me a small furnished house, and
in the evening I went to see the infamous woman in her own house.
She was with her mother, and I laid my proposal before them.
"Your daughter will have a house at Chelsea," said I to the mother,
"where I can go and see her whenever I like, and also fifty guineas a
month to do what she likes with."
"I don't care what you give her a month," she replied, "but before I let
her leave my house she must give me the hundred guineas she was to have
had when she slept with you."
"It is your fault that she didn't have them; however, to cut the matter
short, she shall give them to you."
"And in the meanwhile, till you have found the house, I hope you will
come and see me."
"Yes."
The next day Goudar shewed me a pretty house at Chelsea, and I took it,
paying ten guineas, a month's rent, in advance, for which I received a
receipt. In the afternoon I concluded the bargain with the mother, the
Charpillon being present. The mother asked me to give her the hundred
guineas, and I did so, not fearing any treachery, as nearly the whole of
the girl's clothing was already at Chelsea.
In due course we went to our country house. The Charpillon liked the
house immensely, and after a short talk we supped merrily together. After
supper we went to bed, and she granted me some slight preliminary
favours, but when I would have attained my end I found an obstacle which
I had not expected. She gave me some physiological reasons for the
circumstances, but not being a man to stop for so little, I would have
gone on, but she resisted, and yet with such gentleness that I left her
alone and went to sleep. I awoke sooner than she did, and determined to
see whether she had imposed on me; so I raised her night-gown carefully,
and took off her linen only to find that I had been duped once more. This
roused her, and she tried to stop me, but it was too late. However, I
gently chid her for the trick, and feeling disposed to forgive it set
about making up for lost time, but she got on the high horse, and
pretended to be hurt at my taking her by surprise. I tried to calm her by
renewed tenderness, but the wretched creature only got more furious, and
would give me nothing. I left her alone, but I expressed my opinion of
her in pretty strong terms. The impudent slut honoured me with a smile of
disdain, and then beginning to dress herself she proceeded to indulge in
impertinent repartees. This made me angry, and I gave her a box on the
ears which stretched her at full length on the floor. She shrieked,
stamped her feet, and made a hideous uproar; the landlord came up, and
she began to speak to him in English, while the blood gushed from her
nose.
The man fortunately spoke Italian, and told me that she wanted to go
away, and advised me to let her do so, or she might make it awkward for
me, and he himself would be obliged to witness against me.
"Tell her to begone as fast as she likes," said I, "and to keep out of my
sight for ever."
She finished dressing, staunched the blood, and went off in a
sedan-chair, while I remained petrified, feeling that I did not deserve
to live, and finding her conduct utterly outrageous and incomprehensible.
After an hour's consideration I decided on sending her back her trunk,
and then I went home and to bed, telling my servants I was not at home to
anyone.
I spent twenty-four hours in pondering over my wrongs, and at last my
reason told me that the fault was mine; I despised myself. I was on the
brink of suicide, but happily I escaped that fate.
I was just going out when Goudar came up and made me go in with him, as
he said he wanted to speak to me. After telling me that the Charpillon
had come home with a swollen cheek which prevented her shewing herself,
he advised me to abandon all claims on her or her mother, or the latter
would bring a false accusation against me which might cost me my life.
Those who know England, and especially London will not need to be
informed as to the nature of this accusation, which is so easily brought
in England; it will suffice to say that through it Sodom was overwhelmed.
"The mother has engaged me to mediate," said Goudar, "and if you will
leave her alone, she will do you no harm."
I spent the day with him, foolishly complaining, and telling him that he
could assure the mother that I would take no proceedings against her, but
that I should like to know if she had the courage to receive this
assurance from my own lips.
"I will carry your message," said he, "but I pity you; for you are going
into their nets again, and will end in utter ruin."
I fancied they would be ashamed to see me; but I was very much mistaken,
for Goudar came back laughing, and said the mother expressed a hope that
I should always be the friend of the family. I ought to have refused to
have anything more to do with them, but I had not the strength to play
the man. I called at Denmark Street the same evening, and spent an hour
without uttering a syllable. The Charpillon sat opposite to me, with eyes
lowered to a piece of embroidery, while from time to time she pretended
to wipe away a tear as she let me see the ravages I had worked on her
cheek.
I saw her every day and always in silence till the fatal mark had
disappeared, but during these mad visits the poison of desire was so
instilled into my veins that if she had known my state of mind she might
have despoiled me of all I possessed for a single favour.
When she was once more as beautiful as ever I felt as if I must die if I
did not hold her in my arms again, and I bought a magnificent pier-glass
and a splendid breakfast service in Dresden china, and sent them to her
with an amorous epistle which must have made her think me either the most
extravagant or the most cowardly of men. She wrote in answer that she
would expect me to sup with her in her room, that she might give me the
tenderest proofs of her gratitude.
This letter sent me completely mad with joy, and in a paroxysm of delight
I resolved to surrender to her keeping the two bills of exchange which
Bolomee had given me, and which gave me power to send her mother and
aunts to prison.
Full of the happiness that awaited me, and enchanted with my own idiotic
heroism, I went to her in the evening. She received me in the parlour
with her mother, and I was delighted to see the pier-glass over the
mantel, and the china displayed on a little table. After a hundred words
of love and tenderness she asked me to come up to her room, and her
mother wished us good night. I was overwhelmed with joy. After a delicate
little supper I took out the bills of exchange, and after telling her
their history gave them up to her, to shew that I had no intention of
avenging myself on her mother and aunts. I made her promise that she
would never part with them, and she said she would never do so, and with
many expressions of gratitude and wonder at my generosity she locked them
up with great care.
Then I thought it was time to give her some marks of my passion, and I
found her kind; but when I would have plucked the fruit, she clasped me
to her arms, crossed her legs, and began to weep bitterly.
I made an effort, and asked her if she would be the same when we were in
bed. She sighed, and after a moment's pause, replied, "Yes."
For a quarter of an hour I remained silent and motionless, as if
petrified. At last I rose with apparent coolness, and took my cloak and
sword.
"What!" said she, "are you not going to spend the night with me?"
"No."
"But we shall see each other to-morrow?"
"I hope so. Good night."
I left that infernal abode, and went home to bed.
CHAPTER XIII
The End of the Story Stranger Than the Beginning
At eight o'clock the next morning Jarbe told me that the Charpillon
wanted to see me, and that she had sent away her chairmen.
"Tell her that I can't see her."
But I had hardly spoken when she came in, and Jarbe went out. I addressed
her with the utmost calmness, and begged her to give me back the two
bills of exchange I had placed in her hands the night before.
"I haven't got them about me; but why do you want me to return them to
you?"
At this question I could contain myself no longer, and launched a storm
of abuse at her. It was an explosion which relieved nature, and ended
with an involuntary shower of tears. My infamous seductress stood as
calmly as Innocence itself; and when I was so choked with sobs that I
could not utter a word, she said she had only been cruel because her
mother had made her swear an oath never to give herself to anyone in her
own house, and that she had only come now to convince me of her love, to
give herself to me without reserve, and never to leave me any more if I
wished it.
The reader who imagines that at these words rage gave place to love, and
that I hastened to obtain the prize, does not know the nature of the
passion so well as the vile woman whose plaything I was. From hot love to
hot anger is a short journey, but the return is slow and difficult. If
there be only anger in a man's breast it may be subdued by tenderness, by
submission, and affection; but when to anger is added a feeling of
indignation at having been shamefully deceived, it is impossible to pass
suddenly to thoughts of love and voluptuous enjoyment. With me mere anger
has never been of long duration, but when I am indignant the only cure is
forgetfulness.
The Charpillon knew perfectly well that I would not take her at her word,
and this kind of science was inborn in her. The instinct of women teaches
them greater secrets than all the philosophy and the research of men.
In the evening this monster left me, feigning to be disappointed and
disconsolate, and saying,--
"I hope you will come and see me again when you are once more yourself."
She had spent eight hours with me, during which time she had only spoken
to deny my suppositions, which were perfectly true, but which she could
not afford to let pass. I had not taken anything all day, in order that I
might not be obliged to offer her anything or to eat with her.
After she had left me I took some soup and then enjoyed a quiet sleep,
for which I felt all the better. When I came to consider what had passed
the day before I concluded that the Charpillon was repentant, but I
seemed no longer to care anything about her.
Here I may as well confess, in all humility, what a change love worked on
me in London, though I had attained the age of thirty-eight. Here closed
the first act of my life; the second closed when I left Venice in 1783,
and probably the third will close here, as I amuse myself by writing
these memoirs. Thus, the three-act comedy will finish, and if it be
hissed, as may possibly be the case, I shall not hear the sounds of
disapproval. But as yet the reader has not seen the last and I think the
most interesting scene of the first act.
I went for a walk in the Green Park and met Goudar. I was glad to see
him, as the rogue was useful to me.
"I have just been at the Charpillons," he began; "they were all in high
spirits. I tried in vain to turn the conversation on you, but not a word
would they utter."
"I despise them entirely," I rejoined, "I don't want to have anything
more to do with them."
He told me I was quite right, and advised me to persevere in my plan. I
made him dine with me, and then we went to see the well-known procuress,
Mrs. Wells, and saw the celebrated courtezan, Kitty Fisher, who was
waiting for the Duke of---- to take her to a ball. She was magnificently
dressed, and it is no exaggeration to say that she had on diamonds worth
five hundred thousand francs. Goudar told me that if I liked I might have
her then and there for ten guineas. I did not care to do so, however,
for, though charming, she could only speak English, and I liked to have
all my senses, including that of hearing, gratified. When she had gone,
Mrs. Wells told us that Kitty had eaten a bank-note for a thousand
guineas, on a slice of bread and butter, that very day. The note was a
present from Sir Akins, brother of the fair Mrs. Pitt. I do not know
whether the bank thanked Kitty for the present she had made it.
I spent an hour with a girl named Kennedy, a fair Irishwoman, who could
speak a sort of French, and behaved most extravagantly under the
influence of champagne; but the image of the Charpillon was still before
me, though I knew it not, and I could not enjoy anything. I went home
feeling sad and ill pleased with myself. Common sense told me to drive
all thoughts of that wretched woman out of my head, but something I
called honour bade me not leave her the triumph of having won the two
bills of exchange from me for nothing, and made me determine to get them
back by fair means or foul.
M. Malingan, at whose house I had made the acquaintance of this creature,
come and asked me to dinner. He had asked me to dine with him several
times before, and I had always refused, and now I would not accept until
I had heard what guests he had invited. The names were all strange to me,
so I agreed to come.
When I arrived I found two young ladies from Liege, in one of whom I got
interested directly. She introduced me to her husband, and to another
young man who seemed to be the cavalier of the other lady, her cousin.
The company pleased me, and I was in hopes that I should spend a happy
day, but my evil genius brought the Charpillon to mar the feast. She came
into the room in high glee, and said to Malingan,--
"I should not have come to beg you to give me a dinner if I had known
that you would have so many guests, and if I am at all in the way I will
go."
Everybody welcomed her, myself excepted, for I was on the rack. To make
matters worse, she was placed at my left hand. If she had come in before
we sat down to dinner I should have made some excuse and gone away, but
as we had begun the soup a sudden flight would have covered me with
ridicule. I adopted the plan of not looking at her, reserving all my
politeness for the lady on my right. When the meal was over Malingan took
me apart, and swore to me that he had not invited the Charpillon, but I
was not convinced, though I pretended to be for politeness' sake.
The two ladies from Liege and their cavaliers were embarking for Ostend
in a few days, and in speaking of their departure the one to whom I had
taken a fancy said that she was sorry to be leaving England without
having seen Richmond. I begged her to give me the pleasure of shewing it
her, and without waiting for an answer I asked her husband and all the
company to be present, excepting the Charpillon, whom I pretended not to
see.
The invitation was accepted.
"Two carriages," I said, "holding four each, shall be ready at eight
o'clock, and we shall be exactly eight."
"No, nine, for I am coming," said the Charpillon, giving me an impudent
stare, "and I hope you will not drive me away."
"No, that would be impolite, I will ride in front on horseback."
"Oh, not at all! Emilie shall sit on my lap."
Emilie was Malingan's daughter, and as everybody seemed to think the
arrangement an extremely pleasant one I had not the courage to resist. A
few moments after, I was obliged to leave the room for a few moments, and
when I came back I met her on the landing. She told me I had insulted her
grievously, and that unless I made amends I should feel her vengeance.
"You can begin your vengeance," I said, "by returning my bills of
exchange."
"You shall have them to-morrow, but you had better try and make me forget
the insult you have put on me."
I left the company in the evening, having arranged that we should all
breakfast together the next day.
At eight o'clock the two carriages were ready, and Malingan, his wife,
his daughter, and the two gentlemen got into the first vehicle, and I had
to get into the second with the ladies from Liege and the Charpillon, who
seemed to have become very intimate with them. This made me ill-tempered,
and I sulked the whole way. We were an hour and a quarter on the journey,
and when we arrived I ordered a good dinner, and then we proceeded to
view the gardens; the day was a beautiful one, though it was autumn.
Whilst we were Walking the Charpillon came up to me and said she wanted
to return the bills in the same place in which I had given her them. As
we were at some distance from the others I pelted her with abuse, telling
her of her perfidy and of her corruption at an age when she should have
retained some vestiges of innocence calling her by the name she deserved,
as I reminded her how often she had already prostituted herself; in short
I threatened her with my vengeance if she pushed me to extremities. But
she was as cold as ice, and opposed a calm front to the storm of
invective I rained in her ears. However, as the other guests were at no
great distance, she begged me to speak more softly, but they heard me and
I was very glad of it.
At last we sat down to dinner, and the wretched woman contrived to get a
place beside me, and behaved all the while as if I were her lover, or at
any rate as if she loved me. She did not seem to care what people thought
of my coldness, while I was in a rage, for the company must either have
thought me a fool or else that she was making game of me.
After dinner we returned to the garden, and the Charpillon, determined to
gain the victory, clung to my arm and after several turns led me towards
the maze where she wished to try her power. She made me sit down on the
grass beside her and attacked me with passionate words and tender
caresses, and by displaying the most interesting of her charms she
succeeded in seducing me, but still I do not know whether I were impelled
by love or vengeance, and I am inclined to think that my feelings were a
compound of both passions.
But at the moment she looked the picture of voluptuous abandon. Her
ardent eyes, her fiery cheeks, her wanton kisses, her swelling breast,
and her quick sighs, all made me think that she stood as much in need of
defeat as I of victory; certainly I should not have judged that she was
already calculating on resistance.
Thus I once more became tender and affectionate; I begged pardon for what
I had said and done. Her fiery kisses replied to mine, and I thought her
glance and the soft pressure of her body were inviting me to gather the
delicious fruit; but just as my hand opened the door of the sanctuary,
she gave a sudden movement, and the chance was lost.
"What! you would deceive me again."
"No, no but we have done enough now. I promise to spend the night in your
arms in your own house."
For a moment I lost my senses. I only saw the deceitful wretch who had
profited by my foolish credulity so many times, and I resolved to enjoy
or take vengeance. I held her down with my left arm, and drawing a small
knife from my pocket I opened it with my teeth and pricked her neck,
threatening to kill her if she resisted me.
"Do as you like," she said with perfect calm, "I only ask you to leave me
my life, but after you have satisfied yourself I will not leave the spot;
I will not enter your carriage unless you carry me by force, and
everybody shall know the reason."
This threat had no effect, for I had already got back my senses, and I
pitied myself for being degraded by a creature for whom I had the
greatest contempt, in spite of the almost magical influence she had over
me, and the furious desires she knew how to kindle in my breast. I rose
without a word, and taking my hat and cane I hastened to leave a place
where unbridled passion had brought me to the brink of ruin.
My readers will scarcely believe me (but it is nevertheless the exact
truth) when I say that the impudent creature hastened to rejoin me, and
took my arm again as if nothing had happened. A girl of her age could not
have played the part so well unless she had been already tried in a
hundred battles. When we rejoined the company I was asked if I were ill,
while nobody noticed the slightest alteration in her.
When we got back to London I excused myself under the plea of a bad
headache, and returned home.
The adventure had made a terrible impression on me, and I saw that if I
did not avoid all intercourse with this girl I should be brought to ruin.
There was something about her I could not resist. I therefore resolved to
see her no more, but feeling ashamed of my weakness in giving her the
bills of exchange I wrote her mother a note requesting her to make her
daughter return them, or else I should be compelled to take harsh
measures.
In the afternoon I received the following reply:
"Sir,--I am exceedingly surprised at your addressing yourself to me about
the bills you handed to my daughter. She tells me she will give you them
back in person when you shew more discretion, and have learnt to respect
her."
This impudent letter so enraged me that I forgot my vow of the morning. I
put two pistols in my pocket and proceeded to the wretched woman's abode
to compel her to return me my bills if she did not wish to be soundly
caned.
I only took the pistols to overawe the two male rascals who supped with
them every evening. I was furious when I arrived, but I passed by the
door when I saw a handsome young hairdresser, who did the Charpillon's
hair every Saturday evening, going into the house.
I did not want a stranger to be present at the scene I meant to make, so
I waited at the corner of the street for the hairdresser to go. After I
had waited half an hour Rostaing and Couman, the two supports of the
house, came out and went away, much to my delight. I waited on; eleven
struck, and the handsome barber had not yet gone. A little before
midnight a servant came out with a lamp, I suppose to look for something
that had fallen out of the window. I approached noiselessly, stepped in
and opened the parlour-door, which was close to the street, and saw . . .
the Charpillon and the barber stretched on the sofa and doing the beast
with two backs, as Shakespeare calls it.
When the slut saw me she gave a shriek and unhorsed her gallant, whom I
caned soundly until he escaped in the confusion consequent on the
servants, mother, and aunts all rushing into the room. While this was
going on the Charpillon, half-naked, remained crouched behind the sofa,
trembling lest the blows should begin to descend on her. Then the three
hags set upon me like furies; but their abuse only irritated me, and I
broke the pier-'glass, the china, and the furniture, and as they still
howled and shrieked I roared out that if they did not cease I would break
their heads. At this they began to calm.
I threw myself upon the fatal sofa, and bade the mother to return me the
bills of exchange; but just then the watchman came in.
There is only one watchman to a district, which he perambulates all night
with a lantern in one hand and a staff in the other. On these men the
peace of the great city depends. I put three or four crowns into his hand
and said "Go away," and so saying shut the door upon him. Then I sat down
once more and asked again for the bills of exchange:
"I have not got them; my daughter keeps them."
"Call her."
The two maids said that whilst I was breaking the china she had escaped
by the street door, and that they did not know what had become of her.
Then the mother and aunts began to shriek, weep, and exclaim,--
"My poor daughter alone in the streets of London at midnight! My dear
niece, alas! alas! she is lost. Cursed be the hour when you came to
England to make us all unhappy!"
My rage had evaporated, and I trembled at the thought of this young
frightened girl running about the streets at such an hour.
"Go and look for her at the neighbours' houses," I said to the servants,
"no doubt you will find her. When you tell me she is safe, you shall have
a guinea apiece."
When the three Gorgons saw I was interested, their tears, complaints, and
invectives began again with renewed vigor, while I kept silence as much
as to say that they were in the right. I awaited the return of the
servants with impatience, and at last at one o'clock they came back with
looks of despair.
"We have looked for her everywhere," said they, "but we can't find her."
I gave them the two guineas as if they had succeeded, whilst I sat
motionless reflecting on the terrible consequences of my anger. How
foolish is man when he is in love!
I was idiot enough to express my repentance to the three old cheats. I
begged them to seek for her everywhere when dawn appeared, and to let me
know of her return that I might fall at her feet to beg pardon, and never
see her face again. I also promised to pay for all the damage I had done,
and to give them a full receipt for the bills of exchange. After these
acts, done to the everlasting shame of my good sense, after this apology
made to procuresses who laughed at me and my honour, I went home,
promising two guineas to the servant who should bring me tidings that her
young mistress had come home. On leaving the house I found the watchman
at the door; he had been waiting to see me home. It was two o'clock. I
threw myself on my bed, and the six hours of sleep I obtained, though
troubled by fearful dreams, probably saved me from madness.
At eight o'clock I heard a knock at the door, and on opening the window
found it was one of the servants from the house of my foes. I cried out
to let her in, and I breathed again on hearing that Miss Charpillon had
just arrived in a sedan-chair in a pitiable condition, and that she had
been put to bed.
"I made haste to come and tell you," said the cunning maid, "not for the
sake of your two guineas, but because I saw you were so unhappy." This
duped me directly. I gave her the two guineas, and made her sit down on
my bed, begging her to tell me all about her mistress's return. I did not
dream that she had been schooled by my enemies; but during the whole of
this period I was deprived of the right use of my reason.
The slut began by saying that her young mistress loved me, and had only
deceived me in accordance with her mother's orders.
"I know that," I said, "but where did she pass the night?"
"At a shop which she found open, and where she was known from having
bought various articles there. She is in bed with a fever, and I am
afraid it may have serious consequences as she is in her monthly period."
"That's impossible, for I caught her in the act with her hairdresser."
"Oh, that proves nothing! the poor young man does not look into things
very closely."
"But she is in love with him."
"I don't think so, though she has spent several hours in his company."
"And you say that she loves me!"
"Oh, that has nothing to do with it! It is only a whim of hers with the
hairdresser."
"Tell her that I am coming to pass the day beside her bed, and bring me
her reply."
"I will send the other girl if you like."
"No, she only speaks English."
She went away, and as she had not returned by three o'clock I decided on
calling to hear how she was. I knocked at the door, and one of the aunts
appeared and begged me not to enter as the two friends of the house were
there in a fury against me, and her niece lay in a delirium, crying out
"There's Seingalt, there's Seingalt! He's going to kill me. Help! help!"
"For God's sake, sir, go away!"
I went home desperate, without the slightest suspicion that it was all a
lie. I spent the whole day without eating anything; I could not swallow a
mouthful. All night I kept awake, and though I took several glasses of
strong waters I could obtain no rest.
At nine o'clock the next morning I knocked at the Charpillon's door, and
the old aunt came and held it half open as before. She forbade me to
enter, saying that her niece was still delirious, continually calling on
me in her transports, and that the doctor had declared that if the
disease continued its course she had not twenty-four hours to live. "The
fright you gave her has arrested her periods; she is in a terrible
state."
"O, fatal hairdresser!" I exclaimed.
"That was a mere youthful folly; you should have pretended not to have
seen anything."
"You think that possible, you old witch, do you? Do not let her lack for
anything; take that."
With these words I gave her a bank note for ten guineas and went away,
like the fool I was. On my way back I met Goudar, who was quite
frightened at my aspect. I begged him to go and see how the Charpillon
really was, and then to come and pass the rest of the day with me. An
hour after he came back and said he had found them all in tears and that
the girl was in extremis.
"Did you see her?"
"No, they said she could see no one."
"Do you think it is all true?"
"I don't know what to think; but one of the maids, who tells me the truth
as a rule, assured me that she had become mad through her courses being
stopped, while she has also a fever and violent convulsions. It is all
credible enough, for these are the usual results of a shock when a woman
is in such a situation. The girl told me it was all your fault."
I then told him the whole story. He could only pity me, but when he heard
that I had neither eaten nor slept for the last forty-eight hours he said
very wisely that if I did not take care I should lose my reason or my
life. I knew it, but I could find no remedy. He spent the day with me and
did me good. As I could not eat I drank a good deal, and not being able
to sleep I spent the night in striding up and down my room like a man
beside himself.
On the third day, having heard nothing positive about the Charpillon, I
went out at seven o'clock in the morning to call on her. After I had
waited a quarter of an hour in the street, the door was partly opened,
and I saw the mother all in tears, but she would not let me come in. She
said her daughter was in the last agony. At the same instant a pale and
thin old man came out, telling the mother that we must resign ourselves
to the will of God. I asked the infamous creature if it were the doctor.
"The doctor is no good now," said the old hypocrite, weeping anew, "he is
a minister of the Gospel, and there is another of them upstairs. My poor
daughter! In another hour she will be no more."
I felt as if an icy hand had closed upon my heart. I burst into tears and
left the woman, saying,--
"It is true that my hand dealt the blow, but her death lies at your
door."
As I walked away my knees seemed to bend under me, and I entered my house
determined to commit suicide,--
With this fearful idea, I gave orders that I was not at home to anyone.
As soon as I got to my room I put my watches, rings, snuff-boxes, purse
and pocket-book in my casket, and shut it up in my escritoire. I then
wrote a letter to the Venetian ambassador, informing him that all my
property was to go to M. de Bragadin after my death. I sealed the letter
and put it with the casket, and took the key with me, and also silver to
the amount of a few guineas. I took my pistols and went out with the firm
intention of drowning myself in the Thames, near the Tower of London.
Pondering over my plan with the utmost coolness, I went and bought some
balls of lead as large as my pockets would hold, and as heavy as I could
bear, to carry to the Tower, where I intended to go on foot. On my way I
was strengthened in my purpose by the reflection, that if I continued to
live I should be tormented for the remainder of my days by the pale shade
of the Charpillon reproaching me as her murderer. I even congratulated
myself on being able to carry out my purpose without any effort, and I
also felt a secret pride in my courage.
I walked slowly on account of the enormous weight I bore, which would
assure me a speedy passage to the bottom of the river.
By Westminster Bridge my good fortune made me meet Sir Edgar, a rich
young Englishman, who lived a careless and joyous life. I had made his
acquaintance at Lord Pembroke's, and he had dined with me several times.
We suited one another, his conversation was agreeable, and we had passed
many pleasant hours together. I tried to avoid him, but he saw me, and
came up and took me by the arm in a friendly manner.
"Where are you going? Come with me, unless you are going to deliver some
captive. Come along, we shall have a pleasant party."
"I can't come, my dear fellow, let me go."
"What's the matter? I hardly recognized you, you looked so solemn."
"Nothing is the matter."
"Nothing? You should look at your face in the glass. Now I feel quite
sure that you are going to commit a foolish action."
"Not at all."
"It's no good denying it."
"I tell you there's nothing the matter with me. Good bye, I shall see you
again."
"It's no good, I won't leave you. Come along, we will walk together."
His eyes happening to fall on my breeches pocket, he noticed my pistol,
and putting his hand on the other pocket he felt the other pistol, and
said,--
"You are going to fight a duel; I should like to see it. I won't
interfere with the affair, but neither will I leave you."
I tried to put on a smile, and assured him that he was mistaken, and that
I was only going for a walk to pass the time.
"Very good," said Edgar, "then I hope my society is as pleasant to you as
yours is to me; I won't leave you. After we have taken a walk we will go
and dine at the 'Canon.' I will get two girls to come and join us, and we
shall have a gay little party of four."
"My dear friend, you must excuse me; I am in a melancholy mood, and I
want to be alone to get over it."
"You can be alone to-morrow, if you like, but I am sure you will be all
right in the next three hours, and if not, why I will share your madness.
Where did you think of dining?"
"Nowhere; I have no appetite. I have been fasting for the last three
days, and I can only drink."
"Ah! I begin to see daylight. Something has crossed you, and you are
going to let it kill you as it killed one of my brothers. I must see what
can be done."
Edgar argued, insisted, and joked till at last I said to myself, "A day
longer will not matter, I can do the deed when he leaves me, and I shall
only have to bear with life a few hours longer."
When Edgar heard that I had no particular object in crossing the bridge
he said that we had better turn back, and I let myself be persuaded; but
in half an hour I begged him to take me somewhere where I could wait for
him, as I could not bear the weight of the lead any longer. I gave him my
word of honour that I would meet him at the "Canon."
As soon as I was alone I emptied my pockets, and put the leaden balls
into a cupboard. Then I lay down and began to consider whether the
good-natured young man would prevent me committing suicide, as he had
already made me postpone it.
I reasoned, not as one that hopes, but rather as one that foresaw that
Edgar would hinder me from shortening my days. Thus I waited in the
tavern for the young Englishman, doubtful whether he was doing me a
service or an injury.
He came back before long, and was pleased to find me.
"I reckoned on your keeping your word," said he.
"You did not think that I would break my word of honour."
"That's all right; I see you are on the way to recovery."
The sensible and cheerful talk of the young man did me good, and I began
to feel better, when the two young wantons, one of whom was a
Frenchwoman, arrived in high spirits. They seemed intended for pleasure,
and Nature had dowered them with great attractions. I appreciated their
charms, but I could not welcome them in the manner to which they were
accustomed. They began to think me some poor valetudinarian; but though I
was in torments, a feeling of vanity made me endeavour to behave
sensibly. I gave them some cold kisses and begged Edgar to tell his
fellow-countrywoman that if I were not three parts dead I would prove how
lovely and charming I thought her. They pitied me. A man who has spent
three days without eating or sleeping is almost incapable of any
voluptuous excitement, but mere words would not have convinced these
priestesses of Venus if Edgar had not given them my name. I had a
reputation, and I saw that when they heard who I was they were full of
respect. They all hoped that Bacchus and Comus would plead the cause of
Love, and I let them talk, knowing that their hopes were vain.
We had an English dinner; that is, a dinner without the essential course
of soup, so I only took a few oysters and a draught of delicious wine,
but I felt better, and was pleased to see Edgar amusing himself with the
two nymphs.
The young madcap suddenly proposed that the girls should dance a hornpipe
in the costume of Mother Eve, and they consented on the condition that we
would adopt the dress of Father Adam, and that blind musicians were
summoned. I told them that I would take off my clothes to oblige them,
but that I had no hopes of being able to imitate the seductive serpent. I
was allowed to retain my dress, on the condition that if I felt the prick
of the flesh I should immediately undress. I agreed to do so, and the
blind musicians were sent for, and while they tuned their instruments
toilettes were made, and the orgy began.
It taught me same useful lessons. I learnt from it that amorous pleasures
are the effect and not the cause of gaiety. I sat gazing at three naked
bodies of perfect grace and beauty, the dance and the music were
ravishing and seductive, but nothing made any impression on me. After the
dance was over the male dancer treated the two females, one after the
other, until he was forced to rest. The French girl came up to ascertain
whether I skewed any signs of life, but feeling my hopeless condition she
pronounced me useless.
When it was all over I begged Edgar to give the French girl four guineas,
and to pay my share, as I had very little money about me.
What should I have said if I had been told in the morning that instead of
drowning myself I should take part in so pleasant an entertainment?
The debt I had contracted with the young Englishman made me resolve to
put off my suicide to another day. After the nymphs had gone I tried to
get rid of Edgar, but in vain; he told me I was getting better, that the
oysters I had taken skewed my stomach was improving, and that if I came
with him to Ranelagh I should be able to make a good dinner the next day.
I was weak and indifferent and let myself be persuaded, and got into a
coach with Edgar in obedience to the Stoic maxim I had learnt in the
happy days of my youth: 'Sequere Deum'.
We entered the fine rotunda with our hats off, and began to walk round
and round, our arms behind our backs--a common custom in England, at
least in those days.
A minuet was being danced, and I was so attracted by a lady who danced
extremely well that I waited for her to turn round. What made me notice
her more particularly was that her dress and hat were exactly like those
I had given to the Charpillon a few days before, but as I believed the
poor wretch to be dead or dying the likeness did not inspire me with any
suspicion. But the lady turned round, lifted her face, and I saw--the
Charpillon herself!
Edgar told me afterwards that at that moment he thought to see me fall to
the ground in an epileptic fit; I trembled and shuddered so terribly.
However, I felt so sure she was ill that I could not believe my own eyes,
and the doubt brought me to my senses.
"She can't be the Charpillon," I said to myself, "she is some other girl
like her, and my enfeebled senses have led me astray." In the meanwhile
the lady, intent on her dancing, did not glance in my direction, but I
could afford to wait. At last she lifted her arms to make the curtsy at
the end of the minuet, I went up instinctively as if I were about to
dance with her; she looked me in the face, and fled.
I constrained myself; but now that there could be no doubt my shuddering
fit returned, and I made haste to sit down. A cold sweat bedewed my face
and my whole body. Edgar advised me to take a cup of tea but I begged him
to leave me alone for a few moments.
I was afraid that I was on the point of death; I trembled all over, and
my heart beat so rapidly that I could not have stood up had I wished.
At last, instead of dying, I got new life. What a wonderful change I
experienced! Little by little my peace of mind returned, and I could
enjoy the glitter of the multitudinous wax lights. By slow degrees I
passed through all the shades of feeling between despair and an ecstasy
of joy. My soul and mind were so astonished by the shock that I began to
think I should never see Edgar again.
"This young man," I said to myself, "is my good genius, my guardian
angel, my familiar spirit, who has taken the form of Edgar to restore me
to my senses again."
I should certainly have persisted in this idea if my friend had not
reappeared before very long.
Chance might have thrown him in the way of one of those seductive
creatures who make one forget everything else; he might have left
Ranelagh without having time to tell me he was going, and I should have
gone back to London feeling perfectly certain that I had only seen his
earthly shape. Should I have been disabused if I had seen him a few days
after? Possibly; but I am not sure of it. I have always had a hankering
after superstition, of which I do not boast; but I confess the fact, and
leave the reader to judge me.
However, he came back in high spirits, but anxious about me. He was
surprised to find me full of animation, and to hear me talking in a
pleasant strain on the surrounding objects and persons.
"Why, you are laughing!" said he, "your sadness has departed, then?"
"Yes, good genius, but I am hungry, and I want you to do me a favour, if
you have no other pressing engagements."
"I am free till the day after to-morrow, and till then you can do what
you like with me."
"I owe my life to you, but to make your gift complete I want you to spend
this night and the whole of the next day with me."
"Done."
"Then let us go home."
"With all my heart; come along."
I did not tell him anything as we were in the coach, and when we got home
I found nothing fresh, except a note from Goudar, which I put in my
pocket, intending to reserve all business for the next day.
It was an hour after midnight. A good supper was served to us, and we
fell to; for my part I devoured my food like a wild beast. Edgar
congratulated me, and we went to bed, and I slept profoundly till noon.
When I awoke I breakfasted with Edgar, and told him the whole story,
which would have ended with my life if he had not met me on Westminster
Bridge, and he had not been keen enough to mark my condition. I took him
to my room, and shewed him my escritoire, my casket, and my will. I then
opened Goudar's letter, and read:
"I am quite sure that the girl you know of is very far from dying, as she
has gone to Ranelagh with Lord Grosvenor."
Although Edgar was a profligate, he was a sensible man, and my story made
him furious. He threw his arms around my neck, and told me he should
always think the day on which he rescued me from death for so unworthy an
object the happiest in his life. He could scarcely credit the infamy of
the Charpillon and her mother. He told me I could have the mother
arrested, though I had not got the bills of exchange, as her mother's
letter acknowledging her daughter's possession of the bills was
sufficient evidence.
Without informing him of my intention, I resolved that moment to have her
arrested. Before we parted we swore eternal friendship, but the reader
will see before long what a penance the kind Englishman had to do for
befriending me.
The next day I went to the attorney I had employed against Count
Schwerin. After hearing my story he said that I had an undoubted claim,
and that I could arrest the mother and the two aunts.
Without losing time I went before a magistrate, who took my sworn
information and granted me a warrant. The same official who had arrested
Schwerin took charge of the affair; but as he did not know the women by
sight it was necessary that someone who did should go with him, for
though he was certain of surprising them there might be several other
women present, and he might not arrest the right ones.
As Goudar would not have undertaken the delicate task of pointing them
out, I resolved on accompanying him myself.
I made an appointment with him at an hour when I knew they would be all
in the parlour. He was to enter directly the door was opened, and I would
come in at the same instant and point out the women he had to arrest. In
England all judicial proceedings are conducted with the utmost
punctuality, and everything went off as I had arranged. The bailiff and
his subaltern stepped into the parlour and I followed in their footsteps.
I pointed out the mother and the two sisters and then made haste to
escape, for the sight of the Charpillon, dressed in black, standing by
the hearth, made me shudder. I felt cured, certainly; but the wounds she
had given me were not yet healed, and I cannot say what might have
happened if the Circe had had the presence of mind to throw her arms
about my neck and beg for mercy.
As soon as I had seen these women in the hands of justice I fled, tasting
the sweets of vengeance, which are very great, but yet a sign of
unhappiness. The rage in which I had arrested the three procuresses, and
my terror in seeing the woman who had well-nigh killed me, shewed that I
was not really cured. To be so I must fly from them and forget them
altogether.
The next morning Goudar came and congratulated me on the bold step I had
taken, which proved, he said, that I was either cured or more in love
than ever. "I have just come from Denmark Street," he added, "and I only
saw the grandmother, who was weeping bitterly, and an attorney, whom no
doubt she was consulting."
"Then you have heard what has happened?"
"Yes, I came up a minute after you had gone and I stayed till the three
old sluts made up their minds to go with the constable. They resisted and
said he ought to leave them till the next day, when they would be able to
find someone to bail them. The two bravos drew their swords to resist the
law, but the other constable disarmed them one after the other, and the
three women were led off. The Charpillon wanted to accompany them, but it
was judged best that she should remain at liberty, in order to try and
set them free."
Goudar concluded by saying that he should go and see them in prison, and
if I felt disposed to come to an arrangement he would mediate between us.
I told him that the only arrangement I would accept was the payment of
the six thousand francs, and that they might think themselves very lucky
that I did not insist on having my interest, and thus repaying myself in
part for the sums they had cheated out of me.
A fortnight elapsed without my hearing any more of the matter. The
Charpillon dined with them every day, and in fact, kept them. It must
have cost her a good deal, for they had two rooms, and their landlord
would not allow them to have their meals prepared outside the prison.
Goudar told me that the Charpillon said she would never beg me to listen
to her mother, though she knew she had only to call on me to obtain
anything she wanted. She thought me the most abominable of men. If I feel
obliged to maintain that she was equally abominable, I must confess that
on this occasion she shewed more strength of mind than I; but whereas I
had acted out of passion, her misdeeds were calculated, and tended solely
to her own interests.
For the whole of this fortnight I had sought for Edgar in vain, but one
morning he came to see me, looking in high spirits.
"Where have you been hiding all this time?" said I, "I have been looking
for you everywhere."
"Love has been keeping me a prisoner," said he, "I have got some money
for you."
"For me? From what quarter?"
"On behalf of the Ansperghers. Give me a receipt and the necessary
declaration, for I am going to restore them myself to the poor
Charpillon, who has been weeping for the last fortnight."
"I daresay she has, I have seen her weep myself; but I like the way in
which she has chosen the being who delivered me from her chains as a
protector. Does she know that I owe my life to you?"
"She only knew that I was with you at Ranelagh when you saw her dancing
instead of dying, but I have told her the whole story since."
"No doubt she wants you to plead with me in her favour."
"By no means. She has just been telling me that you are a monster of
ingratitude, for she loved you and gave you several proofs of her
affection, but now she hates you."
"Thank Heaven for that! The wretched woman! It's curious she should have
selected you as her lover by way of taking vengeance on me, but take
care! she will punish you."
"It may be so, but at all events it's a pleasant kind of punishment."
"I hope you may be happy, but look to yourself; she is a mistress in all
sorts of deceit."
Edgar counted me out two hundred and fifty guineas, for which I gave him
a receipt and the declaration he required, and with these documents he
went off in high spirits.
After this I might surely flatter myself that all was at an end between
us, but I was mistaken.
Just about this time the Crown Prince of Brunswick, now the reigning
duke, married the King of England's sister. The Common Council presented
him with the freedom of the City, and the Goldsmith's Company admitted
him into their society, and gave him a splendid box containing the
documents which made him a London citizen. The prince was the first
gentleman in Europe, and yet he did not disdain to add this new honour to
a family illustrious for fourteen hundred years.
On this occasion Lady Harrington was the means of getting Madame Cornelis
two hundred guineas. She lent her room in Soho Square to a confectioner
who gave a ball and supper to a thousand persons at three guineas each. I
paid my three guineas, and had the honour of standing up all the evening
with six hundred others, for the table only seated four hundred, and
there were several ladies who were unable to procure seats. That evening
I saw Lady Grafton seated beside the Duke of Cumberland. She wore her
hair without any powder, and all the other ladies were exclaiming about
it, and saying how very unbecoming it was. They could not anathematize
the innovator too much, but in less than six months Lady Grafton's style
of doing the hair became common, crossed the Channel, and spread all over
Europe, though it has been given another name. It is still in fashion,
and is the only method that can boast the age of thirty years, though it
was so unmercifully ridiculed at first.
The supper for which the giver of the feast had received three thousand
guineas, or sixty-five thousand francs, contained a most varied
assortment of delicacies, but as I had not been dancing, and did not feel
taken with any of the ladies present, I left at one in the morning. It
was Sunday, a day on which all persons, save criminals, are exempt from
arrest; but, nevertheless, the following adventure befell me:
I was dressed magnificently, and was driving home in my carriage, with my
negro and another servant seated behind me; and just as we entered Pall
Mall I heard a voice crying, "Good night, Seingalt." I put my head out of
the window to reply, and in an instant the carriage was surrounded by men
armed with pistols, and one of them said,--
"In the king's name!"
My servant asked what they wanted, and they answered,--
"To take him to Newgate, for Sunday makes no difference to criminals."
"And what crime have I committed?"
"You will hear that in prison."
"My master has a right to know his crime before he goes to prison," said
the negro.
"Yes, but the magistrate's abed."
The negro stuck to his position, however, and the people who had come up
declared with one consent that he was in the right.
The head-constable gave in, and said he would take me to a house in the
city.
"Then drive to that city," said I, "and have done with it."
We stopped before the house, and I was placed in a large room on the
ground floor, furnished solely with benches and long tables. My servant
sent back the carriage, and came to keep me company. The six constables
said they could not leave me, and told me I should send out for some meat
and drink for them. I told my negro to give them what they wanted, and to
be as amicable with them as was possible.
As I had not committed any crime, I was quite at ease; I knew that my
arrest must be the effect of a slander, and as I was aware that London
justice was speedy and equitable, I thought I should soon be free. But I
blamed myself for having transgressed the excellent maxim, never to
answer anyone in the night time; for if I had not done so I should have
been in my house, and not in prison. The mistake, however, had been
committed, and there was nothing to be done but to wait patiently. I
amused myself by reflecting on my rapid passage from a numerous and
exalted assemblage to the vile place I now occupied, though I was still
dressed like a prince.
At last the day dawned, and the keeper of the tavern came to see who the
prisoner was. I could not helping laughing at him when he saw me, for he
immediately began to abuse the constables for not awaking him when I
came; he had lost the guinea I should have paid for a private room. At
last news was brought that the magistrate was sitting, and that I must be
brought up.
A coach was summoned, and I got into it, for if I had dared to walk along
the streets in my magnificent attire the mob would have pelted me.
I went into the hall of justice, and all eyes were at once attracted
towards me; my silks and satins appeared to them the height of
impertinence.
At the end of the room I saw a gentleman sitting in an arm-chair, and
concluded him to be my judge. I was right, and the judge was blind. He
wore a broad band round his head, passing over his eyes. A man beside me,
guessing I was a foreigner, said in French,--
"Be of good courage, Mr. Fielding is a just and equitable magistrate."
I thanked the kindly unknown, and was delighted to see before me this
famous and estimable writer, whose works are an honour to the English
nation.
When my turn came, the clerk of the court told Mr. Fielding my name, at
least, so I presume.
"Signor Casanova," said he, in excellent Italian, "be kind enough to step
forward. I wish to speak to you."
I was delighted to hear the accents of my native tongue, and making my
way through the press I came up to the bar of the court, and said,--
"Eccomi, Signore."
He continued to speak Italian, and said,--
"Signor de Casanova, of Venice, you are condemned to perpetual
confinement in the prisons of His Majesty the King of Great Britain."
"I should like to know, sir, for what crime I am condemned. Would you be
kind enough to inform me as to its nature?"
"Your demand is a reasonable one, for with us no one is condemned without
knowing the cause of his condemnation. You must know, then, that the
accusation (which is supported by two witnesses) charges you with
intending to do grievous bodily harm to the person of a pretty girl; and
as this pretty girl aforesaid goes in dread of you, the law decrees that
you must be kept in prison for the rest of your days."
"Sir, this accusation is a groundless calumny; to that I will take my
oath! It is very possible indeed that the girl may fear my vengeance when
she comes to consider her own conduct, but I can assure you that I have
had no such designs hitherto, and I don't think I ever shall."
"She has two witnesses."
"Then they are false ones. But may I ask your worship the name of my
accuser?"
"Miss Charpillon."
"I thought as much; but I have never given her aught but proofs of my
affection."
"Then you have no wish to do her any bodily harm?"
"Certainly not."
"Then I congratulate you. You can dine at home; but you must find two
sureties. I must have an assurance from the mouths of two householders
that you will never commit such a crime."
"Whom shall I find to do so?"
"Two well-known Englishmen, whose friendship you have gained, and who
know that you are incapable of such an action. Send for them, and if they
arrive before I go to dinner I will set you at liberty."
The constable took me back to prison, where I had passed the night, and I
gave my servants the addresses of all the householders I recollected,
bidding them explain my situation, and to be as quick as possible. They
ought to have come before noon, but London is such a large place! They
did not arrive, and the magistrate went to dinner. I comforted myself by
the thought that he would sit in the afternoon, but I had to put up with
a disagreeable experience.
The chief constable, accompanied by an interpreter, came to say that I
must go to Newgate. This is a prison where the most wretched and abject
criminals are kept.
I signified to him that I was awaiting bail, and that he could take me to
Newgate in the evening if it did not come, but he only turned a deaf ear
to my petition. The interpreter told me in a whisper that the fellow was
certainly paid by the other side to put me to trouble, but that if I
liked to bribe him I could stay where I was.
"How much will he want?"
The interpreter took the constable aside, and then told me that I could
stay where I was for ten guineas.
"Then say that I should like to see Newgate."
A coach was summoned, and I was taken away.
When I got to this abode of misery and despair, a hell, such as Dante
might have conceived, a crowd of wretches, some of whom were to be hanged
in the course of the week, greeted me by deriding my elegant attire. I
did not answer them, and they began to get angry and to abuse me. The
gaoler quieted them by saying that I was a foreigner and did not
understand English, and then took me to a cell, informing me how much it
would cost me, and of the prison rules, as if he felt certain that I
should make a long stay. But in the course of half an hour, the constable
who had tried to get ten guineas out of me told me that bail had arrived
and that my carriage was at the door.
I thanked God from the bottom of my heart, and soon found myself in the
presence of the blind magistrate. My bail consisted of Pegu, my tailor,
and Maisonneuve, my wine merchant, who said they were happy to be able to
render me this slight service. In another part of the court I noticed the
infamous Charpillon, Rostaing, Goudar, and an attorney. They made no
impression on me, and I contented myself with giving them a look of
profound contempt.
My two sureties were informed of the amount in which they were to bail
me, and signed with a light heart, and then the magistrate said,
politely,--
"Signor Casanova, please to sign your name for double the amount, and you
will then be a free man again."
I went towards the clerk's table, and on asking the sum I was to answer
for was informed that it was forty guineas, each of my sureties signing
for twenty. I signed my name, telling Goudar that if the magistrate could
have seen the Charpillon he would have valued her beauty at ten thousand
guineas. I asked the names of the two witnesses, and was told that they
were Rostaing and Bottarelli. I looked contemptuously at Rostaing, who
was as pale as death, and averting my face from the Charpillon out of
pity, I said,--
"The witnesses are worthy of the charge."
I saluted the judge with respect, although he could not see me, and asked
the clerk if I had anything to pay. He replied in the negative, and a
dispute ensued between him and the attorney of my fair enemy, who was
disgusted on hearing that she could not leave the court without paying
the costs of my arrest.
Just as I was going, five or six well-known Englishmen appeared to bail
me out, and were mortified to hear that they had come too late. They
begged me to forgive the laws of the land, which are only too often
converted into a means for the annoyance of foreigners.
At last, after one of the most tedious days I have ever spent, I returned
home and went to bed, laughing at the experience I had undergone.
EPISODE 24 -- FLIGHT FROM LONDON TO BERLIN
CHAPTER XIV
Bottarelli--A Letter from Pauline--The Avenging Parrot--Pocchini--Guerra,
the Venetian--I Meet Sara Again; My Idea of Marrying Her and Settling in
Switzerland--The Hanoverians
Thus ended the first act of the comedy; the second began the next
morning. I was just getting up, when I heard a noise at the street door,
and on putting my head out of the window I saw Pocchini, the scoundrel
who had robbed me at Stuttgart trying to get into my house. I cried out
wrathfully that I would have nothing to do with him, and slammed down my
window.
A little later Goudar put in an appearance. He had got a copy of the St.
James's Chronicle, containing a brief report of my arrest, and of my
being set a liberty under a bail of eighty guineas. My name and the
lady's were disguised, but Rostaing and Bottarelli were set down plainly,
and the editor praised their conduct. I felt as if I should like to know
Bottarelli, and begged Goudar to take me to him, and Martinelli,
happening to call just then, said he would come with us.
We entered a wretched room on the third floor of a wretched house, and
there we beheld a picture of the greatest misery. A woman and five
children clothed in rags formed the foreground, and in the background was
Bottarelli, in an old dressing-gown, writing at a table worthy of
Philemon and Baucis. He rose as we came in, and the sight of him moved me
to compassion. I said,--
"Do you know me, sir?"
"No, sir, I do not."
"I am Casanova, against whom you bore false witness; whom you tried to
cast into Newgate."
"I am very sorry, but look around you and say what choice have I? I have
no bread to give my children. I will do as much in your favour another
time for nothing."
"Are you not afraid of the gallows?"
"No, for perjury is not punished with death; besides it is very difficult
to prove."
"I have heard you are a poet."
"Yes. I have lengthened the Didone and abridged the Demetrio."
"You are a great poet, indeed!"
I felt more contempt than hatred for the rascal, and gave his wife a
guinea, for which she presented me with a wretched pamphlet by her
husband: "The Secrets of the Freemasons Displayed." Bottarelli had been a
monk in his native city, Pisa, and had fled to England with his wife, who
had been a nun.
About this time M. de Saa surprised me by giving me a letter from my fair
Portuguese, which confirmed the sad fate of poor Clairmont. Pauline said
she was married to Count Al----. I was astonished to hear M. de Saa
observe that he had known all about Pauline from the moment she arrived
in London. That is the hobby of all diplomatists; they like people to
believe that they are omniscient. However, M. de Saa was a man of worth
and talent, and one could excuse this weakness as an incident inseparable
from his profession; while most diplomatists only make themselves
ridiculous by their assumption of universal knowledge.
M. de Saa had been almost as badly treated by the Charpillon as myself,
and we might have condoled with one another, but the subject was not
mentioned.
A few days afterwards, as I was walking idly about, I passed a place
called the Parrot Market. As I was amusing myself by looking at these
curious birds, I saw a fine young one in a cage, and asked what language
it spoke. They told me that it was quite young and did not speak at all
yet, so I bought it for ten guineas. I thought I would teach the bird a
pretty speech, so I had the cage hung by my bed, and repeated dozens of
times every day the following sentence: "The Charpillon is a bigger wh--e
than her mother."
The only end I had in view was my private amusement, and in a fortnight
the bird had learnt the phrase with the utmost exactness; and every time
it uttered the words it accompanied them with a shriek of laughter which
I had not taught it, but which made me laugh myself.
One day Gondar heard the bird, and told me that if I sent it to the
Exchange I should certainly get fifty guineas for it. I welcomed the
idea, and resolved to make the parrot the instrument of my vengeance
against the woman who had treated me so badly. I secured myself from fear
of the law, which is severe in such cases, by entrusting the bird to my
negro, to whom such merchandise was very suitable.
For the first two or three days my parrot did not attract much attention,
its observations being in French; but as soon as those who knew the
subject of them had heard it, its audience increased and bids were made.
Fifty guineas seemed rather too much, and my negro wanted me to lower the
price, but I would not agree, having fallen in love with this odd
revenge.
In the course of a week Goudar came to inform me of the effect the
parrot's criticism had produced in the Charpillon family. As the vendor
was my negro, there could be no doubt as to whom it belonged, and who had
been its master of languages. Goudar said that the Charpillon thought my
vengeance very ingenious, but that the mother and aunts were furious.
They had consulted several counsel, who agreed in saying that a parrot
could not be indicted for libel, but that they could make me pay dearly
for my jest if they could prove that I had been the bird's instructor.
Goudar warned me to be careful of owning to the fact, as two witnesses
would suffice to undo me.
The facility with which false witnesses may be produced in London is
something dreadful. I have myself seen the word evidence written in large
characters in a window; this is as much as to say that false witnesses
may be procured within.
The St. James's Chronicle contained an article on my parrot, in which the
writer remarked that the ladies whom the bird insulted must be very poor
and friendless, or they would have bought it at once, and have thus
prevented the thing from becoming the talk of the town. He added,--
"The teacher of the parrot has no doubt made the bird an instrument of
his vengeance, and has displayed his wit in doing so; he ought to be an
Englishman."
I met my good friend Edgar, and asked him why he had not bought the
little slanderer.
"Because it delights all who know anything about the object of the
slander," said he.
At last Jarbe found a purchaser for fifty guineas, and I heard afterwards
that Lord Grosvenor had bought it to please the Charpillon, with whom he
occasionally diverted himself.
Thus my relations with that girl came to an end. I have seen her since
with the greatest indifference, and without any renewal of the old pain.
One day, as I was going into St. James's Park, I saw two girls drinking
milk in a room on the ground floor of a house. They called out to me, but
not knowing them I passed on my way. However, a young officer of my
acquaintance came after me and said they were Italians, and being curious
to see them I retracted my steps.
When I entered the room I was accosted by the scoundrelly Pocchini,
dressed in a military uniform, who said he had the honour of introducing
me to his daughters.
"Indeed," said I, "I remember two other daughters of yours robbing me of
a snuff-box and two watches at Stuttgart."
"You lie!" said the impudent rascal.
I gave him no verbal answer, but took up a glass of milk and flung it in
his face, and then left the room without more ado.
I was without my sword. The young officer who had brought me into the
place followed me and told me I must not go without giving his friend
some satisfaction.
"Tell him to come out, and do you escort him to the Green Park, and I
shall have the pleasure of giving him a caning in your presence, unless
you would like to fight for him; if so, you must let me go home and get
my sword. But do you know this man whom you call your friend?"
"No, but he is an officer, and it is I that brought him here."
"Very good, I will fight to the last drop of my blood; but I warn you
your friend is a thief. But go; I will await you."
In the course of a quarter of an hour they all came out, but the
Englishman and Pocchini followed me alone. There were a good many people
about, and I went before them till we reached Hyde Park. Pocchini
attempted to speak to me, but I replied, lifting my cane,--
"Scoundrel, draw your sword, unless you want me to give you a thrashing!"
"I will never draw upon a defenceless man."
I gave him a blow with my cane by way of answer, and the coward, instead
of drawing his sword, began to cry out that I wished to draw him into a
fight. The Englishman burst out laughing and begged me to pardon his
interference, and then, taking me by the arm, said,--
"Come along, sir, I see you know the gentleman."
The coward went off in another direction, grumbling as he went.
On the way I informed the officer of the very good reasons I had for
treating Pocchini as a rogue, and he agreed that I had been perfectly
right. "Unfortunately," he added, "I am in love with one of his
daughters."
When we were in the midst of St. James's Park we saw them, and I could
not help laughing when I noticed Goudar with one of them on each side.
"How did you come to know these ladies?" said I.
"Their father the captain," he answered, "has sold me jewels; he
introduced me to them."
"Where did you leave our father?" asked one.
"In Hyde Park, after giving him a caning."
"You served him quite right."
The young Englishman was indignant to hear them approving my
ill-treatment of their father, and shook my hand and went away, swearing
to me that he would never be seen in their company again.
A whim of Goudar's, to which I was weak enough to consent, made me dine
with these miserable women in a tavern on the borders of London. The
rascally Goudar made them drunk, and in this state they told some
terrible truths about their pretended father. He did not live with them,
but paid them nocturnal visits in which he robbed them of all the money
they had earned. He was their pander, and made them rob their visitors
instructing them to pass it off as a joke if the theft was discovered.
They gave him the stolen articles, but he never said what he did with
them. I could not help laughing at this involuntary confession,
remembering what Goudar had said about Pocchini selling him jewels.
After this wretched meal I went away leaving the duty of escorting them
back to Goudar. He came and saw me the next day, and informed me that the
girls had been arrested and taken to prison just as they were entering
their house.
"I have just been to Pocchini's," said he, "but the landlord tells me he
has not been in since yesterday."
The worthy and conscientious Goudar added that he did not care if he
never saw him again, as he owed the fellow ten guineas for a watch, which
his daughters had probably stolen, and which was well worth double.
Four days later I saw him again, and he informed me that the rascal had
left London with a servant-maid, whom he had engaged at a registry office
where any number of servants are always ready to take service with the
first comer. The keeper of the office answers for their fidelity.
"The girl he has gone with is a pretty one, from what the man tells me,
and they have taken ship from London. I am sorry he went away before I
could pay him for the watch; I am dreading every moment to meet the
individual from whom it was stolen."
I never heard what became of the girls, but Pocchini will re-appear on
the scene in due course.
I led a tranquil and orderly life, which I should have been pleased to
continue for the remainder of my days; but circumstances and my destiny
ordered it otherwise, and against these it is not becoming in a Christian
philosopher to complain. I went several times to see my daughter at her
school, and I also frequented the British Museum, where I met Dr. Mati.
One day I found an Anglican minister with him, and I asked the clergyman
how many different sects there were in England.
"Sir," he replied in very tolerable Italian, "no one can give a positive
answer to that question, for every week some sect dies and some new one
is brought into being. All that is necessary is for a man of good faith,
or some rogue desirous of money or notoriety, to stand in some frequented
place and begin preaching. He explains some texts of the Bible in his own
fashion, and if he pleases the gapers around him they invite him to
expound next Sunday, often in a tavern. He keeps the appointment and
explains his new doctrines in a spirited manner. Then people begin to
talk of him; he disputes with ministers of other sects; he and his
followers give themselves a name, and the thing is done. Thus, or almost
thus, are all the numerous English sects produced."
About this time M. Steffano Guerra, a noble Venetian who was travelling
with the leave of his Government, lost a case against an English painter
who had executed a miniature painting of one of the prettiest ladies in
London, Guerra having given a written promise to pay twenty-five guineas.
When it was finished Guerra did not like it, and would not take it or pay
the price. The Englishman, in accordance with the English custom, began
by arresting his debtor; but Guerra was released on bail, and brought the
matter before the courts, which condemned him to pay the twenty-five
guineas. He appealed, lost again, and was in the end obliged to pay.
Guerra contented that he had ordered a portrait, that a picture bearing
no likeness to the lady in question was not a portrait, and that he had
therefore a right to refuse payment. The painter replied that it was a
portrait as it had been painted from life. The judgment was that the
painter must live by his trade, and that as Guerra had given him painting
to do he must therefore provide him with the wherewithal to live, seeing
that the artist swore he had done his best to catch the likeness.
Everybody thought this sentence just, and so did I; but I confess it also
seemed rather hard, especially to Guerra, who with costs had to pay a
hundred guineas for the miniature.
Malingan's daughter died just as her father received a public box on the
ear from a nobleman who liked piquet, but did not like players who
corrected the caprices of fortune. I gave the poor wretch the wherewithal
to bury his daughter and to leave England. He died soon after at Liege,
and his wife told me of the circumstance, saying that he had expired
regretting his inability to pay his debts.
M. M---- F---- came to London as the representative of the canton of Berne,
and I called, but was not received. I suspected that he had got wind of
the liberties I had taken with pretty Sara, and did not want me to have
an opportunity for renewing them. He was a somewhat eccentric man, so I
did not take offence, and had almost forgotten all about it when chance
led me to the Marylebone Theatre one evening. The spectators sat at
little tables, and the charge for admittance was only a shilling, but
everyone was expected to order something, were it only a pot of ale.
On going into the theatre I chanced to sit down beside a girl whom I did
not notice at first, but soon after I came in she turned towards me, and
I beheld a ravishing profile which somehow seemed familiar; but I
attributed that to the idea of perfect beauty that was graven on my soul.
The more I looked at her the surer I felt that I had never seen her
before, though a smile of inexpressible slyness had begun to play about
her lips. One of her gloves fell, and I hastened to restore it to her,
whereupon she thanked me in a few well-chosen French sentences.
"Madam is not English, then?" said I, respectfully.
"No, sir, I am a Swiss, and a friend of yours."
At this I looked round, and on my right hand sat Madame M---- F----, then
her eldest daughter, then her husband. I got up, and after bowing to the
lady, for whom I had a great esteem, I saluted her husband, who only
replied by a slight movement of the head. I asked Madame M---- F---- what
her husband had against me, and she said that Possano had written to him
telling some dreadful stories about me.
There was not time for me to explain and justify myself, so I devoted all
my energies to the task of winning the daughter's good graces. In three
years she had grown into a perfect beauty: she knew it, and by her
blushes as she spoke to me I knew she was thinking of what had passed
between us in the presence of my housekeeper. I was anxious to find out
whether she would acknowledge the fact, or deny it altogether. If she had
done so I should have despised her. When I had seen her before, the
blossom of her beauty was still in the bud, now it had opened out in all
its splendour.
"Charming Sara," I said, "you have so enchanted me that I cannot help
asking you a couple of questions, which if you value my peace of mind you
will answer. Do you remember what happened at Berne?"
"Yes."
"And do you repent of what you did?"
"No."
No man of any delicacy could ask the third question, which may be
understood. I felt sure that Sara would make me happy-nay, that she was
even longing for the moment, and gave reins to my passions, determined to
convince her that I was deserving of her love. The waiter came to enquire
if we had any orders, and I begged Madame M---- F---- to allow me to offer
her some oysters. After the usual polite refusals she gave in, and I
profited by her acceptance to order all the delicacies of the season,
including a hare (a great delicacy in London), champagne, choice
liqueurs, larks, ortolans, truffles, sweetmeats--everything, in fact,
that money could buy, and I was not at all surprised when the bill proved
to amount to ten guineas. But I was very much surprised when M.
M---- F----, who had eaten like a Turk and drunk like a Swiss, said calmly
that it was too dear.
I begged him politely not to trouble himself about the cost; and by way
of proving that I did not share his opinion, I gave the waiter
half-a-guinea; the worthy man looked as if he wished that such customers
came more often. The Swiss, who had been pale and gloomy enough a short
while before; was rubicund and affable. Sara glanced at me and squeezed
my hand; I had conquered.
When the play was over, M---- F---- asked me if I would allow him to call
on me. I embraced him in reply. His servant came in, and said that he
could not find a coach; and I, feeling rather surprised that he had not
brought his carriage, offered him the use of mine, telling my man to get
me a sedan-chair.
"I accept your kind offer," said he, "on the condition that you allow me
to occupy the chair."
I consented to this arrangement, and took the mother and the two
daughters with me in the carriage.
On the way, Madame M---- F---- was very polite, gently blaming her husband
for the rudeness of which I had to complain. I said that I would avenge
myself by paying an assiduous court to him in the future; but she pierced
me to the heart by saying that they were on the point of departing. "We
wanted to go on the day after next," she said, "and to-morrow we shall
have to leave our present rooms to their new occupants. A matter of
business which my husband was not able to conclude will oblige us to stay
for another week, and to-morrow we shall have the double task of moving
and finding new apartments."
"Then you have not yet got new rooms?"
"No, but my husband says he is certain to find some to-morrow morning."
"Furnished, I suppose, for as you intend to leave you will be selling,
your furniture."
"Yes, and we shall have to pay the expenses of carriage to the buyer."
On hearing that M. M---- F---- was sure of finding lodgings, I was
precluded from offering to accommodate them in my own house, as the lady
might think that I only made the offer because I was sure it would not be
accepted.
When we got to the door of their house we alighted, and the mother begged
me to come in. She and her husband slept on the second floor, and the two
girls on the third. Everything was upside down, and as Madame
M---- F---- had something to say to the landlady she asked me to go up with
her daughters. It was cold, and the room we entered had no fire in it.
The sister went into the room adjoining and I stayed with Sara, and all
of a sudden I clasped her to my breast, and feeling that her desires were
as ardent as mine I fell with her on to a sofa where we mingled our
beings in all the delights of voluptuous ardours. But this happiness was
short lived; scarcely was the work achieved when we heard a footstep on
the stair. It was the father.
If M---- F---- had had any eyes he must have found us out, for my face bore
the marks of agitation, the nature of which it was easy to divine. We
exchanged a few brief compliments; I shook his hand and disappeared. I
was in such a state of excitement when I got home that I made up my mind
to leave England and to follow Sara to Switzerland. In the night I formed
my plans, and resolved to offer the family my house during the time they
stayed in England, and if necessary to force them to accept my offer.
In the morning I hastened to call on M---- F----, and found him on his
doorstep.
"I am going to try and get a couple of rooms," said he.
"They are already found," I replied. "My house is at your service, and
you must give me the preference. Let us come upstairs."
"Everybody is in bed."
"Never mind," said I, and we proceeded to go upstairs.
Madame M---- F---- apologized for being in bed. Her husband told her that I
wanted to let them some rooms, but I laughed and said I desired they
would accept my hospitality as that of a friend. After some polite
denials my offer was accepted, and it was agreed that the whole family
should take up their quarters with me in the evening.
I went home, and was giving the necessary orders when I was told that two
young ladies wished to see me. I went down in person, and I was agreeably
surprised to see Sara and her sister. I asked them to come in, and Sara
told me that the landlady would not let their belongings out of the house
before her father paid a debt of forty guineas, although a city merchant
had assured her it should be settled in a week. The long and snort of it
was that Sara's father had sent me a bill and begged me to discount it.
I took the bill and gave her a bank note for fifty pounds in exchange,
telling her that she could give me the change another time. She thanked
me with great simplicity and went her way, leaving me delighted with the
confidence she had placed in me.
The fact of M. M---- F----'s wanting forty guineas did not make me divine
that he was in some straits, for I looked at everything through
rose-coloured glasses, and was only too happy to be of service to him.
I made a slight dinner in order to have a better appetite for supper, and
spent the afternoon in writing letters. In the evening M. M---- F----'s
man came with three great trunks and innumerable card-board boxes,
telling me that the family would soon follow; but I awaited them in vain
till nine o'clock. I began to get alarmed and went to the house, where I
found them all in a state of consternation. Two ill-looking fellows who
were in the room enlightened me; and assuming a jovial and unconcerned
air, I said,--
"I'll wager, now, that this is the work of some fierce creditor."
"You are right," answered the father, "but I am sure of discharging the
debt in five or six days, and that's why I put off my departure."
"Then you were arrested after you had sent on your trunks."
"Just after."
"And what have you done?"
"I have sent for bail."
"Why did you not send to me?"
"Thank you, I am grateful for your kindness, but you are a foreigner, and
sureties have to be householders."
"But you ought to have told me what had happened, for I have got you an
excellent supper, and I am dying of hunger."
It was possible that this debt might exceed my means, so I did not dare
to offer to pay it. I took Sara aside, and on hearing that all his
trouble was on account of a debt of a hundred and fifty pounds, I asked
the bailiff whether we could go away if the debt was paid.
"Certainly," said he, shewing me the bill of exchange.
I took out three bank notes of fifty pounds each, and gave them to the
man, and taking the bill I said to the poor Swiss,--
"You shall pay me the money before you leave England."
The whole family wept with joy, and after embracing them all I summoned
them to come and sup with me and forget the troubles of life.
We drove off to my house and had a merry supper, though the worthy mother
could not quite forget her sadness. After supper I took them to the rooms
which had been prepared for them, and with which they were delighted, and
so I wished them good night, telling them that they should be well
entertained till their departure, and that I hoped to follow them into
Switzerland.
When I awoke the next day I was in a happy frame of mind. On examining my
desires I found that they had grown too strong to be overcome, but I did
not wish to overcome them. I loved Sara, and I felt so certain of
possessing her that I put all desires out of my mind; desires are born
only of doubt, and doubt torments the soul. Sara was mine; she had given
herself to me out of pure passion, without any shadow of self-interest.
I went to the father's room, and found him engaged in opening his trunks.
His wife looked sad, so I asked her if she were not well. She replied
that her health was perfect, but that the thought of the sea voyage
troubled her sorely. The father begged me to excuse him at breakfast as
he had business to attend to. The two young ladies came down, and after
we had breakfast I asked the mother why they were unpacking their trunks
so short a time before starting. She smiled and said that one trunk would
be ample for all their possessions, as they had resolved to sell all
superfluities. As I had seen some beautiful dresses, fine linen, and
exquisite lace, I could not refrain from saying that it would be a great
pity to sell cheaply what would have to be replaced dearly.
"You are right," she said, "but, nevertheless, there is no pleasure so
great as the consciousness of having paid one's debts."
"You must not sell anything," I replied, in a lively manner, "for as I am
going to Switzerland with you I can pay your debts, and you shall repay
me when you can."
At these words astonishment was depicted on her face.
"I did not think you were speaking seriously," said she.
"Perfectly seriously, and here is the object of my vows."
With these words I seized Sara's hand and covered it with kisses.
Sara blushed, said nothing, and the mother looked kindly at us; but after
a moment's silence she spoke at some length, and with the utmost candour
and wisdom. She gave me circumstantial information as to the position of
the family and her husband's restricted means, saying that under the
circumstances he could not have avoided running into debt, but that he
had done wrong to bring them all with him to London.
"If he had been by himself," she said, "he could have lived here
comfortably enough with only one servant, but with a family to provide
for the two thousand crowns per annum provided by the Government are
quite insufficient. My old father has succeeded in persuading the State
to discharge my husband's debts, but to make up the extra expense they
will not employ a Charge d'affaires; a banker with the title of agent
will collect the interest on their English securities."
She ended by saying that she thought Sara was fortunate to have pleased
me, but that she was not sure whether her husband would consent to the
marriage.
The word "marriage" made Sara blush, and I was pleased, though it was
evident there would be difficulties in the way.
M---- F---- came back and told his wife that two clothes dealers would come
to purchase their superfluous clothes in the afternoon; but after
explaining my ideas I had not much trouble in convincing him that it
would be better not to sell them, and that he could become my debtor to
the amount of two hundred pounds, on which he could pay interest till he
was able to return me my capital. The agreement was written out the same
day, but I did not mention the marriage question, as his wife had told me
she would discuss it with him in private.
On the third day he came down by himself to talk with me.
"My wife," he began, "has told me of your intentions, and I take it as a
great honour, I assure you; but I cannot give you my Sara, as she is
promised to M. de W----, and family reasons prevent me from going back
from my word. Besides my old father, a strict Calvinist, would object to
the difference in religion. He would never believe that his dear little
grandchild would be happy with a Roman Catholic."
As a matter of fact I was not at all displeased at what he said. I was
certainly very fond of Sara, but the word "marriage" had a disagreeable
sound to me. I answered that circumstances might change in time, and that
in the meanwhile I should be quite content if he would allow me to be the
friend of the family and to take upon myself all the responsibility of
the journey. He promised everything, and assured me that he was delighted
at his daughter having won my affection.
After this explanation I gave Sara as warm marks of my love as decency
would allow in the presence of her father and mother, and I could see
that all the girl thought of was love.
The fifth day I went up to her room, and finding her in bed all the fires
of passion flamed up in my breast, for since my first visit to their
house I had not been alone with her. I threw myself upon her, covering
her with kisses, and she shewed herself affectionate but reserved. In
vain I endeavoured to succeed; she opposed a gentle resistance to my
efforts, and though she caressed me, she would not let me attain my end.
"Why, divine Sara," said I, "do you oppose my loving ecstasy?"
"Dearest, I entreat of you not to ask for any more than I am willing to
give."
"Then you no longer love me?"
"Cruel man, I adore you!"
"Then why do you treat me to a refusal, after having once surrendered
unreservedly?"
"I have given myself to you, and we have both been happy, and I think
that should be enough for us."
"There must be some reason for this change. If you love me, dearest Sara,
this renunciation must be hard for you to bear."
"I confess it, but nevertheless I feel it is my duty. I have made up my
mind to subdue my passion from no weak motive, but from a sense of what I
owe to myself. I am under obligations to you, and if I were to repay the
debt I have contracted with my body I should be degraded in my own eyes.
When we enjoyed each other before only love was between us--there was no
question of debit and credit. My heart is now the thrall of what I owe
you, and to these debts it will not give what it gave so readily to
love."
"This is a strange philosophy, Sara; believe me it is fallacious, and the
enemy of your happiness as well as mine. These sophisms lead you astray
and wound me to the heart. Give me some credit for delicacy of feeling,
and believe me you owe me nothing."
"You must confess that if you had not loved me you would have done
nothing for my father."
"Certainly I will confess nothing of the kind; I would readily do as
much, and maybe more, out of regard for your worthy mother. It is quite
possible, indeed, that in doing this small service for your father I had
no thoughts of you at all."
"It might be so; but I do not believe it was so. Forgive me, dearest, but
I cannot make up my mind to pay my debts in the way you wish."
"It seems to me that if you are grateful to me your love ought to be
still more ardent."
"It cannot be more ardent than it is already."
"Do you know how grievously you make me suffer?"
"Alas! I suffer too; but do not reproach me; let us love each other
still."
This dialogue is not the hundredth part of what actually passed between
us till dinner-time. The mother came in, and finding me seated at the
foot of the daughter's bed, laughed, and asked me why I kept her in bed.
I answered with perfect coolness that we had been so interested in our
conversation that we had not noticed the flight of time.
I went to dress, and as I thought over the extraordinary change which had
taken place in Sara I resolved that it should not last for long. We dined
together gaily, and Sara and I behaved in all respects like two lovers.
In the evening I took them to the Italian Opera, coming home to an
excellent supper.
The next morning I passed in the city, having accounts to settle with my
bankers. I got some letters of exchange on Geneva, and said farewell to
the worthy Mr. Bosanquet. In the afternoon I got a coach for Madame
M---- F---- to pay some farewells calls, and I went to say good-bye to my
daughter at school. The dear little girl burst into tears, saying that
she would be lost without me, and begging me not to forget her. I was
deeply moved. Sophie begged me to go and see her mother before I left
England, and I decided on doing so.
At supper we talked over our journey, and M. M---- F---- agreed with me
that it would be better to go by Dunkirk than Ostend. He had very little
more business to attend to. His debts were paid, and he said he thought
he would have a matter of fifty guineas in his pocket at the journey's
end, after paying a third share of all the travelling expenses. I had to
agree to this, though I made up my mind at the same time not to let him
see any of the accounts. I hoped to win Sara, in one way or another, when
we got to Berne.
The next day, after breakfast, I took her hand in presence of her mother,
and asked her if she would give me her heart if I could obtain her
father's consent at Berne.
"Your mother," I added, "has promised me that hers shall not be wanting."
At this the mother got up, and saying that we had no doubt a good deal to
talk over, she and her eldest daughter went out to pay some calls.
As soon as we were alone Sara said that she could not understand how I
could have the smallest doubt as to whether her consent would be given.
"I have shewn you how well I love you," said she, tenderly; "and I am
sure I should be very happy as your wife. You may be sure that your
wishes will be mine, and that, however far you lead me, Switzerland shall
claim no thought of mine."
I pressed the amorous Sara to my bosom in a transport of delight, which
was shared by her; but as she saw me grow more ardent she begged me to be
moderate. Clasping me in her arms she adjured me not to ask her for that
which she was determined not to grant till she was mine by lawful
wedlock.
"You will drive me to despair! Have you reflected that this resistance
may cost me my life? Can you love, and yet entertain this fatal
prejudice? And yet I am sure you love me, and pleasure too."
"Yes, dearest one, I do love you, and amorous pleasure with you; but you
must respect my delicacy."
My eyes were wet with tears, and she was so affected that she fell
fainting to the ground. I lifted her up and gently laid her on the bed.
Her pallor alarmed me. I brought smelling-salts, I rubbed her forehead
with Savoy-water, and she soon opened her eyes, and seemed delighted to
find me calm again.
The thought of taking advantage of her helplessness would have horrified
me. She sat up on the bed, and said,--
"You have just given a true proof of the sincerity of your affection."
"Did you think, sweetheart, that I was vile enough to abuse your
weakness? Could I enjoy a pleasure in which you had no share?"
"I did not think you would do such a thing, but I should not have
resisted, though it is possible that I should not have loved you
afterwards."
"Sara, though you do not know, you charm my soul out of my body."
After this I sat down sadly on the bed, and abandoned myself to the most
melancholy reflections, from which Sara did not endeavour to rouse me.
Her mother came in and asked why she was on the bed, but not at all
suspiciously. Sara told her the truth.
M. M---- F---- came in soon after, and we dined together, but silently.
What I had heard from the girl's lips had completely overwhelmed me. I
saw I had nothing to hope for, and that it was time for me to look to
myself. Six weeks before, God had delivered me from my bondage to an
infamous woman, and now I was in danger of becoming the slave of an
angel. Such were my reflections whilst Sara was fainting, but it was
necessary for me to consider the matter at my leisure.
There was a sale of valuable articles in the city, the means taken for
disposing of them being a lottery. Sara had read the announcement, and I
asked her with her mother and sister to come with me and take part in it.
I had not much trouble in obtaining their consent, and we found ourselves
in distinguished company, among the persons present being the Countess of
Harrington, Lady Stanhope, and Emilie and her daughters. Emilie had a
strange case before the courts. She had given information to the police
that her husband had been robbed of six thousand pounds, though everyone
said that she herself was the thief.
Madame M---- F---- did not take a ticket, but she allowed me to take
tickets for her daughters, who were in high glee, since for ten or twelve
guineas they got articles worth sixty.
Every day I was more taken with Sara; but feeling sure that I should only
obtain slight favours from her, I thought it was time to come to an
explanation. So after supper I said that as it was not certain that Sara
could become my wife I had determined not to accompany them to Berne. The
father told me I was very wise, and that I could still correspond with
his daughter, Sara said nothing, but I could see she was much grieved.
I passed a dreadful night; such an experience was altogether new to me. I
weighed Sara's reasons, and they seemed to me to be merely frivolous,
which drove me to conclude that my caresses had displeased her.
For the last three days I found myself more than once alone with her; but
I was studiously moderate, and she caressed me in a manner that would
have made my bliss if I had not already obtained the one great favour. It
was at this time I learnt the truth of the maxim that if abstinence is
sometimes the spur of love, it has also the contrary effect. Sara had
brought my feeling to a pitch of gentle friendship, while an infamous
prostitute like the Charpillon, who knew how to renew hope and yet grant
nothing, ended by inspiring me with contempt, and finally with hatred.
The family sailed for Ostend, and I accompanied them to the mouth of the
Thames. I gave Sara a letter for Madame de W----. This was the name of
the learned Hedvig whom she did not know. They afterwards became
sisters-in-law, as Sara married a brother of M. de W----, and was happy
with him.
Even now I am glad to hear tidings of my old friends and their doings,
but the interest I take in such matters is not to be compared to my
interest in some obscure story of ancient history. For our
contemporaries, the companions, of our youthful follies, we have a kind
of contempt, somewhat similar to that which we entertain for ourselves.
Four years ago I wrote to Madame G---- at Hamburg, and my letter began:
"After a silence of twenty-one years . . ."
She did not deign to reply, and I was by no means displeased. We cared no
longer for one another, and it is quite natural that it should be so.
When I tell my reader who Madame G---- is, he will be amused. Two years
ago I set out for Hamburg, but my good genius made me turn back to Dux;
what had I to do at Hamburg?
After my guests were gone I went to the Italian Opera at Covent Garden,
and met Goudar, who asked me if I would come to the Sartori's concert. He
told me I should see a beautiful young English woman there who spoke
Italian. As I had just lost Sara I did not much care about making new
acquaintances, but still I was curious to see the young marvel. I
indulged my curiosity, and I am glad to say that instead of being amused
I was wearied, though the young English woman was pretty enough. A young
Livonian, who called himself Baron of Stenau, seemed extremely interested
in her. After supper she offered us tickets for the next concert, and I
took one for myself and one for Gondar, giving her two guineas, but the
Livonian baron took fifty tickets, and gave her a bank note for fifty
guineas. I saw by this that he wanted to take the place by storm, and I
liked his way of doing it. I supposed him to be rich, without caring to
enquire into his means. He made advances to me and we became friends, and
the reader will see in due time what a fatal acquaintance he was.
One day as I was walking with Goudar in Hyde Park he left me to speak to
two ladies who seemed pretty.
He was not long absent, and said, when he rejoined me,--
"A Hanoverian lady, a widow and the mother of five daughters, came to
England two months ago with her whole family. She lives close by, and is
occupied in soliciting compensation from the Government for any injury
that was done her by the passage of the Duke of Cumberland's army. The
mother herself is sick and and never leaves her bed; she sends her two
eldest daughters to petition the Government, and they are the two young
ladies you have just seen. They have not met with any success. The eldest
daughter is twenty-two, and the youngest fourteen; they are all pretty
and can speak English, French, and German equally well, and are always
glad to see visitors. I had been to visit them myself, but as I gave them
nothing I do not care to go there alone a second time. If you like,
however, I can introduce you."
"You irritate my curiosity. Come along, but if the one that pleases me is
not complaisant she shall have nothing."
"They will not even allow one to take them by the hand."
"They are Charpillons, I suppose."
"It looks like it. But you won't see any men there:"
We were shewn into a large room where I noticed three pretty girls and an
evil-looking man. I began with the usual compliments, to which the girls
replied politely, but with an air of great sadness.
Goudar spoke to the man, and then came to me shrugging his shoulders, and
saying,--
"We have come at a sad time. That man is a bailiff who has come to take
the mother to prison if she can't pay her landlord the twenty guineas'
rent she owes him, and they haven't got a farthing. When the mother has
been sent to prison the landlord will no doubt turn the girls out of
doors."
"They can live with their mother for nothing."
"Not at all. If they have got the money they can have their meals in
prison, but no one is allowed to live in a prison except the prisoners."
I asked one of them where her sisters were.
"They have gone out, to look for money, for the landlord won't accept any
surety, and we have nothing to sell."
"All this is very sad; what does your mother say?"
"She only weeps, and yet, though she is ill and cannot leave her bed,
they are going to take her to prison. By way of consolation the landlord
says he will have her carried."
"It is very hard. But your looks please me, mademoiselle, and if you will
be kind I may be able to extricate you from the difficulty."
"I do not know what you mean by 'kind.'"
"Your mother will understand; go and ask her."
"Sir, you do not know us; we are honest girls, and ladies of position
besides."
With these words the young woman turned her back on me, and began to weep
again. The two others, who were quite as pretty, stood straight up and
said not a word. Goudar whispered to me in Italian that unless we did
something for them we should cut but a sorry figure there; and I was
cruel enough to go away without saying a word.
CHAPTER XV
The Hanoverians
[Illustration: Chapter 15]
As we were leaving the house we met the two eldest sisters, who came home
looking very sad. I was struck by their beauty, and extremely surprised
to hear myself greeted by one of them, who said,--
"It is M. the Chevalier de Seingalt."
"Himself, mademoiselle, and sorely grieved at your misfortune."
"Be kind enough to come in again for a moment."
"I am sorry to say that I have an important engagement."
"I will not keep you for longer than a quarter of an hour."
I could not refuse so small a favour, and she employed the time in
telling me how unfortunate they had been in Hanover, how they had come to
London to obtain compensation, of their failure, their debts, the cruelty
of the landlord, their mother's illness, the prison that awaited her, the
likelihood of their being cast into the street, and the cruelty of all
their acquaintances.
"We have nothing to sell, and all our resources consist of two shillings,
which we shall have to spend on bread, on which we live."
"Who are your friends? How can they abandon you at such a time?"
She mentioned several names--among others, Lord Baltimore, Marquis
Carracioli, the Neapolitan ambassador, and Lord Pembroke.
"I can't believe it," said I, "for I know the two last noblemen to be
both rich and generous. There must be some good reason for their conduct,
since you are beautiful; and for these gentlemen beauty is a bill to be
honoured on sight."
"Yes, there is a reason. These rich noblemen abandon us with contempt.
They refuse to take pity on us because we refuse to yield to their guilty
passion."
"That is to say, they have taken a fancy to you, and as you will not have
pity on them they refuse to have pity on you. Is it not so?"
"That is exactly the situation."
"Then I think they are in the right."
"In the right?"
"Yes, I am quite of their opinion. We leave you to enjoy your sense of
virtue, and we spend our money in procuring those favours which you
refuse us. Your misfortune really is your prettiness, if you were ugly
you would get twenty guineas fast enough. I would give you the money
myself, and the action would be put down to benevolence; whereas, as the
case stands, if I were to give you anything it would be thought that I
was actuated by the hope of favours to come, and I should be laughed at,
and deservedly, as a dupe."
I felt that this was the proper way to speak to the girl, whose eloquence
in pleading her cause was simply wonderful.
She did not reply to my oration, and I asked her how she came to know me.
"I saw you at Richmond with the Charpillon."
"She cost me two thousand guineas, and I got nothing for my money; but I
have profited by the lesson, and in future I shall never pay in advance."
Just then her mother called her, and, begging me to wait a moment, she
went into her room, and returned almost directly with the request that I
would come and speak to the invalid.
I found her sitting up in her bed; she looked about forty-five, and still
preserved traces of her former beauty; her countenance bore the imprint
of sadness, but had no marks of sickness whatsoever. Her brilliant and
expressive eyes, her intellectual face, and a suggestion of craft about
her, all bade me be on my guard, and a sort of false likeness to the
Charpillon's mother made me still more cautious, and fortified me in my
resolution to give no heed to the appeals of pity.
"Madam," I began, "what can I do for you?"
"Sir," she replied, "I have heard the whole of your conversations with my
daughters, and you must confess that you have not talked to them in a
very fatherly manner."
"Quite so, but the only part which I desire to play with them is that of
lover, and a fatherly style would not have been suitable to the part. If
I had the happiness of being their father, the case would be altered.
What I have said to your daughters is what I feel, and what I think most
likely to bring about the end I have in view. I have not the slightest
pretence to virtue, but I adore the fair sex, and now you and they know
the road to my purse. If they wish to preserve their virtue, why let
them; nobody will trouble them, and they, on their side, must not expect
anything from men. Good-bye, madam; you may reckon on my never addressing
your daughters again."
"Wait a moment, sir. My husband was the Count of----, and you see that my
daughters are of respectable birth."
"Have you not pity for our situation?"
"I pity you extremely, and I would relieve you in an instant if your
daughters were ugly, but as it is they are pretty, and that alters the
case."
"What an argument!"
"It is a very strong one with me, and I think I am the best judge of
arguments which apply to myself. You want twenty guineas; well, you shall
have them after one of your five countesses has spent a joyous night with
me."
"What language to a woman of my station! Nobody has ever dared to speak
to me in such a way before."
"Pardon me, but what use is rank without a halfpenny? Allow me to retire.
"To-day we have only bread to eat."
"Well, certainly that is rather hard on countesses."
"You are laughing at the title, apparently."
"Yes, I am; but I don't want to offend you. If you like, I will stop to
dinner, and pay for all, yourself included."
"You are an eccentric individual. My girls are sad, for I am going to
prison. You will find their company wearisome."
"That is my affair."
"You had much better give them the money you would spend on the dinner."
"No, madam. I must have at least the pleasures of sight and sound for my
money. I will stay your arrest till to-morrow, and afterwards Providence
may possibly intervene on your behalf."
"The landlord will not wait."
"Leave me to deal with him."
I told Goudar to go and see what the man would take to send the bailiff
away for twenty-four hours. He returned with the message that he must
have a guinea and bail for the twenty guineas, in case the lodgers might
take to flight before the next day.
My wine merchant lived close by. I told Gondar to wait for me, and the
matter was soon settled and the bailiff sent away, and I told the five
girls that they might take their ease for twenty-four hours more.
I informed Gondar of the steps I had taken, and told him to go out and
get a good dinner for eight people. He went on his errand, and I summoned
the girls to their mother's bedside, and delighted them all by telling
them that for the next twenty-four hours they were to make good cheer.
They could not get over their surprise at the suddenness of the change I
had worked in the house.
"But this is all I can do for you," said I to the mother. "Your daughters
are charming, and I have obtained a day's respite for you all without
asking for anything in return; I shall dine, sup, and pass the night with
them without asking so much as a single kiss, but if your ideas have not
changed by to-morrow you will be in exactly the same position as you were
a few minutes ago, and I shall not trouble you any more with my
attentions."
"What do you mean my 'changing my ideas'?"
"I need not tell you, for you know perfectly well what I mean."
"My daughters shall never become prostitutes."
"I will proclaim their spotless chastity all over London--but I shall
spend my guineas elsewhere."
"You are a cruel man."
"I confess I can be very cruel, but it is only when I don't meet with
kindness."
Goudar came back and we returned to the ladies' room, as the mother did
not like to shew herself to my friend, telling me that I was the only man
she had permitted to see her in bed during the whole time she had been in
London.
Our English dinner was excellent in its way, but my chief pleasure was to
see the voracity with which the girls devoured the meal. One would have
thought they were savages devouring raw meat after a long fast. I had got
a case of excellent wine and I made each of them drink a bottle, but not
being accustomed to such an indulgence they became quite drunk. The
mother had devoured the whole of the plentiful helpings I had sent in to
her, and she had emptied a bottle of Burgundy, which she carried very
well.
In spite of their intoxication, the girls were perfectly safe; I kept my
word, and Goudar did not take the slightest liberty. We had a pleasant
supper, and after a bowl of punch I left them feeling in love with the
whole bevy, and very uncertain whether I should be able to shew as brave
a front the next day.
As we were going away Goudar said that I was conducting the affair
admirably, but if I made a single slip I should be undone.
I saw the good sense of his advice, and determined to shew that I was as
sharp as he.
The next day, feeling anxious to hear the result of the council which the
mother had doubtless held with the daughters, I called at their house at
ten o'clock. The two eldest sisters were out, endeavouring to beat up
some more friends, and the three youngest rushed up to me as if they had
been spaniels and I their master, but they would not even allow me to
kiss them. I told them they made a mistake, and knocked at the mother's
door. She told me to come in, and thanked me for the happy day I had
given them.
"Am I to withdraw my bail, countess?"
"You can do what you like, but I do not think you capable of such an
action."
"You are mistaken. You have doubtless made a deep study of the human
heart; but you either know little of the human mind, or else you think
you have a larger share than any other person. All your daughters have
inspired me with love, but were it a matter of life and death I would not
do a single thing for them or you before you have done me the only favour
that is in your power. I leave you to your reflections, and more
especially to your virtues."
She begged me to stay, but I did not even listen to her. I passed by the
three charmers, and after telling my wine merchant to withdraw his
security I went in a furious mood to call on Lord Pembroke. As soon as I
mentioned the Hanoverians he burst out laughing, and said these false
innocents must be made to fulfil their occupation in a proper manner.
"They came whining to me yesterday," he proceeded, "and I not only would
not give them anything, but I laughed them to scorn. They have got about
twelve guineas out of me on false pretences; they are as cunning sluts as
the Charpillon."
I told him what I had done the day before, and what I intended to offer:
twenty guineas for the first, and as much for each of the others, but
nothing to be paid in advance.
"I had the same idea myself, but I cried off, and I don't think you'll
succeed, as Lord Baltimore offered them forty apiece; that is two hundred
guineas in all, and the bargain has fallen through because they want the
money to be paid in advance. They paid him a visit yesterday, but found
him pitiless, for he has been taken in several times by them."
"We shall see what will happen when the mother is under lock and key;
I'll bet we shall have them cheaply."
I came home for dinner, and Goudar, who had just been at their house,
reported that the bailiff would only wait till four o'clock, that the two
eldest daughters had come back empty-handed, and that they had been
obliged to sell one of their dresses to buy a morsel of bread.
I felt certain that they would have recourse to me again, and I was
right. We were at dessert when they put in an appearance. I made them sit
down, and the eldest sister exhausted her eloquence to persuade me to
give them another three days' grace.
"You will find me insensible," said I, "unless you are willing to adopt
my plan. If you wish to hear it, kindly follow me into the next room."
She did so, leaving her sister with Goudar, and making her sit down on a
sofa beside me, I shewed her twenty guineas, saying,--
"These are yours; but you know on what terms?"
She rejected my offer with disdain, and thinking she might wish to salve
her virtue by being attacked, I set to work; but finding her resistance
serious I let her alone, and begged her to leave my house immediately.
She called to her sister, and they both went out.
In the evening, as I was going to the play, I called on my wine merchant
to hear the news. He told me that the mother had been taken to prison,
and that the youngest daughter had gone with her; but he did not know
what had become of the four others.
I went home feeling quite sad, and almost reproaching myself for not
having taken compassion on then; however, just as I was sitting down to
supper they appeared before me like four Magdalens. The eldest, who was
the orator of the company, told me that their mother was in prison, and
that they would have to pass the night in the street if I did not take
pity on them.
"You shall have rooms, beds, and good fires," said I, "but first let me
see you eat."
Delight appeared on every countenance, and I had numerous dishes brought
for them. They ate eagerly but sadly, and only drank water.
"Your melancholy and your abstinence displeases me," said I, to the
eldest girl; "go upstairs and you will find everything necessary for your
comfort, but take care to be gone at seven in the morning and not to let
me see your faces again."
They went up to the second floor without a word.
An hour afterwards, just as I was going to bed, the eldest girl came into
my room and said she wished to have a private interview with me. I told
my negro to withdraw, and asked her to explain herself.
"What will you do for us," said she, "if I consent to share your couch?"
"I will give you twenty guineas, and I will lodge and board you as long
as you give me satisfaction."
Without saying a word she began to undress, and got into bed. She was
submissive and nothing more, and did not give me so much as a kiss. At
the end of a quarter of an hour I was disgusted with her and got up, and
giving her a bank note for twenty guineas I told her to put on her
clothes and go back to her room.
"You must all leave my house to-morrow," I said, "for I am ill pleased
with you. Instead of giving yourself up for love you have prostituted
yourself. I blush for you."
She obeyed mutely, and I went to sleep in an ill humour.
At about seven o'clock in the morning I was awakened by a hand shaking me
gently. I opened my eyes, and I was surprised to see the second daughter.
"What do you want?" I said, coldly.
"I want you to take pity on us, and shelter us in your house for a few
days longer. I will be very grateful. My sister has told me all, you are
displeased with her, but you must forgive her, for her heart is not her
own. She is in love with an Italian who is in prison for debt."
"And I suppose you are in love with someone else?"
"No, I am not."
"Could you love me?"
She lowered her eyes, and pressed my hand gently. I drew her towards me,
and embraced her, and as I felt her kisses answer mine, I said,--
"You have conquered."
"My name is Victoire."
"I like it, and I will prove the omen a true one."
Victoire, who was tender and passionate, made me spend two delicious
hours, which compensated me for my bad quarter of an hour of the night
before.
When our exploits were over, I said,--
"Dearest Victoire, I am wholly throe. Let your mother be brought here as
soon as she is free. Here are twenty guineas for you."
She did not expect anything, and the agreeable surprise made her in an
ecstasy; she could not speak, but her heart was full of happiness. I too
was happy, and I believed that a great part of my happiness was caused by
the knowledge that I had done a good deed. We are queer creatures all of
us, whether we are bad or good. From that moment I gave my servants
orders to lay the table for eight persons every day, and told them that I
was only at home to Goudar. I spent money madly, and felt that I was
within a measurable distance of poverty.
At noon the mother came in a sedan-chair, and went to bed directly. I
went to see her, and did not evince any surprise when she began to thank
me for my noble generosity. She wanted me to suppose that she thought I
had given her daughters forty guineas for nothing, and I let her enjoy
her hypocrisy.
In the evening I took them to Covent Garden, where the castrato Tenducci
surprised me by introducing me to his wife, of whom he had two children.
He laughed at people who said that a castrato could not procreate. Nature
had made him a monster that he might remain a man; he was born triorchis,
and as only two of the seminal glands had been destroyed the remaining
one was sufficient to endow him with virility.
When I got back to my small seraglio I supped merrily with the five
nymphs, and spent a delicious night with Victoire, who was overjoyed at
having made my conquest. She told me that her sister's lover was a
Neapolitan, calling himself Marquis de Petina, and that they were to get
married as soon as he was out of prison. It seemed he was expecting
remittances, and the mother would be delighted to see her daughter a
marchioness.
"How much does the marquis owe?"
"Twenty guineas."
"And the Neapolitan ambassador allows him to languish in prison for such
a beggarly sum? I can't believe it."
"The ambassador won't have anything to do with him, because he left
Naples without the leave of the Government."
"Tell your sister that if the ambassador assures me that her lover's name
is really the Marquis de Petina, I will get him out of prison
immediately."
I went out to ask my daughter, and another boarder of whom I was very
fond, to dinner, and on my way called on the Marquis of Caraccioli, an
agreeable man, whose acquaintance I had made at Turin. I found the famous
Chevalier d'Eon at his house, and I had no need of a private interview to
make my inquiries about Petina.
"The young man is really what he professes to me," said the ambassador,
"but I will neither receive him nor give him any money till I hear from
my Government that he has received leave to travel."
That was enough for me, and I stayed there for an hour listening to
d'Eon's amusing story.
Eon had deserted the embassy on account of ten thousand francs which the
department of foreign affairs at Versailles had refused to allow him,
though the money was his by right. He had placed himself under the
protection of the English laws, and after securing two thousand
subscribers at a guinea apiece, he had sent to press a huge volume in
quarto containing all the letters he had received from the French
Government for the last five or six years.
About the same time a London banker had deposited the sum of twenty
thousand guineas at the Bank of England, being ready to wager that sum
that Eon was a woman. The bet was taken by a number of persons who had
formed themselves into a kind of company for the purpose, and the only
way to decide it was that Eon should be examined in the presence of
witnesses. The chevalier was offered half the wager, but he laughed them
to scorn. He said that such an examination would dishonour him, were he
man or woman. Caraccioli said that it could only dishonour him if he were
a woman, but I could not agree with this opinion. At the end of a year
the bet was declared off; but in the course of three years he received
his pardon from the king, and appeared at Court in woman's dress, wearing
the cross of St. Louis.
Louis XV. had always been aware of the chevalier's sex, but Cardinal
Fleuri had taught him that it became kings to be impenetrable, and Louis
remained so all his life.
When I got home I gave the eldest Hanoverian twenty guineas, telling her
to fetch her marquis out of prison, and bring him to dine with us, as I
wanted to know him. I thought she would have died with joy.
The third sister, having taken counsel with Victoire, and doubtless with
her mother also, determined to earn twenty guineas for herself, and she
had not much trouble in doing so. She it was on whom Lord Pembroke had
cast the eye of desire.
These five girls were like five dishes placed before a gourmand, who
enjoys them one after the other. To my fancy the last was always the
best. The third sister's name was Augusta.
Next Sunday I had a large number of guests. There were my daughter and
her friend, Madame Cornelis, and her son. Sophie was kissed and caressed
by the Hanoverians, while I bestowed a hundred kisses on Miss Nancy
Steyne, who was only thirteen, but whose young beauty worked sad havoc
with my senses. My affection was supposed to be fatherly in its
character, but, alas I it was of a much more fleshly kind. This Miss
Nancy, who seemed to me almost divine, was the daughter of a rich
merchant. I said that I wanted to make her father's acquaintance, and she
replied that her father proposed coming to call on me that very day. I
was delighted to hear of the coincidence, and gave order that he should
be shewn in as soon as he came.
The poor marquis was the only sad figure in the company. He was young and
well-made, but thin and repulsively ugly. He thanked me for my kindness,
saying that I had done a wise thing, as he felt sure the time would come
when he would repay me a hundredfold.
I had given my daughter six guineas to buy a pelisse, and she took me to
my bedroom to shew it me. Her mother followed her to congratulate me on
my seraglio.
At dinner gaiety reigned supreme. I sat between my daughter and Miss
Nancy Steyne, and felt happy. Mr. Steyne came in as we were at the
oysters. He kissed his daughter with that tender affection which is more
characteristic, I think, of English parents than those of any other
nation.
Mr. Steyne had dined, but he nevertheless ate a hundred scolloped
oysters, in the preparation of which my cook was wonderfully expert; he
also honoured the champagne with equal attention.
We spent three hours at the table and then proceeded to the third floor,
where Sophie accompanied her mother's singing on the piano, and young
Cornelis displayed his flute-playing talents. Mr. Steyne swore that he
had never been present at such a pleasant party in his life, adding that
pleasure was forbidden fruit in England on Sundays and holidays. This
convinced me that Steyne was an intelligent man, though his French was
execrable. He left at seven, after giving a beautiful ring to my
daughter, whom he escorted back to school with Miss Nancy.
The Marquis Petina foolishly observed to me that he did not know where to
find a bed. I understood what he wanted, but I told him he would easily
find one with a little money. Taking his sweetheart aside I gave her a
guinea for him, begging her to tell him not to visit me again till he was
invited.
When all the guests were gone, I led the five sisters to the mother's
room. She was wonderfully well, eating, drinking, and sleeping to
admiration, and never doing anything, not even reading or writing. She
enjoyed the 'dolce far niente' in all the force of the term. However, she
told me she was always thinking of her family, and of the laws which it
imposed on her.
I could scarcely help laughing, but I only said that if these laws were
the same as those which her charming daughters followed, I thought them
wiser than Solon's.
I drew Augusta on to my knee, and said,--
"My lady, allow me to kiss your delightful daughter."
Instead of giving me a direct answer, the old hypocrite began a long
sermon on the lawfulness of the parental kiss. All the time Augusta was
lavishing on me secret but delicious endearments.
'O tempora! O mores!'
The next day I was standing at my window, when the Marquis Caraccioli,
who was passing by, greeted me, and asked me if he could come in. I bade
him welcome, and summoning the eldest sister told the ambassador that
this young lady was going to marry the Marquis Petina as soon as his
remittances arrived.
He addressed himself to her, and spoke as follows:
"Mademoiselle, it is true that your lover is really a marquis, but he is
very poor and will never have any money; and if he goes back to Naples he
will be imprisoned, and if he is released from the State prison his
creditors will put him in the Vittoria."
However this salutary warning had no effect.
After the ambassador had taken his leave I was dressing to take a ride
when Augusta told me that, if I liked, Hippolyta her sister would come
with me, as she could ride beautifully.
"That's amusing," said I, "make her come down."
Hippolyta came down and begged me to let her ride with me, saying that
she would do me credit.
"Certainly;" said I, "but have you a man's riding suit or a woman's
costume?"
"No."
"Then we must put off the excursion till to-morrow."
I spent the day in seeing that a suit was made for her, and I felt quite
amorous when Pegu, the tailor, measured her for the breeches. Everything
was done in time and we had a charming ride, for she managed her horse
with wonderful skill.
After an excellent supper, to which wine had not been lacking, the happy
Hippolyta accompanied Victoire into my room and helped her to undress.
When she kissed her sister I asked if she would not give me a kiss too,
and after some jesting Augusta changed the joke into earnest by bidding
her come to bed beside me, without taking the trouble to ask my leave, so
sure did she feel of my consent. The night was well spent, and I had no
reason to complain of want of material, but Augusta wisely let the
newcomer have the lion's share of my attentions.
Next day we rode out again in the afternoon, followed by my negro, who
was a skilful horseman himself. In Richmond Park Hippolyta's dexterity
astonished me; she drew all eyes on her. In the evening we came home well
pleased with our day's ride, and had a good supper.
As the meal proceeded I noticed that Gabrielle, the youngest of all,
looked sad and a little sulky. I asked her the reason, and with a little
pout that became her childish face admirably, she replied,--
"Because I can ride on horseback as well as my sister."
"Very good," said I, "then you shall ride the day after to-morrow." This
put her into a good temper again.
Speaking of Hippolyta's skill, I asked her where she had learnt to ride.
She simply burst out laughing. I asked her why she laughed, and she
said,--
"Why, because I never learnt anywhere; my only masters were courage and
some natural skill."
"And has your sister learnt?"
"No," said Gabrielle, "but I can ride just as well."
I could scarcely believe it, for Hippolyta had seemed to float on her
horse, and her riding skewed the utmost skill and experience. Hoping that
her sister would vie with her, I said that I would take them out
together, and the very idea made them both jump with joy.
Gabrielle was only fifteen, and her shape, though not fully developed,
was well marked, and promised a perfect beauty by the time she was in her
maturity. Full of grace and simplicity, she said she would like to come
with me to my room, and I readily accepted her offer, not caring whether
the scheme had been concerted between her and her other sisters.
As soon as we were alone, she told me that she had never had a lover, and
she allowed me to assure myself of the fact with the same child-like
simplicity. Gabrielle was like all the others; I would have chosen her if
I had been obliged to make the choice. She made me feel sorry for her
sake, to hear that the mother had made up her mind to leave. In the
morning I gave her her fee of twenty guineas and a handsome ring as a
mark of my peculiar friendship, and we spent the day in getting ready our
habits for the ride of the day following.
Gabrielle got on horseback as if she had had two years in the riding
school. We went along the streets at a walking pace, but as soon as we
were in the open country we broke into a furious gallop, and kept it up
till we got to Barnet, where we stopped to breakfast. We had done the
journey in twenty-five minutes, although the distance is nearly ten
miles. This may seem incredible, but the English horses are wonderfully
swift, and we were all of us well mounted. My two nymphs looked
ravishing. I adored them, and I adored myself for making them so happy.
Just as we were remounting, who should arrive but Lord Pembroke. He was
on his way to St. Alban's. He stopped his horse, and admired the graceful
riding of my two companions; and not recognizing them immediately, he
begged leave to pay his court to them. How I laughed to myself! At last
he recognized them, and congratulated me on my conquest, asking if I
loved Hippolyta. I guessed his meaning, and said I only loved Gabrielle.
"Very good," said he; "may I come and see you?"
"Certainly," I replied.
After a friendly hand-shake we set out once more, and were soon back in
London.
Gabrielle was done up and went to bed directly; she slept on till the
next morning without my disturbing her peaceful sleep, and when she awoke
and found herself in my arms, she began to philosophise.
"How easy it is," said she, "to be happy when one is rich, and how sad it
is to see happiness out of one's reach for lack of a little money.
Yesterday I was the happiest of beings, and why should I not be as happy
all my days? I would gladly agree that my life should be short provided
that it should be a happy one."
I, too, philosophised, but my reflections were sombre. I saw my resources
all but exhausted, and I began to meditate a journey to Lisbon. If my
fortune had been inexhaustible, the Hanoverians might have held me in
their silken fetters to the end of my days. It seemed to me as if I loved
them more like a father than a lover, and the fact that I slept with them
only added to the tenderness of the tie. I looked into Gabrielle's eyes,
and there I saw but love. How could such a love exist in her unless she
were naturally virtuous, and yet devoid of those prejudices which are
instilled into us in our early years.
The next day Pembroke called and asked me to give him a dinner. Augusta
delighted him. He made proposals to her which excited her laughter as he
did not want to pay till after the event, and she would not admit this
condition. However, he gave her a bank note for ten guineas before he
left, and she accepted it with much grace. The day after he wrote her a
letter, of which I shall speak presently.
A few minutes after the nobleman had gone the mother sent for me to come
to her, and after paying an eloquent tribute to my virtues, my
generosity, and my unceasing kindness towards her family, she made the
following proposal:
"As I feel sure that you have all the love of a father for my daughters,
I wish you to become their father in reality! I offer you my hand and
heart; become my husband, you will be their father, their lord and mine.
What do you say to this?"
I bit my lips hard and had great difficulty in restraining my inclination
to laughter. Nevertheless, the amazement, the contempt, and the
indignation which this unparalleled piece of impudence aroused in me soon
brought me to myself. I perceived that this consummate hypocrite had
counted on an abrupt refusal, and had only made this ridiculous offer
with the idea of convincing me that she was under the impression that I
had left her daughters as I had found them, and that the money I had
spent on them was merely a sign of my tender and fatherly affection. Of
course she knew perfectly well how the land lay, but she thought to
justify herself by taking this step. She was aware that I could only look
upon such a proposal as an insult, but she did not care for that.
I resolved to keep on the mask, and replied that her proposition was
undoubtedly a very great honour for me, but it was also a very important
question, and so I begged her to allow me some time for consideration.
When I got back to my room I found there the mistress of the wretched
Marquis Petina, who told me that her happiness depended on a certificate
from the Neapolitan ambassador that her lover was really the person he
professed to be. With this document he would be able to claim a sum of
two hundred guineas, and then they could both go to Naples, and he would
marry her there. "He will easily obtain the royal pardon," said she.
"You, and you alone, can help us in the matter, and I commend myself to
your kindness."
I promised to do all I could for her. In fact, I called on the
ambassador, who made no difficulty about giving the required certificate.
For the moment my chilly conquest was perfectly happy, but though I saw
she was very grateful to me I did not ask her to prove her gratitude.
CHAPTER XVI
Augusta Becomes Lord Pembroke's Titular Mistress The King of
Corsica's Son--M. du Claude, or the Jesuit Lavalette--
Departure of the Hanoverians I Balance My Accounts--
The Baron Stenau--The English Girl, and What She Gave Me--
Daturi--My Flight from London--Comte St. Germain--Wesel
Lord Pembroke wrote to Augusta offering her fifty guineas a month for
three years, with lodging, board, servants, and carriage at St. Albans,
without reckoning what she might expect from his grateful affection if it
were returned.
Augusta translated the letter for me, and asked for my advice.
"I can't give you any counsel," said I, "in a matter which only concerns
your own heart and your own interests."
She went up to her mother, who would come to no conclusion without first
consulting me, because, as she said, I was the wisest and most virtuous
of men. I am afraid the reader will differ from her here, but I comfort
myself by the thought that I, too, think like the reader. At last it was
agreed that Augusta should accept the offer if Lord Pembroke would find a
surety in the person of some reputable London merchant, for with her
beauty and numerous graces she was sure to, become Lady Pembroke before
long. Indeed, the mother said she was perfectly certain of it, as
otherwise she could not have given her consent, as her daughters were
countesses, and too good to be any man's mistresses.
The consequence was that Augusta wrote my lord a letter, and in three
days it was all settled. The merchant duly signed the contract, at the
foot of which I had the honour of inscribing my name as a witness, and
then I took the merchant to the mother, and he witnessed her cession of
her daughter. She would not see Pembroke, but she kissed her daughter,
and held a private colloquy with her.
The day on which Augusta left my house was signalized by an event which I
must set down.
The day after I had given the Marquis Petina's future bride the required
certificate, I had taken out Gabrielle and Hippolyta for a ride. When I
got home I found waiting for me a person calling himself Sir Frederick,
who was said to be the son of Theodore, King of Corsica, who had died in
London. This gentleman said he wished to speak to me in private, and when
we were alone he said he was aware of my acquaintance with the Marquis
Petina, and being on the eve of discounting a bill of two hundred guineas
for him he wished to be informed whether it was likely that he could meet
the bill when it fell due.
"It is important that I should be informed on that point," he added, "for
the persons who are going to discount the bill want me to put my
signature to it."
"Sir," I replied, "I certainly am acquainted with the marquis, but I know
nothing about his fortune. However, the Neapolitan ambassador assured me
that he was the Marquis Petina."
"If the persons who have the matter in hand should drop it, would you
discount the bill? You shall have it cheap."
"I never meddle with these speculations. Good day, Sir Frederick."
The next day Goudar came and said that a M. du Claude wanted to speak to
me.
"Who is M. du Claude?"
"The famous Jesuit Lavalette, who was concerned in the great bankruptcy
case which ruined the Society in France. He fled to England under a false
name. I advise you to listen to him, for he must have plenty of money."
"A Jesuit and a bankrupt; that does not sound very well."
"Well, I have met him in good houses, and knowing that I was acquainted
with you he addressed himself to me. After all, you run no risk in
listening to what he has to say."
"Well, well, you can take me to him; it will be easier to avoid any
entanglement than if he came to see me."
Goudar went to Lavalette to prepare the way, and in the afternoon he took
me to see him. I was well enough pleased to see the man, whose rascality
had destroyed the infamous work of many years. He welcomed me with great
politeness, and as soon as we were alone he shewed me a bill of Petina's,
saying,--
"The young man wants me to discount it, and says you can give me the
necessary information."
I gave the reverend father the same answer as I had given the King of
Corsica's son, and left him angry with this Marquis of Misery who had
given me so much needless trouble. I was minded to have done with him,
and resolved to let him know through his mistress that I would not be his
reference, but I could not find an opportunity that day.
The next day I took my two nymphs for a ride, and asked Pembroke to
dinner. In vain we waited for Petina's mistress; she was nowhere to be
found. At nine o'clock I got a letter from her, with a German letter
enclosed for her mother. She said that feeling certain that her mother
would not give her consent to her marriage, she had eloped with her
lover, who had got together enough money to go to Naples, and when they
reached that town he would marry her. She begged me to console her mother
and make her listen to reason, as she had not gone off with an adventurer
but with a man of rank, her equal. My lips curled into a smile of pity
and contempt, which made the three sisters curious. I shewed them the
letter I had just received, and asked them to come with me to their
mother.
"Not to-night," said Victoire, "this terrible news would keep her awake."
I took her advice and we supped together, sadly enough.
I thought the poor wretch was ruined for life, and I reproached myself
with being the cause of her misfortune; for if I had not released the
marquis from prison this could never have happened. The Marquis
Caraccioli had been right in saying that I had done a good deed, but a
foolish one. I consoled myself in the arms of my dear Gabrielle.
I had a painful scene with the mother the next morning. She cursed her
daughter and her seducer, and even blamed me. She wept and stormed
alternately.
It is never of any use to try and convince people in distress that they
are wrong, for one may only do harm, while if they are left to themselves
they soon feel that they have been unjust, and are grateful to the person
who let them exhaust their grief without any contradiction.
After this event I spent a happy fortnight in the society of Gabrielle,
whom Hippolyta and Victoire looked on as my wife. She made my happiness
and I made hers in all sorts of ways, but especially by my fidelity; for
I treated her sisters as if they had been my sisters, shewing no
recollection of the favours I had obtained from them, and never taking
the slightest liberty, for I knew that friendship between women will
hardly brook amorous rivalry. I had bought them dresses and linen in
abundance, they were well lodged and well fed, I took them to the theatre
and to the country, and the consequence was they all adored me, and
seemed to think that this manner of living would go on for ever.
Nevertheless, I was every day nearer and nearer to moral and physical
bankruptcy. I had no more money, and I had sold all my diamonds and
precious stones. I still possessed my snuff-boxes, my watches, and
numerous trifles, which I loved and had not the heart to sell; and,
indeed, I should not have got the fifth part of what I gave for them. For
a whole month I had not paid my cook, or my wine merchant, but I liked to
feel that they trusted me. All I thought of was Gabrielle's love, and of
this I assured myself by a thousand delicacies and attentions.
This was my condition when one day Victoire came to me with sadness on
her face, and said that her mother had made up her mind to return to
Hanover, as she had lost all hope of getting anything from the English
Court.
"When does she intend to leave?"
"In three or four days."
"And is she going without telling me, as if she were leaving an inn after
paying her bill?"
"On the contrary, she wishes to have a private talk with you."
I paid her a visit, and she began by reproaching me tenderly for not
coming to see her more often. She said that as I had refused her hand she
would not run the risk of incurring censure or slander of any kind. "I
thank you from my heart," she added, "for all the kindness you have shewn
my girls, and I am going to take the three I have left away, lest I lose
them as I have lost the two eldest. If you like, you may come too and
stay with us as long as you like in my pretty country house near the
capital."
Of course I had to thank her and reply that my engagements did not allow
me to accept her kind offer.
Three days after, Victoire told me, as I was getting up, that they were
going on board ship at three o'clock. Hippolyta and Gabrielle made me
come for a ride, according to a promise I had given them the night
before. The poor things amused themselves, while I grieved bitterly, as
was my habit when I had to separate from anyone that I loved.
When we came home I lay down on my bed, not taking any dinner, and seeing
nothing of the three sisters till they had made everything ready for the
journey. I got up directly before they left, so as not to see the mother
in my own room, and I saw her in hers just as she was about to be taken
down into my carriage, which was in readiness at the door. The impudent
creature expected me to give her some money for the journey, but
perceiving that I was not likely to bleed, she observed, with involuntary
sincerity, that her purse contained the sum of a hundred and fifty
guineas, which I had given to her daughters; and these daughters of hers
were present, and sobbed bitterly.
When they were gone I closed my doors to everyone, and spent three days
in the melancholy occupation of making up my accounts. In the month I had
spent with the Hanoverians I had dissipated the whole of the sum
resulting from the sale of the precious stones, and I found that I was in
debt to the amount of four hundred guineas. I resolved to go to Lisbon by
sea, and sold my diamond cross, six or seven gold snuff-boxes (after
removing the portraits), all my watches except one, and two great trunks
full of clothes. I then discharged my debts and found I was eighty
guineas to the good, this being what remained of the fine fortune I had
squandered away like a fool or a philosopher, or, perhaps, a little like
both. I left my fine house where I had lived so pleasantly, and took a
little room at a guinea a week. I still kept my negro, as I had every
reason to believe him to be a faithful servant.
After taking these measures I wrote to M. de Bragadin, begging him to
send me two hundred sequins.
Thus having made up my mind to leave London without owing a penny to
anyone, and under obligations to no man's purse, I waited for the bill of
exchange from Venice. When it came I resolved to bid farewell to all my
friends and to try my fortune in Lisbon, but such was not the fate which
the fickle goddess had assigned to me.
A fortnight after the departure of the Hanoverians (it was the end of
February in the year 1764), my evil genius made me go to the "Canon
Tavern," where I usually dined in a room by myself. The table was laid
and I was just going to sit down, when Baron Stenau came in and begged me
to have my dinner brought into the next room, where he and his mistress
were dining.
"I thank you," said I, "for the solitary man grows weary of his company."
I saw the English woman I had met at Sartori's, the same to whom the
baron had been so generous. She spoke Italian, and was attractive in many
ways, so I was well pleased to find myself opposite to her, and we had a
pleasant dinner.
After a fortnight's abstinence it was not surprising that she inspired me
with desires, but I concealed them nevertheless, for her lover seemed to
respect her. I only allowed myself to tell the baron that I thought him
the happiest of men.
Towards the close of the dinner the girl noticed three dice on the mantel
and took them up, saying,--
"Let us have a wager of a guinea, and spend it on oysters and champagne."
We could not refuse, and the baron having lost called the waiter and gave
him his orders.
While we were eating the oysters she suggested that we should throw again
to see which should pay for the dinner.
We did so and she lost.
I did not like my luck, and wishing to lose a couple of guineas I offered
to throw against the baron. He accepted, and to my annoyance I won. He
asked for his revenge and lost again.
"I don't want to win your money," said I, "and I will give you your
revenge up to a hundred guineas."
He seemed grateful and we went on playing, and in less than half an hour
he owed me a hundred guineas.
"Let us go on," said he.
"My dear baron, the luck's against you; you might lose a large sum of
money. I really think we have had enough."
Without heeding my politeness, he swore against fortune and against the
favour I seemed to be shewing him. Finally he got up, and taking his hat
and cane, went out, saying,--
"I will pay you when I come back."
As soon as he had gone the girl said:
"I am sure you have been regarding me as your partner at play."
"If you have guessed that, you will also have guessed that I think you
charming."
"Yes, I think I have."
"Are you angry with me?"
"Not in the least."
"You shall have the fifty guineas as soon as he has paid me."
"Very good, but the baron must know nothing about it."
"Of course not."
The bargain was scarcely struck before I began to shew her how much I
loved her. I had every reason to congratulate myself on her complaisance,
and I thought this meeting a welcome gleam of light when all looked dark
around me. We had to make haste, however, as the door was only shut with
a catch. I had barely time to ascertain her address and the hour at which
she could see me, and whether I should have to be careful with her lover.
She replied that the baron's fidelity was not of a character to make him
very exacting. I put the address in my pocket, and promised to pass a
night with her.
The baron came in again, and said,--
"I have been to a merchant to discount this bill of exchange, and though
it is drawn on one of the best house in Cadiz, and made out by a good
house in London, he would not have anything to do with it."
I took the bill and saw some millions mentioned on it, which astonished
me.
The baron said with a laugh that the currency was Portuguese milries, and
that they amounted to five hundred pounds sterling.
"If the signatures are known," said I, "I don't understand why the man
won't discount it. Why don't you take it to your banker?"
"I haven't got one. I came to England with a thousand gold pieces in my
pocket, and I have spent them all. As I have not got any letters of
credit I cannot pay you unless the bill is discounted. If you have got
any friends on the Exchange, however, you could get it done."
"If the names prove good ones I will let you have the money to-morrow
morning."
"Then I will make it payable to your order."
He put his name to it, and I promised to send him either the money or the
bill before noon on the day following. He gave me his address and begged
me to come and dine with him, and so we parted.
The next day I went to Bosanquet, who told me that Mr. Leigh was looking
out for bills of exchange on Cadiz, and I accordingly waited on him. He
exclaimed that such paper was worth more than gold to him, and gave me
five hundred and twenty guineas, of course after I had endorsed it.
I called on the baron and gave him the money I had just received, and he
thanked me and gave me back the hundred guineas. Afterwards we had
dinner, and fell to talking of his mistress.
"Are you in love with her?" said I.
"No; I have plenty of others, and if you like her you can have her for
ten guineas."
I liked this way of putting it, though I had not the slightest idea of
cheating the girl out of the sum I had promised her. On leaving the baron
I went to see her, and as soon as she heard that the baron had paid me
she ordered a delicious supper, and made me spend a night that
obliterated all my sorrows from my memory. In the morning, when I handed
over the fifty guineas, she said that as a reward for the way in which I
kept my promise I could sup with her whenever I liked to spend six
guineas. I promised to come and see her often.
The next morning I received a letter through the post, written in bad
Italian, and signed, "Your obedient godson, Daturi." This godson of mine
was in prison for debt, and begged me to give him a few shillings to buy
some food.
I had nothing particular to do, the appellation of godson made me
curious, and so I went to the prison to see Daturi, of whose identity I
had not the slightest idea. He was a fine young man of twenty; he did not
know me, nor I him. I gave him his letter, and begging me to forgive him
he drew a paper from his pocket and shewed me his certificate of baptism,
on which I saw my own name inscribed beside his name and those of his
father and mother, the parish of Venice, where he was born, and the
church in which he was baptized; but still I racked my memory in vain; I
could not recollect him.
"If you will listen to me," he said, "I can set you right; my mother has
told me the story a hundred times."
"Go on," said I, "I will listen;" and as he told his story I remembered
who he was.
This young man whom I had held at the font as the son of the actor Daturi
was possibly my own son. He had come to London with a troupe of jugglers
to play the illustrious part of clown, or pagliazzo, but having
quarrelled with the company he had lost his place and had got into debt
to the extent of ten pounds sterling, and for this debt he had been
imprisoned. Without saying anything to him about my relations with his
mother, I set him free on the spot, telling him to come to me every
morning, as I would give him two shillings a day for his support.
A week after I had done this good work I felt that I had caught the
fearful disease from which the god Mercury had already delivered me three
times, though with great danger and peril of my life. I had spent three
nights with the fatal English woman, and the misfortune was doubly
inconvenient under the circumstances. I was on the eve of a long sea
voyage, and though Venus may have risen from the waves of the sea, sea
air is by no means favourable to those on whom she has cast her malign
aspect. I knew what to do, and resolved to have my case taken in hand
without delay.
I left my house, not with the intention of reproaching the English woman
after the manner of fools, but rather of going to a good surgeon, with
whom I could make an agreement to stay in his house till my cure was
completed.
I had my trunks packed just as if I was going to leave London, excepting
my linen, which I sent to my washerwoman who lived at a distance of six
miles from town, and drove a great trade.
The very day I meant to change my lodging a letter was handed to me. It
was from Mr. Leigh, and ran as follows:
"The bill of exchange I discounted for you is a forgery, so please to
send me at your earliest convenience the five hundred and twenty guineas;
and if the man who has cheated you will not reimburse the money, have him
arrested. For Heaven's sake do not force me to have you arrested
to-morrow, and whatever you do make haste, for this may prove a hanging
matter."
Fortunately I was by myself when I received the letter. I fell upon my
bed, and in a moment I was covered with a cold sweat, while I trembled
like a leaf. I saw the gallows before me, for nobody would lend me the
money, and they would not wait for my remittance from Venice to reach me.
To my shuddering fit succeeded a burning fever. I loaded my pistols, and
went out with the determination of blowing out Baron Stenau's brains, or
putting him under arrest if he did not give me the money. I reached his
house, and was informed that he had sailed for Lisbon four days ago.
This Baron Stenau was a Livonian, and four months after these events he
was hanged at Lisbon. I only anticipate this little event in his life
because I might possibly forget it when I come to my sojourn at Riga.
As soon as I heard he was gone I saw there was no remedy, and that I must
save myself. I had only ten or twelve guineas left, and this sum was
insufficient. I went to Treves, a Venetian Jew to whom I had a letter
from Count Algarotti, the Venetian banker. I did not think of going to
Bosanquet, or Sanhel, or Salvador, who might possibly have got wind of my
trouble, while Treves had no dealings with these great bankers, and
discounted a bill for a hundred sequins readily enough. With the money in
my pocket I made my way to my lodging, while deadly fear dogged every
step. Leigh had given me twenty-four hours' breathing time, and I did not
think him capable of breaking his word, still it would not do to trust to
it. I did not want to lose my linen nor three fine suits of clothes which
my tailor was keeping for me, and yet I had need of the greatest
promptitude.
I called in Jarbe and asked him whether he would prefer to take twenty
guineas and his dismissal, or to continue in my service. I explained that
he would have to wait in London for a week, and join me at the place from
which I wrote to him.
"Sir," said he, "I should like to remain in your service, and I will
rejoin you wherever you please. When are you leaving?"
"In an hour's time; but say not a word, or it will cost me my life."
"Why can't you take me with you?"
"Because I want you to bring my linen which is at the wash, and my
clothes which the tailor is making. I will give you sufficient money for
the journey."
"I don't want anything. You shall pay me what I have spent when I rejoin
you. Wait a moment."
He went out and came back again directly, and holding out sixty guineas,
said,--
"Take this, sir, I entreat you, my credit is good for as much more in
case of need."
"I thank you, my good fellow, but I will not take your money, but be sure
I will not forget your fidelity."
My tailor lived close by and I called on him, and seeing that my clothes
were not yet made up I told him that I should like to sell them, and also
the gold lace that was to be used in the trimming. He instantly gave me
thirty guineas which meant a gain to him of twenty-five per cent. I paid
the week's rent of my lodging, and after bidding farewell to my negro I
set out with Daturi. We slept at Rochester, as my strength would carry me
no farther. I was in convulsions, and had a sort of delirium. Daturi was
the means of saving my life.
I had ordered post-horses to continue our journey, and Daturi of his own
authority sent them back and went for a doctor, who pronounced me to be
in danger of an apoplectic fit and ordered a copious blood-letting, which
restored my calm. Six hours later he pronounced me fit to travel. I got
to Dover early in the morning, and had only half an hour to stop, as the
captain of the packet said that the tide would not allow of any delay.
The worthy sailor little knew how well his views suited mine. I used this
half hour in writing to Jarbe, telling him to rejoin me at Calais, and
Mrs. Mercier, my landlady, to whom I had addressed the letter, wrote to
tell me that she had given it him with her own hands. However, Jarbe did
not come. We shall hear more of this negro in the course of two years.
The fever and the virus that was in my blood put me in danger of my life,
and on the third day I was in extremis. A fourth blood-letting exhausted
my strength, and left me in a state of coma which lasted for twenty-four
hours. This was succeeded by a crisis which restored me to life again,
but it was only by dint of the most careful treatment that I found myself
able to continue my journey a fortnight after my arrival in France.
Weak in health, grieved at having been the innocent cause of the worthy
Mr. Leigh's losing a large sum of money, humiliated by my flight from
London, indignant with Jarbe, and angry at being obliged to abandon my
Portuguese project, I got into a post-chaise with Daturi, not knowing
where to turn or where to go, or whether I had many more weeks to live.
I had written to Venice asking M. de Bragadin to send the sum I have
mentioned to Brussels instead of London.
When I got to Dunkirk, the day after I left Paris, the first person I saw
was the merchant S----, the husband of that Therese whom my readers may
remember, the niece of Tiretta's mistress, with whom I had been in love
seven years ago. The worthy man recognized me, and seeing his
astonishment at the change in my appearance I told him I was recovering
from a long illness, and then asked after his wife.
"She is wonderfully well," he answered, "and I hope we shall have the
pleasure of seeing you to dinner tomorrow."
I said I wanted to be off at day-break, but he would not hear of it, and
protested he would be quite hurt if I went away without seeing his wife
and his three children. At last I appeased him by saying that we would
sup together.
My readers will remember that I had been on the point of marrying
Therese, and this circumstance made me ashamed of presenting myself to
her in such a sorry plight.
In a quarter of an hour the husband arrived with his wife and three
children, the eldest of whom looked, about six. After the usual greetings
and tiresome enquiries after my health, Therese sent back the two younger
children, rightly thinking that the eldest would be the only one in whom
I should take any interest. He was a charming boy; and as he was exactly
like his mother, the worthy merchant had no doubts as to the parentage of
the child.
I laughed to myself at finding my offspring thus scattered all over
Europe. At supper Therese gave me news of Tiretta. He had entered the
Dutch East India Company's service, but having been concerned in a revolt
at Batavia, he had only escaped the gallows by flight--I had my own
thoughts as to the similarity between his destiny and mine, but I did not
reveal them. After all it is an easy enough matter for an adventurous
man, who does not look where he is going, to get hanged for a mere
trifle.
The next day, when I got to Tournay, I saw some grooms walking fine
horses up and down, and I asked to whom they belonged.
"'To the Comte de St. Germain, the adept, who has been here a month, and
never goes out. Everybody who passes through the place wants to see him;
but he is invisible."
This was enough to give me the same desire, so I wrote him a letter,
expressing my wish to speak to him, and asking him to name an hour. His
reply, which I have preserved, ran as follows:
"The gravity of my occupation compels me to exclude everyone, but you are
an exception. Come whenever you like, you will be shewn in. You need not
mention my name nor your own. I do not ask you to share my repast, far my
food is not suitable to others--to you least of all, if your appetite is
what it used to be."
At nine o'clock I paid my call, and found he had grown a beard two inches
long. He had a score of retorts before him, full of liquids in various
stages of digestion. He told me he was experimenting with colours for his
own amusement, and that he had established a hat factory for Count
Cobenzl, the Austrian ambassador at Brussels. He added that the count had
only given him a hundred and fifty thousand florins, which were
insufficient. Then we spoke of Madame d'Urfe.
"She poisoned herself," said he, "by taking too strong a dose of the
Universal Medicine, and her will shews that she thought herself to be
with child. If she had come to me, I could have really made her so,
though it is a difficult process, and science has not advanced far enough
for us to be able to guarantee the sex of the child."
When he heard the nature of my disease, he wanted me to stay three days
at Tournay for him to give me fifteen pills, which would effectually cure
me, and restore me to perfect health. Then he shewed me his magistrum,
which he called athoeter. It was a white liquid contained in a
well-stoppered phial. He told me that this liquid was the universal
spirit of nature, and that if the wax on the stopper was pricked ever so
lightly, the whole of the contents would disappear. I begged him to make
the experiment. He gave me the phial and a pin, and I pricked the wax,
and to lo! the phial was empty.
"It is very fine," said I, "but what good is all this?"
"I cannot tell you; that is my secret."
He wanted to astonish me before I went, and asked me if I had any money
about me. I took out several pieces and put them on the table. He got up,
and without saying what he was going to do he took a burning coal and put
it on a metal plate, and placed a twelve-sols piece with a small black
grain on the coal. He then blew it, and in two minutes it seemed on fire.
"Wait a moment," said the alchemist, "let it get cool;" and it cooled
almost directly.
"Take it; it is yours," said he.
I took up the piece of money and found it had become gold. I felt
perfectly certain that he had smuggled my silver piece away, and had
substituted a gold piece coated with silver for it. I did not care to
tell him as much, but to let him see that I was not taken in, I said,--
"It is really very wonderful, but another time you should warn me what
you are going to do, so that the operation might be attentively watched,
and the piece of money noted before being placed on the burning coal."
"Those that are capable of entertaining doubts of my art," said the
rogue, "are not worthy to speak to me."
This was in his usual style of arrogance, to which I was accustomed. This
was the last time I saw this celebrated and learned impostor; he died at
Schlesing six or seven years after. The piece of money he gave me was
pure gold, and two months after Field-marshal Keith took such a fancy to
it that I gave it him.
I left Tournay the next morning, and stopped at Brussels to await the
answer of the letter which I had written to M. de Bragadin. Five days
after I got the letter with a bill of exchange for two hundred ducats.
I thought of staying in Brussels to get cured, but Daturi told me that he
had heard from a rope-dancer that his father and mother and the whole
family were at Brunswick, and he persuaded me to go there, assuring me
that I should be carefully looked after.
He had not much difficulty in getting me to go to Brunswick, as I was
curious to see again the mother of my godson, so I started the same day.
At Ruremonde I was so ill that I had to stop for thirty-six hours. At
Wesel I wished to get rid of my post-chaise, for the horses of the
country are not used to going between shafts, but what was my surprise to
meet General Bekw there.
After the usual compliments had passed, and the general had condoled with
me on my weak state of health, he said he should like to buy my chaise
and exchange it for a commodious carriage, in which I could travel all
over Germany. The bargain was soon struck, and the general advised me to
stay at Wesel where there was a clever young doctor from the University
of Leyden, who would understand my case better than the Brunswick
physicians.
Nothing is easier than to influence a sick man, especially if he be in
search of fortune, and knows not where to look for the fickle goddess.
General Bekw----, who was in garrison at Wesel, sent for Dr. Pipers, and
was present at my confession and even at the examination.
I will not revolt my readers by describing the disgusting state in which
I was, suffice it to say that I shudder still when I think of it.
The young doctor, who was gentleness personified, begged me to come and
stay with him, promising that his mother and sisters should take the
greatest care of me, and that he would effect a radical cure in the
course of six weeks if I would carry out all his directions. The general
advised me strongly to stay with the doctor, and I agreed all the more
readily as I wished to have some amusement at Brunswick and not to arrive
there deprived of the use of all my limbs. I therefore gave in, but the
doctor would not hear of any agreement. He told me that I could give him
whatever I liked when I went away, and he would certainly be satisfied.
He took his leave to go and make my room ready, and told me to come in an
hour's time. I went to his house in a sedan-chair, and held a
handkerchief before my face, as I was ashamed that the young doctor's
mother and sisters should see me in the state I was in.
As soon as I got to my room, Daturi undressed me and I went to bed.
CHAPTER XVII
My Cure--Daturi is Beaten by Some Soldiers--I Leave Wesel
for Brunswick--Redegonde--Brunswick--The Hereditary Prince--
The Jew--My Stay at Wolfen-Buttel The Library--Berlin
Calsabigi and the Berlin Lottery--Mdlle. Belanger
[Illustration: Chapter 17]
At Supper-time, the doctor, his mother, and one of his sisters came to
see me. All of them bore the love of their kind written on their
features; they assured me that I should have all possible care at their
hands. When the ladies were gone the doctor explained his treatment. He
said that he hoped to cure me by the exhibition of sudorifices and
mercurial pills, but he warned me I must be very careful in my diet and
must not apply myself in any way. I promised to abide by his directions,
and he said that he would read me the newspaper himself twice a week to
amuse me, and by way of a beginning he informed me that the famous
Pompadour was dead.
Thus I was condemned to a state of perfect rest, but it was not the
remedies or the abstinence I dreaded most; I feared the effects of ennui;
I thought I should die of it. No doubt the doctor saw the danger as well
as myself, for he asked me if I would mind his sister coming and working
in my room occasionally with a few of her friends. I replied that,
despite my shame of shewing myself to young ladies in such a condition, I
accepted her offer with delight. The sister was very grateful for what
she was pleased to call my kindness, for my room was the only one which
looked in the street, and as everyone knows girls are very fond of
inspecting the passers-by. Unfortunately this arrangement turned out ill
for Daturi. The poor young man had only received the education of a
mountebank, and it was tiresome for him to pass all his time in my
company. When he saw that I had plenty of friends, he thought I could
dispense with his society, and only thought of amusing himself. On the
third day towards the evening he was carried home covered with bruises.
He had been in the guard-room with the soldiers, and some quarrel having
arisen he had got a severe beating. He was in a pitiable state; all over
blood and with three teeth missing. He told me the story with tears, and
begged me to take vengeance on his foes.
I sent my doctor to General Bekw----, who said that all he could do was
to give the poor man a bed in the hospital. Baturi had no bones broken,
and in a few days was quite well, so I sent him on to Brunswick with a
passport from General Salomon. The loss of his teeth secured him from the
conscription; this, at any rate, was a good thing.
The treatment of the young doctor was even more successful than he had
anticipated, for in a month I was perfectly well again, though terribly
thin. The worthy people of the house must have taken an idea of me not in
the least like myself; I was thought to be the most patient of men, and
the sister and her young lady friends must have considered me as modesty
personified; but these virtues only resulted from my illness and my great
depression. If you want to discover the character of a man, view him in
health and freedom; a captive and in sickness he is no longer the same
man.
I gave a beautiful dress to the sister, and twenty louis to the doctor,
and both seemed to me extremely satisfied.
On the eve of my departure I received a letter from Madame du Rumain, who
had heard I was in want from my friend Baletti, and sent me a bill of
exchange on Amsterdam for six hundred florins. She said I could repay her
at my convenience, but she died before I was able to discharge the debt.
Having made up my mind to go to Brunswick, I could not resist the
temptation to pass through Hanover, for whenever I thought of Gabrielle I
loved her still. I did not wish to stop any length of time, for I was
poor and I had to be careful of my health. I only wished to pay her a
flying visit on the estate which her mother had at Stocken, as she had
told me. I may also say that curiosity was a motive for this visit.
I had decided to start at day-break in my new carriage, but the fates had
ordained it otherwise.
The English general wrote me a note asking me to sup with him, telling me
that some Italians would be present, and this decided me to stay on, but
I had to promise the doctor to observe strict temperance.
My surprise may be imagined when I saw the Redegonde and her abominable
mother. The mother did not recognize me at first, but Redegonde knew me
directly, and said,--
"Good Heavens! how thin you have become!"
I complimented her on her beauty, and indeed she had improved
wonderfully.
"I have just recovered from a dangerous illness," said I, "and I am
starting for Brunswick at day-break tomorrow."
"So are we," she exclaimed, looking at her mother.
The general, delighted to find that we knew each other, said we could
travel together.
"Hardly, I think," I replied, "unless the lady-mother has changed her
principles since I knew her."
"I am always the same," she said, dryly enough; but I only replied with a
glance of contempt.
The general held a bank at faro at a small table. There were several
other ladies and some officers, and the stakes were small. He offered me
a place, but I excused myself, saying that I never played while on a
journey.
At the end of the deal the general returned to the charge, and said,--
"Really, chevalier, this maxim of yours is anti-social; you must play."
So saying he drew several English bank notes from his pocket-book,
telling me they were the same I had given him in London six months ago.
"Take your revenge," he added; "there are four hundred pounds here."
"I don't want to lose as much as that," I replied, "but I will risk fifty
pounds to amuse you."
With this I took out the bill of exchange that Madame du Rumain had sent
me.
The general went on dealing, and at the third deal I found I was fifty
guineas to the good, and with that I was satisfied. Directly afterwards
supper was announced, and we went into the dining-room.
Redegonde, who had learnt French admirably, kept everybody amused. She
had been engaged by the Duke of Brunswick as second singer, and she had
come from Brussels. She bemoaned her journey in the uncomfortable
post-chaise, and expressed a fear that she would be ill by the time she
got to her journey's end.
"Why, there's the Chevalier Seingalt all alone in a most comfortable
carriage," said the general.
Redegonde smiled.
"How many people will your carriage hold?"
"Only two."
"Then it's out of the question, for I never let my daughter travel alone
with anybody."
A general burst of laughter, in which Redegonde joined, seemed to confuse
the mother in some degree; but like a good daughter Redegonde explained
that her mother was always afraid of her being assassinated.
The evening passed away in pleasant conversation, and the younger singer
did not need much persuasion to seat herself at the piano, where she sang
in a manner that won genuine applause.
When I wanted to go the general begged me to breakfast with him, saying
that the post-chaise did not go till twelve, and that this act of
politeness was due to my young fellow-countrywoman. Redegonde joined in,
reproaching me with my behaviour at Turin and Florence, though she had
nothing really to complain of. I gave in, and feeling that I wanted rest
I went to bed.
The next morning, at nine o'clock, I took leave of the worthy doctor and
his family and walked to the general's, giving orders that my carriage
should be brought round as soon as it was ready.
In half an hour Redegonde and her mother arrived, and I was astonished to
see them accompanied by the brother who had been my servant at Florence.
When breakfast was over my carriage stood at the door, and I made my bow
to the general and all the company, who were standing in the hall to see
me off. Redegonde came down the steps with me, and asked if my carriage
was comfortable, and then got into it. I got in after her without the
slightest premeditation, and the postillion, seeing the carriage full,
gave a crack with his whip and we were off, Redegonde shrieking with
laughter. I was on the point of telling him to stop, but seeing her
enjoyment of the drive I held my tongue, only waiting for her to say, "I
have had enough." But I waited in vain, and we had gone over half a
league before she said a word.
"I have laughed, and laugh still," she said, "when I think of what my
mother will say at this freak of mine. I had no intentions in getting
into the carriage, and I am sure you cannot have told the postillion to
drive on."
"You may be quite sure of that."
"All the same my mother will believe it to be a deeply-laid plan, and
that strikes me as amusing."
"So it is; I am quite satisfied, certainly. Now you are here you had
better come on with me to Brunswick; you will be more comfortable than in
a villainous stage coach."
"I should be delighted, but that would be pushing matters too far. No, we
will stop at the first stage and wait for the coach."
"You may do so if you please, but you will excuse my waiting."
"What! you would leave me all alone?"
"You know, dear Redegonde, that I have always loved you, and I am ready
to take you with me to Brunswick; what more can I say?"
"If you love me you will wait with me and restore me to my mother, who
must be in despair."
"In spite of my devotion I am afraid I cannot do so."
Instead of turning sulky the young madcap began to laugh again; and I
determined she should come with me to Brunswick.
When we got to the end of the stage there were no horses ready. I
arranged matters with the postillion, and after baiting the horses we set
out once more. The roads were fearful, and we did not come to the second
posting-stage till nightfall.
We might have slept there, but not wishing to be caught up by the coach
and to lose my prize, I ordered fresh horses and we resumed our journey
in spite of Redegonde's tears and supplications. We travelled all night
and reached Lippstadt in the early morning, and in spite of the
unseasonableness of the hour I ordered something to eat. Redegonde wanted
a rest, as indeed did I, but she had to give way when I said caressingly
that we could sleep at Minden. Instead of scolding me she began to smile,
and I saw she guessed what she had to expect; in fact, when we got to
Minden we had supper, and then went to bed together as man and wife, and
stayed in bed for five hours. She was quite kind, and only made me
entreat her for form's sake.
We got to Hanover and put up at an excellent inn where we had a choice
meal, and where I found the waiter who was at the inn in Zurich when I
waited on the ladies at table. Miss Chudleigh had dined there with the
Duke of Kingston, and they had gone on to Berlin.
We had a beautiful French bed in which to spend the night, and in the
morning we were awakened by the noise of the stage coach. Redegonde not
wishing to be surprised in my arms rang the bell and told the waiter by
no means to admit the lady who would come out of the coach and ask to be
shewn in directly; but her precaution was vain, for, as the waiter went
out, the mother and son came in, and we were taken in 'flagrante
delicto'.
I told them to wait outside, and getting up in my shirt I locked the
door. The mother began to abuse me and her daughter, and threatened me
with criminal proceedings if I did not give her up. Redegonde, however,
calmed her by telling her the story, and she believed, or pretended to
believe, it was all chance; but she said,--
"That's all very well; but you can't deny, you little slut, that you have
been sleeping with him."
"Oh, there's no harm in that, for you know, dear mamma, nobody does
anything asleep."
Without giving her the time to reply she threw her arms round her neck
and promised to go on with her in the coach.
After things had been thus settled, I dressed myself, and gave them all a
good breakfast, and went on my way to Brunswick, where I arrived a few
hours before them.
Redegonde had deprived me of my curiosity to see Gabrielle; besides, in
the condition I was in, my vanity would have suffered grievously. As soon
as I had settled in a good inn I sent for Daturi, who came immediately,
elegantly dressed, and very anxious to introduce to me a certain Signor
Nicolini, theatrical manager. This Nicolini understood his craft
perfectly, and was high in favour with the prince to whom his daughter
Anna was mistress. He gave me a distinguished and a cordial greeting, and
was very anxious that I should stay with him, but I was able to escape
the constraint of such an arrangement without giving him any offense. I
accepted his offer to take my meals at his table, which was furnished by
an excellent cook and surrounded by a distinguished company. Here was no
gathering of men of title, with the cold and haughty manners of the
Court, all were talented, and such company to my mind was delightful.
I was not well, and I was not rich, or else I should have made a longer
stay at Brunswick, which had its charms for me. But we will not
anticipate, though as old age steals on a man he is never tired of
dwelling again and again on the incidents of his past life, in spite of
his desire to arrest the sands which run out so quickly.
The third day after my arrival at Brunswick, Redegonde knowing that I was
dining at Nicolini's came there too. Everybody had found out, somehow or
other, that we had travelled from Wesel to Hanover together, and they
were at liberty to draw whatever conclusions they pleased.
Two days later the crown prince arrived from Potsdam on a visit to his
future bride, the daughter of the reigning duke, whom he married the year
after.
The Court entertained in the most magnificent manner, and the hereditary
prince, now the reigning duke, honoured me with an invitation. I had met
his highness at an assembly in Soho Square, the day after he had been
made a London citizen.
It was twenty-two years since I had been in love with Daturi's mother. I
was curious to see the ravages which time had worked on her, but I had
reason to repent of my visit, for she had grown terribly ugly. She knew
it herself, and a blush of shame appeared on those features which had
once been fair.
The prince had an army of six thousand foot in good condition. This army
was to be reviewed on a plain at a little distance from the town, and I
went to see the spectacle, and was rewarded by having rain dripping down
my back the whole time. Among the numerous spectators were many persons
of fashion, ladies in handsome dresses, and a good sprinkling of
foreigners. I saw the Honourable Miss Chudleigh, who honoured me by
addressing me, and asked me, amongst other questions, how long I had left
London. She was dressed in Indian muslin, and beneath it she only wore a
chemise of fine cambric, and by the time the rain had made her clothes
cling to her body she looked more than naked, but she did not evince any
confusion. Most of the ladies sheltered themselves from the rain under
elegant tents which had been erected.
The troops, who took no notice of the weather, executed their manoeuvres,
and fired their muskets in a manner which seemed to satisfy good judges.
There was nothing further to attract me at Brunswick, and I thought of
spending the summer at Berlin, which I concluded would be more amusing
than a small provincial town. Wanting an overcoat I bought the material
from a Jew, who offered to discount bills of exchange for me if I had
any. I had the bill which Madame du Rumain had sent me, and finding that
it would be convenient for me to get it discounted, I gave it to the
Israelite, who cashed it, deducting commission at the ordinary rate of
two per cent. The letter was payable to the order of the Chevalier de
Seingalt, and with that name I endorsed it.
I thought no more of the matter, but early the next day the same Jew
called on me, and told me that I must either return him his money, or
give sureties for the amount till he had ascertained whether the bill was
a forgery or not.
I was offended at this piece of impertinence, and feeling certain that
the bill was a good one I told the fellow that he might set his mind at
rest and let me alone, as I should not give him any sureties.
"I must either have the money or the surety," said he, "and if you refuse
I will have you arrested; your character is well known."
This was too much for me, and raising my cane I gave him a blow on the
head which he must have felt for many a long day. I then dressed and
dined with Nicolini, without thinking or speaking of this disagreeable
incident.
The next day as I was taking a walk outside the town walls, I met the
prince on horseback, followed by a single groom. I bowed to him as he
passed, but he came up to me and said,--
"You are leaving Brunswick, chevalier?"
"In two or three days, your highness."
"I heard this morning that a Jew has brought a complaint against you for
beating him because he asked you to give him security for a bill of
exchange which he was afraid of."
"My lord, I cannot answer for the effects of my indignation against a
rascal who dared to come and insult me in my own house, but I do know
that if I had given him security I should have impugned my own honour.
The impertinent scoundrel threatened to have me arrested, but I know that
a just Government rules here, and not arbitrary power."
"You are right; it would be unjust to have you arrested, but he is afraid
for his ducats."
"He need not be afraid, my lord, for the bill is drawn by a person of
honour and of high station in society."
"I am delighted to hear it. The Jew said he would never have discounted
the bill if you had not mentioned my name."
"That's a lie! Your highness' name never passed, my lips."
"He also says that you endorsed the bill with a false name."
"Then he lies again, for I signed myself Seingalt, and that name is
mine."
"In short, it is a case of a Jew who has been beaten, and is afraid of
being duped. I pity such an animal, and I must see what I can do to
prevent his keeping you here till he learns the fate of the bill at
Amsterdam. As I have not the slightest doubt as to the goodness of the
bill, I will take it up myself, and this very morning: thus you will be
able to leave when you like. Farewell, chevalier! I wish you a pleasant
journey."
With this compliment the prince left me, without giving me time to answer
him. I might have felt inclined to tell him that by taking up the bill he
would give the Jew and everyone else to understand that it was a favour
done to me, to the great hurt of my honour, and that consequently I
should be obliged by his doing nothing of the kind. But though the prince
was a man of generosity and magnanimity, he was deficient in that
delicate quality which we call tact. This defect, common amongst princes,
arises from their education, which places them above the politeness which
is considered necessary in ordinary mortals.
He could not have treated me worse than he did, if he had been certain of
my dishonesty, and wished me to understand that I was forgiven, and that
he would bear all the consequences of my misdemeanour. With this idea in
my head, I said to myself; "Perhaps, indeed, this is exactly what the
prince does think. Is it the Jew or me that he pities? If the latter, I
think I must give him a lesson, though I do not wish to cause him any
humiliation."
Feeling deeply humiliated myself, and pondering on my position, I walked
away, directing my attention especially to the duke's concluding words. I
thought his wish for a pleasant journey supremely out of place, under the
circumstances, in the mouth of one who enjoyed almost absolute power. It
was equivalent to an order to leave the town, and I felt indignant at the
thought.
I therefore resolved to vindicate my honour by neither going away nor
remaining.
"If I stay," I said to myself, "the Jew will be adjudged to be in the
right; and if I go the duke will think I have profited by his favour, and
so to speak, by his present of fifty louis if the bill were protested. I
will not let anyone enjoy a satisfaction which is no one due."
After these considerations, which I thought worthy of a wiser head than
mine, I packed up my trunk, ordered horses, and after a good dinner and
the payment of my bill I went to Wolfenbuttel with the idea of spending
week there. I was sure of finding amusement, for Wolfenbuttel contains
the third largest library in Europe, and I had long been anxious to see
it.
The learned librarian, whose politeness was all the better for being
completely devoid of affection, told me that not only could I have
whatever books I wished to see, but that I could take them to my lodging,
not even excepting the manuscripts, which are the chief feature in that
fine library.
I spent a week in the library, only leaving it to take my meals and go to
bed, and I count this week as one of the happiest I have ever spent, for
then I forgot myself completely; and in the delight of study, the past,
the present, and the future were entirely blotted out. Of some such sort,
I think, must be the joys of the redeemed; and now I see that only a few
trifling little circumstances and incidents were wanting to make me a
perfect sage. And here I must note a circumstance which my readers may
scarcely believe, but which, for all that, is quite true-namely, that I
have always preferred virtue to vice, and that when I sinned I did so out
of mere lightness of heart, for which, no doubt, I shall be blamed by
many persons. But, no matter--a man has only to give an account of his
actions to two beings, to himself here and to God hereafter.
At Wolfenbuttel I gathered a good many hints on the "Iliad" and
"Odyssey," which will not be found in any commentator, and of which the
great Pope knew nothing. Some of these considerations will be found in my
translation of the "Iliad," the rest are still in manuscript, and will
probably never see the light. However, I burn nothing, not even these
Memoirs, though I often think of doing so, but the time never comes.
At the end of the week I returned to the same inn at Brunswick which I
had occupied before, and let my godson Daturi know of my arrival.
I was delighted to hear that no one suspected that I had spent the
fortnight within five leagues of Brunswick. Daturi told me that the
general belief was that I had returned the Jew his money and got the bill
of exchange back. Nevertheless I felt sure that the bill had been
honoured at Amsterdam, and that the duke knew that I had been staying at
Wolfenbuttel.
Daturi told me that Nicolini was expecting to see me at dinner, and I was
not astonished to hear of it, for I had not taken leave of anyone. I
accordingly went, and the following incident, which served to justify me
in the eyes of all men, took place:
We were at the roast when one of the prince's servants came in with the
Jew I had beaten. The poor man came up humbly to me, and spoke as
follows:
"I am ordered to come here, sir, to apologize for suspecting the
authenticity of the bill of exchange you gave me. I have been punished by
being fined the amount of my commission."
"I wish that had been your only punishment," said I.
He made me a profound bow, and went out, saying that I was only too good.
When I 'got back to the inn, I found a letter from Redegonde in which she
reproached me tenderly for not having been once to see her all the time I
had been at Brunswick, and begging me to breakfast with her in a little
country house.
"I shall not be in my mother's company," she added, "but in that of a
young lady of your acquaintance, whom, I am sure, you will be glad to see
once more."
I liked Redegonde, and I had only neglected her at Brunswick because my
means did not allow my making her a handsome present. I resolved to
accept her invitation, my curiosity being rather stimulated by the
account of the young lady.
I was exact at the time indicated, and I found Redegonde looking charming
in a pretty room on the ground floor, and with her was a young artiste
whom I had known as a child shortly before I had been put under the
Leads. I pretended to be delighted to see her, but I was really quite
taken up with Redegonde, and congratulated her upon her pretty house. She
said she had taken it for six months, but did not sleep there. After
coffee had been served we were on the point of going out for a stroll,
when who should come in but the prince. He smiled pleasantly when he saw
us, and apologized to Redegonde for interrupting our little party.
The appearance of the prince enlightened me as to the position of my
delightful fellow countrywoman, and I understood why she had been so
precise about the time at which I was to come. Redegonde had made the
conquest of the worthy prince, who was always disposed to gallantry, but
felt it his duty during the first year of his marriage with the King of
England's sister to preserve some kind of incognito in his amours.
We spent an hour in walking up and down and talking of London and Berlin,
but nothing was said of the Jew or the bill of exchange. He was delighted
with my warm eulogium of his library at Wolfenbuttel, and laughed with
all his heart when I said that unless it had been for the intellectual
nourishment I enjoyed, the bad fare at the inn would certainly have
reduced me to half my present size.
After bidding a graceful farewell to the nymph, the prince left us, and
we heard him galloping away on his horse.
When I was alone with Redegonde, far from begging for new favours, I
advised her to be faithful to the prince; but though appearances were
certainly not deceitful in this case, she would not admit anything. This
was in accordance with her part as young mistress, and I did not reproach
her for her want of confidence.
I spent the rest of the day at the inn, and started the next morning at
day-break.
When I got to Magdeburg, I took a letter of introduction from General
Bekw---- to an officer. He shewed me the fortress, and kept me for three
days making me taste all the pleasures of the table, women, and gaming.
However, I was very moderate, and managed to increase my savings in a
small degree, contenting myself with modest wagers.
From Magdeburg I went straight to Berlin, without caring to stop at
Potsdam, as the king was not there. The fearful Prussian roads with their
sandy soil made me take three days to do eighteen Prussian miles. Prussia
is a country of which much could be made with labour and capital, but I
do not think it will ever become a really fine country.
I put up at the "Hotel de Paris," which was both comfortable and
economical. Madame Rufin who kept it had entered into the spirit of her
business without losing her French politeness, and thus the inn had got a
reputation. As soon as I was in my room she came to ask me if I were
satisfied, and to make divers arrangements for my comfort. There was a
table d'hote, and those who ate in their private rooms paid double.
"This arrangement," I said, "may suit you, but for the present it will
not suit me. I want to dine in my own room, but I don't want to pay
double; I will therefore pay as if I were in the public room, but if you
like you need only send me up half the number of dishes."
"I agree, on the condition that you sup with me; we will not put it in
the accounts, and you will only meet friends at my little suppers."
I thought her proposal so curious a one that I had a great inclination to
laugh, but finding it at the same time very advantageous I accepted
frankly, and as if we had long been friends.
On the first day I was tired, and did not sup with her till the day
following. Madame Rufin had a husband who attended to the cooking, and a
son, but neither of them came to these suppers. The first time I went to
one of them I met an elderly but agreeable and sensible gentleman. He
lodged in a room adjoining mine, and called himself Baron Treidel; his
sister had married the Duke of Courland, Jean Ernest Biron, or Birlen.
The baron, who was extremely pleasant, became my friend, and remained so
for the couple of months I spent in Berlin. I also met a Hamburg
merchant, named Greve, and his wife, whom he had just married and had
brought to Berlin that she might see the marvels of the Warrior-King's
Court. She was as pleasant as her husband, and I paid her an assiduous
court. A lively and high-spirited individual called Noel, who was the
sole and beloved cook of his Prussian Majesty, was the fourth person. He
only came rarely to the suppers on account of his duties in the king's
kitchen. As I have said, his majesty had only this one cook, and Noel had
only one scullion to help him.
M. Noel, the ambassador of the French Republic at the Hague, is, as I am
assured, the son of this cook, who was an excellent man. And here I must
say, in despite of my hatred for the French Revolutionary Government,
that I am not at all ill pleased that a man of talents should be enabled
to fill exalted offices, which under the old system of privilege were
often occupied by fools.
If it had not been for the culinary skill of Noel the cook, the famous
Atheist physician Lametrie would not have died of indigestion, for the
pie he succeeded in eating in his extremity was made by Noel.
Lametrie often supped with Madame Rufin and I thought it disobliging of
him to die so soon, for I should have liked to know him, as he was a
learned man and full of mirth. He expired laughing, though it is said
that death from indigestion is the most painful of all. Voltaire told me
that he thought Lametrie the most obstinate Atheist in the world, and I
could easily believe it after reading his works. The King of Prussia
himself pronounced his funeral oration, using the words, "It is not
wonderful that he only believed in the existence of matter, for all the
spirit in the world was enclosed in his own body. No one but a king would
venture on such a sally in a funeral oration. However, Frederick the
Great was a Deist and not an Atheist; but that is of little consequence,
since he never allowed the belief in a God to influence his actions in
the slightest degree. Some say that an Atheist who ponders over the
possible existence of a God is better than a Deist who never thinks of
the Deity, but I will not venture to decide this point."
The first visit I paid in Berlin was to Calsabigi, the younger brother of
the Calsabigi with whom I had founded the lottery in Paris in 1757. He
had left Paris and his wife too, and had set up a lottery in Brussels;
but his extravagance was so great that he became a bankrupt in spite of
the efforts of Count Cobenzl to keep him going. He fled from Brussels to
Berlin, and was introduced to the King of Prussia. He was a plausible
speaker, and persuaded the monarch to establish a lottery, to make him
the manager, and to give him the title of Counsellor of State. He
promised that the lottery should bring in an annual revenue of at least
two hundred thousand crowns, and only asked a percentage of ten per cent.
for himself.
The lottery had been going for two years, and had had a great success, as
hitherto it had had no large losses; but the king, who knew that the luck
might turn, was always in a fidget about it. With this idea he told
Calsabigi that he must carry it on on his own responsibility and pay him
a hundred thousand crowns per annum, that being the cost of his Italian
Theatre.
I happened to call on Calsabigi on the very day on which the king
intimated to him this decision. After talking over our old relationship
and the vicissitudes we had both experienced, he told me what had
happened; it seemed an unexpected blow to him. The next drawing, he said,
would be at the king's risk; but the public would have to be informed
that in future the lottery would be a private one. He wanted capital to
the amount of two million crowns, for he foresaw that otherwise the
lottery would collapse, as people would not risk their money without the
certainty of being paid in the event of their winning. He said he would
guarantee me an income of ten thousand crowns per annum if I succeeded in
making the king change his mind, and by way of encouragement he recalled
to my mind the effect of my persuasive powers at Paris seven years
before.
"'Tis a good omen," said he, "and without any superstition I believe that
the good genius of the lottery has brought me to Berlin just now."
I laughed at his illusions, but I pitied him. I shewed him the
impossibility of convincing an individual whose only argument was, "I am
afraid, and I don't wish to be afraid any longer." He begged me to stay
to dinner and introduced me to his wife. This was a double surprise for
me, in the first place because I thought General La Motte, as his first
wife was called, to be still living, and in the second place because I
recognized in this second wife of his, Mdlle. Belanger. I addressed the
usual compliments to her and enquired after her mother. She replied with
a profound sigh, and told me not to ask any questions about her family as
she had only bad news to tell me.
I had known Madame Belanger at Paris; she was a widow with one daughter,
and seemed to be well off. Now I saw this daughter, pretty enough and
well married, and yet in this doleful humour, and I felt embarrassed and
yet curious.
After Calsabigi had placed me in a position to entertain a high opinion
of the skill of his cook, he shewed me his horses and carriages, begging
me to take a drive with his wife and come back to supper, which, as he
said, was his best meal.
When we were in the carriage together, the necessity of talking about
something led me to ask the lady by what happy chain of circumstances she
found herself the wife of Calsabigi.
"His real wife is still alive, so I have not the misfortune of occupying
that position, but everyone in Berlin thinks I am his lawful wife. Three
years ago I was deprived of my mother and the means of livelihood at one
stroke, for my mother had an annuity. None of my relations were rich
enough to help me, and wishing to live virtuously above all things I
subsisted for two years on the sale of my mother's furniture, boarding
with a worthy woman who made her living by embroidery. I learnt her art,
and only went out to mass on Sundays. I was a prey to melancholy, and
when I had spent all I had I went to M. Brea, a Genoese, on whom I
thought I could rely. I begged him to get me a place as a mere
waiting-maid, thinking that I was tolerably competent for such a
position. He promised to do what he could for me, and five or six days
afterwards he made me the following proposal:
"He read me a letter from Calsabigi, of whom I had never heard, in which
he charged him to send a virtuous young lady to Berlin. She must be of
good birth, good education, and pleasant appearance, as when his aged and
infirm wife died he intended to marry her.
"As such a person would most probably be badly off, Calsabigi begged M.
Brea to give her fifty Louis to buy clothes and linen and fifty Louis to
journey to Berlin with a maid. M. Brea was also authorized to promise
that the young lady should hold the position of Calsabigi's wife, and be
presented in that character to all his friends; that she should have a
waiting-maid, a carriage, an allowance of clothes, and a certain monthly
amount as pin-money to be spent as she chose. He promised, if the
arrangement was not found suitable, to set her free at the end of a year,
giving her a hundred Louis, and leaving her in possession of whatever
money she might have saved, and such clothes and jewels as he might have
given her; in fine, if the lady agreed to live with him till he was able
to marry her, Calsabigi promised to execute a deed of gift in her favour
to the amount of ten thousand crowns which the public would believe to be
her dowry, and if he died before being able to marry her she would have a
right to claim the aforesaid sum from his estate.
"With such fine promises did Brea persuade me to leave my native country
to come and dishonour myself here, for though everybody treats me as if I
were his wife, it is probably known that I am only his mistress. I have
been here for six months, and I have never had an instant's happiness."
"Has he not kept the conditions you have mentioned?"
"Conditions! Calsabigi's state of health will kill him long before his
wife, and in that case I shall have nothing, for he is loaded with debt,
and his creditors would have the first claim on the estate. Besides, I
do not like him; and the reason is that he loves me too much. You can
understand that; his devotion worries me."
"At all events, you can return to Paris in six months' time, or, in fact,
do anything you like when the term stipulated has expired. You will get
your hundred louis, and can lay in a pretty stock of linen."
"If I go to Paris I shall be dishonoured, and if I remain here I shall be
dishonoured. In fact, I am very unhappy, and Brea is the cause of my woe.
Nevertheless, I can't blame him, as he could not have been aware that his
friend's property only consisted of debts. And now the king has withdrawn
his countenance, the lottery will fail, and Calsabigi will inevitably
become a bankrupt."
She had studiously refrained from exaggeration, and I could not help
confessing that she was to be pitied. I advised her to try and sell the
deed of gift for ten thousand crowns, as it was not likely he would raise
any objection.
"I have thought it over," said she, "but to do that I have need of a
friend; of course, I do not expect to dispose of it save at a great
loss."
I promised to see what I could do for her.
There were four of us at supper. The fourth person was a young man who
had helped in the Paris and Brussels Lotteries, and had followed
Calsabigi to Berlin. He was evidently in love with Mdlle. Belanger, but I
did not think his love was crowned with success.
At dessert Calsabigi begged me to give him my opinion of a scheme he had
drafted, the aim of which was to bring in a sum of two million crowns, so
that the credit of the lottery might remain secure.
The lady left us to talk business at our ease. She was between
twenty-four and twenty-five, and without having much wit she possessed a
great knowledge of the usages of society, which is better than wit in a
woman; in fine, she had all that a man could well desire. The sentiments
I felt for her were confined to those of friendship and esteem after the
confidence she had placed in me.
Calsabigi's project was brief, but clear and well imagined. He invited
capitalists not to speculate in the lottery, but to guarantee it for a
certain sum. In the case of the lottery's losing, each guarantor would
have to share in paying according to the sum named, and in like manner
they would share in the profits.
I promised to give him my opinion in writing by the next day, and I
substituted the following plan for his:
1. A capital of a million, would, I judged, be ample.
2. This million should be divided into a hundred shares of ten thousand
crowns each.
3. Each share must be taken up before a notary, who would answer for the
shareholder's solvency.
4. All dividends to be paid the third day after the drawing.
5. In case of loss the shareholder to renew his share.
6. A cashier, chosen by a majority of four-fifths of the shareholders, to
have the control of all moneys.
7. Winning tickets to be paid the day after the drawing.
8. On the eve of a drawing the shareholders' cashier to have an account
of receipts from the lottery cashier, and the former to lock the safe
with three keys, one of which to remain in his hands, one in the hands of
the lottery cashier, and one in the hands of the manager of the lottery.
9. Only the simple drawing, the ambe and the terne to be retained; the
quarterne and the quine to be abolished.
10. On the three combinations a shilling to be the minimum, and a crown
the maximum stake; the offices to be closed twenty-four hours before the
drawing.
11. Ten per cent. to go to Calsabigi, the manager; all expenses of
farming to be paid by him.
12. Calsabigi to be entitled to the possession of two shares, without a
guarantee being required.
I saw by Calsabigi's face that the plan did not please him, but I told
him that he would not get shareholders save on these terms, or on terms
even less favourable to himself.
He had degraded the lottery to the level of biribi; his luxury and
extravagance caused him to be distrusted; it was known that he was head
over ears in debt, and the king could not banish the fear that he would
be cheated in spite of the keenness of his comptroller-general.
The last drawing under the king's sanction made everyone in good spirits,
for the lottery lost twenty thousand crowns. The king sent the money
immediately by a privy councillor, but it was said, when he heard the
result of the drawing, that he burst out laughing, observing,--
"I knew it would be so, and I am only too happy to have got quit of it so
cheaply."
I thought it my duty to go and sup with the director to console him, and
I found him in a state of great depression. He could not help thinking
that his unhappy drawing would make the task of getting shareholders more
difficult than ever. Hitherto the lottery had always been a gainer, but
its late loss could not have come at a worse time.
Nevertheless, he did not lose heart, and the next morning the public were
informed by printed bills that the office would remain closed till a
sufficient number of guarantors were found.
CHAPTER XVIII
Lord Keith--My Appointment to Meet the King in the Garden of
Sans-Souci My Conversation with Frederick the Great--Madame
Denis The Pomeranian Cadets--Lambert--I Go to Mitau My
Welcome at the Court, and My Administrative Journey
The fifth day after my arrival at Berlin I presented myself to the
lord-marshal, who since the death of his brother had been styled Lord
Keith. I had seen him in London after his return from Scotland, where he
had been reinstated in the family estates, which had been confiscated for
Jacobinism. Frederick the Great was supposed to have brought this about.
Lord Keith lived at Berlin, resting on his laurels, and enjoying the
blessings of peace.
With his old simplicity of manner he told me he was glad to see me again,
and asked if I proposed making any stay at Berlin. I replied that I would
willingly do so if the king would give me a suitable office. I asked him
if he would speak a word in my favour; but he replied that the king liked
to judge men's characters for himself, and would often discover merit
where no one had suspected its presence, and vice versa.
He advised me to intimate to the king in writing that I desired to have
the honour of an interview. "When you speak to him," the good old man
added, "you may say that you know me, and the king will doubtless address
me on the subject, and you may be sure what I say shall not be to your
disadvantage."
"But, my lord, how can I write to a monarch of whom I know nothing, and
who knows nothing of me? I should not have thought of such a step."
"I daresay, but don't you wish to speak to him?"
"Certainly."
"That is enough. Your letter will make him aware of your desire and
nothing more."
"But will he reply?"
"Undoubtedly; he replies to everybody. He will tell you when and where he
will see you. His Majesty is now at Sans-Souci. I am curious to know the
nature of your interview with the monarch who, as you can see, is not
afraid of being imposed on."
When I got home I wrote a plain but respectful letter to the king, asking
where and at what time I could introduce myself to him.
In two days I received a letter signed "Frederick," in which the receipt
of my letter was acknowledged, and I was told that I should find his
majesty in the garden of Sans-Souci at four o'clock.
As may be imagined I was punctual to my appointment. I was at Sans-Souci
at three, clad in a simple black dress. When I got into the court-yard
there was not so much as a sentinel to stop me, so I went on mounted a
stair, and opened a door in front of me. I found myself in a
picture-gallery, and the curator came up to me and offered to shew me
over it.
"I have not come to admire these masterpieces," I replied, "but to see
the king, who informed me in writing that I should find him in the
garden."
"He is now at a concert playing the flute; he does so every day after
dinner. Did he name any time?"
"Yes, four o'clock, but he will have forgotten that."
"The king never forgets anything; he will keep the appointment, and you
will do well to go into the garden and await him."
I had been in the garden for some minutes when I saw him appear, followed
by his reader and a pretty spaniel. As soon as he saw me he accosted me,
taking off his old hat, and pronouncing my name. Then he asked in a
terrible voice what I wanted of him. This greeting surprised me, and my
voice stuck in my throat.
"Well, speak out. Are you not the person who wrote to me?"
"Yes, sire, but I have forgotten everything now. I thought that I should
not be awed by the majesty of a king, but I was mistaken. My lord-marshal
should have warned me."
"Then he knows you? Let us walk. What is it that you want? What do you
think of my garden?"
His enquiries after my needs and of his garden were simultaneous. To any
other person I should have answered that I did not know anything about
gardening, but this would have been equivalent to refusing to answer the
question; and no monarch, even if he be a philosopher, could endure that.
I therefore replied that I thought the garden superb.
"But," he said, "the gardens of Versailles are much finer."
"Yes, sire, but that is chiefly on account of the fountains."
"True, but it is not my fault; there is no water here. I have spent more
than three hundred thousand crowns to get water, but unsuccessfully."
"Three hundred thousand crowns, sire! If your majesty had spent them all
at once, the fountains should be here."
"Oh, oh! I see you are acquainted with hydraulics."
I could not say that he was mistaken, for fear of offending him, so I
simply bent my head, which might mean either yes or no. Thank God the
king did not trouble to test my knowledge of the science of hydraulics,
with which I was totally unacquainted.
He kept on the move all the time, and as he turned his head from one side
to the other hurriedly asked me what forces Venice could put into the
field in war time.
"Twenty men-of-war, sire, and a number of galleys."
"What are the land forces?"
"Seventy thousand men, sire; all of whom are subjects of the Republic,
and assessing each village at one man."
"That is not true; no doubt you wish to amuse me by telling me these
fables. Give me your opinions on taxation."
This was the first conversation I had ever had with a monarch. I made a
rapid review of the situation, and found myself much in the same position
as an actor of the improvised comedy of the Italians, who is greeted by
the hisses of the gods if he stops short a moment. I therefore replied
with all the airs of a doctor of finance that I could say something about
the theory of taxation.
"That's what I want," he replied, "for the practice is no business of
yours."
"There are three kinds of taxes, considered as to their effects. The
first is ruinous, the second a necessary evil, and the third invariably
beneficial."
"Good! Go on."
"The ruinous impost is the royal tax, the necessary is the military, and
the beneficial is the popular."
As I had not given the subject any thought I was in a disagreeable
position, for I was obliged to go on speaking, and yet not to talk
nonsense.
"The royal tax, sire, is that which deplenishes the purses of the subject
to fill the coffers of the king."
"And that kind of tax is always ruinous, you think."
"Always, sire; it prevents the circulation of money--the soul of commerce
and the mainstay of the state."
"But if the tax be levied to keep up the strength of the army, you say it
is a necessary evil."
"Yes, it is necessary and yet evil, for war is an evil."
"Quite so; and now about the popular tax."
"This is always a benefit, for the monarch takes with one hand and gives
with the other; he improves towns and roads, founds schools, protects the
sciences, cherishes the arts; in fine, he directs this tax towards
improving the condition and increasing the happiness of his people."
"There is a good deal of truth in that. I suppose you know Calsabigi?"
"I ought to, your majesty, as he and I established the Genoa Lottery at
Paris seven years ago."
"In what class would you put this taxation, for you will agree that it is
taxation of a kind?"
"Certainly, sire, and not the least important. It is beneficial when the
monarch spends his profits for the good of the people."
"But the monarch may lose?"
"Once in fifty."
"Is that conclusion the result of a mathematical calculation?"
"Yes, sire."
"Such calculations often prove deceptive."
"Not so, may it please your majesty, when God remains neutral."
"What has God got to do with it?"
"Well, sire, we will call it destiny or chance."
"Good! I may possibly be of your opinion as to the calculation, but I
don't like your Genoese Lottery. It seems to me an elaborate swindle, and
I would have nothing more to do with it, even if it were positively
certain that I should never lose."
"Your majesty is right, for the confidence which makes the people risk
their money in a lottery is perfectly fallacious."
This was the end of our strange dialogue, and stopping before a building
he looked me over, and then, after a short silence, observed,--
"Do you know that you are a fine man?"
"Is it possible that, after the scientific conversation we have had, your
majesty should select the least of the qualities which adorn your life
guardsmen for remark?"
The king smiled kindly, and said,--
"As you know Marshal Keith, I will speak to him of you."
With that he took off his hat, and bade me farewell. I retired with a
profound bow.
Three or four days after the marshal gave me the agreeable news that I
had found favour in the king's eyes, and that his majesty thought of
employing me.
I was curious to learn the nature of this employment, and being in no
kind of hurry I resolved to await events in Berlin. The time passed
pleasantly enough, for I was either with Calsabigi, Baron Treidel, or my
landlady, and when these resources failed me, I used to walk in the park,
musing over the events of my life.
Calsabigi had no difficulty in obtaining permission to continue the
lottery on his own account, and he boldly announced that henceforward he
would conduct the lottery on his own risk. His audacity was crowned with
success, and he obtained a profit of a hundred thousand crowns. With this
he paid most of his debts, and gave his mistress ten thousand crowns, she
returning the document entitling her to that amount. After this lucky
drawing it was easy to find guarantors, and the lottery went on
successfully for two or three years.
Nevertheless Calsabigi ended by becoming bankrupt and died poor enough in
Italy. He might be compared to the Danaides; the more he got the more he
spent. His mistress eventually made a respectable marriage and returned
to Paris, where she lived in comfort.
At the period of which I am speaking, the Duchess of Brunswick, the
king's sister, came to pay him a visit. She was accompanied by her
daughter who married the Crown Prince of Prussia in the following year. I
saw the king in a suit of lustring trimmed with gold lace, and black silk
stockings on his legs. He looked truly comic, and more like a theatrical
heavy father than a great king. He came into the hall with his sister on
his arm and attracted universal attention, for only very old men could
remember seeing him without his uniform and top-boots.
I was not aware that the famous Madame Denis was at Berlin, and it was
therefore an agreeable surprise to me to see her in the ballet one
evening, dancing a pas seul in an exquisite manner. We were old friends,
and I resolved to pay her a visit the next day.
I must tell the reader (supposing I ever have one), that when I was about
twelve years old I went to the theatre with my mother and saw, not
without much heart-beating, a girl of eight who danced a minuet in so
ravishing a manner that the whole house applauded loudly. This young
dancer, who was the pantaloon's daughter, charmed me to such a degree
that I could not resist going to her dressing-room to compliment her on
her performance. I wore the cassock in those days, and she was astonished
when she heard her father order her to get up and kiss me. She kissed me,
nevertheless, with much grace, and though I received the compliment with
a good deal of awkwardness I was so delighted, that I could not help
buying her a little ring from a toy merchant in the theatre. She kissed
me again with great gratitude and enthusiasm.
The pleasantest part about this was that the sequin I had given for the
ring belonged to Dr. Gozzi, and so when I went back to him I was in a
pitiable state, for I had not only spent money which did not belong to
me, but I had spent it for so small a favour as a kiss.
I knew that the next day I should have to give an account of the money he
had entrusted to me, and not having the least idea as to what I should
say, I had a bad night of it. The next morning everything came out, and
my mother made up the sequin to the doctor. I laugh now when I think of
this childish piece of gallantry, which was an omen of the extent to
which my heart was to be swayed by the fair sex.
The toy-woman who had sold me the ring came the next day at dinner-time
to our house, and after producing several rings and trinkets which were
judged too dear, she began to praise my generosity, and said that I had
not thought the ring I had given to pretty Jeannette too dear. This did
my business; and I had to confess the whole, laying my fault to the
account of love, and promising not to do such a thing again. But when I
uttered the word love, everybody roared with laughter, and began to make
cruel game of me. I wished myself a mile away, and registered an interior
resolve never to confess my faults again. The reader knows how well I
kept my promise.
The pantaloon's little daughter was my mother's goddaughter, and my
thoughts were full of her. My mother, who loved me and saw my pain, asked
me if I would like the little girl to be asked to supper. My grandmother,
however, opposed the idea, and I was obliged to her.
The day after this burlesque scene I returned to Padua, where Bettina
soon made me forget the little ballet-girl. I saw her again at
Charlottenbourg, and that was now seventeen years ago.
I longed to have a talk with her, and to see whether she would remember
me, though I did not expect her to do so. I asked if her husband Denis
was with her, and they told me that the king had banished him because he
ill-treated her.
I called on her the day after the performance, and was politely received,
but she said she did not think she had had the pleasure of seeing me
before.
By degrees I told her of the events of her childhood, and how she
enchanted all Venice by the grace with which she danced the minuet. She
interrupted me by saying that at that time she was only six years old.
"You could not be more," I replied, "for I was only ten; and
nevertheless, I fell in love with you, and never have I forgotten the
kiss you gave me by your father's order in return for some trifling
present I made you."
"Be quiet; you gave me a beautiful ring, and I kissed you of my own free
will. You wore the cassock then. I have never forgotten you. But can it
really be you?"
"It is indeed."
"I am delighted to see you again. But I could never have recognized you,
and I suppose you would not have recognized me."
"No, I should not have known you, unless I had heard your name
mentioned."
"One alters in twenty years, you know."
"Yes, one cannot expect to have the same face as at six."
"You can bear witness that I am not more than twenty-six, though some
evil speakers give me ten years more."
"You should not take any notice of such calumnies, my dear. You are in
the flower of your age, and made for the service of love. For my part, I
congratulate myself on being able to tell you that you are the first
woman that inspired me with a real passion."
We could not help becoming affectionate if we continued to keep up the
conversation in this style, but experience had taught us that it was well
to remain as we were for the present.
Madame Denis was still fresh and youthful looking, though she persisted
in abbreviating her age by ten years. Of course she could not deceive me,
and she must have known it, nevertheless, she liked me to bear outward
testimony to her youthfulness. She would have detested me if I had
attempted to prove to her what she knew perfectly well, but did not care
to confess. No doubt she cared little for my thoughts on the subject, and
she may have imagined that I owed her gratitude for diminishing her age,
as it enabled me to diminish my own to make our tales agree. However, I
did not trouble myself much about it, for it is almost a duty in an
actress to disguise her age, as in spite of talent the public will not
forgive a woman for having been born too soon.
I thought her behaviour augured well, and I hoped she would not make me
languish long. She shewed me her house, which was all elegance and good
taste. I asked her if she had a lover, and she replied with a smile that
all Berlin thought so, but that it was nevertheless deceived on the
principal point, as the individual in question was more of a father than
a lover.
"But you deserve to have a real lover; I cannot conceive how you can do
without one."
"I assure you I don't trouble myself about it. I am subject to
convulsions, which are the plague of my life. I want to try the Teplitz
waters, which are said to be excellent for all nervous affections; but
the king has refused his permission, which I, nevertheless, hope to
obtain next year."
I felt ardently disposed, and I thought she was pleased with the
restraint I put upon myself.
"Will you be annoyed," said I, "if I call upon you frequently?"
"If you don't mind I will call myself your niece, or your cousin, and
then we can see each other."
"Do you know that that may possibly be true? I would not swear that you
were not my sister."
This sally made us talk of the friendship that had subsisted between her
father and my mother, and we allowed ourselves those caresses which are
permitted to near relations; but feeling that things were going too far
we ceased. As she bade me farewell, she asked me to dine with her the
next day, and I accepted.
As I went back to my inn I reflected on the strange combinations which
made my life one continuous chain of events, and I felt it my duty to
give thanks to eternal Providence, for I felt that I had been born under
a happy star.
The next day, when I went to dine with Madame Denis, I found a numerous
company assembled. The first person who greeted me with the warmth of an
old friend was a young dancer named Aubri, whom I had known at Paris and
at Venice. He was famous for having been the lover of one of the most
exalted Venetian ladies, and at the same time her husband's pathic. It
was said that this scandalous intimacy was of such a nature that Aubri
used to sleep between the husband and wife. At the beginning of Lent the
State Inquisitors sent him to Trieste. He introduced me to his wife, who
danced like himself and was called La Panting. He had married her at St.
Petersburg, from which city he had just come, and they were going to
spend the winter in Paris. The next person who advanced to greet me was a
fat man, who held out his hand and said we had been friends twenty-five
years ago, but that we were so young then that it would be no wonder if
we did not know each other. "We knew each other at Padua, at Dr.
Gozzi's," he added; "my name is Joseph da Loglio."
"I remember you," I replied, "in those days you were violoncello at the
Russian chapel."
"Exactly; and now I am returning to my native land to leave it no more. I
have the honour to introduce you to my wife, who was born at St.
Petersburg, but is a daughter of Modonis the violinist, whose reputation
is European. In a week I shall be at Dresden, where I hope to have the
honour of seeing Madame Casanova, your mother."
I was delighted to find myself in such congenial society, but I could see
that Madame Denis did not relish these recollections extending over a
quarter of a century, and I turned the conversation to the events at St.
Petersburg which had resulted in Catherine the Great ascending the
throne. Da Loglio told us that he had taken a small part in this
conspiracy, and had thought it prudent to get out of the way.
"Fortunately," he added, "this was a contingency I had long provided
against, and I am in a position to spend the rest of my days in comfort
in Italy."
Madame Denis then observed:
"A week ago a Piedmontese, named Audar, was introduced to me. He had been
a chief mover in the conspiracy, and the empress gave him a present of a
hundred thousand roubles and an order to leave Russia immediately."
I heard afterwards that this Audar bought an estate in Piedmont on which
he built a fine mansion. In two or three years it was struck by a
thunder-bolt, and the unfortunate man was killed in the ruins of his own
house. If this was a blow from an Almighty hand, it could not, at all
events, have been directed by the genius of Russia, for if the
unfortunate Peter III. had lived, he would have retarded Russian
civilization by a hundred years.
The Empress Catherine rewarded all the foreigners who had assisted her in
her plots most magnificently, and shewed herself grateful to the Russians
who had helped her to mount the throne; while, like a crafty politician,
she sent such nobles as she suspected to be averse to revolution out of
the country.
It was Da Loglio and his pretty wife who determined me to betake myself
to Russia in case the King of Prussia did not give me any employment. I
was assured that I should make my fortune there, and Da Loglio promised
to give me good instructions.
As soon as this worthy man left Berlin my intimacy with Madame Denis
commenced. One night when I was supping with her she was seized with
convulsions which lasted all the night. I did not leave her for a moment,
and in the morning, feeling quite recovered, her gratitude finished what
my love had begun twenty-six years before, and our amorous commerce
lasted while I stayed at Berlin. We shall hear of her again at Florence
six years later.
Some days after Madame Denis took me to Potsdam to shew me all the sights
of the town. Our intimacy offended no one, for she was generally believed
to be my niece, and the general who kept her either believed the report,
or like a man of sense pretended to believe it.
Amongst other notable things I saw at Potsdam was the sight of the king
commanding the first battalion of his grenadiers, all picked men, the
flower of the Prussian army.
The room which we occupied at the inn faced a walk by which the king
passed when he came from the castle. The shutters were all closed, and
our landlady told us that on one occasion when a pretty dancer called La
Reggiana was sleeping in the same room, the king had seen her in 'puris
naturalibus'. This was too much for his modesty, and he had ordered the
shutters to be closed, and closed they had remained, though this event
was four years old. The king had some cause to fear, for he had been
severely treated by La Barbarina. In the king's bedroom we saw her
portrait, that of La Cochois, sister to the actress who became
Marchioness d'Argens, and that of Marie Theresa, with whom Frederick had
been in love, or rather he had been in love with the idea of becoming
emperor.
After we had admired the beauty and elegance of the castle, we could not
help admiring the way in which the master of the castle was lodged. He
had a mean room, and slept on a little bed with a screen around it. There
was no dressing-gown and no slippers. The valet shewed us an old cap
which the king put on when he had a cold; it looked as if it must be very
uncomfortable. His majesty's bureau was a table covered with pens, paper,
half-burnt manuscripts, and an ink-pot; beside it was a sofa. The valet
told us that these manuscripts contained the history of the last Prussian
war, and the king had been so annoyed by their accidentally getting burnt
that he had resolved to have no more to do with the work. He probably
changed his mind, for the book, which is little esteemed, was published
shortly after his death.
Five or six weeks after my curious conversation with the monarch, Marshal
Keith told me that his majesty had been pleased to create me a tutor to
the new corps of Pomeranian cadets which he was just establishing. There
were to be fifteen cadets and five tutors, so that each should have the
care of three pupils. The salary was six hundred crowns and board found.
The duty of the tutors was to follow or accompany the cadets wherever
they went, Court included. I had to be quick in making up my mind, for
the four others were already installed, and his majesty did not like to
be kept waiting. I asked Lord Keith where the college was, and I promised
to give him a reply by the next day.
I had to summon all my powers of self-restraint to my assistance when I
heard this extravagant proposal as coming from a man who was so discreet
in most things, but my astonishment was increased when I saw the abode of
these fifteen young noblemen of rich Pomerania. It consisted of three or
four great rooms almost devoid of furniture, several whitewashed
bedrooms, containing a wretched bed, a deal table, and two deal chairs.
The young cadets, boys of twelve or thirteen, all looked dirty and
untidy, and were boxed up in a wretched uniform which matched admirably
their rude and rustic faces. They were in company with their four
governors, whom I took for their servants, and who looked at me in a
stupefied manner, not daring to think that I was to be their future
colleague.
Just as I was going to bid an eternal farewell to this abode of misery,
one of the governors put his head out of the window and exclaimed,--
"The king is riding up."
I could not avoid meeting him, and besides, I was glad enough to see him
again, especially in such a place.
His majesty came up with his friend Icilius, examined everything, and saw
me, but did not honour me with a word. I was elegantly dressed, and wore
my cross set with brilliants. But I had to bite my lips so as not to
burst out laughing when Frederick the Great got in a towering rage at a
chamber utensil which stood beside one of the beds, and which did not
appear to be in a very cleanly condition.
"Whose bed is this?" cried the monarch.
"Mine, sire," answered a trembling cadet.
"Good! but it is not you I am angry with; where is your governor?"
The fortunate governor presented himself, and the monarch, after
honouring him with the title of blockhead, proceeded to scold him
roundly. However, he ended by saying that there was a servant, and that
the governor ought to see that he did his work properly. This disgusting
scene was enough for me, and I hastened to call on Marshal Keith to
announce my determination. The old soldier laughed at the description I
gave him of the academy, and said I was quite right to despise such an
office; but that I ought, nevertheless, to go and thank the king before I
left Berlin. I said I did not feel inclined for another interview with
such a man, and he agreed to present my thanks and excuses in my stead.
I made up my mind to go to Russia, and began my preparations in good
earnest. Baron Treidel supported my resolve by offering to give me a
letter of introduction to his sister, the Duchess of Courland. I wrote to
M. de Bragadin to 'give me a letter for a banker at St. Petersburg, and
to remit me through him every month a sum which would keep me in comfort.
I could not travel without a servant, and chance kindly provided me with
one. I was sitting with Madame Rufin, when a young Lorrainer came in;
like Bias, he bore all his fortune with him, but, in his case, it was
carried under his arm. He introduced himself thus:
"Madam, my name is Lambert, I come from Lorraine, and I wish to lodge
here."
"Very good, sir, but you must pay for your board and lodging every day."
"That, madam, is out of the question, for I have not got a farthing, but
I shall have some money when I discover who I am."
"I am afraid I cannot put you up on those conditions, sir."
He was going away with a mortified air, when my heart was touched, and I
called him back.
"Stay," said I, "I will pay for you to-day."
Happiness beamed over his face.
"What have you got in that little bundle?" said I.
"Two shirts, a score of mathematical books, and some other trifles."
I took him to my room, and finding him tolerably well educated, I asked
him how he came to be in such a state of destitution.
"I come from Strasburg," he replied, "and a cadet of a regiment stationed
there having given me a blow in a coffee-house I paid him a visit the
next day in his own room and stabbed him there.
"After this I went home, made up my bundle, and left the town. I walked
all the way and lived soberly, so that my money lasted till this morning.
To-morrow I shall write to my mother, who lives at Luneville, and I am
sure she will send me some money."
"And what do you think of doing?"
"I want to become a military engineer, but if needs must I am ready to
enlist as a private soldier."
"I can give you board and lodging till you hear from your mother."
"Heaven has sent you in my way," said he, kissing my hand gratefully.
I did not suspect him of deceiving me, though he stumbled somewhat in his
narrative. However my curiosity led me to write to M. Schauenbourg, who
was then at Strasburg, to enquire if the tale were true.
The next day I happened to meet an officer of engineers, who told me that
young men of education were so plentiful that they did not receive them
into the service unless they were willing to serve as common soldiers. I
was sorry for the young man to be reduced so low as that. I began to
spend some time with him every day in mathematical calculations, and I
conceived the idea of taking him with me to St. Petersburg, and broached
the subject to him.
"It would be a piece of good fortune for me," he replied, "and to shew my
gratitude I will gladly wait on you as a servant during the journey."
He spoke French badly, but as he was a Lorrainer I was not astonished at
that. Nevertheless I was surprised to find that he did not know a word of
Latin, and that his spelling was of the wildest description. He saw me
laughing, but did not seem in the least ashamed. Indeed he said that he
had only gone to school to learn mathematics, and that he was very glad
that he had escaped the infliction of learning grammar. Indeed, on every
subject besides mathematics, he was profoundly ignorant. He had no
manners whatever; in fact, he was a mere peasant.
Ten or twelve days later I received a letter from M. de Schauenbourg,
saying that the name of Lambert was unknown in Strasburg, and that no
cadet had been killed or wounded.
When I shewed Lambert this letter he said that as he wished to enter the
army he thought it would be of service to him to shew that he was brave,
adding that as this lie had not been told with the idea of imposing on me
I should forgive it.
"Poverty," said he, "is a rascally teacher, that gives a man some bad
lessons. I am not a liar by disposition, but I have nevertheless told you
a lie on another and a more important matter. I don't expect any money
whatever from my poor mother, who rather needs that I should send money
to her. So forgive me, and be sure I shall be a faithful servant to you."
I was always ready to forgive other men's peccadilloes, and not without
cause. I liked Lambert's line of argument, and told him that we would set
out in five or six days.
Baron Bodisson, a Venetian who wanted to sell the king a picture by
Andrea del Sarto, asked me to come with him to Potsdam and the desire of
seeing the monarch once again made me accept the invitation. When I
reached Potsdam I went to see the parade at which Frederick was nearly
always to be found. When he saw me he came up and asked me in a familiar
manner when I was going to start for St. Petersburg.
"In five or six days, if your majesty has no objection."
"I wish you a pleasant journey; but what do you hope to do in that land?"
"What I hoped to do in this land, namely, to please the sovereign."
"Have you got an introduction to the empress?"
"No, but I have an introduction to a banker."
"Ah! that's much better. If you pass through Prussia on your return I
shall be delighted to hear of your adventures in Russia."
"Farewell, sire."
Such was the second interview I had with this great king, whom I never
saw again.
After I had taken leave of all my friends I applied to Baron Treidel, who
gave me a letter for M. de Kaiserling, lord-chancellor at Mitau, and
another letter for his sister, the Duchess of Courland, and I spent the
last night with the charming Madame Denis. She bought my post-chaise, and
I started with two hundred ducats in my purse. This would have been ample
for the whole journey if I had not been so foolish as to reduce it by
half at a party of pleasure with some young merchants at Dantzic. I was
thus unable to stay a few days at Koenigsberg, though I had a letter to
Field-Marshal von Lewald, who was the governor of the place. I could only
stay one day to dine with this pleasant old soldier, who gave me a letter
for his friend General Woiakoff, the Governor of Riga.
I found I was rich enough to arrive at Mitau in state, and I therefore
took a carriage and six, and reached my destination in three days. At the
inn where I put up I found a Florentine artiste named Bregonei, who
overwhelmed me with caresses, telling me that I had loved her when I was
a boy and wore the cassock. I saw her six years later at Florence, where
she was living with Madame Denis.
The day after my departure from Memel, I was accosted in the open country
by a man whom I recognized as a Jew. He informed me that I was on Polish
territory, and that I must pay duty on whatever merchandise I had with
me.
"I am no merchant," said I, "and you will get nothing out of me."
"I have the right to examine your effects," replied the Israelite, "and I
mean to make use of it."
"You are a madman," I exclaimed, and I ordered the postillion to whip him
off.
But the Jew ran and seized the fore horses by the bridle and stopped us,
and the postillion, instead of whipping him, waited with Teutonic calm
for me to come and send the Jew away. I was in a furious rage, and
leaping out with my cane in one hand and a pistol in the other I soon put
the Jew to flight after applying about a dozen good sound blows to his
back. I noticed that during the combat my fellow-traveller, my
Archimedes-in-ordinary, who had been asleep all the way, did not offer to
stir. I reproached him for his cowardice; but he told me that he did not
want the Jew to say that we had set on him two to one.
I arrived at Mitau two days after this burlesque adventure and got down
at the inn facing the castle. I had only three ducats left.
The next morning I called on M. de Kaiserling, who read the Baron de
Treidel's letter, and introduced me to his wife, and left me with her to
take the baron's letter to his sister.
Madame de Kaiserling ordered a cup of chocolate to be brought me by a
beautiful young Polish girl, who stood before me with lowered eyes as if
she wished to give me the opportunity of examining her at ease. As I
looked at her a whim came into my head, and, as the reader is aware, I
have never resisted any of my whims. However, this was a curious one. As
I have said, I had only three ducats left, but after I had emptied the
cup of chocolate I put it back on the plate and the three ducats with it.
The chancellor came back and told me that the duchess could not see me
just then, but that she invited me to a supper and ball she was giving
that evening. I accepted the supper and refused the ball, on the pretext
that I had only summer clothes and a black suit. It was in the beginning
of October, and the cold was already commencing to make itself felt. The
chancellor returned to the Court, and I to my inn.
Half an hour later a chamberlain came to bring me her highness's
compliments, and to inform me that the ball would be a masked one, and
that I could appear in domino.
"You can easily get one from the Jews," he added. He further informed me
that the ball was to have been a full-dress one, but that the duchess had
sent word to all the guests that it would be masked, as a stranger who
was to be present had sent on his trunks.
"I am sorry to have caused so much trouble," said I.
"Not at all," he replied, "the masked ball will be much more relished by
the people."
He mentioned the time it was to begin, and left me.
No doubt the reader will think that I found myself in an awkward
predicament, and I will be honest and confess I was far from being at my
ease. However, my good luck came to my assistance.
As Prussian money (which is the worst in Germany) is not current in
Russia, a Jew came and asked me if I had any friedrichs d'or, offering to
exchange them against ducats without putting me to any loss.
"I have only ducats," I replied, "and therefore I cannot profit by your
offer."
"I know it sir, and you give them away very cheaply."
Not understanding what he meant, I simply gazed at him, and he went on to
say that he would be glad to let me have two hundred ducats if I would
kindly give him a bill on St. Petersburg for roubles to that amount.
I was somewhat surprised at the fellow's trustfulness, but after
pretending to think the matter over I said that I was not in want of
ducats, but that I would take a hundred to oblige him. He counted out the
money gratefully, and I gave him a bill on the banker, Demetrio
Papanelopoulo, for whom Da Loglio had given me a letter. The Jew went his
way, thanking me, and saying that he would send me some beautiful dominos
to choose from. Just then I remembered that I wanted silk stockings, and
I sent Lambert after the Jew to tell him to send some. When he came back
he told me that the landlord had stopped him to say that I scattered my
ducats broadcast, as the Jew had informed him that I had given three
ducats to Madame de Kaiserling's maid.
This, then, was the key to the mystery, and it made me lose myself in
wonder at the strangeness of the decrees of fortune. I should not have
been able to get a single crown at Mitau if it had not been for the way
in which I scattered my three remaining ducats. No doubt the astonished
girl had published my generosity all over the town, and the Jew, intent
on money-making, had hastened to offer his ducats to the rich nobleman
who thought so little of his money.
I repaired to Court at the time appointed, and M. de Kaiserling
immediately presented me to the duchess, and she to the duke, who was the
celebrated Biron, or Birlen, the former favourite of Anna Ivanovna. He
was six feet in height, and still preserved some traces of having been a
fine man, but old age had laid its heavy hand on him. I had a long talk
with him the day after the ball.
A quarter of an hour after my arrival, the ball began with a polonaise. I
was a stranger with introductions, so the duchess asked me to open the
ball with her. I did not know the dance, but I managed to acquit myself
honourably in it, as the steps are simple and lend themselves to the
fancy of the dancer.
After the polonaise we danced minuets, and a somewhat elderly lady asked
me if I could dance the "King Conqueror," so I proceeded to execute it
with her. It had gone out of fashion since the time of the Regency, but
my companion may have shone in it in those days. All the younger ladies
stood round and watched us with admiration.
After a square dance, in which I had as partner Mdlle. de Manteufel, the
prettiest of the duchess's maids of honour, her highness told me that
supper was ready. I came up to her and offered my arm, and presently
found myself seated beside her at a table laid for twelve where I was the
only gentleman. However, the reader need not envy me; the ladies were all
elderly dowagers, who had long lost the power of turning men's heads. The
duchess took the greatest care of my comforts, and at the end of the
repast gave me with her own hands a glass of liqueur, which I took for
Tokay and praised accordingly, but it turned out to be only old English
ale. I took her back to the ball when we rose from table. The young
chamberlain who had invited me told me the names of all the ladies
present, but I had no time to pay my court to any of them.
The next day I dined with M. de Kaiserling, and handed Lambert over to a
Jew to be clothed properly.
The day after I dined with the duke with a party consisting only of men.
The old prince made me do most of the talking, and towards the end of the
dinner the conversation fell upon the resources of the country which was
rich in minerals and semi-minerals. I took it into my head to say that
these resources ought to be developed, and that they would become
precious if that were done. To justify this remark I had to speak upon
the matter as if I had made it my principal study. An old chamberlain,
who had the control of the mines, after allowing me to exhaust my
enthusiasm, began to discuss the question himself, made divers
objections, but seemed to approve of many of my remarks.
If I had reflected when I began to speak in this manner that I should
have to act up to my words, I should certainly have said much less; but
as it was, the duke fancied that I knew much more than I cared to say.
The result was that, when the company had risen from the table, he asked
me if I could spare him a fortnight on my way to St. Petersburg. I said I
should be glad to oblige him, and he took me to his closet and said that
the chamberlain who had spoken to me would conduct me over all the mines
and manufactories in his duchies, and that he would be much obliged if I
would write down any observations that struck me. I agreed to his
proposal, and said I would start the next day.
The duke was delighted with my compliance, and gave the chamberlain the
necessary orders, and it was agreed that he should call for me at
day-break with a carriage and six.
When I got home I made my preparations, and told Lambert to be ready to
accompany me with his case of instruments. I then informed him of the
object of the journey, and he promised to assist me to the best of his
ability, though he knew nothing about mines, and still less of the
science of administration.
We started at day-break, with a servant on the box, and two others
preceding us on horseback, armed to the teeth. We changed horses every
two or three hours, and the chamberlain having brought plenty of wine we
refreshed ourselves now and again.
The tour lasted a fortnight, and we stopped at five iron and copper
manufactories. I found it was not necessary to have much technical
knowledge to make notes on what I saw; all I required was a little sound
argument, especially in the matter of economy, which was the duke's main
object. In one place I advised reforms, and in another I counselled the
employment of more hands as likely to benefit the revenue. In one mine
where thirty convicts were employed I ordered the construction of a short
canal, by which three wheels could be turned and twenty men saved. Under
my direction Lambert drew the plans, and made the measurements with
perfect accuracy. By means of other canals I proposed to drain whole
valleys, with a view to obtain the sulphur with which the soil was
permeated.
I returned to Mitau quite delighted at having made myself useful, and at
having discovered in myself a talent which I had never suspected. I spent
the following day in making a fair copy of my report and in having the
plans done on a larger scale. The day after I took the whole to the duke,
who seemed well pleased; and as I was taking leave of him at the same
time he said he would have me drive to Riga in one of his carriages, and
he gave me a letter for his son, Prince Charles, who was in garrison
there.
The worthy old man told me to say plainly whether I should prefer a jewel
or a sum of money of equivalent value.
"From a philosopher like your highness," I replied, "I am not afraid to
take money, for it may be more useful to me than jewels."
Without more ado he gave me a draft for four hundred albertsthalers,
which I got cashed immediately, the albertsthaler being worth half a
ducat. I bade farewell to the duchess, and dined a second time with M. de
Kaiserling.
The next day the young chamberlain came to bring me the duke's letter, to
wish me a pleasant journey, and to tell me that the Court carriage was at
my door. I set out well pleased with the assistance the stuttering
Lambert had given me, and by noon I was at Riga. The first thing I did
was to deliver my letter of introduction to Prince Charles.
EPISODE 25 -- RUSSIA AND POLAND
CHAPTER XIX
My Stay at Riga--Campioni St. Heleine--D'Asagon--Arrival of
the Empress--I Leave Riga and Go to St. Petersburg--I See
Society--I Buy Zaira
Prince Charles de Biron, the younger son of the Duke of Courland,
Major-General in the Russian service, Knight of the Order of St.
Alexander Newski, gave me a distinguished reception after reading his
father's letter. He was thirty-six years of age, pleasant-looking without
being handsome, and polite and well-mannered, and he spoke French
extremely well. In a few sentences he let me know what he could do for me
if I intended to spend some time at Riga. His table, his friends, his
pleasures, his horses, his advice, and his purse, all these were at my
service, and he offered them with the frankness of the soldier and the
geniality of the prince.
"I cannot offer you a lodging," he said, "because I have hardly enough
room for myself, but I will see that you get a comfortable apartment
somewhere."
The apartment was soon found, and I was taken to it by one of the
prince's aides-de-camp. I was scarcely established when the prince came
to see me, and made me dine with him just as I was. It was an
unceremonious dinner, and I was pleased to meet Campioni, of whom I have
spoken several times in these Memoirs. He was a dancer, but very superior
to his fellows, and fit for the best company polite, witty, intelligent,
and a libertine in a gentlemanly way. He was devoid of prejudices, and
fond of women, good cheer, and heavy play, and knew how to keep an even
mind both in good and evil fortune. We were mutually pleased to see each
other again.
Another guest, a certain Baron de St. Heleine from Savoy, had a pretty
but very insignificant wife. The baron, a fat man, was a gamester, a
gourmand, and a lover of wine; add that he was a past master in the art
of getting into debt and lulling his creditors into a state of false
security, and you have all his capacities, for in all other respects he
was a fool in the fullest sense of the word. An aide-decamp and the
prince's mistress also dined with us. This mistress, who was pale, thin,
and dreamy-looking, but also pretty, might be twenty years old. She
hardly ate anything, saying that she was ill and did not like anything on
the table. Discontent shewed itself on her every feature. The prince
endeavoured, but all in vain, to make her eat and drink, she refused
everything disdainfully. The prince laughed good-humouredly at her in
such a manner as not to wound her feelings.
We spent two hours pleasantly enough at table, and after coffee had been
served, the prince, who had business, shook me by the hand and left me
with Campioni, telling me always to regard his table as my last resource.
This old friend and fellow-countryman took me to his house to introduce
me to his wife and family. I did not know that he had married a second
time. I found the so-called wife to be an Englishwoman, thin, but full of
intelligence. She had a daughter of eleven, who might easily have been
taken for fifteen; she, too, was marvellously intelligent, and danced,
sang, and played on the piano and gave such glances that shewed that
nature had been swifter than her years. She made a conquest of me, and
her father congratulated me to my delight, but her mother offended her
dreadfully by calling her baby.
I went for a walk with Campioni, who gave me a good deal of information,
beginning with himself.
"I have lived for ten years," he said, "with that woman. Betty, whom you
admired so much, is not my daughter, the others are my children by my
Englishwoman. I have left St. Petersburg for two years, and I live here
well enough, and have pupils who do me credit. I play with the prince,
sometimes winning and sometimes losing, but I never win enough to enable
me to satisfy a wretched creditor I left at St. Petersburg, who
persecutes me on account of a bill of exchange. He may put me in prison
any day, and I am always expecting him to do so."
"Is the bill for a large sum?"
"Five hundred roubles."
"That is only two thousand francs."
"Yes, but unfortunately I have not got it."
"You ought to annul the debt by paying small sums on account."
"The rascal won't let me."
"Then what do you propose doing?"
"Win a heavy sum, if I can, and escape into Poland.
"The Baron de St. Heleine will run away, too if he can, for he only lives
on credit. The prince is very useful to us, as we are able to play at his
house; but if we get into difficulty he could not extricate us, as he is
heavily in debt himself. He always loses at play. His mistress is
expensive, and gives him a great deal of trouble by her ill-humour."
"Why is she so sour?"
"She wants him to keep his word, for he promised to get her married at
the end of two years; and on the strength of this promise she let him
give her two children. The two years have passed by and the children are
there, and she will no longer allow him to have anything to do with her
for fear of having a third child."
"Can't the prince find her a husband?"
"He did find her a lieutenant, but she won't hear of anybody under the
rank of major."
The prince gave a state dinner to General Woyakoff (for whom I had a
letter), Baroness Korf, Madame Ittinoff, and to a young lady who was
going to marry Baron Budberg, whom I had known at Florence, Turin, and
Augsburg, and whom I may possibly have forgotten to mention.
All these friends made me spend three weeks very pleasantly, and I was
especially pleased with old General Woyakoff. This worthy man had been at
Venice fifty years before, when the Russians were still called
Muscovites, and the founder of St. Petersburg was still alive. He had
grown old like an oak, without changing his horizons. He thought the
world was just the same as it had been when he was young, and was
eloquent in his praise of the Venetian Government, imagining it to be
still the same as he had left it.
At Riga an English merchant named Collins told me that the so-called
Baron de Stenau, who had given me the forged bill of exchange, had been
hanged in Portugal. This "baron" was a poor clerk, and the son of a small
tradesman, and had left his desk in search of adventure, and thus he had
ended. May God have mercy upon his soul!
One evening a Russian, on his way from Poland, where he had been
executing some commission for the Russian Court, called on the prince,
played, and lost twenty thousand roubles on his word of honour. Campioni
was the dealer. The Russian gave bills of exchange in payment of his
debts; but as soon as he got to St. Petersburg he dishonoured his own
bills, and declared them worthless, not caring for his honour or good
faith. The result of this piece of knavery was not only that his
creditors were defrauded, but gaming was henceforth strictly forbidden in
the officers' quarters.
This Russian was the same that betrayed the secrets of Elizabeth
Petrovna, when she was at war with Prussia. He communicated to Peter, the
empress's nephew and heir-presumptive, all the orders she sent to her
generals, and Peter in his turn passed on the information to the Prussian
king whom he worshipped.
On the death of Elizabeth, Peter put this traitor at the head of the
department for commerce, and the fellow actually made known, with the
Czar's sanction, the service for which he had received such a reward, and
thus, instead of looking upon his conduct as disgraceful, he gloried over
it. Peter could not have been aware of the fact that, though it is
sometimes necessary to reward treachery, the traitor himself is always
abhorred and despised.
I have remarked that it was Campioni who dealt, but he dealt for the
prince who held the bank. I had certain claims, but as I remarked that I
expected nothing and would gladly sell my expectations for a hundred
roubles, the prince took me at my word and gave me the amount
immediately. Thus I was the only person who made any money by our night's
play.
Catherine II, wishing to shew herself to her new subjects, over whom she
was in reality supreme, though she had put the ghost of a king in the
person of Stanislas Poniatowski, her former favourite, on the throne of
Poland, came to Riga, and it was then I saw this great sovereign for the
first time. I was a witness of the kindness and affability with which she
treated the Livonian nobility, and of the way in which she kissed the
young ladies, who had come to kiss her hand, upon the mouth. She was
surrounded by the Orloffs and by other nobles who had assisted in placing
her on the throne. For the comfort and pleasure of her loyal subjects the
empress graciously expressed her intention of holding a bank at faro of
ten thousand roubles.
Instantly the table and the cards were brought forward, and the piles of
gold placed in order. She took the cards, pretended to shuffle them, and
gave them to the first comer to cut. She had the pleasure of seeing her
bank broken at the first deal, and indeed this result was to be expected,
as anybody not an absolute idiot could see how the cards were going. The
next day the empress set out for Mitau, where triumphal arches were
erected in her honour. They were made of wood, as stone is scarce in
Poland, and indeed there would not have been time to build stone arches.
The day after her arrival great alarm prevailed, for news came that a
revolution was ready to burst out at St. Petersburg, and some even said
that it had begun. The rebels wished to have forth from his prison the
hapless Ivan Ivanovitz, who had been proclaimed emperor in his cradle,
and dethroned by Elizabeth Petrovna. Two officers to whom the
guardianship of the prince had been confided had killed the poor innocent
monarch when they saw that they would be overpowered.
The assassination of the innocent prince created such a sensation that
the wary Panin, fearing for the results, sent courier after courier to
the empress urging her to return to St. Petersburg and shew herself to
the people.
Catherine was thus obliged to leave Mitau twenty-four hours after she had
entered it, and after hastening back to the capital she arrived only to
find that the excitement had entirely subsided. For politic reasons the
assassins of the wretched Ivan were rewarded, and the bold man who had
endeavoured to rise by her fall was beheaded.
The report ran that Catherine had concerted the whole affair with the
assassins, but this was speedily set down as a calumny. The czarina was
strong-minded, but neither cruel nor perfidious. When I saw her at Riga
she was thirty-five, and had reigned two years. She was not precisely
handsome, but nevertheless her appearance was pleasing, her expression
kindly, and there was about her an air of calm and tranquillity which
never left her.
At about the same time a friend of Baron de St. Heleine arrived from St.
Petersburg on his way to Warsaw. His name was Marquis Dragon, but he
called himself d'Aragon. He came from Naples, was a great gamester, a
skilled swordsman, and was always ready to extract himself from a
difficulty by a duel. He had left St. Petersburg because the Orloffs had
persuaded the empress to prohibit games of chance. It was thought strange
that the prohibition should come from the Orloffs, as gaming had been
their principal means of gaining a livelihood before they entered on the
more dangerous and certainly not more honourable profession of
conspiracy. However, this measure was really a sensible one. Having been
gamesters themselves they knew that gamesters are mostly knaves, and
always ready to enter into any intrigue or conspiracy provided it assures
them some small gain; there could not have been better judges of gaming
and its consequences than they were.
But though a gamester may be a rogue he may still have a good heart, and
it is only just to say that this was the case with the Orloffs. Alexis
gained the slash which adorns his face in a tavern, and the man who gave
the blow had just lost to him a large sum of money, and considered his
opponent's success to be rather the result of dexterity than fortune.
When Alexis became rich and powerful, instead of revenging himself, he
hastened to make his enemy's fortune. This was nobly done.
Dragon, whose first principle was always to turn up the best card, and
whose second principle was never to shirk a duel, had gone to St.
Petersburg in 1759 with the Baron de St. Heleine. Elizabeth was still on
the throne, but Peter, Duke of Holstein, the heir-presumptive, had
already begun to loom large on the horizon. Dragon used to frequent the
fencing school where the prince was a frequent visitor, and there
encountered all comers successfully. The duke got angry, and one day he
took up a foil and defied the Neapolitan marquis to a combat. Dragon
accepted and was thoroughly beaten, while the duke went off in triumph,
for he might say from henceforth that he was the best fencer in St.
Petersburg.
When the prince had gone, Dragon could not withstand the temptation of
saying that he had only let himself be beaten for fear of offending his
antagonist; and this boast soon got to the grand-duke's ears. The great
man was terribly enraged, and swore he would have him banished from St.
Petersburg if he did not use all his skill, and at the same time he sent
an order to Dragon to be at the fencing school the next day.
The impatient duke was the first to arrive, and d'Aragon was not long in
coming. The prince began reproaching him for what he had said the day
before, but the Neapolitan, far from denying the fact, expressed himself
that he had felt himself obliged to shew his respect for his prince by
letting him rap him about for upwards of two hours.
"Very good," said the duke, "but now it is your turn; and if you don't do
your best I will drive you from St. Petersburg."
"My lord, your highness shall be obeyed. I shall not allow you to touch
me once, but I hope you will deign to take me under your protection."
The two champions passed the whole morning with the foils, and the duke
was hit a hundred times without being able to touch his antagonist. At
last, convinced of Dragon's superiority, he threw down his foil and shook
him by the hand, and made him his fencer-in-ordinary, with the rank of
major in his regiment of Holsteiners.
Shortly after, D'Aragon having won the good graces of the duke obtained
leave to hold a bank at faro in his court, and in three or four years he
amassed a fortune of a hundred thousand roubles, which he took with him
to the Court of King Stanislas, where games of all sorts were allowed.
When he passed through Riga, St. Heleine introduced him to Prince
Charles, who begged him to call on him the next day, and to shew his
skill with the foils against himself and some of his friends. I had the
honour to be of the number; and thoroughly well he beat us, for his skill
was that of a demon. I was vain enough to become angry at being hit at
every pass, and told him that I should not be afraid to meet him at a
game of sharps. He was calmer, and replied by taking my hand, and
saying,--
"With the naked sword I fence in quite another style, and you are quite
right not to fear anyone, for you fence very well."
D'Aragon set out for Warsaw the next day, but he unfortunately found the
place occupied by more cunning Greeks than himself. In six months they
had relieved him of his hundred thousand roubles, but such is the lot of
gamesters; no craft can be more wretched than theirs.
A week before I left Riga (where I stayed two months) Campioni fled by
favour of the good Prince Charles, and in a few days the Baron de St.
Heleine followed him without taking leave of a noble army of creditors.
He only wrote a letter to the Englishman Collins, to whom he owed a
thousand crowns, telling him that like an honest man he had left his
debts where he had contracted them. We shall hear more of these three
persons in the course of two years.
Campioni left me his travelling carriage, which obliged me to use six
horses on my journey to St. Petersburg. I was sorry to leave Betty, and I
kept up an epistolary correspondence with her mother throughout the whole
of my stay at St. Petersburg.
I left Riga with the thermometer indicating fifteen degrees of frost, but
though I travelled day and night, not leaving the carriage for the sixty
hours for which my journey lasted, I did not feel the cold in the least.
I had taken care to pay all the stages in advance, and Marshal Braun,
Governor of Livonia, had given me the proper passport. On the box seat
was a French servant who had begged me to allow him to wait on me for the
journey in return for a seat beside the coachman. He kept his word and
served me well, and though he was but ill clad he bore the horrible cold
for two days and three nights without appearing to feel it. It is only a
Frenchman who can bear such trials; a Russian in similar attire would
have been frozen to death in twenty-four hours, despite plentiful doses
of corn brandy. I lost sight of this individual when I arrived at St.
Petersburg, but I met him again three months after, richly dressed, and
occupying a seat beside mine at the table of M. de Czernitscheff. He was
the uchitel of the young count, who sat beside him. But I shall have
occasion to speak more at length of the office of uchitel, or tutor, in
Russia.
As for Lambert, who was beside me in the carriage, he did nothing but
eat, drink, and sleep the whole way; seldom speaking, for he stammered,
and could only talk about mathematical problems, on which I was not
always in the humour to converse. He was never amusing, never had any
sensible observation to make on the varied scenes through which we
passed; in short, he was a fool, and wearisome to all save himself.
I was only stopped once, and that was at Nawa, where the authorities
demanded a passport, which I did not possess. I told the governor that as
I was a Venetian, and only travelled for pleasure, I did not conceive a
passport would be necessary, my Republic not being at war with any other
power, and Russia having no embassy at Venice.
"Nevertheless," I added, "if your excellency wills it I will turn back;
but I shall complain to Marshal Braun, who gave me the passport for
posting, knowing that I had not the political passport."
After rubbing his forehead for a minute, the governor gave me a pass,
which I still possess, and which brought me into St. Petersburg, without
my having to allow the custom-house officers to inspect my trunks.
Between Koporie and St. Petersburg there is only a wretched hut for the
accommodation of travellers. The country is a wilderness, and the
inhabitants do not even speak Russian. The district is called Ingria, and
I believe the jargon spoken has no affinity with any other language. The
principal occupation of the peasants is robbery, and the traveller does
well not to leave any of his effects alone for a moment.
I got to St. Petersburg just as the first rays of the sun began to gild
the horizon. It was in the winter solstice, and the sun rose at the
extremity of an immense plain at twenty-four minutes past nine, so I am
able to state that the longest night in Russia consists of eighteen hours
and three quarters.
I got down in a fine street called the Millione. I found a couple of
empty rooms, which the people of the house furnished with two beds, four
chairs, and two small tables, and rented to me very cheaply. Seeing the
enormous stoves, I concluded they must consume a vast amount of wood, but
I was mistaken. Russia is the land of stoves as Venice is that of
cisterns. I have inspected the interior of these stoves in summer-time as
minutely as if I wished to find out the secret of making them; they are
twelve feet high by six broad, and are capable of warming a vast room.
They are only refuelled once in twenty-four hours, for as soon as the
wood is reduced to the state of charcoal a valve is shut in the upper
part of the stove.
It is only in the houses of noblemen that the stoves are refuelled twice
a day, because servants are strictly forbidden to close the valve, and
for a very good reason.
If a gentleman chance to come home and order his servants to warm his
room before he goes to bed, and if the servant is careless enough to
close the valve before the wood is reduced to charcoal, then the master
sleeps his last sleep, being suffocated in three or four hours. When the
door is opened in the morning he is found dead, and the poor devil of a
servant is immediately hanged, whatever he may say. This sounds severe,
and even cruel; but it is a necessary regulation, or else a servant would
be able to get rid of his master on the smallest provocation.
After I had made an agreement for my board and lodging, both of which
were very cheap (now St. Petersburg, is as dear as London), I brought
some pieces of furniture which were necessaries for me, but which were
not as yet much in use in Russia, such as a commode, a bureau, &c.
German is the language principally spoken in St. Petersburg, and I did
not speak German much better then than I do now, so I had a good deal of
difficulty in making myself understood, and usually excited my auditors
to laughter.
After dinner my landlord told me that the Court was giving a masked ball
to five thousand persons to last sixty hours. He gave me a ticket, and
told me I only needed to shew it at the entrance of the imperial palace.
I decided to use the ticket, for I felt that I should like to be present
at so numerous an assembly, and as I had my domino still by me a mask was
all I wanted. I went to the palace in a sedan-chair, and found an immense
crowd assembled, and dancing going on in several halls in each of which
an orchestra was stationed. There were long counters loaded with eatables
and drinkables at which those who were hungry or thirsty ate or drank as
much as they liked. Gaiety and freedom reigned everywhere, and the light
of a thousand wax candles illuminated the hall. Everything was wonderful,
and all the more so from its contrast with the cold and darkness that
were without. All at once I heard a masquer beside me say to another,--
"There's the czarina."
We soon saw Gregory Orloff, for his orders were to follow the empress at
a distance.
I followed the masquer, and I was soon persuaded that it was really the
empress, for everybody was repeating it, though no one openly recognized
her. Those who really did not know her jostled her in the crowd, and I
imagined that she would be delighted at being treated thus, as it was a
proof of the success of her disguise. Several times I saw her speaking in
Russian to one masquer and another. No doubt she exposed her vanity to
some rude shocks, but she had also the inestimable advantage of hearing
truths which her courtiers would certainly not tell her. The masquer who
was pronounced to be Orloff followed her everywhere, and did not let her
out of his sight for a moment. He could not be mistaken, as he was an
exceptionally tall man and had a peculiar carriage of the head.
I arrested my progress in a hall where the French square dance was being
performed, and suddenly there appeared a masquer disguised in the
Venetian style. The costume was so complete that I at once set him down
as a fellow-countryman, for very few strangers can imitate us so as to
escape detection. As it happened, he came and stood next to me.
"One would think you were a Venetian," I said to him in French.
"So I am."
"Like myself."
"I am not jesting."
"No more am I."
"Then let us speak in Venetian."
"Do you begin, and I will reply."
We began our conversation, but when he came to the word Sabato, Saturday,
which is a Sabo in Venetian, I discovered that he was a real Venetian,
but not from Venice itself. He said I was right, and that he judged from
my accent that I came from Venice.
"Quite so," said I.
"I thought Bernadi was the only Venetian besides myself in St.
Petersburg."
"You see you are mistaken."
"My name is Count Volpati di Treviso."
"Give me your address, and I will come and tell you who I am, for I
cannot do so here."
"Here it is."
After leaving the count I continued my progress through this wonderful
hall, and two or three hours after I was attracted by the voice of a
female masquer speaking Parisian French in a high falsetto, such as is
common at an opera ball.
I did not recognize the voice but I knew the style, and felt quite
certain that the masquer must be one of my old friends, for she spoke
with the intonations and phraseology which I had rendered popular in my
chief places of resort at Paris.
I was curious to see who it could be, and not wishing to speak before I
knew her, I had the patience to wait till she lifted her mask, and this
occurred at the end of an hour. What was my surprise to see Madame Baret,
the stocking-seller of the Rue St. Honor& My love awoke from its long
sleep, and coming up to her I said, in a falsetto voice,--
"I am your friend of the 'Hotel d'Elbeuf.'"
She was puzzled, and looked the picture of bewilderment. I whispered in
her ear, "Gilbert Baret, Rue des Prouveres," and certain other facts
which could only be known to herself and a fortunate lover.
She saw I knew her inmost secrets, and drawing me away she begged me to
tell her who I was.
"I was your lover, and a fortunate one, too," I replied; "but before I
tell you my name, with whom are you, and how are you?"
"Very well; but pray do not divulge what I tell you. I left Paris with M.
d'Anglade, counsellor in the Court of Rouen. I lived happily enough for
some time with him, and then left him to go with a theatrical manager,
who brought me here as an actress under the name of de l'Anglade, and now
I am kept by Count Rzewuski, the Polish ambassador. And now tell me who
you are?"
Feeling sure of enjoying her again, I lifted my mask. She gave a cry of
joy, and exclaimed,--
"My good angel has brought you to St. Petersburg."
"How do you mean?"
"Rzewuski is obliged to go back to Poland, and now I count on you to get
me out of the country, for I can no longer continue in a station for
which I was not intended, since I can neither sing nor act."
She gave me her address, and I left her delighted with my discovery.
After having passed half an hour at the counter, eating and drinking of
the best, I returned to the crowd and saw my fair stocking-seller talking
to Count Volpati. He had seen her with me, and hastened to enquire my
name of her. However, she was faithful to our mutual promise, and told
him I was her husband, though the Venetian did not seem to give the least
credence to this piece of information.
At last I was tired and left the ball, and went to bed intending to go to
mass in the morning. I slept for some time and woke, but as it was still
dark I turned on the other side and went to sleep again. At last I awoke
again, and seeing the daylight stealing through my double windows, I sent
for a hairdresser, telling my man to make haste as I wanted to hear mass
on the first Sunday after my arrival in St. Petersburg.
"But sir," said he, "the first Sunday was yesterday; we are at Monday
now."
"What! Monday?"
"Yes, sir."
I had spent twenty-seven hours in bed, and after laughing at the mishap I
felt as if I could easily believe it, for my hunger was like that of a
cannibal.
This is the only day which I really lost in my life; but I do not weep
like the Roman emperor, I laugh. But this is not the only difference
between Titus and Casanova.
I called on Demetrio Papanelopulo, the Greek merchant, who was to pay me
a hundred roubles a month. I was also commended to him by M. da Loglio,
and I had an excellent reception. He begged me to come and dine with him
every day, paid me the roubles for the month due, and assured me that he
had honoured my bill drawn at Mitau. He also found me a reliable servant,
and a carriage at eighteen roubles, or six ducats per month. Such
cheapness has, alas! departed for ever.
The next day, as I was dining with the worthy Greek and young Bernardi,
who was afterwards poisoned, Count Volpati came in with the dessert, and
told us how he had met a Venetian at the ball who had promised to come
and see him.
"The Venetian would have kept his promise," said I, "if he had not had a
long sleep of twenty-seven hours. I am the Venetian, and am delighted to
continue our acquaintance."
The count was about to leave, and his departure had already been
announced in the St. Petersburg Gazette. The Russian custom is not to
give a traveller his passports till a fortnight has elapsed after the
appearance of his name in the paper. This regulation is for the advantage
of tradesmen, while it makes foreigners think twice before they contract
any debts.
The next day I took a letter of introduction to M. Pietro Ivanovitch
Melissino, colonel and afterwards general of artillery. The letter was
written by Madame da Loglio, who was very intimate with Melissino. I was
most politely welcomed, and after presenting me to his pleasant wife, he
asked me once for all to sup with him every night. The house was managed
in the French style, and both play and supper were conducted without any
ceremony. I met there Melissino's elder brother, the procurator of the
Holy Synod and husband of the Princess Dolgorouki. Faro went on, and the
company was composed of trustworthy persons who neither boasted of their
gains nor bewailed their losses to anyone, and so there was no fear of
the Government discovering this infringement of the law against gaming.
The bank was held by Baron Lefort, son of the celebrated admiral of Peter
the Great. Lefort was an example of the inconstancy of fortune; he was
then in disgrace on account of a lottery which he had held at Moscow to
celebrate the coronation of the empress, who had furnished him with the
necessary funds. The lottery had been broken and the fact was attributed
to the baron's supposed dishonesty.
I played for small stakes and won a few roubles. I made friends with
Baron Lefort at supper, and he afterwards told me of the vicissitudes he
had experienced.
As I was praising the noble calmness with which a certain prince had lost
a thousand roubles to him, he laughed and said that the fine gamester I
had mentioned played upon credit but never paid.
"How about his honour?"
"It is not affected by the non-payment of gaming debts. It is an
understood thing in Russia that one who plays on credit and loses may pay
or not pay as he wishes, and the winner only makes himself ridiculous by
reminding the loser of his debt."
"Then the holder of the bank has the right to refuse to accept bets which
are not backed by ready money."
"Certainly; and nobody has a right to be offended with him for doing so.
Gaming is in a very bad state in Russia. I know young men of the highest
rank whose chief boast is that they know how to conquer fortune; that is,
to cheat. One of the Matuschkins goes so far as to challenge all foreign
cheats to master him. He has just received permission to travel for three
years, and it is an open secret that he wishes to travel that he may
exercise his skill. He intends returning to Russia laden with the spoils
of the dupes he has made."
A young officer of the guards named Zinowieff, a relation of the Orloffs,
whom I had met at Melissino's, introduced me to Macartney, the English
ambassador, a young man of parts and fond of pleasure. He had fallen in
love with a young lady of the Chitroff family, and maid of honour to the
empress, and finding his affection reciprocated a baby was the result.
The empress disapproved strongly of this piece of English freedom, and
had the ambassador recalled, though she forgave her maid of honour. This
forgiveness was attributed to the young lady's skill in dancing. I knew
the brother of this lady, a fine and intelligent young officer. I had the
good fortune to be admitted to the Court, and there I had the pleasure of
seeing Mdlle. Chitroff dancing, and also Mdlle. Sievers, now Princesss,
whom I saw again at Dresden four years ago with her daughter, an
extremely genteel young princess. I was enchanted with Mdlle. Sievers,
and felt quite in love with her; but as we were never introduced I had no
opportunity of declaring my passion. Putini, the castrato, was high in
her favour, as indeed he deserved to be, both for his talents and the
beauties of his person.
The worthy Papanelopulo introduced me to Alsuwieff, one of the ministers,
a man of wit and letters, and only one of the kind whom I met in Russia.
He had been an industrious student at the University of Upsala, and loved
wine, women, and good cheer. He asked me to dine with Locatelli at
Catherinhoff, one of the imperial mansions, which the empress had
assigned to the old theatrical manager for the remainder of his days. He
was astonished to see me, and I was more astonished still to find that he
had turned taverner, for he gave an excellent dinner every day to all who
cared to pay a rouble, exclusive of wine. M. d'Alsuwieff introduced me to
his colleague in the ministry, Teploff, whose vice was that he loved
boys, and his virtue that he had strangled Peter III.
Madame Mecour, the dancer, introduced me to her lover, Ghelaghin, also a
minister. He had spent twenty years of his life in Siberia.
A letter from Da Loglio got me a warm welcome from the castrato Luini, a
delightful man, who kept a splendid table. He was the lover of Colonna,
the singer, but their affection seemed to me a torment, for they could
scarce live together in peace for a single day. At Luini's house I met
another castrato, Millico, a great friend of the chief huntsman,
Narischkin, who also became one of my friends. This Narischkin, a
pleasant and a well-informed man, was the husband of the famous Maria
Paulovna. It was at the chief huntsman's splendid table that I met
Calogeso Plato, now archbishop of Novgorod, and then chaplain to the
empress. This monk was a Russian, and a master of ruses, understood
Greek, and spoke Latin and French, and was what would be called a fine
man. It was no wonder that he rose to such a height, as in Russia the
nobility never lower themselves by accepting church dignities.
Da Loglio had given me a letter for the Princess Daschkoff, and I took it
to her country house, at the distance of three versts from St.
Petersburg. She had been exiled from the capital, because, having
assisted Catherine to ascend the throne, she claimed to share it with
her.
I found the princess mourning for the loss of her husband. She welcomed
me kindly, and promised to speak to M. Panin on my behalf; and three days
later she wrote to me that I could call on that nobleman as soon as I
liked. This was a specimen of the empress's magnanimity; she had
disgraced the princess, but she allowed her favourite minister to pay his
court to her every evening. I have heard, on good authority, that Panin
was not the princess's lover, but her father. She is now the President of
the Academy of Science, and I suppose the literati must look upon her as
another Minerva, or else they would be ashamed to have a woman at their
head. For completeness' sake the Russians should get a woman to command
their armies, but Joan d'Arcs are scarce.
Melissino and I were present at an extraordinary ceremony on the Day of
the Epiphany, namely the blessing of the Neva, then covered with five
feet of ice.
After the benediction of the waters children were baptized by being
plunged into a large hole which had been made in the ice. On the day on
which I was present the priest happened to let one of the children slip
through his hands.
"Drugoi!" he cried.
That is, "Give me another." But my surprise may be imagined when I saw
that the father and mother of the child were in an ecstasy of joy; they
were certain that the babe had been carried straight to heaven. Happy
ignorance!
I had a letter from the Florentine Madame Bregonci for her friend the
Venetian Roccolini, who had left Venice to go and sing at the St.
Petersburg Theatre, though she did not know a note of music, and had
never appeared on the stage. The empress laughed at her, and said she
feared there was no opening in St. Petersburg for her peculiar talents,
but the Roccolini, who was known as La Vicenza, was not the woman to lose
heart for so small a check. She became an intimate friend of a
Frenchwoman named Prote, the wife of a merchant who lived with the chief
huntsman. She was at the same time his mistress and the confidante of his
wife Maria Petrovna, who did not like her husband, and was very much
obliged to the Frenchwoman for delivering her from the conjugal
importunities.
This Prote was one of the handsomest women I have ever seen, and
undoubtedly the handsomest in St. Petersburg at that time. She was in the
flower of her age. She had at once a wonderful taste for gallantry and
for all the mysteries of the toilette. In dress she surpassed everyone,
and as she was witty and amusing she captivated all hearts. Such was the
woman whose friend and procuress La Vicenza had become. She received the
applications of those who were in love with Madame Prote, and passed them
on, while, whether a lover's suit was accepted or not, the procuress got
something out of him.
I recognized Signora Roccolini as soon as I saw her, but as twenty years
had elapsed since our last meeting she did not wonder at my appearing not
to know her, and made no efforts to refresh my memory. Her brother was
called Montellato, and he it was who tried to assassinate me one night in
St. Mark's Square, as I was leaving the Ridotto. The plot that would have
cost me my life, if I had not made my escape from the window, was laid in
the Roccolini's house.
She welcomed me as a fellow-countryman in a strange land, told me of her
struggles, and added that now she had an easy life of it, and associated
with the pleasantest ladies in St. Petersburg.
"I am astonished that you have not met the fair Madame Prote at the chief
huntsman's, for she is the darling of his heart. Come and take coffee
with me to-morrow, and you shall see a wonder."
I kept the appointment, and I found the lady even more beautiful than the
Venetian's praises of her had led me to expect. I was dazzled by her
beauty, but not being a rich man I felt that I must set my wits to work
if I wanted to enjoy her. I asked her name, though I knew it quite well,
and she replied, "Prote."
"I am glad to hear it, madam," said I, "for you thereby promise to be
mine."
"How so?" said she, with a charming smile. I explained the pun, and made
her laugh. I told her amusing stories, and let her know the effect that
her beauty had produced on me, and that I hoped time would soften her
heart to me. The acquaintance was made, and thenceforth I never went to
Narischkin's without calling on her, either before or after dinner.
The Polish ambassador returned about that time, and I had to forego my
enjoyment of the fair Anglade, who accepted a very advantageous proposal
which was made her by Count Brawn. This charming Frenchwoman died of the
small-pox a few months later, and there can be no doubt that her death
was a blessing, as she would have fallen into misery and poverty after
her beauty had once decayed.
I desired to succeed with Madame Prote, and with that idea I asked her to
dinner at Locatelli's with Luini, Colonna, Zinowieff, Signora Vicenza,
and a violinist, her lover. We had an excellent dinner washed down with
plenty of wine, and the spirits of the company were wound up to the pitch
I desired. After the repast each gentleman went apart with his lady, and
I was on the point of success when an untoward accident interrupted us.
We were summoned to see the proofs of Luini's prowess; he had gone out
shooting with his dogs and guns.
As I was walking away from Catherinhoff with Zinowieff I noticed a young
country-woman whose beauty astonished me. I pointed her out to the young
officer, and we made for her; but she fled away with great activity to a
little cottage, where we followed her. We went in and saw the father,
mother, and some children, and in a corner the timid form of the fair
maiden.
Zinowieff (who, by the way, was for twenty years Russian ambassador at
Madrid) had a long conversation in Russian with the father. I did not
understand what was said, but I guessed it referred to the girl because,
when her father called her, she advanced submissively, and stood modestly
before us.
The conversation over, Zinowieff went out, and I followed him after
giving the master of the house a rouble. Zinowieff told me what had
passed, saying that he had asked the father if he would let him have the
daughter as a maid-servant, and the father had replied that it should be
so with all his heart, but that he must have a hundred roubles for her,
as she was still a virgin. "So you see," added Zinowieff, "the matter is
quite simple."
"How simple?"
"Why, yes; only a hundred roubles."
"And supposing me to be inclined to give that sum?"
"Then she would be your servant, and you could do anything you liked with
her, except kill her."
"And supposing she is not willing?"
"That never happens, but if it did you could have beaten her."
"Well, if she is satisfied and I enjoy her, can I still continue to keep
her?"
"You will be her master, I tell you, and can have her arrested if she
attempts to escape, unless she can return the hundred roubles you gave
for her."
"What must I give her per month?"
"Nothing, except enough to eat and drink. You must also let her go to the
baths on Saturday and to the church on Sunday."
"Can I make her come with me when I leave St. Petersburg?"
"No, unless you obtain permission and find a surety, for though the girl
would be your slave she would still be a slave to the empress."
"Very good; then will you arrange this matter for me? I will give the
hundred roubles, and I promise you I will not treat her as a slave. But I
hope you will care for my interests, as I do not wish to be duped."
"I promise you you shall not be duped; I will see to everything. Would
you like her now?"
"No, to-morrow."
"Very good; then to-morrow it shall be."
We returned to St. Petersburg in a phaeton, and the next day at nine
o'clock I called on Zinowieff, who said he was delighted to do me this
small service. On the way he said that if I liked he could get me a
perfect seraglio of pretty girls in a few days.
"No," said I, "one is enough." And I gave him the hundred roubles.
We arrived at the cottage, where we found the father, mother, and
daughter. Zinowieff explained his business crudely enough, after the
custom of the country, and the father thanked St. Nicholas for the good
luck he had sent him. He spoke to his daughter, who looked at me and
softly uttered the necessary yes.
Zinowieff then told me that I ought to ascertain that matters were
intact, as I was going to pay for a virgin. I was afraid of offending
her, and would have nothing to do with it; but Zinowieff said the girl
would be mortified if I did not examine her, and that she would be
delighted if I place her in a position to prove before her father and
mother that her conduct had always been virtuous. I therefore made the
examination as modestly as I could, and I found her to be intact. To tell
the truth, I should not have said anything if things had been otherwise.
Zinowieff then gave the hundred roubles to the father, who handed them to
his daughter, and she only took them to return them to her mother. My
servant and coachman were then called in to witness as arrangement of
which they knew nothing.
I called her Zaira, and she got into the carriage and returned with me to
St. Petersburg in her coarse clothes, without a chemise of any kind.
After I had dropped Zinowieff at his lodging I went home, and for four
days I was engaged in collecting and arranging my slave's toilet, not
resting till I had dressed her modestly in the French style. In less than
three months she had learnt enough Italian to tell me what she wanted and
to understand me. She soon loved me, and afterwards she got jealous. But
we shall hear more of her in the following chapter.
CHAPTER XX
Crevecoeur--Bomback--Journey to Moscow--My Adventures At St.
Petersburg
The day on which I took Zaira I sent Lambert away, for I did not know
what to do with him. He got drunk every day, and when in his cups he was
unbearable. Nobody would have anything to say to him except as a common
soldier, and that is not an enviable position in Russia. I got him a
passport for Berlin, and gave him enough money for the journey. I heard
afterwards that he entered the Austrian service.
In May, Zaira had become so beautiful that when I went to Moscow I dared
not leave her behind me, so I took her in place of a servant. It was
delicious to me to hear her chattering in the Venetian dialect I had
taught her. On a Saturday I would go with her to the bath where thirty of
forty naked men and women were bathing together without the slightest
constraint. This absence of shame must arise, I should imagine, from
native innocence; but I wondered that none looked at Zaira, who seemed to
me the original of the statue of Psyche I had seen at the Villa Borghese
at Rome. She was only fourteen, so her breast was not yet developed, and
she bore about her few traces of puberty. Her skin was as white as snow,
and her ebony tresses covered the whole of her body, save in a few places
where the dazzling whiteness of her skin shone through. Her eyebrows were
perfectly shaped, and her eyes, though they might have been larger, could
not have been more brilliant or more expressive. If it had not been for
her furious jealousy and her blind confidence in fortune-telling by
cards, which she consulted every day, Zaira would have been a paragon
among women, and I should never have left her.
A young and distinguished-looking Frenchman came to St. Petersburg with a
young Parisian named La Riviere, who was tolerably pretty but quite
devoid of education, unless it were that education common to all the
girls who sell their charms in Paris. This young man came to me with a
letter from Prince Charles of Courland, who said that if I could do
anything for the young couple he would be grateful to me. They arrived
just as I was breakfasting with Zaira.
"You must tell me," said I to the young Frenchman, "in what way I can be
of use to you."
"By admitting us to your company, and introducing us to your friends."
"Well, I am a stranger here, and I will come and see you, and you can
come and see me, and I shall be delighted; but I never dine at home. As
to my friends, you must feel that, being a stranger, I could not
introduce you and the lady. Is she your wife? People will ask me who you
are, and what you are doing at St. Petersburg. What am I to say? I wonder
Prince Charles did not send you to someone else."
"I am a gentleman of Lorraine, and Madame la Riviere is my mistress, and
my object in coming to St. Petersburg is to amuse myself."
"Then I don't know to whom I could introduce you under the circumstances;
but I should think you will be able to find plenty of amusement without
knowing anyone. The theatres, the streets, and even the Court
entertainments, are open to everyone. I suppose you have plenty of
money?"
"That's exactly what I haven't got, and I don't expect any either."
"Well, I have not much more, but you really astonish me. How could you
have been so foolish as to come here without money?"
"Well, my mistress said we could do with what money we got from day to
day. She induced me to leave Paris without a farthing, and up to now it
seems to me that she is right. We have managed to get on somehow."
"Then she has the purse?"
"My purse," said she, "is in the pockets of my friends."
"I understand, and I am sure you have no difficulty in finding the
wherewithal to live. If I had such a purse, it should be opened for you,
but I am not a rich man."
Bomback, a citizen of Hamburg, whom I had known in England whence he had
fled on account of his debts, had come to St. Petersburg and entered the
army. He was the son of a rich merchant and kept up a house, a carriage,
and an army of servants; he was a lover of good cheer, women, and
gambling, and contracted debts everywhere. He was an ugly man, but full
of wit and energy. He happened to call on me just as I was addressing the
strange traveller whose purse was in the pocket of her friends. I
introduced the couple to him, telling the whole story, the item of the
purse excepted. The adventure was just to Bomback's taste, and he began
making advances to Madame la Riviere, who received them in a thoroughly
professional spirit, and I was inwardly amused and felt that her axiom
was a true one. Bomback asked them to dine with him the next day, and
begged them to come and take an unceremonious dinner the same day with
him at Crasnacaback. I was included in the invitation, and Zaira, not
understanding French, asked me what we were talking about, and on my
telling her expressed a desire to accompany me. I gave in to appease her,
for I knew the wish proceeded from jealousy, and that if I did not
consent I should be tormented by tears, ill-humour, reproaches,
melancholy, etc. This had occurred several times before, and so violent
had she been that I had been compelled to conform to the custom of the
country and beat her. Strange to say, I could not have taken a better way
to prove my love. Such is the character of the Russian women. After the
blows had been given, by slow degrees she became affectionate again, and
a love encounter sealed the reconciliation.
Bomback left us to make his preparations in high spirits, and while Zaira
was dressing, Madame Riviere talked in such a manner as to make me almost
think that I was absolutely deficient in knowledge of the world. The
astonishing thing was that her lover did not seem in the least ashamed of
the part he had to play. He might say that he was in love with the
Messalina, but the excuse would not have been admissible.
The party was a merry one. Bomback talked to the adventuress, Zaira sat
on my knee, and Crevecoeur ate and drank, laughed in season and out of
season, and walked up and down. The crafty Madame Riviere incited Bomback
to risk twenty-five roubles at quinze; he lost and paid pleasantly, and
only got a kiss for his money. Zaira, who was delighted to be able to
watch over me and my fidelity, jested pleasantly on the Frenchwoman and
the complaisance of her lover. This was altogether beyond her
comprehension, and she could not understand how he could bear such deeds
as were done before his face.
The next day I went to Bomback by myself, as I was sure of meeting young
Russian officers, who would have annoyed me by making love to Zaira in
their own language. I found the two travellers and the brothers Lunin,
then lieutenants but now generals. The younger of them was as fair and
pretty as any girl. He had been the beloved of the minister Teploff, and,
like a lad of wit, he not only was not ashamed but openly boasted that it
was his custom to secure the good-will of all men by his caresses.
He had imagined the rich citizen of Hamburg to be of the same tastes as
Teploff, and he had not been mistaken; and so he degraded me by forming
the same supposition. With this idea he seated himself next to me at
table, and behaved himself in such a manner during dinner that I began to
believe him to be a girl in man's clothes.
After dinner, as I was sitting at the fire, between him and the
Frenchman, I imparted my suspicions to him; but jealous of the
superiority of his sex, he displayed proof of it on the spot, and
forthwith got hold of me and put himself in a position to make my
happiness and his own as he called it. I confess, to my shame, that he
might perhaps have succeeded, if Madame la Riviere, indignant at this
encroachment of her peculiar province, had not made him desist.
Lunin the elder, Crevecceur, and Bomback, who had been for a walk,
returned at nightfall with two or three friends, and easily consoled the
Frenchman for the poor entertainment the younger Lunin and myself had
given him.
Bomback held a bank at faro, which only came to an end at eleven, when
the money was all gone. We then supped, and the real orgy began, in which
la Riviere bore the brunt in a manner that was simply astonishing. I and
my friend Lunin were merely spectators, and poor Crevecoeur had gone to
bed. We did not separate till day-break.
I got home, and, fortunately for myself, escaped the bottle which Zaira
flung at my head, and which would infallibly have killed me if it had hit
me. She threw herself on to the ground, and began to strike it with her
forehead. I thought she had gone mad, and wondered whether I had better
call for assistance; but she became quiet enough to call me assassin and
traitor, with all the other abusive epithets that she could remember. To
convict me of my crime she shewed me twenty-five cards, placed in order,
and on them she displayed the various enormities of which I had been
guilty.
I let her go on till her rage was somewhat exhausted, and then, having
thrown her divining apparatus into the fire, I looked at her in pity and
anger, and said that we must part the next day, as she had narrowly
escaped killing me. I confessed that I had been with Bomback, and that
there had been a girl in the house; but I denied all the other sins of
which she accused me. I then went to sleep without taking the slightest
notice of her, in spite of all she said and did to prove her repentance.
I woke after a few hours to find her sleeping soundly, and I began to
consider how I could best rid myself of the girl, who would probably kill
me if we continued living together. Whilst I was absorbed in these
thoughts she awoke, and falling at my feet wept and professed her utter
repentance, and promised never to touch another card as long as I kept
her.
At last I could resist her entreaties no longer, so I took her in my arms
and forgave her; and we did not part till she had received undeniable
proofs of the return of my affection. I intended to start for Moscow in
three days, and she was delighted when she heard she was to go.
Three circumstances had won me this young girl's furious affection. In
the first place I often took her to see her family, with whom I always
left a rouble; in the second I made her eat with me; and in the third I
had beaten her three or four times when she had tried to prevent me going
out.
In Russia beating is a matter of necessity, for words have no force
whatever. A servant, mistress, or courtezan understands nothing but the
lash. Words are altogether thrown away, but a few good strokes are
entirely efficacious. The servant, whose soul is still more enslaved than
his body, reasons somewhat as follows, after he has had a beating:
"My master has not sent me away, but beaten me; therefore he loves me,
and I ought to be attached to him."
It is the same with the Russian soldier, and in fact with everybody.
Honour stands for nothing, but with the knout and brandy one can get
anything from them except heroical enthusiasm.
Papanelopulo laughed at me when I said that as I liked my Cossack I
should endeavour to correct him with words only when he took too much
brandy.
"If you do not beat him," he said, "he will end by beating you;" and he
spoke the truth.
One day, when he was so drunk as to be unable to attend on me, I began to
scold him, and threatened him with the stick if he did not mend his ways.
As soon as he saw my cane lifted, he ran at me and got hold of it; and if
I had not knocked him down immediately, he would doubtless have beaten
me. I dismissed him on the spot. There is not a better servant in the
world than a Russian. He works without ceasing, sleeps in front of the
door of his master's bedroom to be always ready to fulfil his orders,
never answering his reproaches, incapable of theft. But after drinking a
little too much brandy he becomes a perfect monster; and drunkenness is
the vice of the whole nation.
A coachman knows no other way of resisting the bitter cold to which he is
exposed, than by drinking rye brandy. It sometimes happens that he drinks
till he falls asleep, and then there is no awaking for him in this world.
Unless one is very careful, it is easy to lose an ear, the nose, a cheek,
or a lip by frost bites. One day as I was walking out on a bitterly cold
day, a Russian noticed that one of my ears was frozen. He ran up to me
and rubbed the affected part with a handful of snow till the circulation
was restored. I asked him how he had noticed my state, and he said he had
remarked the livid whiteness of my ear, and this, he said, was always a
sign that the frost had taken it. What surprised me most of all is that
sometimes the part grows again after it has dropped off. Prince Charles
of Courland assured me that he had cost his nose in Siberia, and that it
had grown again the next summer. I have been assured of the truth of this
by several Russians.
About this time the empress made the architect Rinaldi, who had been
fifty years in St. Petersburg, build her an enormous wooden amphitheatre
so large as to cover the whole of the space in front of the palace. It
would contain a hundred thousand spectators, and in it Catherine intended
to give a vast tournament to all the knights of her empire. There were to
be four parties of a hundred knights each, and all the cavaliers were to
be clad in the national costume of the nations they represented. All the
Russians were informed of this great festival, which was to be given at
the expense of the sovereign, and the princes, counts, and barons were
already arriving with their chargers from the most remote parts of the
empire. Prince Charles of Courland wrote informing me of his intention to
be present.
It had been ordained, that the tournament should take place on the first
fine day, and this precaution was a very wise one; for, excepting in the
season of the hard frosts, a day without rain, or snow, or wind, is a
marvel. In Italy, Spain, and France, one can reckon on fine weather, and
bad weather is the exception, but it is quite the contrary in Russia.
Ever since I have known this home of frost and the cold north wind, I
laugh when I hear travelling Russians talking of the fine climate of
their native country. However, it is a pardonable weakness, most of us
prefer "mine" to "thine;" nobles affect to consider themselves of purer
blood than the peasants from whom they sprang, and the Romans and other
ancient nations pretended that they were the children of the gods, to
draw a veil over their actual ancestors who were doubtless robbers. The
truth is, that during the whole year 1756 there was not one fine day in
Russia, or in Ingria at all events, and the mere proofs of this statement
may be found in the fact that the tournament was not held in that year.
It was postponed till the next, and the princes, counts, barons, and
knights spent the winter in the capital, unless their purses forbade them
to indulge in the luxuries of Court life. The dear Prince of Courland was
in this case, to my great disappointment.
Having made all arrangements for my journey to Moscow, I got into my
sleeping carriage with Zaira, having a servant behind who could speak
both Russian and German. For twenty-four roubles the chevochic (hirer out
of horses) engaged to carry me to Moscow in six days and seven nights
with six horses. This struck me as being extremely cheap. The distance is
seventy-two Russian stages, almost equivalent to five hundred Italian
miles, or a hundred and sixty French leagues.
We set out just as a cannon shot from the citadel announced the close of
day. It was towards the end of May, in which month there is literally no
night at St. Petersburg. Without the report of the cannon no one would be
able to tell when the day ended and the night began. One can read a
letter at midnight, and the moonlight makes no appreciable difference.
This continual day lasts for eight weeks, and during that time no one
lights a candle. At Moscow it is different; a candle is always necessary
at midnight if one wished to read.
We reached Novgorod in forty-eight hours, and here the chevochic allowed
us a rest of five hours. I saw a circumstance there which surprised me
very much, though one has no business to be surprised at anything if one
travels much, and especially in a land of half savages. I asked the
chevochic to drink, but he appeared to be in great melancholy. I enquired
what was the matter, and he told Zaira that one of his horses had refused
to eat, and that it was clear that if he could not eat he could not work.
We followed him into the stable, and found the horse looking oppressed by
care, its head lowered and motionless; it had evidently got no appetite.
His master began a pathetic oration, looking tenderly at the animal, as
if to arouse it to a sense of duty, and then taking its head, and kissing
it lovingly, he put it into the manger, but to no purpose. Then the man
began to weep bitterly, but in such a way that I had the greatest
difficulty to prevent myself laughing, for I could see that he wept in
the hope that his tears might soften the brute's heart. When he had wept
some time he again put the horse's head into the manger, but again to no
purpose. At this he got furious and swore to be avenged. He led the horse
out of the stable, tied it to a post, and beat it with a thick stick for
a quarter of an hour so violently that my heart bled for the poor animal.
At last the chevochic was tired out, and taking the horse back to the
stable he fastened up his head once more, and to my astonishment it began
to devour its provender with the greatest appetite. At this the master
jumped for joy, laughed, sang, and committed a thousand extravagancies,
as if to shew the horse how happy it had made him. I was beside myself
with astonishment, and concluded that such treatment would have succeeded
nowhere but in Russia, where the stick seems to be the panacea or
universal medicine.
They tell me, however, that the stick is gradually going out of fashion.
Peter the Great used to beat his generals black and blue, and in his days
a lieutenant had to receive with all submission the cuffs of his captain,
who bent before the blows of his major, who did the same to his colonel,
who received chastisement from his general. So I was informed by old
General Woyakoff, who was a pupil of Peter the Great, and had often been
beaten by the great emperor, the founder of St. Petersburg.
It seems to me that I have scarcely said anything about this great and
famous capital, which in my opinion is built on somewhat precarious
foundations. No one but Peter could have thus given the lie to Nature by
building his immense palaces of marble and granite on mud and shifting
sand. They tell me that the town is now in its manhood, to the honour of
the great Catherine; but in the year 1765 it was still in its minority,
and seemed to me only to have been built with the childish aim of seeing
it fall into ruins. Streets were built with the certainty of having to
repair them in six months' time. The whole place proclaimed itself to be
the whim of a despot. If it is to be durable constant care will be
required, for nature never gives up its rights and reasserts them when
the constraint of man is withdrawn. My theory is that sooner or later the
soil must give way and drag the vast city with it.
We reached Moscow in the time the chevochic had promised. As the same
horses were used for the whole journey, it would have been impossible to
travel mote quickly. A Russian told me that the Empress Elizabeth had
done the journey in fifty-two hours.
"You mean that she issued a ukase to the effect that she had done it,"
said a Russian of the old school; "and if she had liked she could have
travelled more quickly still; it was only a question of the wording of
the ukase."
Even when I was in Russia it was not allowable to doubt the infallibility
of a ukase, and to do so was, equivalent to high treason. One day I was
crossing a canal at St. Petersburg by a small wooden bridge; Melissino
Papanelopulo, and some other Russians were with me. I began to abuse the
wooden bridge, which I characterized as both mean and dangerous. One of
my companions said that on such a day it would be replaced by a fine
stone bridge, as the empress had to pass there on some state occasion.
The day named way three weeks off, and I said plainly that it was
impossible. One of the Russians looked askance at me, and said there was
no doubt about it, as a ukase had been published ordering that the bridge
should be built. I was going to answer him, but Papanelopulo gave my hand
a squeeze, and whispered "Taci!" (hush).
The bridge was not built, but I was not justified, for the empress
published another ukase in which she declared it to be her gracious
pleasure that the bridge should not be built till the following year. If
anyone would see what a pure despotism is like, let him go to Russia.
The Russian sovereigns use the language of despotism on all occasions.
One day I saw the empress, dressed in man's clothes, going out for a
ride. Her master of the horse, Prince Repnin, held the bridle of the
horse, which suddenly gave him a kick which broke his anklebone. The
empress instantly ordained that the horse should be taken away, and that
no one should mount it again under pain of death. All official positions
in Russia have military rank assigned to them, and this sufficiently
indicates the nature of the Government. The coachman-in-chief of her
imperial highness holds the rank of colonel, as also does her chief cook.
The castrato Luini was a lieutenant-colonel, and the painter Toretti only
a captain, because he had only eight hundred roubles a year, while the
coachman had three thousand. The sentinels at the doors of the palace
have their muskets crossed, and ask those who wish to pass through what
is their rank. When I was asked this question, I stopped short; but the
quick-witted officer asked me how much I had a year, and on my replying,
at a hazard, three thousand roubles, he gave me the rank of general, and
I was allowed to pass. I saw the czarina for a moment; she stopped at the
door and took off her gloves to give her hands to be kissed by the
officer and the two sentinels. By such means as this she had won the
affection of the corps, commanded by Gregorius Gregorovitch Orloff, on
which her safety depended in case of revolution.
I made the following notes when I saw the empress hearing mass in her
chapel. The protopapa, or bishop, received her at the door to give her
the holy water, and she kissed his episcopal ring, while the prelate,
whose beard was a couple of feet in length, lowered his head to kiss the
hands of his temporal sovereign and spiritual head, for in Russia the he
or she on the throne is the spiritual as well as temporal head of the
Church.
She did not evidence the least devotion during mass; hypocrisy did not
seem to be one of her vices. Now she smiled at one of her suite, now at
another, and occasionally she addressed the favourite, not because she
had anything to say to him, but to make him an object of envy to the
others.
One evening, as she was leaving the theatre where Metastasio's Olympiade
had been performed, I heard her say,--
"The music of that opera has given the greatest pleasure to everyone, so
of course I am delighted with it; but it wearies me, nevertheless. Music
is a fine thing, but I cannot understand how anyone who is seriously
occupied can love it passionately. I will have Buranello here, and I
wonder whether he will interest me in music, but I am afraid nature did
not constitute me to feel all its charms."
She always argued in that way. In due time I will set down her words to
me when I returned from Moscow. When I arrived at that city I got down at
a good inn, where they gave me two rooms and a coach-house for my
carriage. After dinner I hired a small carriage and a guide who could
speak French. My carriage was drawn by four horses, for Moscow is a vast
city composed of four distinct towns, and many of the streets are rough
and ill-paved. I had five or six letters of introduction, and I
determined to take them all. I took Zaira with me, as she was as curious
to see everything as a girl of fourteen naturally is. I do not remember
what feast the Greek Church was keeping on that day, but I shall never
forget the terrific bell-ringing with which my ears were assailed, for
there are churches every where. The country people were engaged in sowing
their grain, to reap it in September. They laughed at our Southern custom
of sowing eight months earlier, as unnecessary and even prejudicial to
the crops, but I do not know where the right lies. Perhaps we may both be
right, for there is no master to compare with experience. I took all the
introductions I had received from Narischkin, Prince Repnin, the worthy
Pananelopulo, and Melissino's brother. The next morning the whole of the
persons at whose houses I had left letters called on me. They all asked
Zaira and myself to dinner, and I accepted the invitation of the first
comer, M. Dinidoff, and promised to dine with the rest on the following
days, Zaira, who had been tutored by me to some extent, was delighted to
shew me that she was worthy of the position she occupied. She was
exquisitely dressed, and won golden opinions everywhere, for our hosts
did not care to enquire whether she were my daughter, my mistress, or my
servant, for in this matter, as in many others, the Russians are
excessively indulgent. Those who have not seen Moscow have not seen
Russia, for the people of St, Petersburg are not really Russians at all.
Their court manners are very different from their manners 'au naturel',
and it may be said with truth that the true Russian is as a stranger in
St. Petersburg. The citizens of, Moscow, and especially the rich ones,
speak with pity of those, who for one reason or another, had expatriated
themselves; and with them to expatriate one's self is to leave Moscow,
which they consider as their native land. They look on St. Petersburg
with an envious eye, and call it the ruin of Russia. I do not know
whether this is a just view to take of the case, I merely repeat what I
have heard.
In the course of a week I saw all the sights of Moscow--the
manufacturers, the churches, the remains of the old days, the museums,
the libraries, (of no interest to my mind), not forgetting the famous
bell. I noticed that their bells are not allowed to swing like ours, but
are motionless, being rung by a rope attached to the clapper.
I thought the Moscow women more handsome than those of St. Petersburg,
and I attribute this to the great superiority of the air. They are gentle
and accessible by nature; and to obtain the favour of a kiss on the lips,
one need only make a show of kissing their hands.
There was good fare in plenty, but no delicacy in its composition or
arrangement. Their table is always open to friends and acquaintances, and
a friend may bring to five or six persons to dinner, and even at the end
of the meals you will never hear a Russian say, "We have had dinner; you
have come too late." Their souls are not black enough for them to
pronounce such words as this. Notice is given to the cook, and the dinner
begins over again. They have a delicious drink, the name of which I do
not remember; but it is much superior to the sherbet of Constantinople.
The numerous servants are not given water, but a light, nourishing, and
agreeable fluid, which may be purchased very cheaply. They all hold St.
Nicholas in the greatest reverence, only praying to God through the
mediation of this saint, whose picture is always suspended in the
principal room of the house. A person coming in makes first a bow to the
image and then a bow to the master, and if perchance the image is absent,
the Russian, after gazing all round, stands confused and motionless, not
knowing what to do. As a general rule the Muscovites are the most
superstitious Christians in the world. Their liturgy is in Greek, of
which the people understand nothing, and the clergy, themselves extremely
ignorant, gladly leave them completely in the dark on all matters
connected with religion. I could never make them understand that the only
reason for the Roman Christians making the sign of the Cross from left to
right, while the Greeks make it from right to left, is that we say
'spiritus sancti', while they say 'agion pneuma'.
"If you said pneuma agion," I used to say, "then you would cross yourself
like us, and if we said sancti spiritus we should cross ourselves like
you."
"The adjective," replied my interlocutor, "should always precede the
substantive, for we should never utter the name of God without first
giving Him some honourable epithet."
Such are nearly all the differences which divide the two churches,
without reckoning the numerous idle tales which they have as well as
ourselves, and which are by no means the least cherished articles of
their faith.
We returned to St. Petersburg by the way we had come, but Zaira would
have liked me never to leave Moscow. She had become so much in love with
me by force of constant association that I could not think without a pang
of the moment of separation. The day after our arrival in the capital I
took her to her home, where she shewed her father all the little presents
I had given her, and told him of the honour she had received as my
daughter, which made the good man laugh heartily.
The first piece of news I heard was that a ukase had been issued,
ordering the erection of a temple dedicated to God in the Moscoi opposite
to the house where I resided. The empress had entrusted Rinaldi, the
architect, with the erection. He asked her what emblem he should put
above the portal, and she replied,--
"No emblem at all, only the name of God in large letters."
"I will put a triangle."
"No triangle at all; but only the name of God in whatever language you
like, and nothing more."
The second piece of news was that Bomback had fled and had been captured
at Mitau, where he believed himself in safety. M. de Simolia had arrested
him. It was a grave case, for he had deserted; however, he was given his
life, and sent into barracks at Kamstchatka. Crevecoeur and his mistress
had departed, carrying some money with them, and a Florentine adventurer
named Billotti had fled with eighteen thousand roubles belonging to
Papanelopulo, but a certain Bori, the worthy Greek's factotum, had caught
him at Mitau and brought him back to St. Petersburg, where he was now in
prison. Prince Charles of Courland arrived about this time, and I
hastened to call upon him as soon as he advised me of his coming. He was
lodging in a house belonging to Count Dimidoff, who owned large iron
mines, and had made the whole house of iron, from attic to basement. The
prince had brought his mistress with him, but she was still in an
ill-humour, and he was beginning to get heartily sick of her. The man was
to be pitied, for he could not get rid of her without finding her a
husband, and this husband became more difficult to find every day. When
the prince saw how happy I was with my Zaira, he could not help thinking
how easily happiness may be won; but the fatal desire for luxury and
empty show spoils all, and renders the very sweets of life as bitter as
gall.
I was indeed considered happy, and I liked to appear so, but in my heart
I was wretched. Ever since my imprisonment under The Leads, I had been
subject to haemorrhoids, which came on three or four times a year. At St.
Petersburg I had a serious attack, and the daily pain and anxiety
embittered my existence. A vegetarian doctor called Senapios, for whom I
had sent, gave me the sad news that I had a blind or incomplete fistula
in the rectum, and according to him nothing but the cruel pistoury would
give me any relief, and indeed he said I had no time to lose. I had to
agree, in spite of my dislike to the operation; but fortunately the
clever surgeon whom the doctor summoned pronounced that if I would have
patience nature itself would give me relief. I had much to endure,
especially from the severe dieting to which I was subjected, but which
doubtless did me good.
Colonel Melissino asked me to be present at a review which was to take
place at three versts from St. Petersburg, and was to be succeeded by a
dinner to twenty-four guests, given by General Orloff. I went with the
prince, and saw a cannon fired twenty times in a minute, testing the
performance with my watch.
My neighbour at dinner was the French ambassador. Wishing to drink
deeply, after the Russian fashion, and thinking the Hungarian wine as
innocent as champagne, he drank so bravely that at the end of dinner he
had lost the use of his legs. Count Orloff made him drink still more, and
then he fell asleep and was laid on a bed.
The gaiety of the meal gave me some idea of Russian wit. I did not
understand the language, so M. Zinowieff translated the curious sallies
to me while the applause they had raised was still resounding.
Melissino rose to his feet, holding a large goblet full of Hungarian wine
in his hand. There was a general silence to listen to him. He drank the
health of General Orloff in these words:
"May you die when you become rich."
The applause was general, for the allusion was to the unbounded
generosity of Orloff. The general's reply struck me as better still, but
it was equally rugged in character. He, too, took a full cup, and turning
to Melissino, said,
"May you never die till I slay you!"
The applause was furious, for he was their host and their general.
The Russian wit is of the energetic kind, devoid of grace; all they care
about is directness and vigour.
Voltaire had just sent the empress his "Philosophy of History," which he
had written for her and dedicated to her. A month after, an edition of
three thousand copies came by sea, and was sold out in a week, for all
the Russians who knew a little French were eager to possess a copy of the
work. The leaders of the Voltaireans were two noblemen, named,
respectively, Stroganoff and Schuvaloff. I have seen verses written by
the former of these as good as Voltaire's own verses, and twenty years
later I saw an ode by the latter of which Voltaire would not have been
ashamed, but the subject was ill chosen; for it treated of the death of
the great philosopher who had so studiously avoided using his pen on
melancholy themes. In those days all Russians with any pretensions to
literature read nothing but Voltaire, and when they had read all his
writings they thought themselves as wise as their master. To me they
seemed pigmies mimicking a giant. I told them that they ought to read all
the books from which Voltaire had drawn his immense learning, and then,
perhaps, they might become as wise as he. I remember the saying of a wise
man at Rome: "Beware of the man of one book." I wonder whether the
Russians are more profound now; but that is a question I cannot answer.
At Dresden I knew Prince Biloselski, who was on his way back to Russia
after having been ambassador at Turin. He was the author of an admirable
world on metaphysics, and the analysis of the soul and reason.
Count Panin was the tutor of Paul Petrovitch, heir-presumptive to the
throne. The young prince had a severe master, and dared not even applaud
an air at the opera unless he first received permission to do so from his
mentor.
When a courier brought the news of the sudden death of Francis I.,
Emperor of Germany and of the Holy Roman Empire, the czarina being at
Czarsko-Zelo, the count minister-tutor was in the palace with his pupil,
then eleven years old. The courier came at noon, and gave the dispatch
into the hands of the minister, who was standing in the midst of a crowd
of courtiers of whom I was one. The prince imperial was at his right
hand. The minister read the dispatch in a low voice, and then said:
"This is news indeed. The Emperor of the Romans has died suddenly."
He then turned to Paul, and said to him,--
"Full court mourning, which your highness will observe for three months
longer than the empress."
"Why so?" said Paul.
"Because, as Duke of Holstein, your highness has a right to attend the
diet of the empire, a privilege," he added, turning to us, "which Peter
the Great desired in vain."
I noted the attention with which the Grand Duke Paul listened to his
mentor, and the care with which he concealed his joy at the news. I was
immensely pleased with this way of giving instruction. I said as much to
Prince Lobkowitz, who was standing by me, and he refined on my praises.
This prince was popular with everyone. He was even preferred to his
predecessor, Prince Esterhazy; and this was saying a great deal, for
Esterhazy was adored in Russia. The gay and affable manner of Prince
Lobkowitz made him the life and soul of all the parties at which he was
present. He was a constant courtier of the Countess Braun, the reigning
beauty, and everyone believed his love had been crowned with success,
though no one could assert as much positively.
There was a great review held at a distance of twelve or fourteen versts
from St. Petersburg, at which the empress and all her train of courtiers
were present. The houses of the two or three adjoining villages were so
few and small that it would be impossible for all the company to find a
lodging. Nevertheless I wished to be present chiefly to please Zaira, who
wanted to be seen with me on such an occasion. The review was to last
three days; there were to be fireworks, and a mine was to be exploded
besides the evolutions of the troops. I went in my travelling carriage,
which would serve me for a lodging if I could get nothing better.
We arrived at the appointed place at eight o'clock in the morning; the
evolutions lasted till noon. When they were over we went towards a tavern
and had our meal served to us in the carriage, as all the rooms in the
inn were full.
After dinner my coachman tried in vain to find me a lodging, so I
disposed myself to sleep all night in the carriage; and so I did for the
whole time of the review, and fared better than those who had spent so
much money to be ill lodged. Melissino told me that the empress thought
my idea a very sensible one. As I was the only person who had a sleeping
carriage, which was quite a portable house in itself, I had numerous
visitors, and Zaira was radiant to be able to do the honours.
I had a good deal of conversation during the review with Count Tott,
brother of the nobleman who was employed at Constantinople, and known as
Baron Tott. We had known each other at Paris, and afterwards at the
Hague, where I had the pleasure of being of service to him. He had come
to St. Petersburg with Madame de Soltikoff, whom he had met at Paris, and
whose lover he was. He lived with her, went to Court, and was well
received by everyone.
Two or three years after, the empress ordered him to leave St. Petersburg
on account of the troubles in Poland. It was said that he kept up a
correspondence with his brother, who was endeavouring to intercept the
fleet under the command of Alexis Orloff. I never heard what became of
him after he left Russia, where he obliged me with the loan of five
hundred roubles, which I have not yet been able to return to him.
M. Maruzzi, by calling a Venetian merchant, and by birth a Greek, having
left trade to live like a gentleman, came to St. Petersburg when I was
there, and was presented at Court. He was a fine-looking man, and was
admitted to all the great houses. The empress treated him with
distinction because she had thoughts of making him her agent at Venice.
He paid his court to the Countess Braun, but he had rivals there who were
not afraid of him. He was rich enough, but did not know how to spend his
money; and avarice is a sin which meets with no pity from the Russian
ladies.
I went to Czarsko-Zelo, Peterhoff, and Cronstadt, for if you want to say
you have been in a country you should see as much as possible of it. I
wrote notes and memorandums on several questions with the hope of their
procuring me a place in the civil service, and all my productions were
laid before the empress but with no effect. In Russia they do not think
much of foreigners unless they have specially summoned them; those who
come of their own account rarely make much, and I suspect the Russians
are right.
CHAPTER XXI
I See the Empress--My Conversations with Her--The Valville--
I Leave Zaiya I Leave St. Petersburg and Arrive at Warsaw--
The Princes Adam Czartoryski and Sulkowski--The King of
Poland--Theatrical Intrigues--Byanicki
I thought of leaving Russia at the beginning of the autumn, but I was
told by M M. Panin and Alsuwieff that I ought not to go without having
spoken to the empress.
"I should be sorry to do so," I replied, "but as I can't find anyone to
present me to her, I must be resigned."
At last Panin told me to walk in a garden frequented by her majesty at an
early hour, and he said that meeting me, as it were by chance, she would
probably speak to me. I told him I should like him to be with her, and he
accordingly named a day.
I repaired to the garden, and as I walked about I marvelled at the
statuary it contained, all the statues being made of the worst stone, and
executed in the worst possible taste. The names cut beneath them gave the
whole the air of a practical joke. A weeping statue was Democritus;
another, with grinning mouth, was labelled Heraclitus; an old man with a
long beard was Sappho; and an old woman, Avicenna; and so on.
As I was smiling at this extraordinary collection, I saw the czarina,
preceded by Count Gregorius Orloff, and followed by two ladies,
approaching. Count Panin was on her left hand. I stood by the hedge to
let her pass, but as soon as she came up to me she asked, smilingly, if I
had been interested in the statues. I replied, following her steps, that
I presumed they had been placed there to impose on fools, or to excite
the laughter of those acquainted with history.
"From what I can make out," she replied, "the secret of the matter is
that my worthy aunt was imposed on, and indeed she did not trouble
herself much about such trifles. But I hope you have seen other things in
Russia less ridiculous than these statues?"
I entertained the sovereign for more than an hour with my remarks on the
things of note I had seen in St. Petersburg. The conversation happened to
turn on the King of Prussia, and I sang his praises; but I censured his
terrible habit of always interrupting the person whom he was addressing.
Catherine smiled and asked me to tell her about the conversation I had
had with this monarch, and I did so to the best of my ability. She was
then kind enough to say that she had never seen me at the Courtag, which
was a vocal and instrumental concert given at the palace, and open to
all. I told her that I had only attended once, as I was so unfortunate as
not to have a taste for music. At this she turned to Panin, and said
smilingly that she knew someone else who had the same misfortune. If the
reader remembers what I heard her say about music as she was leaving the
opera, he will pronounce my speech to have been a very courtier-like one,
and I confess it was; but who can resist making such speeches to a
monarch, and above all, a monarch in petticoats?
The czarina turned from me to speak to M. Bezkoi, who had just come up,
and as M. Panin left the garden I did so too, delighted with the honour I
had had.
The empress, who was a woman of moderate height and yet of a majestic
appearance, thoroughly understood the art of making herself loved. She
was not beautiful, but yet she was sure of pleasing by her geniality and
her wit, and also by that exquisite tact which made one forget the
awfulness of the sovereign in the gentleness of the woman. A few days
after, Count Partin told me that the empress had twice asked after me,
and that this was a sure sign I had pleased her. He advised me to look
out for another opportunity of meeting her, and said that for the future
she would always tell me to approach whenever she saw me, and that if I
wanted some employment she might possible do something for me.
Though I did not know what employ I could ask for in that disagreeable
country, I was glad to hear that I could have easy access to the Court.
With that idea I walked in the garden every day, and here follows my
second conversation with the empress She saw me at a distance and sent an
officer to fetch me into her presence. As everybody was talking of the
tournament, which had to be postponed on account of the bad weather, she
asked me if this kind of entertainment could be given at Venice. I told
her some amusing stories on the subject of shows and spectacles, and in
this relation I remarked that the Venetian climate was more pleasant than
the Russian, for at Venice fine days were the rule, while at St.
Petersburg they were the exception, though the year is younger there than
anywhere else.
"Yes," she said, "in your country it is eleven days older."
"Would it not be worthy of your majesty to put Russia on an equality with
the rest of the world in this respect, by adopting the Gregorian
calendar? All the Protestants have done so, and England, who adopted it
fourteen years ago, has already gained several millions. All Europe is
astonished that the old style should be suffered to exist in a country
where the sovereign is the head of the Church, and whose capital contains
an academy of science. It is thought that Peter the Great, who made the
year begin in January, would have also abolished the old style if he had
not been afraid of offending England, which then kept trade and commerce
alive throughout your vast empire."
"You know," she replied, with a sly smile, "that Peter the Great was not
exactly a learned man."
"He was more than a man of learning, the immortal Peter was a genius of
the first order. Instinct supplied the place of science with him; his
judgment was always in the right. His vast genius, his firm resolve,
prevented him from making mistakes, and helped him to destroy all those
abuses which threatened to oppose his great designs."
Her majesty seemed to have heard me with great interest, and was about to
reply when she noticed two ladies whom she summoned to her presence. To
me she said,--
"I shall be delighted to reply to you at another time," and then turned
towards the ladies.
The time came in eight or ten days, when I was beginning to think she had
had enough of me, for she had seen me without summoning me to speak to
her.
She began by saying what I desired should be done was done already. "All
the letters sent to foreign countries and all the important State records
are marked with both dates."
"But I must point out to your majesty that by the end of the century the
difference will be of twelve days, not eleven."
"Not at all; we have seen to that. The last year of this century will not
be counted as a leap year. It is fortunate that the difference is one of
eleven days, for as that is the number which is added every year to the
epact our epacts are almost the same. As to the celebration of Easter,
that is a different question. Your equinox is on March the 21st, ours on
the 10th, and the astronomers say we are both wrong; sometimes it is we
who are wrong and sometimes you, as the equinox varies. You know you are
not even in agreement with the Jews, whose calculation is said to be
perfectly accurate; and, in fine, this difference in the time of
celebrating Easter does not disturb in any way public order or the
progress of the Government."
"Your majesty's words fill me with admiration, but the Festival of
Christmas---- "
"I suppose you are going to say that we do not celebrate Christmas in the
winter solstice as should properly be done. We know it, but it seems to
me a matter of no account. I would rather bear with this small mistake
than grievously afflict vast numbers of my subjects by depriving them of
their birthdays. If I did so, there would be no open complaints uttered,
as that is not the fashion in Russia; but they would say in secret that I
was an Atheist, and that I disputed the infallibility of the Council of
Nice. You may think such complaints matter for laughter, but I do not,
for I have much more agreeable motives for amusement."
The czarina was delighted to mark my surprise. I did not doubt for a
moment that she had made a special study of the whole subject. M.
Alsuwieff told me, a few days after, that she had very possibly read a
little pamphlet on the subject, the statements of which exactly coincided
with her own. He took care to add, however, that it was very possible her
highness was profoundly learned on the matter, but this was merely a
courtier's phrase.
What she said was spoken modestly and energetically, and her good humour
and pleasant smile remained unmoved throughout. She exercised a constant
self-control over herself, and herein appeared the greatness of her
character, for nothing is more difficult. Her demeanour, so different
from that of the Prussian king, shewed her to be the greater sovereign of
the two; her frank geniality always gave her the advantage, while the
short, curt manners of the king often exposed him to being made a dupe.
In an examination of the life of Frederick the Great, one cannot help
paying a deserved tribute to his courage, but at the same time one feels
that if it had not been for repeated turns of good fortune he must have
succumbed, whereas Catherine was little indebted to the favours of the
blind deity. She succeeded in enterprises which, before her time, would
have been pronounced impossibilities, and it seemed her aim to make men
look upon her achievements as of small account.
I read in one of our modern journals, those monuments of editorial
self-conceit, that Catherine the Great died happily as she had lived.
Everybody knows that she died suddenly on her close stool. By calling
such a death happy, the journalist hints that it is the death he himself
would wish for. Everyone to his taste, and we can only hope that the
editor may obtain his wish; but who told this silly fellow that Catherine
desired such a death? If he regards such a wish as natural to a person of
her profound genius I would ask who told him that men of genius consider
a sudden death to be a happy one? Is it because that is his opinion, and
are we to conclude that he is therefore person of genius? To come to the
truth we should have to interrogate the late empress, and ask her some
such question as:
"Are you well pleased to have died suddenly?"
She would probably reply:
"What a foolish question! Such might be the wish of one driven to
despair, or of someone suffering from a long and grievous malady. Such
was not my position, for I enjoyed the blessings of happiness and good
health; no worse fate could have happened to me. My sudden death
prevented me from concluding several designs which I might have brought
to a successful issue if God had granted me the warning of a slight
illness. But it was not so; I had to set out on the long journey at a
moment's notice, without the time to make any preparations. Is my death
any the happier from my not foreseeing it? Do you think me such a coward
as to dread the approach of what is common to all? I tell you that I
should have accounted myself happy if I had had a respite of but a day.
Then I should not complain of the Divine justice."
"Does your highness accuse God of injustice, then?"
"What boots it, since I am a lost soul? Do you expect the damned to
acknowledge the justice of the decree which has consigned them to eternal
woe?"
"No doubt it is a difficult matter, but I should have thought that a
sense of the justice of your doom would have mitigated the pains of it."
"Perhaps so, but a damned soul must be without consolation for ever."
"In spite of that there are some philosophers who call you happy in your
death by virtue of its suddenness."
"Not philosophers, but fools, for in its suddenness was the pain and
woe."
"Well said; but may I ask your highness if you admit the possibility of a
happy eternity after an unhappy death, or of an unhappy doom after a
happy death?"
"Such suppositions are inconceivable. The happiness of futurity lies in
the ecstasy of the soul in feeling freed from the trammels of matter, and
unhappiness is the doom of a soul which was full of remorse at the moment
it left the body. But enough, for my punishment forbids my farther
speech."
"Tell me, at least, what is the nature of your punishment?"
"An everlasting weariness. Farewell."
After this long and fanciful digression the reader will no doubt be
obliged by my returning to this world.
Count Panin told me that in a few days the empress would leave for her
country house, and I determined to have an interview with her, foreseeing
that it would be for the last time.
I had been in the garden for a few minutes when heavy rain began to fall,
and I was going to leave, when the empress summoned me into an apartment
on the ground floor of the palace, where she was walking up and down with
Gregorovitch and a maid of honour.
"I had forgotten to ask you," she said, graciously, "if you believe the
new calculation of the calendar to be exempt from error?"
"No, your majesty; but the error is so minute that it will not produce
any sensible effect for the space of nine or ten thousand years."
"I thought so; and in my opinion Pope Gregory should not have
acknowledged any mistake at all. The Pope, however, had much less
difficulty in carrying out his reform than I should have with my
subjects, who are too fond of their ancient usages and customs."
"Nevertheless, I am sure your majesty would meet with obedience."
"No doubt, but imagine the grief of my clergy in not being able to
celebrate the numerous saints' days, which would fall on the eleven days
to be suppressed. You have only one saint for each day, but we have a
dozen at least. I may remark also that all ancient states and kingdoms
are attached to their ancient laws. I have heard that your Republic of
Venice begins the year in March, and that seems to me, as it were, a
monument and memorial of its antiquity--and indeed the year begins more
naturally in March than in January--but does not this usage cause some
confusion?"
"None at all, your majesty. The letters M V, which we adjoin to all dates
in January and February, render all mistakes impossible."
"Venice is also noteworthy for its peculiar system of heraldry, by the
amusing form under which it portrays its patron saint, and by the five
Latin words with which the Evangelist is invoked, in which, as I am told,
there is a grammatical blunder which has become respectable by its long
standing. But is it true that you do not distinguish between the day and
night hours?"
"It is, your majesty, and what is more we reckon the day from the
beginning of the night."
"Such is the force of custom, which makes us admire what other nations
think ridiculous. You see no inconvenience in your division of the day,
which strikes me as most inconvenient."
"You would only have to look at your watch, and you would not need to
listen for the cannon shot which announces the close of day."
"Yes, but for this one advantage you have over us, we have two over you.
We know that at twelve o'clock it is either mid-day or midnight."
The czarina spoke to me about the fondness of the Venetians for games of
chance, and asked if the Genoa Lottery had been established there. "I
have been asked," she added, "to allow the lottery to be established in
my own dominions; but I should never permit it except on the condition
that no stake should be below a rouble, and then the poor people would
not be able to risk their money in it."
I replied to this discreet observation with a profound inclination of the
head, and thus ended my last interview with the famous empress who
reigned thirty-five years without committing a single mistake of any
importance. The historian will always place her amongst great sovereigns,
though the moralist will always consider her, and rightly, as one of the
most notable of dissolute women.
A few days before I left I gave an entertainment to my friends at
Catherinhoff, winding up with a fine display of fireworks, a present from
my friend Melissino. My supper for thirty was exquisite, and my ball a
brilliant one. In spite of the tenuity of my purse I felt obliged to give
my friends this mark of my gratitude for the kindness they had lavished
on me.
I left Russia with the actress Valville, and I must here tell the reader
how I came to make her acquaintance.
I happened to go to the French play, and to find myself seated next to an
extremely pretty lady who was unknown to me. I occasionally addressed an
observation to her referring to the play or actors, and I was immensely
delighted with her spirited answers. Her expression charmed me, and I
took the liberty of asking her if she were a Russian.
"No, thank God!" she replied, "I am a Parisian, and an actress by
occupation. My name is Valville; but I don't wonder I am unknown to you,
for I have been only a month here, and have played but once."
"How is that?"
"Because I was so unfortunate as to fail to win the czarina's favour.
However, as I was engaged for a year, she has kindly ordered that my
salary of a hundred roubles shall be paid monthly. At the end of the year
I shall get my passport and go."
"I am sure the empress thinks she is doing you a favour in paying you for
nothing."
"Very likely; but she does not remember that I am forgetting how to act
all this time."
"You ought to tell her that."
"I only wish she would give me an audience."
"That is unnecessary. Of course, you have a lover."
"No, I haven't."
"It's incredible to me!"
"They say the incredible often happens."
"I am very glad to hear it myself."
I took her address, and sent her the following note the next day:
"Madam,--I should like to begin an intrigue with you. You have inspired
me with feelings that will make me unhappy unless you reciprocate them. I
beg to take the liberty of asking myself to sup with you, but please tell
me how much it will cost me. I am obliged to leave for Warsaw in the
course of a month, and I shall be happy to offer you a place in my
travelling carriage. I shall be able to get you a passport. The bearer of
this has orders to wait, and I hope your answer will be as plainly worded
as my question."
In two hours I received this reply:
"Sir,--As I have the knack of putting an end to an intrigue when it has
ceased to amuse me, I have no hesitation in accepting your proposal. As
to the sentiments with which you say I have inspired you, I will do my
best to share them, and to make you happy. Your supper shall be ready,
and later on we will settle the price of the dessert. I shall be
delighted to accept the place in your carriage if you can obtain my
expenses to Paris as well as my passport. And finally, I hope you will
find my plain speaking on a match with yours. Good bye, till the
evening."
I found my new friend in a comfortable lodging, and we accosted each
other as if we had been old acquaintances.
"I shall be delighted to travel with you," said she, "but I don't think
you will be able to get my passport."
"I have no doubt as to my success," I replied, "if you will present to
the empress the petition I shall draft for you."
"I will surely do so," said she, giving me writing materials.
I wrote out the following petition,--
"Your Majesty,--I venture to remind your highness that my enforced
idleness is making me forget my art, which I have not yet learnt
thoroughly. Your majesty's generosity is therefore doing me an injury,
and your majesty would do me a great benefit in giving me permission to
leave St. Petersburg."
"Nothing more than that?"
"Not a word."
"You say nothing about the passport, and nothing about the journey-money.
I am not a rich woman."
"Do you only present this petition; and, unless I am very much mistaken,
you will have, not only your journey-money, but also your year's salary."
"Oh, that would be too much!"
"Not at all. You do not know Catherine, but I do. Have this copied, and
present it in person."
"I will copy it out myself, for I can write a good enough hand. Indeed,
it almost seems as if I had composed it; it is exactly my style. I
believe you are a better actor than I am, and from this evening I shall
call myself your pupil. Come, let us have some supper, that you may give
me my first lesson."
After a delicate supper, seasoned by pleasant and witty talk, Madame
Valville granted me all I could desire. I went downstairs for a moment to
send away my coachman and to instruct him what he was to say to Zaira,
whom I had forewarned that I was going to Cronstadt, and might not return
till the next day. My coachman was a Ukrainian on whose fidelity I could
rely, but I knew that it would be necessary for me to be off with the old
love before I was on with the new.
Madame Valville was like most young Frenchwomen of her class; she had
charms which she wished to turn to account, and a passable education; her
ambition was to be kept by one man, and the title of mistress was more
pleasing in her ears than that of wife.
In the intervals of four amorous combats she told me enough of her life
for me to divine what it had been. Clerval, the actor, had been gathering
together a company of actors at Paris, and making her acquaintance by
chance and finding her to be intelligent, he assured her that she was a
born actress, though she had never suspected it. The idea had dazzled
her, and she had signed the agreement. She started from Paris with six
other actors and actresses, of whom she was the only one that had never
played.
"I thought," she said, "it was like what is done at Paris, where a girl
goes into the chorus or the ballet without having learnt to sing or
dance. What else could I think, after an actor like Clerval had assured
me I had a talent for acting and had offered me a good engagement? All he
required of me was that I should learn by heart and repeat certain
passages which I rehearsed in his presence. He said I made a capital
soubrette, and he certainly could not have been trying to deceive me, but
the fact is he was deceived himself. A fortnight after my arrival I made
my first appearance, and my reception was not a flattering one."
"Perhaps you were nervous?"
"Nervous? not in the least. Clerval said that if I could have put on the
appearance of nervousness the empress, who is kindness itself, would
certainly have encouraged me."
I left her the next morning after I had seen her copy out the petition.
She wrote a very good hand.
"I shall present it to-day," said she.
I wished her good luck, and arranged to sup with her again on the day I
meant to part with Zaira.
All French girls who sacrifice to Venus are in the same style as the
Valville; they are entirely without passion or love, but they are
pleasant and caressing. They have only one object; and that is their own
profit. They make and unmake an intrigue with a smiling face and without
the slightest difficulty. It is their system, and if it be not absolutely
the best it is certainly the most convenient.
When I got home I found Zaira submissive but sad, which annoyed me more
than anger would have done, for I loved her. However, it was time to
bring the matter to an end, and to make up my mind to endure the pain of
parting.
Rinaldi, the architect, a man of seventy, but still vigorous and sensual,
was in love with her, and he had hinted to me several times that he would
be only too happy to take her over and to pay double the sum I had given
for her. My answer had been that I could only give her to a man she
liked, and that I meant to make her a present of the hundred roubles I
had given for her. Rinaldi did not like this answer, as he had not very
strong hopes of the girl taking a fancy to him; however, he did not
despair.
He happened to call on me on the very morning on which I had determined
to give her up, and as he spoke Russian perfectly he gave Zaira to
understand how much he loved her. Her answer was that he must apply to
me, as my will was law to her, but that she neither liked nor disliked
anyone else. The old man could not obtain any more positive reply and
left us with but feeble hopes, but commending himself to my good offices.
When he had gone, I asked Zaira whether she would not like me to leave
her to the worthy man, who would treat her as his own daughter.
She was just going to reply when I was handed a note from Madame
Valville, asking me to call on her, as she had a piece of news to give
me. I ordered the carriage immediately, telling Zaira that I should not
be long.
"Very good," she replied, "I will give you a plain answer when you come
back."
I found Madame Valville in a high state of delight.
"Long live the petition!" she exclaimed, as soon as she saw me. "I waited
for the empress to come out of her private chapel. I respectfully
presented my petition, which she read as she walked along, and then told
me with a kindly smile to wait a moment. I waited, and her majesty
returned me the petition initialled in her own hand, and bade me take it
to M. Ghelagin. This gentleman gave me an excellent reception, and told
me that the sovereign hand ordered him to give me my passport, my salary
for a year, and a hundred ducats for the journey. The money will be
forwarded in a fortnight, as my name will have to be sent to the
Gazette."
Madame Valville was very grateful, and we fixed the day of our departure.
Three or four days later I sent in my name to the Gazette.
I had promised Zaira to come back, so telling my new love that I would
come and live with her as soon as I had placed the young Russian in good
hands, I went home, feeling rather curious to hear Zaira's determination.
After Zaira had supped with me in perfect good humour, she asked if M.
Rinaldi would pay me back the money I had given far her. I said he would,
and she went on,--
"It seems to me that I am worth more than I was, for I have all your
presents, and I know Italian."
"You are right, dear, but I don't want it to be said that I have made a
profit on you; besides, I intend to make you a present of the hundred
roubles."
"As you are going to make me such a handsome present, why not send me
back to my father's house? That would be still more generous. If M.
Rinaldi really loves me, he can come and talk it over with my father. You
have no objection to his paying me whatever sum I like to mention."
"Not at all. On the contrary, I shall be very glad to serve your family,
and all the more as Rinaldi is a rich man."
"Very good; you will be always dear to me in my memory. You shall take me
to my home to-morrow; and now let us go to bed."
Thus it was that I parted with this charming girl, who made me live
soberly all the time I was at St. Petersburg. Zinowieff told me that if I
had liked to deposit a small sum as security I could have taken her with
me; but I had thought the matter over, and it seemed to me that as Zaira
grew more beautiful and charming I should end by becoming a perfect slave
to her. Possibly, however, I should not have looked into matters so
closely if I had not been in love with Madame Valville.
Zaira spent the next morning in gathering together her belongings, now
laughing and now weeping, and every time that she left her packing to
give me a kiss I could not resist weeping myself. When I restored her to
her father, the whole family fell on their knees around me. Alas for poor
human nature! thus it is degraded by the iron heel of oppression. Zaira
looked oddly in the humble cottage, where one large mattress served for
the entire family.
Rinaldi took everything in good part. He told me that since the daughter
would make no objection he had no fear of the father doing so. He went to
the house the next day, but he did not get the girl till I had left St.
Petersburg. He kept her for the remainder of his days, and behaved very
handsomely to her.
After this melancholy separation Madame Valville became my sole mistress,
and we left the Russian capital in the course of a few weeks. I took an
Armenian merchant into my service; he had lent me a hundred ducats, and
cooked very well in the Eastern style. I had a letter from the Polish
resident to Prince Augustus Sulkowski, and another from the English
ambassador for Prince Adam Czartoryski.
The day after we left St. Petersburg we stopped at Koporie to dine; we
had taken with us some choice viands and excellent wines. Two days later
we met the famous chapel-master, Galuppi or Buranelli, who was on his way
to St. Petersburg with two friends and an artiste. He did not know me,
and was astonished to find a Venetian dinner awaiting him at the inn, as
also to hear a greeting in his mother tongue. As soon as I had pronounced
my name he embraced me with exclamations of surprise and joy.
The roads were heavy with rain, so we were a week in getting to Riga, and
when we arrived I was sorry to hear that Prince Charles was not there.
From Riga, we were four days before getting to Konigsberg, where Madame
Valville, who was expected at Berlin, had to leave me. I left her my
Armenian, to whom she gladly paid the hundred ducats I owed him. I saw
her again two years later, and shall speak of the meeting in due time.
We separated like good friends, without any sadness. We spent the night
at Klein Roop, near Riga, and she offered to give me her diamonds, her
jewels, and all that she possessed. We were staying with the Countess
Lowenwald, to whom I had a letter from the Princess Dolgorouki. This lady
had in her house, in the capacity of governess, the pretty English woman
whom I had known as Campioni's wife. She told me that her husband was at
Warsaw, and that he was living with Villiers. She gave me a letter for
him, and I promised to make him send her some money, and I kept my word.
Little Betty was as charming as ever, but her mother seemed quite jealous
of her and treated her ill.
When I reached Konigsberg I sold my travelling carriage and took a place
in a coach for Warsaw. We were four in all, and my companions only spoke
German and Polish, so that I had a dreadfully tedious journey. At Warsaw
I went to live with Villiers, where I hoped to meet Campioni.
It was not long before I saw him, and found him well in health and in
comfortable quarters. He kept a dancing school, and had a good many
pupils. He was delighted to have news of Fanny and his children. He sent
them some money, but had no thoughts of having them at Warsaw, as Fanny
wished. He assured me she was not his wife.
He told me that Tomatis, the manager of the comic opera, had made a
fortune, and had in his company a Milanese dancer named Catai, who
enchanted all the town by her charms rather than her talent. Games of
chance were permitted, but he warned me that Warsaw was full of
card-sharpers. A Veronese named Giropoldi, who lived with an officer from
Lorrain called Bachelier, held a bank at faro at her house, where a
dancer, who had been the mistress of the famous Afflisio at Vienna,
brought customers.
Major Sadir, whom I have mentioned before, kept another gaming-house, in
company with his mistress, who came from Saxony. The Baron de St. Heleine
was also in Warsaw, but his principal occupation was to contract debts
which he did not mean to pay. He also lived in Villier's house with his
pretty and virtuous young wife, who would have nothing to say to us.
Campioni told me of some other adventurers, whose names I was very glad
to know that I might the better avoid them.
The day after my arrival I hired a man and a carriage, the latter being
an absolute necessity at Warsaw, where in my time, at all events, it was
impossible to go on foot. I reached the capital of Poland at the end of
October, 1765.
My first call was on Prince Adam Czartoryski, Lieutenant of Podolia, for
whom I had an introduction. I found him before a table covered with
papers, surrounded by forty or fifty persons, in an immense library which
he had made into his bedroom. He was married to a very pretty woman, but
had not yet had a child by her because she was too thin for his taste.
He read the long letter I gave him, and said in elegant French that he
had a very high opinion of the writer of the letter; but that as he was
very busy just then he hoped I would come to supper with him if I had
nothing better to do.
I drove off to Prince Sulkouski, who had just been appointed ambassador
to the Court of Louis XV. The prince was the elder of four brothers and a
man of great understanding, but a theorist in the style of the Abbe St.
Pierre. He read the letter, and said he wanted to have a long talk with
me; but that being obliged to go out he would be obliged if I would come
and dine with him at four o'clock. I accepted the invitation.
I then went to a merchant named Schempinski, who was to pay me fifty
ducats a month on Papanelopulo's order. My man told me that there was a
public rehearsal of a new opera at the theatre, and I accordingly spent
three hours there, knowing none and unknown to all. All the actresses
were pretty, but especially the Catai, who did not know the first
elements of dancing. She was greatly applauded, above all by Prince
Repnin, the Russian ambassador, who seemed a person of the greatest
consequence.
Prince Sulkouski kept me at table for four mortal hours, talking on every
subject except those with which I happened to be acquainted. His strong
points were politics and commerce, and as he found my mind a mere void on
these subjects, he shone all the more, and took quite a fancy to me, as I
believe, because he found me such a capital listener.
About nine o'clock, having nothing better to do (a favourite phrase with
the Polish noblemen), I went to Prince Adam, who after pronouncing my
name introduced me to the company. There were present Monseigneur
Krasinski, the Prince-Bishop of Warmia, the Chief Prothonotary Rzewuski,
whom I had known at St. Petersburg, the Palatin Oginski, General Roniker,
and two others whose barbarous names I have forgotten. The last person to
whom he introduced me was his wife, with whom I was very pleased. A few
moments after a fine-looking gentleman came into the room, and everybody
stood up. Prince Adam pronounced my name, and turning to me said,
coolly,--
"That's the king."
This method of introducing a stranger to a sovereign prince was assuredly
not an overwhelming one, but it was nevertheless a surprise; and I found
that an excess of simplicity may be as confusing as the other extreme. At
first I thought the prince might be making a fool of me; but I quickly
put aside the idea, and stepped forward and was about to kneel, but his
majesty gave me his hand to kiss with exquisite grace, and as he was
about to address me, Prince Adam shewed him the letter of the English
ambassador, who was well known to the king. The king read it, still
standing, and began to ask me questions about the Czarina and the Court,
appearing to take great interest in my replies.
When supper was announced the king continued to talk, and led me into the
supper-room, and made me sit down at his right hand. Everybody ate
heartily except the king, who appeared to have no appetite, and myself,
who had no right to have any appetite, even if I had not dined well with
Prince Sulkouski, for I saw the whole table hushed to listen to my
replies to the king's questions.
After supper the king began to comment very graciously on my answers. His
majesty spoke simply but with great elegance. As he was leaving he told
me he should always be delighted to see me at his Court, and Prince Adam
said that if I liked to be introduced to his father, I had only to call
at eleven o'clock the next morning.
The King of Poland was of a medium height, but well made. His face was
not a handsome one, but it was kindly and intelligent. He was rather
short-sighted, and his features in repose bore a somewhat melancholy
expression; but in speaking, the whole face seemed to light up. All he
said was seasoned by a pleasant wit.
I was well enough pleased with this interview, and returned to my inn,
where I found Campioni seated amongst several guests of either sex, and
after staying with them for half an hour I went to bed.
At eleven o'clock the next day I was presented to the great Russian
Paladin. He was in his dressing-gown, surrounded by his gentlemen in the
national costume. He was standing up and conversing with his followers in
a kindly but grave manner. As soon as his son Adam mentioned my name, he
unbent and gave me a most kindly yet dignified welcome. His manners were
not awful, nor did they inspire one with familiarity, and I thought him
likely to be a good judge of character. When I told him that I had only
gone to Russia to amuse myself and see good company, he immediately
concluded that my aims in coming to Poland were of the same kind; and he
told me that he could introduce me to a large circle. He added that he
should be glad to see me to dinner and supper whenever I had no other
engagements.
He went behind a screen to complete his toilette, and soon appeared in
the uniform of his regiment, with a fair peruke in the style of the late
King Augustus II. He made a collective bow to everyone, and went to see
his wife, who was recovering from a disease which would have proved fatal
if it had not been for the skill of Reimann, a pupil of the great
Boerhaave. The lady came of the now extinct family of Enoff, whose
immense wealth she brought to her husband. When he married her he
abandoned the Maltese Order, of which he had been a knight. He won his
bride by a duel with pistols on horseback. The lady had promised that her
hand should be the conqueror's guerdon, and the prince was so fortunate
as to kill his rival. Of this marriage there issued Prince Adam and a
daughter, now a widow, and known under the name of Lubomirska, but
formerly under that of Strasnikowa, that being the title of the office
her husband held in the royal army.
It was this prince palatine and his brother, the High Chancellor of
Lithuania, who first brought about the Polish troubles. The two brothers
were discontented with their position at the Court where Count Bruhl was
supreme, and put themselves at the head of the plot for dethroning the
king, and for placing on the throne, under Russian protection, their
young nephew, who had originally gone to St. Petersburg as an attache at
the embassy, and afterwards succeeded in winning the favour of Catherine,
then Grand Duchess, but soon to become empress.
This young man was Stanislas Poniatowski, son of Constance Czartoryski
and the celebrated Poniatowski, the friend of Charles III. As luck would
have it, a revolution was unnecessary to place him on the throne, for the
king died in 1763, and gave place to Prince Poniatowski, who was chosen
king on the 6th of September, 1776, under the title of Stanislas Augustus
I. He had reigned two years at the time of my visit; and I found Warsaw
in a state of gaiety, for a diet was to be held and everyone wished to
know how it was that Catherine had given the Poles a native king.
At dinner-time I went to the paladin's and found three tables, at each of
which there were places for thirty, and this was the usual number
entertained by the prince. The luxury of the Court paled before that of
the paladin's house. Prince Adam said to me,
"Chevalier, your place will always be at my father's table."
This was a great honour, and I felt it. The prince introduced me to his
handsome sister, and to several palatins and starosts. I did not fail to
call on all these great personages, so in the course of a fortnight I
found myself a welcome guest in all the best houses.
My purse was too lean to allow of my playing or consoling myself with a
theatrical beauty, so I fell back on the library of Monseigneur Zalewski,
the Bishop of Kiowia, for whom I had taken a great liking. I spent almost
all my mornings with him, and it was from this prelate that I learnt all
the intrigues and complots by which the ancient Polish constitution, of
which the bishop was a great admirer, had been overturned. Unhappily, his
firmness was of no avail, and a few months after I left Warsaw the
Russian tyrants arrested him and he was exiled to Siberia.
I lived calmly and peaceably, and still look back upon those days with
pleasure. I spent my afternoons with the paladin playing tressette an
Italian game of which he was very fond, and which I played well enough
for the paladin to like to have me as a partner.
In spite of my sobriety and economy I found myself in debt three months
after my arrival, and I did not know where to turn for help. The fifty
ducats per month, which were sent me from Venice, were insufficient, for
the money I had to spend on my carriage, my lodging, my servant, and my
dress brought me down to the lowest ebb, and I did not care to appeal to
anyone. But fortune had a surprise in store for me, and hitherto she had
never left me.
Madame Schmit, whom the king for good reasons of his own had accommodated
with apartments in the palace, asked me one evening to sup with her,
telling me that the king would be of the party. I accepted the
invitation, and I was delighted to find the delightful Bishop Kraswiski,
the Abbe Guigiotti, and two or three other amateurs of Italian
literature. The king, whose knowledge of literature was extensive, began
to tell anecdotes of classical writers, quoting manuscript authorities
which reduced me to silence, and which were possibly invented by him.
Everyone talked except myself, and as I had had no dinner I ate like an
ogre, only replying by monosyllables when politeness obliged me to say
something. The conversation turned on Horace, and everyone gave his
opinion on the great materialist's philosophy, and the Abbe Guigiotti
obliged me to speak by saying that unless I agreed with him I should not
keep silence.
"If you take my silence for consent to your extravagant eulogium of
Horace," I said, "you are mistaken; for in my opinion the 'nec cum venari
volet poemata panges', of which you think so much, is to my mind a satire
devoid of delicacy."
"Satire and delicacy are hard to combine."
"Not for Horace, who succeeded in pleasing the great Augustus, and
rendering him immortal as the protector of learned men. Indeed other
sovereigns seem to vie with him by taking his name and even by disguising
it."
The king (who had taken the name of Augustus himself) looked grave and
said,--
"What sovereigns have adopted a disguised form of the name Augustus?"
"The first king of Sweden, who called himself Gustavus, which is only an
anagram of Augustus."
"That is a very amusing idea, and worth more than all the tales we have
told. Where did you find that?"
"In a manuscript at Wolfenbuttel."
The king laughed loudly, though he himself had been citing manuscripts.
But he returned to the charge and said,--
"Can you cite any passage of Horace (not in manuscript) where he shews
his talent for delicacy and satire?"
"Sir, I could quote several passages, but here is one which seems to me
very good: 'Coyam rege', says the poet, 'sua de paupertate tacentes, plus
quan pocentes ferent."
"True indeed," said the king, with a smile.
Madame Schmit, who did not know Latin, and inherited curiosity from her
mother, and eventually from Eve, asked the bishop what it meant, and he
thus translated it:
"They that speak not of their necessities in the presence of a king, gain
more than they that are ever asking."
The lady remarked that she saw nothing satirical in this.
After this it was my turn to be silent again; but the king began to talk
about Ariosto, and expressed a desire to read it with me. I replied with
an inclination of the head, and Horace's words: 'Tempora quoeram'.
Next morning, as I was coming out from mass, the generous and unfortunate
Stanislas Augustus gave me his hand to kiss, and at the same time slid a
roll of money into my hand, saying,--
"Thank no one but Horace, and don't tell anyone about it."
The roll contained two hundred ducats, and I immediately paid off my
debts. Since then I went almost every morning to the king's closet, where
he was always glad to see his courtiers, but there was no more said about
reading Ariosto. He knew Italian, but not enough to speak it, and still
less to appreciate the beauties of the great poet. When I think of this
worthy prince, and of the great qualities he possessed as a man, I cannot
understand how he came to commit so many errors as a king. Perhaps the
least of them all was that he allowed himself to survive his country. As
he could not find a friend to kill him, I think he should have killed
himself. But indeed he had no need to ask a friend to do him this
service; he should have imitated the great Kosciuszko, and entered into
life eternal by the sword of a Russian.
The carnival was a brilliant one. All Europe seemed to have assembled at
Warsaw to see the happy being whom fortune had so unexpectedly raised to
a throne, but after seeing him all were agreed that, in his case at all
events, the deity had been neither blind nor foolish. Perhaps, however,
he liked shewing himself rather too much. I have detected him in some
distress on his being informed that there was such a thing as a stranger
in Warsaw who had not seen him. No one had any need of an introduction,
for his Court was, as all Courts should be, open to everyone, and when he
noticed a strange face he was the first to speak.
Here I must set down an event which took place towards the end of
January. It was, in fact, a dream; and, as I think I have confessed
before, superstition had always some hold on me.
I dreamt I was at a banquet, and one of the guests threw a bottle at my
face, that the blood poured forth, that I ran my sword through my enemy's
body, and jumped into a carriage, and rode away.
Prince Charles of Courland came to Warsaw, and asked me to dine with him
at Prince Poninski's, the same that became so notorious, and was
afterwards proscribed and shamefully dishonoured. His was a hospitable
house, and he was surrounded by his agreeable family. I had never called
on him, as he was not a 'persona grata' to the king or his relations.
In the course of the dinner a bottle of champagne burst, and a piece of
broken glass struck me just below the eye. It cut a vein, and the blood
gushed over my face, over my clothes, and even over the cloth. Everybody
rose, my wound was bound up, the cloth was changed, and the dinner went
on merrily. I was surprised at the likeness between my dream and this
incident, while I congratulated myself on the happy difference between
them. However, it all came true after a few months.
Madame Binetti, whom I had last seen in London, arrived at Warsaw with
her husband and Pic the dancer. She had a letter of introduction to the
king's brother, who was a general in the Austrian service, and then
resided at Warsaw. I heard that the day they came, when I was at supper
at the palatin's. The king was present, and said he should like to keep
them in Warsaw for a week and see them dance, if a thousand ducats could
do it.
I went to see Madame Binetti and to give her the good news the next
morning. She was very much surprised to meet me in Warsaw, and still more
so at the news I gave her. She called Pic who seemed undecided, but as we
were talking it over, Prince Poniatowski came in to acquaint them with
his majesty's wishes, and the offer was accepted. In three days Pic
arranged a ballet; the costumes, the scenery, the music, the dancers--all
were ready, and Tomatis put it on handsomely to please his generous
master. The couple gave such satisfaction that they were engaged for a
year. The Catai was furious, as Madame Binetti threw her completely into
the shade, and, worse still, drew away her lovers. Tomatis, who was under
the Catai's influence, made things so unpleasant for Madame Binetti that
the two dancers became deadly enemies.
In ten or twelve days Madame Binetti was settled it a well-furnished
house; her plate was simple but good, her cellar full of excellent wine,
her cook an artist and her adorers numerous, amongst them being
Moszciuski and Branicki, the king's friends.
The pit was divided into two parties, for the Catai was resolved to make
a stand against the new comer, though her talents were not to be compared
to Madame Binetti's. She danced in the first ballet, and her rival in the
second. Those who applauded the first greeted that second in dead
silence, and vice versa. I had great obligations towards Madame Binetti,
but my duty also drew me towards the Catai, who numbered in her party all
the Czartoryskis and their following, Prince Lubomirski, and other
powerful nobles. It was plain that I could not desert to Madame Binetti
without earning the contempt of the other party.
Madame Binetti reproached me bitterly, and I laid the case plainly before
her. She agreed that I could not do otherwise, but begged me to stay away
from the theatre in future, telling me that she had got a rod in pickle
for Tomatis which would make him repent of his impertinence. She called
me her oldest friend; and indeed I was very fond of her, and cared
nothing for the Catai despite her prettiness.
Xavier Branicki, the royal Postoli, Knight of the White Eagle, Colonel of
Uhlans, the king's friend, was the chief adorer of Madame Binetti. The
lady probably confided her displeasure to him, and begged him to take
vengeance on the manager, who had committed so many offences against her.
Count Branicki in his turn probably promised to avenge her quarrel, and,
if no opportunity of doing so arose, to create an opportunity. At least,
this is the way in which affairs of this kind are usually managed, and I
can find no better explanation for what happened. Nevertheless, the way
in which the Pole took vengeance was very original and extraordinary.
On the 20th of February Branicki went to the opera, and, contrary to his
custom, went to the Catai's dressing-room, and began to pay his court to
the actress, Tomatis being present. Both he and the actress concluded
that Branicki had had a quarrel with her rival, and though she did not
much care to place him in the number of her adorers, she yet gave him a
good reception, for she knew it would be dangerous to despise his suit
openly.
When the Catai had completed her toilet, the gallant postoli offered her
his arm to take her to her carriage, which was at the door. Tomatis
followed, and I too was there, awaiting my carriage. Madame Catai came
down, the carriage-door was opened, she stepped in, and Branicki got in
after her, telling the astonished Tomatis to follow them in the other
carriage. Tomatis replied that he meant to ride in his own carriage, and
begged the colonel to get out. Branicki paid no attention, and told the
coachman to drive on. Tornatis forbade him to stir, and the man, of
course, obeyed his master. The gallant postcili was therefore obliged to
get down, but he bade his hussar give Tomatis a box on the ear, and this
order was so promptly and vigorously obeyed that the unfortunate man was
on the ground before he had time to recollect that he had a sword. He got
up eventually and drove off, but he could eat no supper, no doubt because
he had a blow to digest. I was to have supped with him, but after this
scene I had really not the face to go. I went home in a melancholy and
reflective mood, wondering whether the whole had been concerted; but I
concluded that this was impossible, as neither Branicki nor Binetti could
have foreseen the impoliteness and cowardice of Tomatis.
In the next chapter the reader will see how tragically the matter ended.
CHAPTER XXII
My Duel with Branicki--My Journey to Leopol and Return to
Warsaw--I Receive the Order to Leave--My Departure with the
Unknown One
On reflection I concluded that Branicki had not done an ungentlemanly
thing in getting into Tomatis's carriage; he had merely behaved with
impetuosity, as if he were the Catai's lover. It also appeared to me
that, considering the affront he had received from the jealous Italian,
the box on the ear was a very moderate form of vengeance. A blow is bad,
of course, but not so bad as death; and Branicki might very well have run
his sword through the manager's body. Certainly, if Branicki had killed
him he would have been stigmatised as an assassin, for though Tomatis had
a sword the Polish officer's servants would never have allowed him to
draw it, nevertheless I could not help thinking that Tomatis should have
tried to take the servant's life, even at the risk of his own. He wanted
no more courage for that than in ordering the king's favourite to come
out of the carriage. He might have foreseen that the Polish noble would
be stung to the quick, and would surely attempt to take speedy vengeance.
The next day the encounter was the subject of all conversations. Tomatis
remained indoors for a week, calling for vengeance in vain. The king told
him he could do nothing for him, as Branicki maintained he had only given
insult for insult. I saw Tomatis, who told me in confidence that he could
easily take vengeance, but that it would cost him too dear. He had spent
forty thousand ducats on the two ballets, and if he had avenged himself
he would have lost it nearly all, as he would be obliged to leave the
kingdom. The only consolation he had was that his great friends were
kinder to him than ever, and the king himself honoured him with peculiar
attention. Madame Binetti was triumphant. When I saw her she condoled
with me ironically on the mishap that had befallen my friend. She wearied
me; but I could not guess that Branicki had only acted at her
instigation, and still less that she had a grudge against me. Indeed, if
I had known it, I should only have laughed at her, for I had nothing to
dread from her bravo's dagger. I had never seen him nor spoken to him; he
could have no opportunity for attacking me. He was never with the king in
the morning and never went to the palatin's to supper, being an unpopular
character with the Polish nobility. This Branicki was said to have been
originally a Cossack, Branecki by name. He became the king's favorite and
assumed the name of Branicki, pretending to be of the same family as the
illustrious marshal of that name who was still alive; but he, far from
recognizing the pretender, ordered his shield to be broken up and buried
with him as the last of the race. However that may be, Branicki was the
tool of the Russian party, the determined enemy of those who withstood
Catherine's design of Russianising the ancient Polish constitution. The
king liked him out of habit, and because he had peculiar obligations to
him.
The life I lived was really exemplary. I indulged neither in love affairs
nor gaming. I worked for the king, hoping to become his secretary. I paid
my court to the princess-palatine, who liked my company, and I played
tressette with the palatin himself.
On the 4th of March, St. Casimir's Eve, there was a banquet at Court to
which I had the honour to be invited. Casimir was the name of the king's
eldest brother, who held the office of grand chamberlain. After dinner
the king asked me if I intended going to the theatre, where a Polish play
was to be given for the first time. Everybody was interested in this
novelty, but it was a matter of indifference to me as I did not
understand the language, and I told the king as much.
"Never mind," said he, "come in my box."
This was too flattering an invitation to be refused, so I obeyed the
royal command and stood behind the king's chair. After the second act a
ballet was given, and the dancing of Madame Caracci, a Piedmontese, so
pleased his majesty that he went to the unusual pains of clapping her.
I only knew the dancer by sight, for I had never spoken to her. She had
some talents. Her principal admirer was Count Poninski, who was always
reproaching me when I dined with him for visiting the other dancers to
the exclusion of Madame Caracci. I thought of his reproach at the time,
and determined to pay her a visit after the ballet to congratulate her on
her performance and the king's applause. On my way I passed by Madame
Binetti's dressing-room, and seeing the door open I stayed a moment.
Count Branicki came up, and I left with a bow and passed on to Madame
Caracci's dressing-room. She was astonished to see me, and began with
kindly reproaches for my neglect; to which I replied with compliments,
and then giving her a kiss I promised to come and see her.
Just as I embraced her who should enter but Branicki, whom I had left a
moment before with Madame Binetti. He had clearly followed me in the
hopes of picking a quarrel. He was accompanied by Bininski, his
lieutenant-colonel. As soon as he appeared, politeness made me stand up
and turn to go, but he stopped me.
"It seems to me I have come at a bad time; it looks as if you loved this
lady."
"Certainly, my lord; does not your excellency consider her as worthy of
love?"
"Quite so; but as it happens I love her too, and I am not the man to bear
any rivals."
"As I know that, I shall love her no more."
"Then you give her up?"
"With all my heart; for everyone must yield to such a noble as you are."
"Very good; but I call a man that yields a coward."
"Isn't that rather a strong expression?"
As I uttered these words I looked proudly at him and touched the hilt of
my sword. Three or four officers were present and witnessed what passed.
I had hardly gone four paces from the dressing-room when I heard myself
called "Venetian coward." In spite of my rage I restrained myself, and
turned back saying, coolly and firmly, that perhaps a Venetian coward
might kill a brave Pole outside the theatre; and without awaiting a reply
I left the building by the chief staircase.
I waited vainly outside the theatre for a quarter of an hour with my
sword in my hand, for I was not afraid of losing forty thousand ducats
like Tomatis. At last, half perishing with cold, I called my carriage and
drove to the palatin's, where the king was to sup.
The cold and loneliness began to cool my brain, and I congratulated
myself on my self-restraint in not drawing my sword in the actress's
dressing-room; and I felt glad that Branicki had not followed me down the
stairs, for his friend Bininski had a sabre, and I should probably have
been assassinated.
Although the Poles are polite enough, there is still a good deal of the
old leaven in them. They are still Dacians and Samaritans at dinner, in
war, and in friendship, as they call it, but which is often a burden
hardly to be borne. They can never understand that a man may be
sufficient company for himself, and that it is not right to descend on
him in a troop and ask him to give them dinner.
I made up my mind that Madame Binetti had excited Branicki to follow me,
and possibly to treat me as he had treated Tomatis. I had not received a
blow certainly, but I had been called a coward. I had no choice but to
demand satisfaction, but I also determined to be studiously moderate
throughout. In this frame of mind I got down at the palatin's, resolved
to tell the whole story to the king, leaving to his majesty the task of
compelling his favourite to give me satisfaction.
As soon as the palatin saw me, he reproached me in a friendly manner for
keeping him waiting, and we sat down to tressette. I was his partner, and
committed several blunders. When it came to losing a second game he
said,--
"Where is your head to-night?"
"My lord, it is four leagues away."
"A respectable man ought to have his head in the game, and not at a
distance of four leagues."
With these words the prince threw down his cards and began to walk up and
down the room. I was rather startled, but I got up and stood by the fire,
waiting for the king. But after I had waited thus for half an hour a
chamberlain came from the palace, and announced that his majesty could
not do himself the honour of supping with my lord that night.
This was a blow for me, but I concealed my disappointment. Supper was
served, and I sat down as usual at the left hand of the palatin, who was
annoyed with me, and chewed it. We were eighteen at table, and for once I
had no appetite. About the middle of the supper Prince Gaspard Lubomirski
came in, and chanced to sit down opposite me. As soon as he saw me he
condoled with me in a loud voice for what had happened.
"I am sorry for you," said he, "but Branicki was drunk, and you really
shouldn't count what he said as an insult."
"What has happened?" became at once the general question. I held my
tongue, and when they asked Lubomirski he replied that as I kept silence
it was his duty to do the same.
Thereupon the palatin, speaking in his friendliest manner, said to me,--
"What has taken place between you and Branicki?"
"I will tell you the whole story, my lord, in private after supper."
The conversation became indifferent, and after the meal was over the
palatin took up his stand by the small door by which he was accustomed to
leave the room, and there I told him the whole story. He sighed, condoled
with me, and added,--
"You had good reasons for being absent-minded at cards."
"May I presume to ask your excellency's advice?"
"I never give advice in these affairs, in which you must do every-thing
or nothing."
The palatin shook me by the hand, and I went home and slept for six
hours. As soon as I awoke I sat up in bed, and my first thought was
everything or nothing. I soon rejected the latter alternative, and I saw
that I must demand a duel to the death. If Branicki refused to fight I
should be compelled to kill him, even if I were to lose my head for it.
Such was my determination; to write to him proposing a duel at four
leagues from Warsaw, this being the limit of the starostia, in which
duelling was forbidden on pain of death. I Wrote as follows, for I have
kept the rough draft of the letter to this day:
"WARSAW,
"March 5th, 1766. 5 A.M.
"My Lord,--Yesterday evening your excellency insulted me with a light
heart, without my having given you any cause or reason for doing so. This
seems to indicate that you hate me, and would gladly efface me from the
land of the living. I both can and will oblige you in this matter. Be
kind enough, therefore, to drive me in your carriage to a place where my
death will not subject your lordship to the vengeance of the law, in case
you obtain the victory, and where I shall enjoy the same advantage if God
give me grace to kill your lordship. I should not make this proposal
unless I believe your lordship to be of a noble disposition.
"I have the honour to be, etc."
I sent this letter an hour before day-break to Branicki's lodging in the
palace. My messenger had orders to give the letter into the count's own
hands, to wait for him to rise, and also for an answer.
In half an hour I received the following answer:
"Sir,--I accept your proposal, and shall be glad if you will have the
kindness to inform me when I shall have the honour of seeing you.
"I remain, sir, etc."
I answered this immediately, informing him I would call on him the next
day, at six o'clock in the morning.
Shortly after, I received a second letter, in which he said that I might
choose the arms and place, but that our differences must be settled in
the course of the day.
I sent him the measure of my sword, which was thirty-two inches long,
telling him he might choose any place beyond the ban. In reply, I had the
following:
"Sir,--You will greatly oblige me by coming now. I have sent my carriage.
"I have the honour to be, etc."
I replied that I had business all the day, and that as I had made up my
mind not to call upon him, except for the purpose of fighting, I begged
him not to be offended if I took the liberty of sending back his
carriage.
An hour later Branicki called in person, leaving his suite at the door.
He came into the room, requested some gentlemen who were talking with me
to leave us alone, locked the door after them, and then sat down on my
bed. I did not understand what all this meant so I took up my pistols.
"Don't be afraid," said he, "I am not come to assassinate you, but merely
to say that I accept your proposal, on condition only that the duel shall
take place to-day. If not, never!"
"It is out of the question. I have letters to write, and some business to
do for the king."
"That will do afterwards. In all probability you will not fall, and if
you do I am sure the king will forgive you. Besides, a dead man need fear
no reproaches."
"I want to make my will."
"Come, come, you needn't be afraid of dying; it will be time enough for
you to make your will in fifty years."
"But why should your excellency not wait till tomorrow?"
"I don't want to be caught."
"You have nothing of the kind to fear from me."
"I daresay, but unless we make haste the king will have us both
arrested."
"How can he, unless you have told him about our quarrel?"
"Ah, you don't understand! Well, I am quite willing to give you
satisfaction, but it must be to-day or never."
"Very good. This duel is too dear to my heart for me to leave you any
pretext for avoiding it. Call for me after dinner, for I shall want all
my strength."
"Certainly. For my part I like a good supper after, better than a good
dinner before."
"Everyone to his taste."
"True. By the way, why did you send me the length of your sword? I intend
to fight with pistols, for I never use swords with unknown persons."
"What do you mean? I beg of you to refrain from insulting me in my own
house. I do not intend to fight with pistols, and you cannot compel me to
do so, for I have your letter giving me the choice of weapons."
"Strictly speaking, no doubt you are in the right; but I am sure you are
too polite not to give way, when I assure you that you will lay me under
a great obligation by doing so. Very often the first shot is a miss, and
if that is the case with both of us, I promise to fight with swords as
long as you like. Will you oblige me in the matter?"
"Yes, for I like your way of asking, though, in my opinion, a pistol duel
is a barbarous affair. I accept, but on the following conditions: You
must bring two pistols, charge them in my presence, and give me the
choice. If the first shot is a miss, we will fight with swords till the
first blood or to the death, whichever you prefer. Call for me at three
o'clock, and choose some place where we shall be secure from the law."
"Very good. You are a good fellow, allow me to embrace you. Give me your
word of honour not to say a word about it to anyone, for if you did we
should be arrested immediately."
"You need not be afraid of my talking; the project is too dear to me."
"Good. Farewell till three o'clock."
As soon as the brave braggart had left me, I placed the papers I was
doing for the king apart, and went to Campioni, in whom I had great
confidence.
"Take this packet to the king," I said, "if I happen to be killed. You
may guess, perhaps, what is going to happen, but do not say a word to
anyone, or you will have me for your bitterest enemy, as it would mean
loss of honour to me."
"I understand. You may reckon on my discretion, and I hope the affair may
be ended honourably and prosperously for you. But take a piece of
friendly advice--don't spare your opponent, were it the king himself, for
it might cost you your life. I know that by experience."
"I will not forget. Farewell."
We kissed each other, and I ordered an excellent dinner, for I had no
mind to be sent to Pluto fasting. Campioni came in to dinner at one
o'clock, and at dessert I had a visit from two young counts, with their
tutor, Bertrand, a kindly Swiss. They were witnesses to my cheerfulness
and the excellent appetite with which I ate. At half-past two I dismissed
my company, and stood at the window to be ready to go down directly
Branicki's carriage appeared. He drove up in a travelling carriage and
six; two grooms, leading saddle-horses, went in front, followed by his
two aide-de-camps and two hussars. Behind his carriage stood four
servants. I hastened to descend, and found my enemy was accompanied by a
lieutenant-general and an armed footman. The door was opened, the general
gave me his place, and I ordered my servants not to follow me but to
await my orders at the house.
"You might want them," said Branicki; "they had better come along."
"If I had as many as you, I would certainly agree to your proposition;
but as it is I shall do still better without any at all. If need be, your
excellency will see that I am tended by your own servants."
He gave me his hand, and assured me they should wait on me before
himself.
I sat down, and we went off.
It would have been absurd if I had asked where we were going, so I held
my tongue, for at such moments a man should take heed to his words.
Branicki was silent, and I thought the best thing I could do would be to
engage him in a trivial conversation.
"Does your excellency intend spending the spring at Warsaw?"
"I had thought of doing so, but you may possibly send me to pass the
spring somewhere else."
"Oh, I hope not!"
"Have you seen any military service?"
"Yes; but may I ask why your excellency asks me the question, for--"
"I had no particular reason; it was only for the sake of saying
something."
We had driven about half an hour when the carriage stopped at the door of
a large garden. We got down and, following the postoli, reached a green
arbour which, by the way, was not at all green on that 5th of March. In
it was a stone table on which the footman placed two pistols, a foot and
half long, with a powder flask and scales. He weighed the powder, loaded
them equally, and laid them down crosswise on the table.
This done, Branicki said boldly,
"Choose your weapon, sir."
At this the general called out,
"Is this a duel, sir?"
"Yes."
"You cannot fight here; you are within the ban."
"No matter."
"It does matter; and I, at all events, refuse to be a witness. I am on
guard at the castle, and you have taken me by surprise."
"Be quiet; I will answer for everything. I owe this gentleman
satisfaction, and I mean to give it him here."
"M. Casanova," said the general, "you cannot fight here."
"Then why have I been brought here? I shall defend myself wherever I am
attacked."
"Lay the whole matter before the king, and you shall have my voice in
your favour."
"I am quite willing to do so, general, if his excellency will say that he
regrets what passed between us last night."
Branicki looked fiercely at me, and said wrathfully that he had come to
fight and not to parley.
"General," said I, "you can bear witness that I have done all in my power
to avoid this duel."
The general went away with his head between his hands, and throwing off
my cloak I took the first pistol that came to my hand. Branicki took the
other, and said that he would guarantee upon his honour that my weapon
was a good one.
"I am going to try its goodness on your head," I answered.
He turned pale at this, threw his sword to one of his servants, and bared
his throat, and I was obliged, to my sorrow, to follow his example, for
my sword was the only weapon I had, with the exception of the pistol. I
bared my chest also, and stepped back five or six paces, and he did the
same.
As soon as we had taken up our positions I took off my hat with my left
hand, and begged him to fire first.
Instead of doing so immediately he lost two or three seconds in sighting,
aiming, and covering his head by raising the weapon before it. I was not
in a position to let him kill me at his ease, so I suddenly aimed and
fired on him just as he fired on me. That I did so is evident, as all the
witnesses were unanimous in saying that they only heard one report. I
felt I was wounded in my left hand, and so put it into my pocket, and I
ran towards my enemy who had fallen. All of a sudden, as I knelt beside
him, three bare swords were flourished over my head, and three noble
assassins prepared to cut me down beside their master. Fortunately,
Branicki had not lost consciousness or the power of speaking, and he
cried out in a voice of thunder,--
"Scoundrels! have some respect for a man of honour."
This seemed to petrify them. I put my right hand under the pistoli's
armpit, while the general helped him on the other side, and thus we took
him to the inn, which happened to be near at hand.
Branicki stooped as he walked, and gazed at me curiously, apparently
wondering where all the blood on my clothes came from.
When we got to the inn, Branicki laid himself down in an arm-chair. We
unbuttoned his clothes and lifted up his shirt, and he could see himself
that he was dangerously wounded. My ball had entered his body by the
seventh rib on the right hand, and had gone out by the second false rib
on the left. The two wounds were ten inches apart, and the case was of an
alarming nature, as the intestines must have been pierced. Branicki spoke
to me in a weak voice,--
"You have killed me, so make haste away, as you are in danger of the
gibbet. The duel was fought in the ban, and I am a high court officer,
and a Knight of the White Eagle. So lose no time, and if you have not
enough money take my purse."
I picked up the purse which had fallen out, and put it back in his
pocket, thanking him, and saying it would be useless to me, for if I were
guilty I was content to lose my head. "I hope," I added, "that your wound
will not be mortal, and I am deeply grieved at your obliging me to
fight."
With these words I kissed him on his brow and left the inn, seeing
neither horses nor carriage, nor servant. They had all gone off for
doctor, surgeon, priest, and the friends and relatives of the wounded
man.
I was alone and without any weapon, in the midst of a snow-covered
country, my hand was wounded, and I had not the slightest idea which was
the way to Warsaw.
I took the road which seemed most likely, and after I had gone some
distance I met a peasant with an empty sleigh.
"Warszawa?" I cried, shewing him a ducat.
He understood me, and lifted a coarse mat, with which he covered me when
I got into the sleigh, and then set off at a gallop.
All at once Biniski, Branicki's bosom-friend, came galloping furiously
along the road with his bare sword in his hand. He was evidently running
after me. Happily he did not glance at the wretched sleigh in which I
was, or else he would undoubtedly have murdered me. I got at last to
Warsaw, and went to the house of Prince Adam Czartoryski to beg him to
shelter me, but there was nobody there. Without delay I determined to
seek refuge in the Convent of the Recollets, which was handy.
I rang at the door of the monastery, and the porter seeing me covered
with blood hastened to shut the door, guessing the object of my visit.
But I did not give him the time to do so, but honouring him with a hearty
kick forced my way in. His cries attracted a troop of frightened monks. I
demanded sanctuary, and threatened them with vengeance if they refused to
grant it. One of their number spoke to me, and I was taken to a little
den which looked more like a dungeon than anything else. I offered no
resistance, feeling sure that they would change their tune before very
long. I asked them to send for my servants, and when they came I sent for
a doctor and Campioni. Before the surgeon could come the Palatin of
Polduchia was announced. I had never had the honour of speaking to him,
but after hearing the history of my duel he was so kind as to give me all
the particulars of a duel he had fought in his youthful days. Soon after
came the Palatin of Kalisch, Prince Jablenowski. Prince Sanguska, and the
Palatin of Wilna, who all joined in a chorus of abuse of the monks who
had lodged me so scurvily. The poor religious excused themselves by
saying that I had ill-treated their porter, which made my noble friends
laugh; but I did not laugh, for my wound was very painful. However I was
immediately moved into two of their best guest-rooms.
The ball had pierced my hand by the metacarpus under the index finger,
and had broken the first phalanges. Its force had been arrested by a
metal button on my waistcoat, and it had only inflicted a slight wound on
my stomach close to the navel. However, there it was and it had to be
extracted, for it pained me extremely. An empiric named Gendron, the
first surgeon my servants had found, made an opening on the opposite side
of my hand which doubled the wound. While he was performing this painful
operation I told the story of the duel to the company, concealing the
anguish I was enduring. What a power vanity exercises on the moral and
physical forces! If I had been alone I should probably have fainted.
As soon as the empiric Gendron was gone, the palatin's surgeon came in
and took charge of the case, calling Gendron a low fellow. At the same
time Prince Lubomirski, the husband of the palatin's daughter, arrived,
and gave us all a surprise by recounting the strange occurrences which
had happened after the duel. Bininski came to where Branicki was lying,
and seeing his wound rode off furiously on horseback, swearing to strike
me dead wherever he found me. He fancied I would be with Tomatis, and
went to his house. He found Tomatis with his mistress, Prince Lubomirski,
and Count Moszczinski, but no Casanova was visible. He asked where I was,
and on Tomatis replying that he did not know he discharged a pistol at
his head. At this dastardly action Count Moszczincki seized him and tried
to throw him out of the window, but the madman got loose with three cuts
of his sabre, one of which slashed the count on the face and knocked out
three of his teeth.
"After this exploit," Prince Lubomirski continued, "he seized me by the
throat and held a pistol to my head, threatening to blow out my brains if
I did not take him in safety to the court where his horse was, so that he
might get away from the house without any attack being made on him by
Tomatis's servants; and I did so immediately. Moszczinski is in the
doctor's hands, and will be laid up for some time.
"As soon as it was reported that Branicki was killed, his Uhlans began to
ride about the town swearing to avenge their colonel, and to slaughter
you. It is very fortunate that you took refuge here.
"The chief marshal has had the monastery surrounded by two hundred
dragoons, ostensibly to prevent your escape, but in reality to defend you
from Branicki's soldiers.
"The doctors say that the postoli is in great danger if the ball has
wounded the intestines, but if not they answer for his recovery. His fate
will be known tomorrow. He now lies at the lord chamberlain's, not daring
to have himself carried to his apartments at the palace. The king has
been to see him, and the general who was present told his majesty that
the only thing that saved your life was your threat to aim at Branicki's
head. This frightened him, and to keep your ball from his head he stood
in such an awkward position that he missed your vital parts. Otherwise he
would undoubtedly have shot you through the heart, for he can split a
bullet into two halves by firing against the blade of a knife. It was
also a lucky thing for you that you escaped Bininski, who never thought
of looking for you in the wretched sleigh."
"My lord, the most fortunate thing for me is that I did not kill my man
outright. Otherwise I should have been cut to pieces just as I went to
his help by three of his servants, who stood over me with drawn swords.
However, the postoli ordered them to leave me alone.
"I am sorry for what has happened to your highness and Count Moszczinski;
and if Tomatis was not killed by the madman it is only because the pistol
was only charged with powder."
"That's what I think, for no one heard the bullet; but it was a mere
chance."
"Quite so."
Just then an officer of the palatin's came to me with a note from his
master, which ran as follows:
"Read what the king says to me, and sleep well."
The king's note was thus conceived:
"Branicki, my dear uncle, is dangerous wounded. My surgeons are doing all
they can for him, but I have not forgotten Casanova. You may assure him
that he is pardoned, even if Branicki should die."
I kissed the letter gratefully, and shewed it to my visitors, who lauded
this generous man truly worthy of being a king.
After this pleasant news I felt in need of rest, and my lords left me. As
soon as they were gone, Campioni, who had come in before and had stood in
the background, came up to me and gave me back the packet of papers, and
with tears of joy congratulated me on the happy issue of the duel.
Next day I had shoals of visitors, and many of the chiefs of the party
opposed to Branicki sent me purses full of gold. The persons who brought
the money on behalf of such a lord or lady, said that being a foreigner I
might be in need of money, and that was their excuse for the liberty they
had taken. I thanked and refused them all, and sent back at least four
thousand ducats, and was very proud of having done so. Campioni thought
it was absurd, and he was right, for I repented afterwards of what I had
done. The only present I accepted was a dinner for four persons, which
Prince Adam Czartoryski sent me in every day, though the doctor would not
let me enjoy it, he being a great believer in diet.
The wound in my stomach was progressing favourably, but on the fourth day
the surgeons said my hand was becoming gangrened, and they agreed that
the only remedy was amputation. I saw this announced in the Court Gazette
the next morning, but as I had other views on the matter I laughed
heartily at the paragraph. The sheet was printed at night, after the king
had placed his initials to the copy. In the morning several persons came
to condole with me, but I received their sympathy with great irreverence.
I merely laughed at Count Clary, who said I would surely submit to the
operation; and just as he uttered the words the three surgeons came in
together.
"Well, gentlemen," said I, "you have mustered in great strength; why is
this?"
My ordinary surgeon replied that he wished to have the opinion of the
other two before proceeding to amputation, and they would require to look
at the wound.
The dressing was lifted and gangrene was declared to be undoubtedly
present, and execution was ordered that evening. The butchers gave me the
news with radiant faces, and assured me I need not be afraid as the
operation would certainly prove efficacious.
"Gentlemen," I replied, "you seem to have a great many solid scientific
reasons for cutting off my hand; but one thing you have not got, and that
is my consent. My hand is my own, and I am going to keep it."
"Sir, it is certainly gangrened; by to-morrow the arm will begin to
mortify, and then you will have to lose your arm."
"Very good; if that prove so you shall cut off my arm, but I happen to
know something of gangrene, and there is none about me."
"You cannot know as much about it as we do."
"Possibly; but as far as I can make out, you know nothing at all."
"That's rather a strong expression."
"I don't care whether it be strong or weak; you can go now."
In a couple of hours everyone whom the surgeons had told of my obstinacy
came pestering me. Even the prince-palatin wrote to me that the king was
extremely surprised at my lack of courage. This stung me to the quick,
and I wrote the king a long letter, half in earnest and half in jest, in
which I laughed at the ignorance of the surgeons, and at the simplicity
of those who took whatever they said for gospel truth. I added that as an
arm without a hand would be quite as useless as no arm at all, I meant to
wait till it was necessary to cut off the arm.
My letter was read at Court, and people wondered how a man with gangrene
could write a long letter of four pages. Lubomirski told me kindly that I
was mistaken in laughing at my friends, for the three best surgeons in
Warsaw could not be mistaken in such a simple case.
"My lord, they are not deceived themselves, but they want to deceive me."
"Why should they?"
"To make themselves agreeable to Branicki, who is in a dangerous state,
and might possibly get better if he heard that my hand had been taken
off."
"Really that seems an incredible idea to me!"
"What will your highness say on the day when I am proved to be right?"
"I shall say you are deserving of the highest praise, but the day must
first come."
"We shall see this evening, and I give you my word that if any gangrene
has attacked the arm, I will have it cut off to-morrow morning."
Four surgeons came to see me. My arm was pronounced to be highly
aedematous, and of a livid colour up to the elbow; but when the lint was
taken off the wound I could see for myself that it was progressing
admirably. However, I concealed my delight. Prince Augustus Sulkowski and
the Abbe Gouvel were present; the latter being attached to the palatin's
court. The judgment of the surgeons was that the arm was gangrened, and
must be amputated by the next morning at latest.
I was tired of arguing with these rascals, so I told them to bring their
instruments, and that I would submit to the operation. At this they went
way in high glee, to tell the news at the Court, to Branicki, to the
palatin, and so forth. I merely gave my servants orders to send them away
when they came.
I can dwell no more on this matter, though it is interesting enough to
me. However, the reader will no doubt be obliged to me by my simply
saying that a French surgeon in Prince Sulkowski's household took charge
of the case in defiance of professional etiquette, and cured me
perfectly, so I have my hand and my arm to this day.
On Easter Day I went to mass with my arm in a sling. My cure had only
lasted three weeks, but I was not able to put the hand to any active
employment for eighteen months afterwards. Everyone was obliged to
congratulate me on having held out against the amputation, and the
general consent declared the surgeons grossly ignorant, while I was
satisfied with thinking them very great knaves.
I must here set down an incident which happened three days after the
duel.
I was told that a Jesuit father from the bishop of the diocese wanted to
speak to me in private, and I had him shewn in, and asked him what he
wanted.
"I have come from my lord-bishop," said he, "to absolve you from the
ecclesiastical censure, which you have incurred by duelling."
"I am always delighted to receive absolution, father, but only after I
have confessed my guilt. In the present case I have nothing to confess; I
was attacked, and I defended myself. Pray thank my lord for his kindness.
If you like to absolve me without confession, I shall be much obliged."
"If you do not confess, I cannot give you absolution, but you can do
this: ask me to absolve you, supposing you have fought a duel."
"Certainly; I shall be glad if you will absolve me, supposing I have
fought a duel."
The delightful Jesuit gave me absolution in similar terms. He was like
his brethren--never at a loss when a loophole of any kind is required.
Three days before I left the monastery, that is on Holy Thursday, the
marshal withdrew my guard. After I had been to mass on Easter Day, I went
to Court, and as I kissed the king's hand, he asked me (as had been
arranged) why I wore my arm in a sling. I said I had been suffering from
a rheum, and he replied, with a meaning smile,--
"Take care not to catch another."
After my visit to the king, I called on Branicki, who had made daily
enquiries after my health, and had sent me back my sword, He was condemned
to stay in bed for six weeks longer at least, for the wad of my pistol
had got into the wound, and in extracting it the opening had to be
enlarged, which retarded his recovery. The king had just appointed him
chief huntsman, not so exalted an office as chamberlain, but a more
lucrative one. It was said he had got the place because he was such a
good shot; but if that were the reason I had a better claim to it, for I
had proved the better shot--for one day at all events.
I entered an enormous ante-room in which stood officers, footmen, pages,
and lacqueys, all gazing at me with the greatest astonishment. I asked if
my lord was to be seen, and begged the door-keeper to send in my name. He
did not answer, but sighed, and went into his master's room. Directly
after, he came out and begged me, with a profound bow, to step in.
Branicki, who was dressed in a magnificent gown and supported by pillows
and cushions, greeted me by taking off his nightcap. He was as pale as
death.
"I have come here, my lord," I began, "to offer you my service, and to
assure you how I regret that I did not pass over a few trifling words of
yours."
"You have no reason to reproach yourself, M. Casanova."
"Your excellency is very kind. I am also come to say that by fighting
with me you have done me an honour which completely swallows up all
offence, and I trust that you will give me your protection for the
future."
"I confess I insulted you, but you will allow that I have paid for it. As
to my friends, I openly say that they are my enemies unless they treat
you with respect. Bininski has been cashiered, and his nobility taken
from him; he is well served. As to my protection you have no need of it,
the king esteems you highly, like myself, and all men of honour. Sit
down; we will be friends. A cup of chocolate for this gentleman. You seem
to have got over your wound completely."
"Quite so, my lord, except as to the use of my fingers, and that will
take some time."
"You were quite right to withstand those rascally surgeons, and you had
good reason for your opinion that the fools thought to please me by
rendering you one-handed. They judged my heart by their own. I
congratulate you on the preservation of your hand, but I have not been
able to make out how my ball could have wounded you in the hand after
striking your stomach."
Just then the chocolate was brought, and the chamberlain came in and
looked at me with a smile. In five minutes the room was full of lords and
ladies who had heard I was with Branicki, and wanted to know how we were
getting on. I could see that they did not expect to find us on such good
terms, and were agreeably surprised. Branicki asked the question which
had been interrupted by the chocolate and the visitors over again.
"Your excellency will allow me to assume the position I was in as I
received your fire."
"Pray do so."
I rose and placed myself in the position, and he said he understood how
it was.
A lady said,--
"You should have put your hand behind your body."
"Excuse me, madam, but I thought it better to put my body behind my
hand."
This sally made Branicki laugh, but his sister said to me,--
"You wanted to kill my brother, for you aimed at his head."
"God forbid, madam! my interest lay in keeping him alive to defend me
from his friends."
"But you said you were going to fire at his head."
"That's a mere figure of speech, just as one says, 'I'll blow your brains
out.' The skilled duellist, however, always aims at the middle of the
body; the head does not offer a large enough surface."
"Yes," said Branicki, "your tactics were superior to mine, and I am
obliged to you for the lesson you gave me."
"Your excellency gave me a lesson in heroism of far greater value."
"You must have had a great deal of practice with the pistol," continued
his sister.
"Not at all, madam, I regard the weapon with detestation. This unlucky
shot was my first; but I have always known a straight line, and my hand
has always been steady."
"That's all one wants," said Branicki. "I have those advantages myself,
and I am only too well pleased that I did not aim so well as usual."
"Your ball broke my first phalanges. Here it is you see, flattened by my
bone. Allow me to return it to you."
"I am sorry to say I can't return yours, which I suppose remains on the
field of battle."
"You seem to be getting better, thank God!"
"The wound is healing painfully. If I had imitated you I should no longer
be in the land of the living; I am told you made an excellent dinner?"
"Yes, my lord, I was afraid I might never have another chance of dining
again."
"If I had dined, your ball would have pierced my intestines; but being
empty it yielded to the bullet, and let it pass by harmlessly."
I heard afterwards that on the day of the duel Branicki had gone to
confession and mass, and had communicated. The priest could not refuse
him absolution, if he said that honour obliged him to fight; for this was
in accordance with the ancient laws of chivalry. As for me I only
addressed these words to God:
"Lord, if my enemy kill me, I shall be damned; deign, therefore, to
preserve me from death. Amen."
After a long and pleasant conversation I took leave of the hero to visit
the high constable, Count Bielinski, brother of Countess Salmor. He was a
very old man, but the sovereign administrator of justice in Poland. I had
never spoken to him, but he had defended me from Branicki's Uhlans, and
had made out my pardon, so I felt bound to go and thank him.
I sent in my name, and the worthy old man greeted me with:
"What can I do for you?"
"I have come to kiss the hand of the kindly man that signed my pardon,
and to promise your excellency to be more discreet in future."
"I advise you to be more discreet indeed. As for your pardon, thank the
king; for if he had not requested me especially to grant it you, I should
have had you beheaded."
"In spite of the extenuating circumstances, my lord?"
"What circumstances? Did you or did you not fight a duel."
"That is not a proper way of putting it; I was obliged to defend myself.
You might have charged me with fighting a duel if Branicki had taken me
outside the ban, as I requested, but as it was he took me where he willed
and made me fight. Under these circumstances I am sure your excellency
would have spared my head."
"I really can't say. The king requested that you should be pardoned, and
that shews he believes you to be deserving of pardon; I congratulate you
on his good will. I shall be pleased if you will dine with me tomorrow."
"My lord, I am delighted to accept your invitation."
The illustrious old constable was a man of great intelligence. He had
been a bosom-friend of the celebrated Poniatowski, the king's father. We
had a good deal of conversation together at dinner the next day.
"What a comfort it would have been to your excellency's friend," said I,
"if he could have lived to see his son crowned King of Poland."
"He would never have consented."
The vehemence with which he pronounced these words gave me a deep insight
into his feelings. He was of the Saxon party. The same day, that is on
Easter Day, I dined at the palatin's.
"Political reasons," said he, "prevented me from visiting you at the
monastery; but you must not think I had forgotten you, for you were
constantly in my thoughts. I am going to lodge you here, for my wife is
very fond of your society; but the rooms will not be ready for another
six weeks."
"I shall take the opportunity, my lord, of paying a visit to the Palatin
of Kiowia, who has honoured me with an invitation to come and see him."
"Who gave you the invitation?"
"Count Bruhl, who is at Dresden; his wife is daughter of the palatin."
"This journey is an excellent idea, for this duel of yours has made you
innumerable enemies, and I only hope you will have to fight no more
duels. I give you fair warning; be on your guard, and never go on foot,
especially at night."
I spent a fortnight in going out to dinner and supper every day. I had
become the fashion, and wherever I went I had to tell the duel story over
again. I was rather tired of it myself, but the wish to please and my own
self-love were too strong to be resisted. The king was nearly always
present, but feigned not to hear me. However, he once asked me if I had
been insulted by a patrician in Venice, whether I should have called him
out immediately.
"No, sire, for his patrician pride would have prevented his complying,
and I should have had my pains for my trouble."
"Then what would you have done?"
"Sire, I should have contained myself, though if a noble Venetian were to
insult me in a foreign country he would have to give me satisfaction."
I called on Prince Moszczinski, and Madame Binetti happened to be there;
the moment she saw me she made her escape.
"What has she against me?" I asked the count.
"She is afraid of you, because she was the cause of the duel, and now
Branicki who was her lover will have nothing more to say to her. She
hoped he would serve you as he served Tomatis, and instead of that you
almost killed her bravo. She lays the fault on him for having accepted
your challenge, but he has resolved to have done with her."
This Count Moszczinski was both good-hearted and quick-witted, and so,
generous that he ruined himself by making presents. His wounds were
beginning to heal, but though I was the indirect cause of his mishap, far
from bearing malice against me he had become my friend.
The person whom I should have expected to be most grateful to me for the
duel was Tomatis, but on the contrary he hated the sight of me and hardly
concealed his feelings. I was the living reproach of his cowardice; my
wounded hand seemed to shew him that he had loved his money more than his
honour. I am sure he would have preferred Branicki to have killed me, for
then he would have become an object of general execration, and Tomatis
would have been received with less contempt in the great houses he still
frequented.
I resolved to pay a visit to the discontented party who had only
recognized the new king on compulsion, and some of whom had not
recognized him at all; so I set out with my true friend Campioni and one
servant.
Prince Charles of Courland had started for Venice, where I had given him
letters for my illustrious friends who would make his visit a pleasant
one. The English ambassador who had given me an introduction to Prince
Adam had just arrived at Warsaw. I dined with him at the prince's house,
and the king signified his wish to be of the party. I heard a good deal
of conversation about Madame de Geoffrin, an old sweetheart of the king's
whom he had just summoned to Warsaw. The Polish monarch, of whom I cannot
speak in too favourable terms, was yet weak enough to listen to the
slanderous reports against me, and refused to make my fortune. I had the
pleasure of convincing him that he was mistaken, but I will speak of this
later on.
I arrived at Leopol the sixth day after I had left Warsaw, having stopped
a couple of days at Prince Zamoiski's; he had forty thousand ducats
a-year, but also the falling sickness.
"I would give all my goods," said he, "to be cured."
I pitied his young wife. She was very fond of him, and yet had to deny
him, for his disease always came on him in moments of amorous excitement.
She had the bitter task of constantly refusing him, and even of running
away if he pressed her hard. This great nobleman, who died soon after,
lodged me in a splendid room utterly devoid of furniture. This is the
Polish custom; one is supposed to bring one's furniture with one.
At Leopol I put up, at an hotel, but I soon had to move from thence to
take up my abode with the famous Kaminska, the deadly foe of Branicki,
the king, and all that party. She was very rich, but she has since been
ruined by conspiracies. She entertained me sumptuously for a week, but
the visit was agreeable to neither side, as she could only speak Polish
and German. From Leopol I proceeded to a small town, the name of which I
forget (the Polish names are very crabbed) to take an introduction from
Prince Lubomirski to Joseph Rzewuski, a little old man who wore a long
beard as a sign of mourning for the innovations that were being
introduced into his country. He was rich, learned, superstitiously
religious, and polite exceedingly. I stayed with him for three days. He
was the commander of a stronghold containing a garrison of five hundred
men.
On the first day, as I was in his room with some other officers, about
eleven o'clock in the morning, another officer came in, whispered to
Rzewuski, and then came up to me and whispered in my ear, "Venice and St.
Mark."
"St. Mark," I answered aloud, "is the patron saint and protector of
Venice," and everybody began to laugh.
It dawned upon me that "Venice and St. Mark" was the watchword, and I
began to apologize profusely, and the word was changed.
The old commander spoke to me with great politeness. He never went to
Court, but he had resolved on going to the Diet to oppose the Russian
party with all his might. The poor man, a Pole of the true old leaven,
was one of the four whom Repnin arrested and sent to Siberia.
After taking leave of this brave patriot, I went to Christianpol, where
lived the famous palatin Potocki, who had been one of the lovers of the
empress Anna Ivanovna. He had founded the town in which he lived and
called it after his own name. This nobleman, still a fine man, kept a
splendid court. He honoured Count Bruhl by keeping me at his house for a
fortnight, and sending me out every day with his doctor, the famous
Styrneus, the sworn foe of Van Swieten, a still more famous physician.
Although Styrneus was undoubtedly a learned man, I thought him somewhat
extravagant and empirical. His system was that of Asclepiades, considered
as exploded since the time of the great Boerhaave; nevertheless, he
effected wonderful cures.
In the evenings I was always with the palatin and his court. Play was not
heavy, and I always won, which was fortunate and indeed necessary for me.
After an extremely agreeable visit to the palatin I returned to Leopol,
where I amused myself for a week with a pretty girl who afterwards so
captivated Count Potocki, starost of Sniatin, that he married her. This
is purity of blood with a vengeance in your noble families!
Leaving Leopol I went to Palavia, a splendid palace on the Vistula,
eighteen leagues distant from Warsaw. It belonged to the prince palatin,
who had built it himself.
Howsoever magnificent an abode may be, a lonely man will weary of it
unless he has the solace of books or of some great idea. I had neither,
and boredom soon made itself felt.
A pretty peasant girl came into my room, and finding her to my taste I
tried to make her understand me without the use of speech, but she
resisted and shouted so loudly that the door-keeper came up, and asked
me, coolly,--
"If you like the girl, why don't you go the proper way to work?"
"What way is that?"
"Speak to her father, who is at hand, and arrange the matter amicably."
"I don't know Polish. Will you carry the thing through?"
"Certainly. I suppose you will give fifty florins?"
"You are laughing at me. I will give a hundred willingly, provided she is
a maid and is as submissive as a lamb."
No doubt the arrangement was made without difficulty, for our hymen took
place the same evening, but no sooner was the operation completed than
the poor lamb fled away in hot haste, which made me suspect that her
father had used rather forcible persuasion with her. I would not have
allowed this had I been aware of it.
The next morning several girls were offered to me, but the faces of all
of them were covered.
"Where is the girl?" said I. "I want to see her face."
"Never mind about the face, if the rest is all right."
"The face is the essential part for me," I replied, "and the rest I look
upon as an accessory."
He did not understand this. However, they were uncovered, but none of
their faces excited my desires.
As a rule, the Polish women are ugly; a beauty is a miracle, and a pretty
woman a rare exception. At the end of a week of feasting and weariness, I
returned to Warsaw.
In this manner I saw Podolia and Volkynia, which were rebaptized a few
years later by the names of Galicia and Lodomeria, for they are now part
of the Austrian Empire. It is said, however, that they are more
prosperous than they ever were before.
At Warsaw I found Madame Geoffrin the object of universal admiration; and
everybody was remarking with what simplicity she was dressed. As for
myself, I was received not coldly, but positively rudely. People said to
my face,--
"We did not expect to see you here again. Why did you come back?"
"To pay my debts."
This behaviour astonished and disgusted me. The prince-palatin even
seemed quite changed towards me. I was still invited to dinner, but no
one spoke to me. However, Prince Adam's sister asked me very kindly to
come and sup with her, and I accepted the invitation with delight. I
found myself seated opposite the king, who did not speak one word to me
the whole time. He had never behaved to me thus before.
The next day I dined with the Countess Oginski, and in the course of
dinner the countess asked where the king had supper the night before;
nobody seemed to know, and I did not answer. Just as we were rising,
General Roniker came in, and the question was repeated.
"At Princess Strasnikowa's," said the general, "and M. Casanova was
there."
"Then why did you not answer my question?" said the countess to me.
"Because I am very sorry to have been there. His majesty neither spoke to
me nor looked at me. I see I am in disgrace, but for the life of me I
know not why."
On leaving the house I went to call on Prince Augustus Sulkowski, who
welcomed me as of old, but told me that I had made a mistake in returning
to Warsaw as public opinion was against me.
"What have I done?"
"Nothing; but the Poles are always inconstant and changeable. 'Sarmatarum
virtus veluti extra ipsos'. This inconstancy will cost us dear sooner or
later. Your fortune was made, but you missed the turn of the tide, and I
advise you to go."
"I will certainly do so, but it seems to me rather hard."
When I got home my servant gave me a letter which some unknown person had
left at my door. I opened it and found it to be anonymous, but I could
see it came from a well-wisher. The writer said that the slanderers had
got the ears of the king, and that I was no longer a persona grata at
Court, as he had been assured that the Parisians had burnt me in effigy
for my absconding with the lottery money, and that I had been a strolling
player in Italy and little better than a vagabond.
Such calumnies are easy to utter but hard to refute in a foreign country.
At all Courts hatred, born of envy, is ever at work. I might have
despised the slanders and left the country, but I had contracted debts
and had not sufficient money to pay them and my expenses to Portugal,
where I thought I might do something.
I no longer saw any company, with the exception of Campioni, who seemed
more distressed than myself. I wrote to Venice and everywhere else, where
there was a chance of my getting funds; but one day the general, who had
been present at the duel, called on me, and told me (though he seemed
ashamed of his task) that the king requested me to leave the ban in the
course of a week.
Such a piece of insolence made my blood boil, and I informed the general
that he might tell the king that I did not feel inclined to obey such an
unjust order, and that if I left I would let all the world know that I
had been compelled to do so by brute force.
"I cannot take such a message as that," said the general, kindly. "I
shall simply tell the king that I have executed his orders, and no more;
but of course you must follow your own judgment."
In the excess of my indignation I wrote to the king that I could not obey
his orders and keep my honour. I said in my letter,--
"My creditors, sire, will forgive me for leaving Poland without paying my
debts, when they learn that I have only done so because your majesty gave
me no choice."
I was thinking how I could ensure this letter reaching the king, when who
should arrive but Count Moszczinski. I told him what had happened, and
asked if he could suggest any means of delivering tire letter. "Give it
to me," said he; "I will place it in the king's hands."
As soon as he had gone I went out to take the air, and called on Prince
Sulkowski, who was not at all astonished at my news. As if to sweeten the
bitter pill I had to swallow, he told me how the Empress of Austria had
ordered him to leave Vienna in twenty-four hours, merely because he had
complimented the Archduchess Christina on behalf of Prince Louis of
Wurtemberg.
The next day Count Moszczinski brought me a present of a thousand ducats
from the king, who said that my leaving Warsaw would probably be the
means of preserving my life, as in that city I was exposed to danger
which I could not expect to escape eventually.
This referred to five or six challenges I had received, and to which I
had not even taken the trouble to reply. My enemies might possibly
assassinate me, and the king did not care to be constantly anxious on my
account. Count Moszczinski added that the order to leave carried no
dishonour with it, considering by whom it had been delivered, and the
delay it gave me to make my preparations.
The consequence of all this was that I not only gave my word to go, but
that I begged the count to thank his majesty for his kindness, and the
interest he had been pleased to take in me.
When I gave in, the generous Moszczinski embraced me, begged me to write
to him, and accept a present of a travelling carriage as a token of his
friendship. He informed me that Madame Binetti's husband had gone off
with his wife's maid, taking with him her diamonds, jewels, linen, and
even her silver plate, leaving her to the tender mercies of the dancer,
Pic. Her admirers had clubbed together to make up to her for what her
husband had stolen. I also heard that the king's sister had arrived at
Warsaw from Bialistock, and it was hoped that her husband would follow
her. This husband was the real Count Branicki, and the Branicki, or
rather Branecki, or Bragnecki, who had fought with me, was no relation to
him whatever.
The following day I paid my debts, which amounted to about two hundred
ducats, and I made preparations for starting for Breslau, the day after,
with Count Clary, each of us having his own carriage. Clary was one of
those men to whom lying has become a sort of second nature; whenever such
an one opens his mouth, you may safely say to him, "You have lied, or you
are going to lie." If they could feel their own degradation, they would
be much to be pitied, for by their own fault at last no one will believe
them even when by chance they speak the truth. This Count Clary, who was
not one of the Clarys of Teplitz, could neither go to his own country nor
to Vienna, because he had deserted the army on the eve of a battle. He
was lame, but he walked so adroitly that his defect did not appear. If
this had been the only truth he concealed, it would have been well, for
it was a piece of deception that hurt no one. He died miserably in
Venice.
We reached Breslau in perfect safety, and without experiencing any
adventures. Campioni, who had accompanied me as far as Wurtemburg,
returned, but rejoined me at Vienna in the course of seven months. Count
Clary had left Breslau, and I thought I would make the acquaintance of
the Abbe Bastiani, a celebrated Venetian, whose fortune had been made by
the King of Prussia. He was canon of the cathedral, and received me
cordially; in fact, each mutually desired the other's acquaintance. He
was a fine well-made man, fair-complexioned, and at least six feet high.
He was also witty, learned, eloquent, and gifted with a persuasive voice;
his cook was an artist, his library full of choice volumes, and his
cellar a very good one. He was well lodged on the ground floor, and on
the first floor he accommodated a lady, of whose children he was very
fond, possibly because he was their father. Although a great admirer of
the fair sex, his tastes were by no means exclusive, and he did not
despise love of the Greek or philosophic kind. I could see that he
entertained a passion for a young priest whom I met at his table. This
young abbe was Count di Cavalcano and Bastiani seemed to adore him, if
fiery glances signified anything; but the innocent young man did not seem
to understand, and I suppose Bastiani did not like to lower his dignity
by declaring his love. The canon shewed me all the letters he had
received from the King of Prussia before he had been made canon. He was
the son of a tailor at Venice, and became a friar, but having committed
some peccadillo which got him into trouble, he was fortunate enough to be
able to make his escape. He fled to The Hague, and there met Tron, the
Venetian ambassador, who lent him a hundred ducats with which he made his
way to Berlin and favour with the king. Such are the ways by which men
arrive at fortune! 'Sequere deum'!
On the event of my departure from Breslau I went to pay a call on a
baroness for whom I had a letter of introduction from her son, who was an
officer of the Polish Court. I sent up my name and was asked to wait a
few moments, as the baroness was dressing. I sat down beside a pretty
girl, who was neatly dressed in a mantle with a hood. I asked her if she
were waiting for the baroness like myself.
"Yes, sir," she replied, "I have come to offer myself as governess for
her three daughters."
"What! Governess at your age?"
"Alas! sir, age has nothing to do with necessity. I have neither father
nor mother. My brother is a poor lieutenant who cannot help me; what can
I do? I can only get a livelihood by turning my good education to
account."
"What will your salary be?"
"Fifty wretched crowns, enough to buy my dresses."
"It's very little."
"It is as much as people give."
"Where are you living now?"
"With a poor aunt, where I can scarce earn enough bread to keep me alive
by sewing from morning till night."
"If you liked to become my governess instead of becoming a children's
governess, I would give you fifty crowns, not per year, but per month."
"Your governess? Governess to your family, you mean, I suppose?"
"I have no family; I am a bachelor, and I spend my time in travelling. I
leave at five o'clock to-morrow morning for Dresden, and if you like to
come with me there is a place for you in my carriage. I am staying at
such an inn. Come there with your trunk, and we will start together."
"You are joking; besides, I don't know you."
"I am not jesting; and we should get to know each other perfectly well in
twenty-four hours; that is ample time."
My serious air convinced the girl that I was not laughing at her; but she
was still very much astonished, while I was very much astonished to find
I had gone so far when I had only intended to joke. In trying to win over
the girl I had won over myself. It seemed to me a rare adventure, and I
was delighted to see that she was giving it her serious attention by the
side-glances she kept casting in my direction to see if I was laughing at
her. I began to think that fate had brought us together that I might
become the architect of her fortune. I had no doubt whatever as to her
goodness or her feelings for me, for she completely infatuated my
judgment. To put the finishing stroke on the affair I drew out two ducats
and gave them her as an earnest of her first month's wages. She took them
timidly, but seemed convinced that I was not imposing on her.
By this time the baroness was ready, and she welcomed me very kindly; but
I said I could not accept her invitation to dine with her the following
day, as I was leaving at day-break. I replied to all the questions that a
fond mother makes concerning her son, and then took leave of the worthy
lady. As I went out I noticed that the would-be governess had
disappeared. The rest of the day I spent with the canon, making good
cheer, playing ombre, drinking hard, and talking about girls or
literature. The next day my carriage came to the door at the time I had
arranged, and I went off without thinking of the girl I had met at the
baroness's. But we had not gone two hundred paces when the postillion
stopped, a bundle of linen whirled through the window into the carriage,
and the governess got in. I gave her a hearty welcome by embracing her,
and made her sit down beside me, and so we drove off.
In the ensuing chapter the reader will become more fully acquainted with
my fresh conquest. In the meantime let him imagine me rolling peacefully
along the Dresden road.
CHAPTER XXIII
My Arrival at Dresden with Maton--She Makes Me a Present--
Leipzig--Castelbajac--Schwerin--Return to Dresden and
Departure--I Arrive at Vienna--Pocchini's Vengeance
When I saw myself in the carriage with this pretty girl, who had fallen
on me as if from the clouds, I imagined I was intended to shape her
destiny. Her tutelary genius must have placed her in my hands, for I felt
inclined to do her all the good that lay in my power. But for myself; was
it a piece of good or ill luck for me? I formed the question, but felt
that time alone could give the answer. I knew that I was still living in
my old style, while I was beginning to feel that I was no longer a young
man.
I was sure that my new companion could not have abandoned herself to me
in this manner, without having made up her mind to be complaisant; but
this was not enough for me, it was my humour to be loved. This was my
chief aim, everything else was only fleeting enjoyment, and as I had not
had a love affair since I parted with Zaira, I hoped most fervently that
the present adventure would prove to be one.
Before long I learnt that my companion's name was Maton; this at least
was her surname, and I did not feel any curiosity to know the name of the
he or she saint whom her godmothers had constituted her patron at the
baptismal font. I asked her if she could write French as well as she
spoke it, and she shewed me a letter by way of sample. It assured me that
she had received an excellent education, and this fact increased my
pleasure in the conquest I had made. She said she had left Breslau
without telling her aunt or her cousin that she was going, perhaps never
to return.
"How about your belongings?"
"Belongings? They were not worth the trouble of gathering together. All I
have is included in that small package, which contains a chemise, a pair
of stockings, some handkerchiefs, and a few nicknacks."
"What will your lover say?"
"Alas! I haven't got one to say anything."
"I cannot credit that."
"I have had two lovers; the first one was a rascal, who took advantage of
my innocence to seduce me, and then left me when I ceased to present any
novelty for him; my second was an honest man, but a poor lieutenant with
no prospects of getting on. He has not abandoned me, but his regiment was
ordered to Stetin, and since then--"
"And since then?"
"We were too poor to write to one another, so we had to suffer in
silence."
This pathetic history seemed to bear the marks of truth; and I thought it
very possible that Maton had only come with me to make her fortune or to
do rather better than she had been doing, which would not be difficult.
She was twenty-five years old, and as she had never been out of Breslau
before, she would doubtless be delighted to see what the world was like
at Dresden. I could not help feeling that I had been a fool to burden
myself with the girl, who would most likely cost me a lot of money; but
still I found my conduct excusable, as the chances were a hundred to one
against her accepting the proposal I had been foolish enough to make. In
short, I resolved to enjoy the pleasure of having a pretty girl all to
myself, and I determined not to do anything during the journey, being
anxious to see whether her moral qualities would plead as strongly with
me as her physical beauty undoubtedly did. At nightfall I stopped,
wishing to spend the night at the posting-station. Maton, who had been
very hungry all day, but had not dared to tell me so, ate with an amazing
and pleasing appetite; but not being accustomed to wine, she would have
fallen asleep at table, if I had not begged her to retire. She begged my
pardon, assuring me she would not let such a thing occur again. I smiled
by way of reply, and stayed at the table, not looking to see whether she
undressed or went to bed in her clothes. I went to bed myself soon after,
and at five o'clock was up again to order the coffee, and to see that the
horses were put in. Maton was lying on her bed with all her clothes on,
fast asleep, and perspiring with the heat. I woke her, telling her that
another time she must sleep more comfortably, as such heats were
injurious to health.
She got up and left the room, no doubt to wash, for she returned looking
fresh and gay, and bade me good day, and asked me if I would like to give
her a kiss.
"I shall be delighted," I replied; and, after kissing her, I made her
hurry over the breakfast, as I wished to reach Dresden that evening.
However, I could not manage it, my carriage broke down, and took five
hours to mend, so I had to sleep at another posting station. Maton
undressed this time, but I had the firmness not to look at her.
When I reached Dresden I put up at the "Hotel de Saxe," taking the whole
of the first floor. My mother was in the country, and I paid her a visit,
much to her delight; we made quite an affecting picture, with my arm in a
sling. I also saw my brother John and his wife Therese, Roland, and a
Roman girl whom I had known before him, and who made much of me. I also
saw my sister, and I then went with my brother to pay my suit to Count
Bruhl and to his wife, the daughter of the palatin of Kiowia, who was
delighted to hear news of her family. I was welcomed everywhere, and
everywhere I had to tell the story of my duel. I confess that very little
pressing was required, for I was very proud of it.
At this period the States were assembled in Dresden, and Prince Xavier,
uncle of the Elector, was regent during his minority.
The same evening I went to the opera-house, where faro was played. I
played, but prudently, for my capital only consisted of eighteen hundred
ducats.
When I came back we had a good supper, and Maton pleased me both by her
appetite and amiability. When we had finished I affectionately asked her
if she would like to share my bed, and she replied as tenderly that she
was wholly mine. And so, after passing a voluptuous night, we rose in the
morning the best friends in the world.
I spent the whole morning in furnishing her toilette. A good many people
called on me, and wanted to be presented to Maton; but my answer was
that, as she was only my housekeeper, and not my wife, I could not have
the pleasure of introducing her. In the same way I had instructed her
that she was not to let anyone in when I was away. She was working in her
room on the linen I had provided for her, aided in her task by a
seamstress. Nevertheless, I did not want to make her a slave, so I
occasionally took her into the pleasant suburbs of Dresden, where she was
at liberty to speak to any of my acquaintances we might meet.
This reserve of mine which lasted for the fortnight we stayed in Dresden
was mortifying for all the young officers in the place, and especially
for the Comte de Bellegarde, who was not accustomed to being denied any
girl to whom he chose to take a fancy. He was a fine young fellow, of
great boldness and even impudence, and one day he came into our room and
asked me to give him a dinner just as Maton and myself were sitting down
to table. I could not refuse him, and I could not request Maton to leave
the room, so from the beginning to the end of the meal he showered his
military jokes and attentions on her, though he was perfectly polite the
whole time. Maton behaved very well; she was not prudish, nor did she
forget the respect she owed to me and indeed to herself.
I was accustomed to take a siesta every day after dinner, so half an hour
after the conclusion of the meal I stated the fact and begged him to
leave us. He asked smilingly if the lady took a siesta too, and I replied
that we usually took it together. This made him take up his hat and cane,
and as he did so he asked us both to dine with him the next day. I
replied that I never took Maton out anywhere, but that he would be
welcome to come and take pot-luck with us every day if he liked.
This refusal exhausted his resources, and he took his leave if not
angrily, at least very coldly.
My mother returned to her town apartments, which were opposite to mine,
and the next day when I was calling on her I noticed the erker (a sort of
grating in the Spanish fashion) which indicated my rooms in the hotel. I
happened to look in that direction and I saw Maton at the window standing
up and talking to M. de Bellegarde, who was at a neighbouring window.
This window belonged to a room which adjoined my suite of rooms, but did
not belong to it. This discovery amused me. I knew what I was about, and
did not fear to be made a cuckold in spite of myself. I was sure I had
not been observed, and I was not going to allow any trespassers. I was
jealous, in fact; but the jealousy was of the mind, not the heart.
I came in to dinner in the highest spirits, and Maton was as gay as
myself. I led the conversation up to Bellegarde, and said I believed him
to be in love with her.
"Oh, he is like all officers with girls; but I don't think he is more in
love with me than any other girl."
"Oh, but didn't he come to call on me this morning?"
"Certainly not; and if he had come the maid would have told him you were
out."
"Did you not notice him walking up and down 'under the windows?"
"No."
This was enough for me; I knew they had laid a plot together. Maton was
deceiving me, and I should be cheated in twenty-four hours unless I took
care. At my age such treason should not have astonished me, but my vanity
would not allow me to admit the fact.
I dissembled my feelings and caressed the traitress, and then leaving the
house I went to the theatre where I played with some success and returned
home while the second act was in progress; it was still daylight. The
waiter was at the door, and I asked him whether there were any rooms
besides those which I occupied on the first floor. "Yes, two rooms, both
looking on the street."
"Tell the landlord that I will take them both."
"They were taken yesterday evening."
"By whom?"
"By a Swiss officer, who is entertaining a party of friends to supper
here this evening."
I said no more lest I should awaken suspicion; but I felt sure that
Bellegarde could easily obtain access to my rooms from his. Indeed, there
was a door leading to the room where Maton slept with her maid when I did
not care to have her in my room. The door was bolted on her side, but as
she was in the plot there was not much security in this.
I went upstairs softly, and finding Maton on the balcony, I said, after
some indifferent conversation, that I should like to change rooms.
"You shall have my room," I said, "and I will have yours; I can read
there, and see the people going by."
She thought it a very good idea, and added that it would serve us both if
I would allow her to sit there when I was out.
This reply shewed me that Maton was an old hand, and that I had better
give her up if I did not wish to be duped.
I changed the rooms, and we supped pleasantly together, laughing and
talking, and in spite of all her craft Maton did not notice any change in
me.
I remained alone in my new room, and soon heard the voices of Bellegarde
and his merry companions. I went on to the balcony, but the curtains of
Bellegarde's room were drawn, as if to assure me that there was no
complot. However, I was not so easily deceived, and I found afterwards
that Mercury had warned Jupiter that Amphytrion had changed his room.
Next day, a severe headache, a thing from which I seldom suffer, kept me
to the house all day. I had myself let blood, and my worthy mother, who
came to keep me company, dined with Maton. My mother had taken a weakness
for the girl, and had often asked me to let her come and see her, but I
had the good sense to refuse this request. The next day I was still far
from well, and took medicine, and in the evening, to my horror, I found
myself attacked by a fearful disease. This must be a present from Maton,
for I had not known anyone else since leaving Leopol. I spent a troubled
night, rage and indignation being my principal emotions; and next
morning, coming upon Maton suddenly, I found everything in the most
disgusting state. The wretched creature confessed she had been infected
for the last six months, but that she had hoped not to give it me, as she
had washed herself carefully whenever she thought I was going to have to
do with her.
"Wretch, you have poisoned me; but nobody shall know it, as it is by my
own fault, and I am ashamed of it. Get up, and you shall see how generous
I can be."
She got up, and I had all the linen I had given her packed into a trunk.
This done, I told my man to take a small room for her at another inn. His
errand was soon over, and I then told Maton to go immediately, as I had
done with her. I gave her fifty crowns, and made her sign a receipt
specifying the reason why I had sent her away, and acknowledging that she
had no further claim upon me. The conditions were humiliating, and she
wished me to soften them down, but she soon gave in when I told her that
unless she signed I would turn her into the streets as naked as when I
found her.
"What am I to do here? I don't know anyone."
"If you like to return to Breslau I will pay your expenses there."
She made no answer, so I sent her away bag and baggage, and merely turned
my back on her when she went down on her knees to excite my compassion.
I got rid of her without the slightest feeling of pity, for from what she
had done to me and from what she was preparing to do I considered her as
a mere monster, who would sooner or later have cost me my life.
I left the inn the following day, and I took a furnished apartment on the
first floor of the house where my mother lived for six months, and
proceeded about my cure. Everyone asked me what I had done with my
housekeeper, and I said that having no further need of her services I had
sent her away.
A week afterwards my brother John came to tell me that Bellegarde and
five or six of his friends were on the sick list; Maton had certainly
lost no time.
"I am sorry for them, but it's their own fault; why didn't they take more
care?"
"But the girl came to Dresden with you."
"Yes, and I sent her about her business. It was enough for me to keep
them off while she was under my charge. Tell them that if they complain
of me they are wrong, and still more wrong to publish their shame. Let
them learn discretion and get themselves cured in secrecy, if they do not
want sensible men to laugh at them. Don't you think I am right?"
"The adventure is not a very honourable one for you."
"I know it, and that's why I say nothing; I am not such a fool as to
proclaim my shame from the housetops. These friends of yours must be
simpletons indeed; they must have known that I had good reasons for
sending the girl away, and should consequently have been on their guard.
They deserve what they got, and I hope it may be a lesson to them."
"They are all astonished at your being well."
"You may comfort them by saying that I have been as badly treated as
they, but that I have held my tongue, not wishing to pass for a
simpleton."
Poor John saw he had been a simpleton himself and departed in silence. I
put myself under a severe diet, and by the middle of August my health was
re-established.
About this time, Prince Adam Czartoryski's sister came to Dresden,
lodging with Count Bruhl. I had the honour of paying my court to her, and
I heard from her own mouth that her royal cousin had had the weakness to
let himself be imposed on by calumnies about me. I told her that I was of
Ariosto's opinion that all the virtues are nothing worth unless they are
covered with the veil of constancy.
"You saw yourself when I supped with you, how his majesty completely
ignored me. Your highness will be going to Paris next year; you will meet
me there and you can write to the king that if I had been burnt in effigy
I should not venture to shew myself."
The September fair being a great occasion at Leipzig, I went there to
regain my size by eating larks, for which Leipzig is justly famous. I had
played a cautious but a winning game at Dresden, the result of which had
been the gain of some hundreds of ducats, so I was able to start for
Leipzig with a letter of credit for three thousand crowns on the banker
Hohman, an intelligent old man of upwards of eighty. It was of him I
heard that the hair of the Empress of Russia, which looked a dark brown
or even black, had been originally quite fair. The old banker had seen
her at Stettin every day between her seventh and tenth years, and told me
that even then they had begun to comb her hair with lead combs, and to
rub a certain composition into it. From an early age Catherine had been
looked upon as the future bride of the Duke of Holstein, afterwards the
hapless Peter III. The Russians are fair as a rule, and so it was thought
it that the reigning family should be dark.
Here I will note down a pleasant adventure I had at Leipzig. The Princess
of Aremberg had arrived from Vienna, and was staying at the same hotel as
myself. She took a fancy to go to the fair incognito, and as she had a
large suite she dressed up one of her maids as the princess, and mingled
with her following. I suppose my readers to be aware that this princess
was witty and beautiful, and that she was the favourite mistress of the
Emperor Francis the First.
I heard of his masquerade, and leaving my hotel at the same time I
followed her till she stopped at a stall, and then going up to her and
addressing her as one would any other maid, I asked if that (pointing at
the false princess) were really the famous Princess of Aremberg.
"Certainly," she replied.
"I can scarcely believe it, for she is not pretty, and she, has, not the
look nor the manners of a princess."
"Perhaps you are not a good judge of princesses."
"I have seen enough of them anyhow, and to prove that I am a good judge I
say that it is you who ought to be the princess; I would willingly give a
hundred ducats to spend the night with you."
"A hundred ducats! What would you do if I were to take you at your word?"
"Try me. I lodge at the same hotel as you, and if yet can contrive ways
and means, I will give you the money in advance, but not till I am sure
of my prize, for I don't like being taken in."
"Very good. Say not a word to anyone, but try to speak with me either
before or after supper. If you are brave enough to face certain risks, we
will spend the night together."
"What is your name?"
"Caroline."
I felt certain it would come to nothing, but I was glad to have amused
the princess, and to have let her know that I appreciated her beauties,
and I resolved to go on with the part I was playing. About supper-time I
began a promenade near the princess's apartments, stopping every now and
then in front of the room where her women were sitting, till one of them
came out to ask me if I wanted anything.
"I want to speak for a moment to one of your companions to whom I had the
pleasure of talking at the fair."
"You mean Caroline, I expect?"
"Yes."
"She is waiting on the princess, but she will be out in half an hour."
I spent this half hour in my own room, and then returned to dance
attendance. Before long the same maid to whom I had spoken came up to me
and told me to wait in a closet which she shewed me, telling me that
Caroline would be there before long. I went into the closet, which was
small, dark, and uncomfortable. I was soon joined by a woman. This time I
was sure it was the real Caroline, but I said nothing.
She came, in, took my hand, and told me that if I would wait there she
would come to me as soon as her mistress was in bed.
"Without any light?"
"Of course, or else the people of the house would notice it, and I should
not like that."
"I cannot do anything without light, charming Caroline; and besides, this
closet is not a very nice place to pass five or six hours. There is
another alternative, the first room above is mine. I shall be alone, and
I swear to you that no one shall come in; come up and make me happy; I
have got the hundred ducats here."
"Impossible! I dare not go upstairs for a million ducats."
"So much the worse for you, as I am not going to stay in this hole which
has only a chair in it, if you offer me a million and a half. Farewell,
sweet Caroline."
"Wait a moment; let me go out first."
The sly puss went out quickly enough, but I was as sharp as she, and trod
on the tail of her dress so that she could not shut the door after her.
So we went out together, and I left her at the door, saying,--
"Good night, Caroline, you see it was no use."
I went to bed well pleased with the incident. The princess, it was plain,
had intended to make me pass the night in the hole of a closet, as a
punishment for having dared to ask the mistress of an emperor to sleep
with me for a hundred crowns.
Two days later, as I was buying a pair of lace cuffs, the princess came
into the shop with Count Zinzendorf, whom I had known at Paris twelve
years before just as I was making way for the lady the count recognized
me, and asked me if I knew anything about the Casanova that had fought
the duel at Warsaw.
"Alas! count, I am that Casanova, and here is my arm still in a sling."
"I congratulate you, my dear fellow; I should like to hear about it."
With these words he introduced me to the princess, asking her if she had
heard of the duel.
"Yes; I heard something about it in the papers. So this is the hero of
the tale. Delighted to make your acquaintance."
The princess spoke with great kindness, but with the cool politeness of
the Court. She did not give me the slightest sign of recognition, and of
course I imitated her in her reserve.
I visited the count in the afternoon, and he begged me to come and see
the princess, who would be delighted to hear the account of my duel from
my own lips, and I followed him to her apartment with pleasure. The
princess listened to my narrative in stately sort, and her women never
looked at me. She went away the day after, and the story went no farther.
Towards the end of the fair I received a very unexpected visit from the
fair Madame Castelbajac. I was just sitting down to table to eat a dozen
larks, when she made her appearance.
"What, madam, you here!"
"Yes, to my sorrow. I have been here for the last three weeks, and have
seen you several times, but you have always avoided us."
"Who are 'us'?"
"Schwerin and myself."
"Schwerin is here, is he?"
"Yes; and in prison on account of a forged bill. I am sure I do not know
what they will do to the poor wretch. He would have been wise to have
fled, but it seems as if he wanted to get hanged."
"And you have been with him ever since you left England? that is, three
years ago."
"Exactly. Our occupation is robbing, cheating, and escaping from one land
to another. Never was a woman so unhappy as I."
"For how much is the forged bill?"
"For three hundred crowns. Do a generous action M. Casanova, and let
bygones be bygones; deliver the poor wretch from the gallows and me from
death, for if he is hanged I shall kill myself."
"Indeed, madam, he may hang for me, for he did his best to send me to the
gallows with his forged bills; but I confess I pity you. So much, indeed,
that I invite you to come to Dresden with me the day after to-morrow, and
I promise to give you three hundred crowns as soon as Schwerin has
undergone the extreme penalty of the law. I can't understand how a woman
like you can have fallen in love with a man that has neither face, nor
talents, nor wit, nor fortune, for all that he has to boast of is his
name of Schwerin."
"I confess, to my shame, that I never loved him. Ever since the other
rogue, Castelbajac--who, by the way, was never married to me--made me
know him, I have only lived with him by force, though his tears and his
despairs have excited my compassion. If destiny had given me an honest
man in his stead, I would have forsaken him long ago, for sooner or later
he will be the death of me."
"Where do you live?"
"Nowhere. I have been turned out into the street with nothing but the
clothes on my back. Have compassion on me."
With these words the hapless woman threw herself at my knees and burst
into tears. I was much affected. The waiter of the inn stood staring with
amazement till I told him to go out. I may safely say that this woman was
one of the most handsome in France; she was probably about twenty-six
years old. She had been the wife of a druggist of Montpellier, and had
been so unfortunate as to let Castelbajac seduce her. At London her
beauty had produced no impression on me, my heart was another's;
nevertheless, she was made to seduce the heart of man.
I raised her from her knees, and said I felt inclined to help her, but
that in the first place she must calm herself, and in the second share my
supper. The waiter brought another bed and put it in my room, without
receiving any orders to do so; this made me feel inclined to laugh.
The appetite with which the poor woman ate, despite her sorrow, reminded
me of the matron of Ephesus. When supper was over I gave her her choice:
she might either stay in Leipzig and fare as best she might, or I would
reclaim her effects, take her with me to Dresden, and pay her a hundred
gold ducats as soon as I could be certain that she would not give the
money to the wretch who had reduced her to such an extremity. She did not
ask much time for reflection. She said that it would be no good for her
to stay in Leipzig, for she could do nothing for the wretched Schwerin or
even keep herself for a day, for she had not got a farthing. She would
have to beg or to become a prostitute, and she could not make up her mind
to either course.
"Indeed," she concluded, "if you were to give me the hundred ducats this
moment, and I used them to free Schwerin, I should be no better off than
before; so I accept your generous offer thankfully."
I embraced her, promised to get back what her landlord had seized for
rent, and then begged her to go to bed, as she was in need of rest.
"I see," she answered, "that either out of liking or for politeness' sake
you will ask me for those favours which I should be only too happy to
grant, but if I allowed that it would be a bad return indeed for your
kindness. Look at my linen, and behold in what a state that unhappy
wretch has left me!"
I saw that I ran the risk of being infected again, and thanked her for
warning me of the danger I ran. In spite of her faults she was a woman of
feeling, and had an excellent heart, and from these good qualities of
hers proceeded all her misfortunes.
The next morning I arranged for the redemption of her effects, which cost
me sixty crowns of Saxony, and in the afternoon the poor woman saw
herself once more in possession of her belongings, which she had thought
never to see again. She seemed profoundly grateful, and deplored her
state, which hindered her from proving the warmth of her feelings.
Such is the way of women: a grateful woman has only one way of shewing
her gratitude, and that is to surrender herself without reserve. A man is
different, but we are differently constituted; a man is made to give and
a woman to receive.
The next day, a short while before we left, the broker I had employed in
the redemption of the lady's effects, told me that the banker, whom
Schwerin had cheated, was going to send an express to Berlin, to enquire
whether the king would object to Count Schwerin's being proceeded against
with the utmost rigour of the law.
"Alas!" cried his late mistress, "that's what he was most afraid of. It's
all up with him. The King of Prussia will pay his debts, but he will end
his days at Spandau. Why didn't they put him there before I ever knew
him?"
She left Leipzig with me, and our appearance at Dresden caused a good
deal of surprise. She was not a mere girl, like Maton; she had a good
appearance, and a modest yet distinguished manner. I called her Countess
Blasin, and introduced her to my mother and relations, and put her in my
best room. I summoned the doctor who had treated me, and made him swear
not to disclose the countess's state, but to tell everyone that he came
to see me. I took her to the theatre, and it was my humour to have her
regarded as a person of distinction. Good treatment soon restored her to
health, and by the end of November she believed herself in a state to
reward me for my kindness.
The wedding was a secret one, but none the less pleasant; and as if by
way of wedding present the next day I heard that the King of Prussia had
paid Schwerin's debts, and had had him brought to Berlin under a strong
escort. If he is alive, the rascal is at Spandau to this day.
The time had come for me to pay her the hundred ducats. I told her
frankly that I was obliged to go to Portugal, and that I could not make
my appearance there in company with a pretty woman without failing in my
project. I added that my means would not allow me to pay double expenses
for so long a journey.
She had received too many proofs of my love to think for a moment that I
had got tired of her, and wanted to be on with some other woman. She told
me that she owed everything to me, while I owed nothing to her; and that
all she asked of me was to enable her to return to Montpellier.
"I have relations there," said she, "who will be glad to see me, and I
hope that my husband will let me return to him. I am the Prodigal Son,
and I hope to find in him the forgiving father."
I told her I would do my utmost to send her home in safety and comfort.
Towards the middle of December I left Dresden with Madame Blasin. My
purse only contained four hundred ducats, for I had had a run of bad luck
at play; and the journey to Leipzig had cost me altogether three hundred
ducats. I told my mistress nothing of all this, for my only thought was
how to please her.
We stayed a short while at Prague, and reached Vienna on Christmas Day.
We put up at the "Red Bull," the Countess Blasin (who had been
transformed into a milliner) in one room, and I in another, so that we
might pass for strangers while continuing our intimacy.
The next morning, as we were taking coffee together, two individuals came
into the room, and asked the rude question,--
"Who are you, madam?"
"My name is Blasin."
"Who is this gentleman?"
"You had better ask him."
"What are you doing at Vienna?"
"Taking coffee. I should have thought you could have seen that for
yourselves."
"If the gentleman is not your husband, you will leave the town within
twenty-four hours."
"The gentleman is my friend, and not my husband; and I shall leave Vienna
exactly when I choose, unless you make me go away by force."
"Very good. We are aware, sir, that you have a separate room, but that
makes no difference."
Thereupon one of the policemen entered my room, I following him.
"What do you want here?" said I.
"I am looking at your bed, and I can see you have not slept in it. That's
enough."
"The devil! What business have you here at all, and who authorizes such
disgraceful proceedings?"
He made no reply, but returned to Madame Blasin's room, where they both
ordered her to leave Vienna in the course of twenty-four hours, and then
they both left us.
"Dress yourself," said I to her, "and tell the French ambassador the
whole story. Tell him that you are a milliner, Blasin by name, and that
all you want is to go from here to Strasburg, and from there to
Montpellier."
While she was dressing I ordered a carriage and a servant to be in
attendance. She returned in an hour's time, and said the ambassador had
assured her that she would be left alone, and need not leave Vienna till
she thought fit. I took her to mass in triumph, and then, as the weather
was bad, we spent the rest of the day in eating and drinking and sitting
by the fire.
At eight o'clock in the evening the landlord came up and said very
politely that he had been ordered by the police to give the lady a room
at some distance from mine, and that he was obliged to obey.
"I am quite ready to change my room," said Madame Blasin, with a smile.
"Is the lady to sup alone?" I asked.
"I have received no instructions on that point."
"Then I will sup with her, and I hope you will treat us well."
"You shall be well served, sir."
In spite of the detestable and tyrannical police we spent the last four
days and nights together in the closest intimacy. When she left I wanted
her to take fifty Louis; but she would only have thirty, saying that she
could travel to Montpellier on that sum, and have money in her pocket
when she got there. Our parting was an affecting one. She wrote to me
from Strasburg, and we shall hear of her again when I describe my visit
to Montpellier.
The first day of the year 1767 I took an apartment in the house of a
certain Mr. Schroder, and I took letters of introduction to Madame de
Salmor and Madame de Stahremberg. I then called on the elder Calsabigi,
who was in the service of Prince Kaunitz.
This Calsabigi, whose whole body was one mass of eruption, always worked
in bed, and the minister, his master, went to see him almost every day. I
went constantly to the theatre, where Madame Vestris was dancing. On
January the 7th or 8th, I saw the empress dowager come to the theatre
dressed in black; she was received with applause, as this was the first
appearance she had made since the death of her husband. At Vienna I met
the Comte de la Perouse, who was trying to induce the empress to give him
half a million of florins, which Charles VI. owed his father. Through him
I made the acquaintance of the Spaniard Las Casas, a man of intelligence,
and, what is a rare thing in a Spaniard, free from prejudices. I also met
at the count's house the Venetian Uccelli, with whom I had been at St.
Cyprian's College at Muran; he was, at the time of which I write,
secretary to the ambassador, Polo Renieri. This gentleman had a great
esteem for me, but my affair with the State Inquisitors prevented him
from receiving me. My friend Campioni arrived at this date from Warsaw;
he had passed through Cracovia. I accommodated him in my apartment with
great pleasure. He had an engagement at London, but to my great delight
he was able to spend a couple of months with me.
Prince Charles of Courland, who had been at Venice and had been well
received by M. de Bragadin and my other friends, had been in Vienna and
had left it a fortnight before my arrival to return to Venice. Prince
Charles wrote to tell me that there was no bounds to the care and
kindness of my Venetian friends, and that he would be grateful to me for
all his days.
I lived very quietly at Vienna; my health was good, and I thought of
nothing but my journey to Portugal, which I intended to take place in the
spring. I saw no company of any kind, whether good or ill. I often called
on Calsabigi, who made a parade of his Atheism, and slandered my friend
Metastasio, who despised him. Calsabigi knew it and laughed at him; he
was a profound politician and the right hand of Prince Kaunitz.
One day after dinner, as I was sitting at table with my friend Campioni,
a pretty little girl, between twelve and thirteen, as I should imagine,
came into my room with mingled boldness and fear, and made me a low bow.
I asked her what she wanted, and she replied in Latin verse to the effect
that her mother was in the next room, and that if I liked she would come
in. I replied in Latin prose that I did not care about seeing her mother,
telling her my reasons with great plainness. She replied with four Latin
lines, but as they were not to the point I could see that she had learnt
them by heart, and repeated them like a parrot. She went on-still in
Latin verse--to tell me that her mother must come in or else the
authorities might think I was abusing her.
This last phrase was uttered with all the directness of the Latin style.
It made me burst out laughing, and I felt inclined to explain to her what
she had said in her own language. The little slut told me she was a
Venetian, and this putting me at my ease I told her that the authorities
would never suspect her of doing such a thing as she was too young. At
this the girl seemed to reflect a moment, and then recited some verses
from the Priapeia to the effect that unripe fruit is often more piquant
than that which is ripe. This was enough to set me on fire, and Campioni,
seeing that he was not wanted, went back to his room.
I drew her gently to me and asked her if her father was at Vienna. She
said yes, and instead of repulsing my caresses she proceeded to accompany
my actions with the recital of erotic verses. I sent her away with a fee
of two ducats, but before she went she gave me her address written in
German with four Latin verses beneath, stating that her bedfellow would
find her either Hebe or Ganymede, according to his liking.
I could not help admiring the ingenuity of her father, who thus contrived
to make a living out of his daughters. She was a pretty girl enough, but
at Vienna pretty girls are so common that they often have to starve in
spite of their charms. The Latin verses had been thrown in as an
attraction in this case, but I did not think she would find it very
remunerative in Vienna.
Next evening my evil genius made me go and seek her out at the address
she had given me. Although I was forty-two years old, in spite of the
experience I had had, I was so foolish as to go alone. The girl saw me
coming from the window, and guessing that I was looking for her, she came
down and shewed me in. I went in, I went upstairs, and when I found
myself in the presence of the wretch Pocchini my blood froze in my veins.
A feeling of false shame prevented my retracing my steps, as it might
have looked as if I had been afraid. In the same room were his pretended
wife, Catina, two Sclavonic-looking assassins, and the decoy-duck. I saw
that this was not a laughing matter, so I dissembled to the best of my
ability, and made up my mind to leave the place in five minutes' time.
Pocchini, swearing and blaspheming, began to reproach me with the manner
in which I had treated him in England, and said that his time had come,
and that my life was in his hands. One of the two Sclavs broke in, and
said we must make friends, and so made me sit down, opened a bottle, and
said we must drink together. I tried to put as good a face upon it as I
could, but I begged to be excused, on which Pocchini swore that I was
afraid of having to pay for the bottle of wine.
"You are mistaken," said I; "I am quite ready to pay."
I put my hand in my pocket to take out a ducat without drawing out my
purse, but the Sclav told me I need not be afraid, as I was amongst
honest people. Again shame made me yield, and as I had some difficulty in
extracting my purse, the Sclav kindly did it for me. Pocchini immediately
snatched it from his hands, and said he should keep it as part
compensation for all I had made him endure.
I saw that it was a concerted scheme, and said with a smile that he could
do as he liked, and so I rose to leave them. The Sclav said we must
embrace each other, and on my declaring that to be unnecessary, he and
his comrade drew their sabres, and I thought myself undone. Without more
ado, I hastened to embrace them. To my astonishment they let me go, and I
went home in a grievous state, and not knowing what else to do went to
bed.
MEMOIRS OF JACQUES CASANOVA de SEINGALT 1725-1798
[Illustration: Cover 6]
[Illustration: Titlepage 6]
VOLUME 6 -- SPANISH PASSIONS,
EPISODE 26 -- SPAIN
CHAPTER I
I Am Ordered to Leave Vienna--The Empress Moderates but Does
Not Annul the Order--Zavoiski at Munich--My Stay at
Augsburg--Gasconnade at Louisburg--The Cologne Newspaper--
My Arrival at Aix-la-Chapelle
The greatest mistake a man that punishes a knave can commit is to leave
the said rogue alive, for he is certain to take vengeance. If I had had
my sword in the den of thieves, I should no doubt have defended myself,
but it would have gone ill with me, three against one, and I should
probably have been cut to pieces, while the murderers would have escaped
unpunished.
At eight o'clock Campioni came to see me in my bed, and was astonished at
my adventure. Without troubling himself to compassionate me, we both
began to think how we could get back my purse; but we came to the
conclusion that it would be impossible, as I had nothing more than my
mere assertion to prove the case. In spite of that, however, I wrote out
the whole story, beginning with the girl who recited the Latin verses. I
intended to bring the document before the police; however, I had not time
to do so.
I was just sitting down to dinner, when an agent of the police came and
gave me an order to go and speak to Count Schrotembach, the Statthalter.
I told him to instruct my coachman, who was waiting at the door, and that
I would follow him shortly.
When I called on the Statthalter, I found him to be a thick-set
individual; he was standing up, and surrounded by men who seemed ready to
execute his orders. When he saw me, he shewed me a watch, and requested
me to note the hour.
"I see it."
"If you are at Vienna at that time to-morrow I shall have you expelled
from the city."
"Why do you give me such an unjust order?"
"In the first place, I am not here to give you accounts or reasons for my
actions. However, I may tell you that you are expelled for playing at
games of chance, which are forbidden by the laws under pain of the
galleys. Do you recognize that purse and these cards?"
I did not know the cards, but I knew the purse which had been stolen from
me. I was in a terrible rage, and I only replied by presenting the
magistrate with the truthful narrative of what had happened to me. He
read it, and then said with a laugh that I was well known to be a man of
parts, that my character was known, that I had been expelled from Warsaw,
and that as for the document before him he judged it to be a pack of
lies, since in his opinion it was altogether void of probability.
"In fine," he added, "you will obey my order to leave the town, and you
must tell me where you are going."
"I will tell you that when I have made up my mind to go."
"What? You dare to tell me that you will not obey?"
"You yourself have said that if I do not go I shall be removed by force."
"Very good. I have heard you have a strong will, but here it will be of
no use to you. I advise you to go quietly, and so avoid harsh measures."
"I request you to return me that document."
"I will not do so. Begone!"
This was one of the most terrible moments of my life. I shudder still
when I think of it. It was only a cowardly love of life that hindered me
from running my sword through the body of the Statthalter, who had
treated me as if he were a hangman and not a judge.
As I went away I took it into my head to complain to Prince Kaunitz,
though I had not the honour of knowing him. I called at his house, and a
man I met told me to stay in the ante-chamber, as the prince would pass
through to go to dinner.
It was five o'clock. The prince appeared, followed by his guests, amongst
whom was M. Polo Renieri, the Venetian ambassador. The prince asked me
what he could do for me, and I told my story in a loud voice before them
all.
"I have received my order to go, but I shall not obey. I implore your
highness to give me your protection, and to help me to bring my plea to
the foot of the throne."
"Write out your petition," he replied, "and I will see that the empress
gets it. But I advise you to ask her majesty for a respite, for if you
say that you won't obey, she will be predisposed against you."
"But if the royal grace does not place me in security, I shall be driven
away by violence."
"Then take refuge with the ambassador of your native country."
"Alas, my lord, my country has forsaken me. An act of legal though
unconstitutional violence has deprived me of my rights as a citizen. My
name is Casanova, and my country is Venice."
The prince looked astonished and turned to the Venetian ambassador, who
smiled, and whispered to him for ten minutes.
"It's a pity," said the prince, kindly, "that you cannot claim the
protection of any ambassador."
At these words a nobleman of colossal stature stepped forward and said I
could claim his protection, as my whole family, myself included, had
served the prince his master. He spoke the truth, for he was the
ambassador of Saxony.
"That is Count Vitzthum," said the prince. "Write to the empress, and I
will forward your petition immediately. If there is any delay in the
answer, go to the count; you will be safe with him, until you like to
leave Vienna."
In the meanwhile the prince ordered writing materials to be brought me,
and he and his guests passed into the dining-hall.
I give here a copy of the petition, which I composed in less than ten
minutes. I made a fair copy for the Venetian ambassador to send home to
the Senate:
"MADAM,--I am sure that if, as your royal and imperial highness were
walking in your garden, an insect appealed plaintively to you not to
crush it, you would turn aside, and so avoid doing the poor creature any
hurt.
"I, madam, am an insect, and I beg of you that you will order M.
Statthalter Schrotembach to delay crushing me with your majesty's slipper
for a week. Possibly, after that time has elapsed, your majesty will not
only prevent his crushing me, but will deprive him of that slipper, which
was only meant to be the terror of rogues, and not of an humble Venetian,
who is an honest man, though he escaped from The Leads.
"In profound submission to your majesty's will,
"I remain,
"CASANOVA.
"Given at Vienna, January 21st, 1769."
When I had finished the petition, I made a fair draft of it, and sent it
in to the prince, who sent it back to me telling me that he would place
it in the empress's hands immediately, but that he would be much obliged
by my making a copy for his own use.
I did so, and gave both copies to the valet de chambre, and went my way.
I trembled like a paralytic, and was afraid that my anger might get me
into difficulty. By way of calming myself, I wrote out in the style of a
manifesto the narrative I had given to the vile Schrotembach, and which
that unworthy magistrate had refused to return to me.
At seven o'clock Count Vitzthum came into my room. He greeted me in a
friendly manner and begged me to tell him the story of the girl I had
gone to see, on the promise of the Latin quatrain referring to her
accommodating disposition. I gave him the address and copied out the
verses, and he said that was enough to convince an enlightened judge that
I had been slandered; but he, nevertheless, was very doubtful whether
justice would be done me.
"What! shall I be obliged to leave Vienna to-morrow?"
"No, no, the empress cannot possibly refuse you the week's delay."
"Why not?"
"Oh! no one could refuse such an appeal as that. Even the prince could
not help smiling as he was reading it in his cold way. After reading it
he passed it on to me, and then to the Venetian ambassador, who asked him
if he meant to give it to the empress as it stood. 'This petition,'
replied the prince, 'might be sent to God, if one knew the way;' and
forthwith he ordered one of his secretaries to fold it up and see that it
was delivered. We talked of you for the rest of dinner, and I had the
pleasure of hearing the Venetian ambassador say that no one could
discover any reason for your imprisonment under the Leads. Your duel was
also discussed, but on that point we only knew what has appeared in the
newspapers. Oblige me by giving me a copy of your petition; that phrase
of Schrotembach and the slipper pleased me vastly."
I copied out the document, and gave it him with a copy of my manifesto.
Before he left me the count renewed the invitation to take refuge with
him, if I did not hear from the empress before the expiration of the
twenty-four hours.
At ten o'clock I had a visit from the Comte de la Perouse, the Marquis de
las Casas, and Signor Uccelli, the secretary of the Venetian embassy. The
latter came to ask for a copy of my petition for his chief. I promised he
should have it, and I also sent a copy of my manifesto. The only thing
which rather interfered with the dignity of this latter piece, and gave
it a somewhat comic air, were the four Latin verses, which might make
people imagine that, after enjoying the girl as Hebe, I had gone in
search of her as Ganymede. This was not the case, but the empress
understood Latin and was familiar with mythology, and if she had looked
on it in the light I have mentioned I should have been undone. I made six
copies of the two documents before I went to bed; I was quite tired out,
but the exertion had somewhat soothed me. At noon the next day, young
Hasse (son of the chapel-master and of the famous Trustina), secretary of
legation to Count Vitzthum, came to tell me from the ambassador that
nobody would attack me in my own house, nor in my carriage if I went
abroad, but that it would be imprudent to go out on foot. He added that
his chief would have the pleasure of calling on me at seven o'clock. I
begged M. Hasse to let me have all this in writing, and after he had
written it out he left me.
Thus the order to leave Vienna had been suspended; it must have been done
by the sovereign.
"I have no time to lose," said I to myself, "I shall have justice done
me, my assassins will be condemned, my purse will be returned with the
two hundred ducats in it, and not in the condition in which it was shewn
to me by the infamous Schrotembach, who will be punished by dismissal, at
least."
Such were my castles in Spain; who has not built such? 'Quod nimis miseri
volunt hoc facile credunt', says Seneca. The wish is father to the
thought.
Before sending my manifesto to the empress, Prince Kaunitz, and to all
the ambassadors, I thought it would be well to call on the Countess of
Salmor, who spoke to the sovereign early and late. I had had a letter of
introduction for her.
She greeted me by saying that I had better give up wearing my arm in a
sling, as it looked as ii I were a charlatan; my arm must be well enough
after nine months.
I was extremely astonished by this greeting, and replied that if it were
not necessary I should not wear a sling, and that I was no charlatan.
"However," I added, "I have come to see you on a different matter."
"Yes, I know, but I will have nothing to do with it. You are all as bad
as Tomatis."
I gave a turn round and left the room without taking any further notice
of her. I returned home feeling overwhelmed by the situation. I had been
robbed and insulted by a band of thorough-paced rascals; I could do
nothing, justice was denied me, and now I had been made a mock of by a
worthless countess. If I had received such an insult from a man I would
have soon made him feel the weight of one arm at all events. I could not
bear my arm without a sling for an hour; pain and swelling set in
immediately. I was not perfectly cured till twenty months after the duel.
Count Vitzthum came to see me at seven o'clock. He said the empress had
told Prince Kaunitz that Schrotembach considered my narrative as pure
romance. His theory was that I had held a bank at faro with sharpers'
cards, and had dealt with both hands the arm in the sling being a mere
pretence. I had then been taken in the act by one of the gamesters, and
my unjust gains had been very properly taken from me. My detector had
then handed over my purse, containing forty ducats, to the police, and
the money had of course been confiscated. The empress had to choose
between believing Schrotembach and dismissing him; and she was not
inclined to do the latter, as it would be a difficult matter to find him
a successor in his difficult and odious task of keeping Vienna clear of
human vermin.
"This is what Prince Kaunitz asked me to tell you. But you need not be
afraid of any violence, and you can go when you like."
"Then I am to be robbed of two hundred ducats with impunity. The empress
might at least reimburse me if she does nothing more. Please to ask the
prince whether I can ask the sovereign to give me that satisfaction; the
least I can demand."
"I will tell him what you say."
"If not, I shall leave; for what can I do in a town where I can only
drive, and where the Government keeps assassins in its pay?"
"You are right. We are all sure that Pocchini has calumniated you. The
girl who recites Latin verses is well known, but none know her address. I
must advise you not to publish your tale as long as you are in Vienna, as
it places Schrotembach in a very bad light, and you see the empress has
to support him in the exercise of his authority."
"I see the force of your argument, and I shall have to devour my anger. I
will leave Vienna as soon as the washerwoman sends home my linen, but I
will have the story printed in all its black injustice."
"The empress is prejudiced against you, I don't know by whom."
"I know, though; it is that infernal old hag, Countess Salmor."
The next day I received a letter from Count Vitzthum, in which he said
that Prince Kaunitz advised me to forget the two hundred ducats, that the
girl and her so-called mother had left Vienna to all appearance, as
someone had gone to the address and had failed to find her.
I saw that I could do nothing, and resolved to depart in peace, and
afterwards to publish the whole story and to hang Pocchini with my own
hands when next I met him. I did neither the one nor the other.
About that time a young lady of the Salis de Coire family arrived at
Vienna without any companion. The imperial hangman Schrotembach, ordered
her to leave Vienna in two days. She replied that she would leave exactly
when she felt inclined. The magistrate consigned her to imprisonment in a
convent, and she was there still when I left. The emperor went to see
her, and the empress, his mother, asked him what he thought of her. His
answer was, "I thought her much more amusing than Schrotembach."
Undoubtedly, every man worthy of the name longs to be free, but who is
really free in this world? No one. The philosopher, perchance, may be
accounted so, but it is at the cost of too precious sacrifices at the
phantom shrine of Liberty.
I left the use of my suite of rooms, for which I had paid a month in
advance, to Campioni, promising to wait for him at Augsburg, where the
Law alone is supreme. I departed alone carrying with me the bitter regret
that I had not been able to kill the monster, whose despotism had crushed
me. I stopped at Linz on purpose to write to Schrotembach even a more
bitter letter than that which I had written to the Duke of Wurtemburg in
1760. I posted it myself, and had it registered so as to be sure of its
reaching the scoundrel to whom it had been addressed. It was absolutely
necessary for me to write this letter, for rage that has no vent must
kill at last. From Linz I had a three days' journey to Munich, where I
called on Count Gaetan Zavoicki, who died at Dresden seven years ago. I
had known him at Venice when he was in want, and I had happily been
useful to him. On my relating the story of the robbery that had been
committed on me, he no doubt imagined I was in want, and gave me
twenty-five louis. To tell the truth it was much less than what I had
given him at Venice, and if he had looked upon his action as paying back
a debt we should not have been quits; but as I had never wished him to
think that I had lent, not given him money, I received the present
gratefully. He also gave me a letter for Count Maximilian Lamberg,
marshal at the court of the Prince-Bishop of Augsburg, whose acquaintance
I had the honour of having.
There was no theatre then in Augsburg, but there were masked balls in
which all classes mingled freely. There were also small parties where
faro was played for small stakes. I was tired of the pleasure, the
misfortune, and the griefs I had had in three capitals, and I resolved to
spend four months in the free city of Augsburg, where strangers have the
same privileges as the canons. My purse was slender, but with the
economical life I led I had nothing to fear on that score. I was not far
from Venice, where a hundred ducats were always at my service if I wanted
them. I played a little and waged war against the sharpers who have
become more numerous of late than the dupes, as there are also more
doctors than patients. I also thought of getting a mistress, for what is
life without love? I had tried in vain to retrace Gertrude; the engraver
was dead, and no one knew what had become of his daughter.
Two or three days before the end of the carnival I went to a hirer of
carriages, as I had to go to a ball at some distance from the town. While
the horses were being put in, I entered the room to warm my hands, for
the weather was very cold. A girl came up and asked me if I would drink a
glass of wine.
"No," said I; and on the question being repeated, repeated the
monosyllable somewhat rudely. The girl stood still and began to laugh,
and I was about to turn angrily away when she said,--
"I see you do not remember me?"
I looked at her attentively, and at last I discovered beneath her
unusually ugly features the lineaments of Anna Midel, the maid in the
engraver's house.
"You remind me of Anna Midel," said I.
"Alas, I was Anna Midel once. I am no longer an object fit for love, but
that is your fault."
"Mine?"
"Yes; the four hundred florins you gave me made Count Fugger's coachman
marry me, and he not only abandoned me but gave me a disgusting disease,
which was like to have been my death. I recovered my health, but I never
shall recover my good looks."
"I am very sorry to hear all this; but tell me what has become of
Gertrude?"
"Then you don't know that you are going to a ball at her house to-night?"
"Her house?"
"Yes. After her father's death she married a well-to-do and respectable
man, and I expect you will be pleased with the entertainment."
"Is she pretty still?"
"She is just as she used to be, except that she is six years older and
has had children."
"Is she gallant?"
"I don't think so."
Anna had spoken the truth. Gertrude was pleased to see me, and introduced
me to her husband as one of her father's old lodgers, and I had
altogether a pleasant welcome; but, on sounding her, I found she
entertained those virtuous sentiments which might have been expected
under the circumstances.
Campioni arrived at Augsburg at the beginning of Lent. He was in company
with Binetti, who was going to Paris. He had completely despoiled his
wife, and had left her for ever. Campioni told me that no one at Vienna
doubted my story in the slightest degree. Pocchini and the Sclav had
disappeared a few days after my departure, and the Statthalter had
incurred a great deal of odium by his treatment of me. Campioni spent a
month with me, and then went on to London.
I called on Count Lamberg and his countess, who, without being beautiful,
was an epitome of feminine charm and amiability. Her name before marriage
was Countess Dachsberg. Three months after my arrival, this lady, who was
enciente, but did not think her time was due, went with Count Fugger,
dean of the chapter, to a party of pleasure at an inn three quarters of a
league from Augsburg. I was present; and in the course of the meal she
was taken with such violent pains that she feared she would be delivered
on the spot. She did not like to tell the noble canon, and thinking that
I was more likely to be acquainted with such emergencies she came up to
me and told me all. I ordered the coachman to put in his horses
instantly, and when the coach was ready I took up the countess and
carried her to it. The canon followed us in blank astonishment, and asked
me what was the matter. I told him to bid the coachman drive fast and not
to spare his horses. He did so, but he asked again what was the matter.
"The countess will be delivered of a child if we do not make haste."
I thought I should be bound to laugh, in spite of my sympathies for the
poor lady's pains, when I saw the dean turn green and white and purple,
and look as if he were going into a fit, as he realized that the countess
might be delivered before his eyes in his own carriage. The poor man
looked as grievously tormented as St. Laurence on his gridiron. The
bishop was at Plombieres; they would write and tell him! It would be in
all the papers! "Quick! coachman, quick!"
We got to the castle before it was too late. I carried the lady into her
rook, and they ran for a surgeon and a midwife. It was no good, however,
for in five minutes the count came out and said the countess had just
been happily delivered. The dean looked as if a weight had been taken off
his mind; however, he took the precaution of having himself blooded.
I spent an extremely pleasant four months at Augsburg, supping twice or
thrice a week at Count Lamberg's. At these suppers I made the
acquaintance of a very remarkable man--Count Thura and Valsamina, then a
page in the prince-bishop's household, now Dean of Ratisbon. He was
always at the count's, as was also Dr. Algardi, of Bologna, the prince's
physician and a delightful man.
I often saw at the same house a certain Baron Sellenthin, a Prussian
officer, who was always recruiting for his master at Augsburg. He was a
pleasant man, somewhat in the Gascon style, soft-spoken, and an expert
gamester. Five or six years ago I had a letter from him dated Dresden, in
which he said that though he was old, and had married a rich wife, he
repented of having married at all. I should say the same if I had ever
chanced to marry.
During my stay at Augsburg several Poles, who had left their country on
account of the troubles, came to see me. Amongst others was Rzewuski, the
royal Prothonotary, whom I had known at St. Petersburg as the lover of
poor Madame Langlade.
"What a diet! What plots! What counterplots! What misfortunes!" said this
honest Pole, to me. "Happy are they who have nothing to do with it!"
He was going to Spa, and he assured me that if I followed him I should
find Prince Adam's sister, Tomatis, and Madame Catai, who had become the
manager's wife. I determined to go to Spa, and to take measures so that I
might go there with three or four hundred ducats in my purse. To this
intent I wrote to Prince Charles of Courland, who was at Venice, to send
me a hundred ducats, and in my letter I gave him an infallible receipt
for the philosopher's stone. The letter containing this vast secret was
not in cypher, so I advised him to burn it after he had read it, assuring
him that I possessed a copy. He did not do so, and it was taken to Paris
with his order papers when he was sent to the Bastile.
If it had not been for the Revolution my letter would never have seen the
light. When the Bastille was destroyed, my letter was found and printed
with other curious compositions, which were afterwards translated into
German and English. The ignorant fools that abound in the land where my
fate wills that I should write down the chief events of my long and
troublous life--these fools, I say, who are naturally my sworn foes (for
the ass lies not down with the horse), make this letter an article of
accusation against me, and think they can stop my mouth by telling me
that the letter has been translated into German, and remains to my
eternal shame. The ignorant Bohemians are astonished when I tell them
that I regard the letter as redounding to my glory, and that if their
ears were not quite so long their blame would be turned into praise.
I do not know whether my letter has been correctly translated, but since
it has become public property I shall set it down here in homage to
truth, the only god I adore. I have before me an exact copy of the
original written in Augsburg in the year 1767, and we are now in the year
1798.
It runs as follows:
"MY LORD,--I hope your highness will either burn this letter after
reading it, or else preserve it with the greatest care. It will be
better, however, to make a copy in cypher, and to burn the original. My
attachment to you is not my only motive in writing; I confess my interest
is equally concerned. Allow me to say that I do not wish your highness to
esteem me alone for any qualities you may have observed in me; I wish you
to become my debtor by the inestimable secret I am going to confide to
you. This secret relates to the making of gold, the only thing of which
your highness stands in need. If you had been miserly by nature you would
be rich now; but you are generous, and will be poor all your days if you
do not make use of my secret.
"Your highness told me at Riga that you would like me to give you the
secret by which I transmuted iron into copper; I never did so, but now I
shall teach you how to make a much more marvellous transmutation. I
should point out to you, however, that you are not at present in a
suitable place for the operation, although all the materials are easily
procurable. The operation necessitates my presence for the construction
of a furnace, and for the great care necessary, far the least mistake
will spoil all. The transmutation of Mars is an easy and merely
mechanical process, but that of gold is philosophical in the highest
degree. The gold produced will be equal to that used in the Venetian
sequins. You must reflect, my lord, that I am giving you information
which will permit you to dispense with me, and you must also reflect that
I am confiding to you my life and my liberty.
"The step I am taking should insure your life-long protection, and should
raise you above that prejudice which is entertained against the general
mass of alchemists. My vanity would be wounded if you refuse to
distinguish me from the common herd of operators. All I ask you is that
you will wait till we meet before undertaking the process. You cannot do
it by yourself, and if you employ any other person but myself, you will
betray the secret. I must tell you that, using the same materials, and by
the addition of mercury and nitre, I made the tree of projection for the
Marchioness d'Urfe and the Princess of Anhalt. Zerbst calculated the
profit as fifty per cent. My fortune would have been made long ago, if I
had found a prince with the control of a mint whom I could trust. Your
character enables me to confide in you. However, we will come to the
point.
"You must take four ounces of good silver, dissolve in aqua fortis,
precipitate secundum artem with copper, then wash in lukewarm water to
separate the acids; dry, mix with half an ounce of sal ammoniac, and
place in a suitable vessel. Afterwards you must take a pound of alum, a
pound of Hungary crystals, four ounces of verdigris, four ounces of
cinnabar, and two ounces of sulphur. Pulverise and mix, and place in a
retort of such size that the above matters will only half fill it. This
retort must be placed over a furnace with four draughts, for the heat
must be raised to the fourth degree. At first your fire must be slow so
as to extract the gross phlegm of the matter, and when the spirit begins
to appear, place the receiver under the retort, and Luna with the
ammoniac salts will appear in it. All the joinings must be luted with the
Philosophical Luting, and as the spirit comes, so regulate your furnace,
but do not let it pass the third degree of heat.
"So soon as the sublimation begins then boldly open your forth vent, but
take heed that that which is sublimed pass not into the receiver where is
your Luna, and so you must shut, the mouth of the retort closely, and
keep it so for twenty-four hours, and then take off your fastenings, and
allow the distillation to go on. Then you must increase your fire so that
the spirits may pass, over, until the matter in the retort is quite
desiccated. After this operation has been performed three times, then you
shall see, the gold appear in the retort. Then draw it forth and melt it,
adding your corpus perfectum. Melt with it two ounces of gold, then lay
it in water, and you shall find four ounces of pure gold.
"Such my lord, is the gold mine for your mint of Mitau, by which, with
the assistance of a manager and four men, you can assure yourself a
revenue of a thousand ducats a week, and double, and quadruple that sum,
if your highness chooses to increase the men and the furnaces. I ask your
highness to make me your manager. But remember it must be a State secret,
so burn this letter, and if your highness would give me any reward in
advance, I only ask you to give me your affection and esteem. I shall be
happy if I have reason to believe that my master will also be my friend.
My life, which this letter places in your power, is ever at your service,
and I know not what I shall do if I ever have cause to repent having
disclosed my secret. I have the honour to be, etc."
In whatever language this letter may have been translated, if its sense
run not as above, it is not my letter, and I am ready to give the lie to
all the Mirabeaus in the world. I have been called an exile, but
wrongfully, for a man who has to leave a country by virtue of a 'lettre
de cachet' is no exile. He is forced to obey a despotic monarch who looks
upon his kingdom as his house, and turns out of doors anyone who meets
with his displeasure.
As soon as my purse swelled to a respectable size, I left Augsburg, The
date of my departure was June 14th, 1767. I was at Ulm when a courier of
the Duke of Wurtemburg's passed through the town with the news that his
highness would arrive from Venice in the course of five or six days. This
courier had a letter for me. It had been entrusted to him by Prince
Charles of Courland, who had told the courier that he would find me at
the "Hotel du Raisin," in Augsburg. As it happened, I had left the day
before, but knowing the way by which I had gone he caught me up at Ulm.
He gave me the letter and asked me if I were the same Casanova who had
been placed under arrest and had escaped, on account of some gambling
dispute with three officers. As I was never an adept in concealing the
truth, I replied in the affirmative. A Wurtemburg officer who was
standing beside us observed to me in a friendly manner that he was at
Stuttgart at the time, and that most people concurred in blaming the
three officers for their conduct in the matter.
Without making any reply I read the letter, which referred to our private
affairs, but as I was reading it I resolved to tell a little lie--one of
those lies which do nobody any harm.
"Well, sir," I said to the officer, "his highness, your sovereign, has
listened to reason at last, and this letter informs me of a reparation
which is in every way satisfactory. The duke has created me his private
secretary, with a salary of twelve hundred a year. But I have waited for
it a long time. God knows what has become of the three officers!"
"They are all at Louisburg, and---- -is now a colonel."
"Well, they will be surprised to hear my news, and they will hear it
to-morrow, for I am leaving this place in an hour. If they are at
Louisburg, I shall have a triumph; but I am sorry not to be able to
accompany you, however we shall see each other the day after tomorrow."
I had an excellent night, and awoke with the beautiful idea of going to
Louisburg, not to fight the three officers but to frighten them, triumph
over them, and to enjoy a pleasant vengeance for the injury they had done
me. I should at the same time see a good many old friends; there was
Madame Toscani, the duke's mistress; Baletti, and Vestri, who had married
a former mistress of the duke's. I had sounded the depths of the human
heart, and knew I had nothing to fear. The duke was on the point of
returning, and nobody would dream of impugning the truth of my story.
When he actually did arrive he would not find me, for as soon as the
courier announced his approach I should go away, telling everybody that I
had orders to precede his highness, and everybody would be duped.
I never had so pleasant an idea before. I was quite proud of it, and I
should have despised myself if I had failed to carry it into effect. It
would be my vengeance on the duke, who could not have forgotten the
terrible letter I had written him; for princes do not forget small
injuries as they forget great services.
I slept badly the following night, my anxiety was so great, and I reached
Louisburg and gave my name at the town gates, without the addition of my
pretended office, for my jest must be matured by degrees. I went to stay
at the posting-inn, and just as I was asking for the address of Madame
Toscani, she and her husband appeared on the scene. They both flung their
arms around my neck, and overwhelmed me with compliments on my wounded
arm and the victory I had achieved.
"What victory?"
"Your appearance here has filled the hearts of all your friends with
joy."
"Well, I certainly am in the duke's service, but how did you find it
out?"
"It's the common talk. The courier who gave you the letter has spread it
all abroad, and the officer who was present and arrived here yesterday
morning confirmed it. But you cannot imagine the consternation of your
three foes. However, we are afraid that you will have some trouble with
them, as they have kept your letter of defiance given from Furstenberg."
"Why didn't they meet me, then?"
"Two of them could not go, and the third arrived too late."
"Very good. If the duke has no objection I shall be happy to meet them
one after another, not three all at once. Of course, the duel must be
with pistols; a sword duel is out of the question with my arm in a
sling."
"We will speak of that again. My daughter wants to make peace before the
duke comes, and you had better consent to arrangements, for there are
three of them, and it isn't likely that you could kill the whole three
one after the other."
"Your daughter must have grown into a beauty."
"You must stop with us this evening; you will see her, for she is no
longer the duke's mistress. She is going to get married."
"If your daughter can bring about an arrangement I would gladly fall in
with it, provided it is an honourable one for me."
"How is it that you are wearing the sling after all these months?"
"I am quite cured, and yet my arm swells as soon as I let it swing loose.
You shall see it after dinner, for you must dine with me if you want me
to sup with you."
Next came Vestri, whom I did not know, accompanied by my beloved Baletti.
With them was an officer who was in love with Madame Toscani's second
daughter, and another of their circle, with whom I was also unacquainted.
They all came to congratulate me on my honourable position in the duke's
service. Baletti was quite overcome with delight. The reader will
recollect that he was my chief assistant in my escape from Stuttgart, and
that I was once going to marry his sister. Baletti was a fine fellow, and
the duke was very fond of him. He had a little country house, with a
spare room, which he begged me to accept, as he said he was only too
proud that the duke should know him as my best friend. When his highness
came, of course I would have an apartment in the palace. I accepted; and
as it was still early, we all went to see the young Toscani. I had loved
her in Paris before her beauty had reached its zenith, and she was
naturally proud to shew me how beautiful she had become. She shewed me
her house and her jewels, told me the story of her amours with the duke,
of her breaking with him on account of his perpetual infidelities, and of
her marriage with a man she despised, but who was forced on her by her
position.
At dinner-time we all went to the inn, where we met the offending
colonel; he was the first to take off his hat, we returned the salute,
and he passed on his way.
The dinner was a pleasant one, and when it was over I proceeded to take
up my quarters with Baletti. In the evening we went to Madame Toscani's,
where I saw two girls of ravishing beauty, Madame Toscani's daughter and
Vestri's wife, of whom the duke had had two children. Madame Vestri was a
handsome woman, but her wit and the charm of her manner enchanted me
still more. She had only one fault--she lisped.
There was a certain reserve about the manner of Mdlle. Toscani, so I
chiefly addressed myself to Madame Vestri, whose husband was not jealous,
for he neither cared for her nor she for him. On the day of my arrival
the manager had distributed the parts of a little play which was to be
given in honour of the duke's arrival. It had been written by a local
author, in hopes of its obtaining the favour of the Court for him.
After supper the little piece was discussed. Madame Vestri played the
principal part, which she was prevailed upon to recite.
"Your elocution is admirable, and your expression full of spirit," I
observed; "but what a pity it is that you do not pronounce the dentals."
The whole table scouted my opinion.
"It's a beauty, not a defect," said they. "It makes her acting soft and
delicate; other actresses envy her the privilege of what you call a
defect."
I made no answer, but looked at Madame Vestri.
"Do you think I am taken in by all that?" said she.
"I think you are much too sensible to believe such nonsense."
"I prefer a man to say honestly, 'what a pity,' than to hear all that
foolish flattery. But I am sorry to say that there is no remedy for the
defect."
"No remedy?"
"No."
"Pardon me, I have an infallible remedy for your complaint. You shall
give me a good hearty blow if I do not make you read the part perfectly
by to-morrow, but if I succeed in making you read it as your husband, for
example's sake, might read it you shall permit me to give you a tender
embrace."
"Very good; but what must I do?"
"You must let me weave a spell over your part, that is all. Give it to
me. To-morrow morning at nine o'clock I will bring it to you to get my
blow or my kiss, if your husband has no objection."
"None whatever; but we do not believe in spells."
"You are right, in a general way; but mine will not fail."
"Very good."
Madame Vestri left me the part, and the conversation turned on other
subjects. I was condoled with on my swollen hand, and I told the story of
my duel. Everybody seemed to delight in entertaining me and feasting me,
and I went back to Baletti's in love with all the ladies, but especially
with Madame Vestri and Mdlle. Toscani.
Baletti had a beautiful little girl of three years old.
"How did you get that angel?" I asked.
"There's her mother; and, as a proof of my hospitality, she shall sleep
with you to-night."
"I accept your generous offer; but let it be to-morrow night."
"And why not to-night?"
"Because I shall be engaged all night in weaving my spell."
"What do you mean? I thought that was a joke."
"No, I am quite serious."
"Are you a little crazy?"
"You shall see. Do you go to bed, and leave me a light and writing
materials."
I spent six hours in copying out the part, only altering certain phrases.
For all words in which the letter r appeared I substituted another. It
was a tiresome task, but I longed to embrace Madame Vestri before her
husband. I set about my task in the following manner:
The text ran:
"Les procedes de cet homme m'outragent et me deseparent, je dois penser a
me debarrasser."
For this I substituted:
"Cet homme a des facons qui m'offensent et me desolent, il faut que je
m'en defasse;" and so on throughout the piece.
When I had finished I slept for three hours, and then rose and dressed.
Baletti saw my spell, and said I had earned the curses of the young
author, as Madame Vestri would no doubt make him write all parts for her
without using the letter 'r'; and, indeed, that was just what she did.
I called on the actress and found her getting up. I gave her the part,
and as soon as she saw what I had done she burst out into exclamations of
delight; and calling her husband shewed him my contrivance, and said she
would never play a part with an 'r' in it again. I promised to copy them
all out, and added that I had spent the whole night in amending the
present part. "The whole night! Come and take your reward, for you are
cleverer than any sorcerer. We must have the author to dinner, and I
shall make him promise to write all my parts without the 'r', or the duke
will not employ him. Indeed, I don't wonder the duke has made you his
secretary. I never thought it would be possible to do what you have done;
but I suppose it was very difficult?"
"Not at all. If I were a pretty woman with the like defect I should take
care to avoid all words with an 'r; in them."
"Oh, that would be too much trouble."
"Let us bet again, for a box or a kiss, that you can spend a whole day
without using an 'r'. Let us begin now."
"All in good time," said she, "but we won't have any stake, as I think
you are too greedy."
The author came to dinner, and was duly attacked by Madame Vestri. She
began by saying that it was an author's duty to be polite to actresses,
and if any of them spoke with a lisp the least he could do was to write
their parts without the fatal letter.
The young author laughed, and said it could not be done without spoiling
the style. Thereupon Madame Vestri gave him my version of her part,
telling him to read it, and to say on his conscience whether the style
had suffered. He had to confess that my alterations were positive
improvements, due to the great richness of the French language. And he
was right, for there is no language in the world that can compare in
copiousness of expression with the French.
This trifling subject kept us merry, but Madame Vestri expressed a devout
wish that all authors would do for her what I had done. At Paris, where I
heard her playing well and lisping terribly, she did not find the authors
so obliging, but she pleased the people. She asked me if I would
undertake to recompose Zaire, leaving out the r's.
"Ah!" said I, "considering that it would have to be in verse, and in
Voltairean verse, I would rather not undertake the task."
With a view to pleasing the actress the young author asked me how I would
tell her that she was charming without using an 'r'.
"I should say that she enchanted me, made me in an ecstasy, that she is
unique."
She wrote me a letter, which I still keep, in which the 'r' does not
appear. If I could have stayed at Stuttgart, this device of mine might
have won me her favours; but after a week of feasting and triumph the
courier came one morning at ten o'clock and announced that his highness,
the duke, would arrive at four.
As soon as I heard the news I told Baletti with the utmost coolness that
I thought it would be only polite to meet my lord, and swell his train on
his entry into Louisburg; and as I wished to meet him at a distance of
two stages I should have to go at once. He thought my idea an excellent
one, and went to order post-horses immediately; but when he saw me
packing up all my belongings into my trunk, he guessed the truth and
applauded the jest. I embraced him and confessed my hardihood. He was
sorry to lose me, but he laughed when he thought of the feelings of the
duke and of the three officers when they found out the trick. He promised
to write to me at Mannheim, where I had decided on spending a week to see
my beloved Algardi, who was in the service of the Elector. I had also
letters for M. de Sickirigen and Baron Becker, one of the Elector's
ministers.
When the horses were put in I embraced Baletti, his little girl, and his
pretty housekeeper, and ordered the postillion to drive to Mannheim.
When we reached Mannheim I heard that the Court was at Schwetzingen, and
I bade the postillion drive on. I found everyone I had expected to see.
Algardi had got married, M. de Sickingen was soliciting the position of
ambassador to Paris, and Baron Becker introduced me to the Elector. Five
or six days after my arrival died Prince Frederic des Deux Ponts, and I
will here relate an anecdote I heard the day before he died.
Dr. Algardi had attended on the prince during his last illness. I was
supping with Veraci, the poet-laureate, on the eve of the prince's death,
and in the course of supper Algardi came in.
"How is the prince?" said I.
"The poor prince--he cannot possibly live more than twenty-four hours."
"Does he know it?"
"No, he still hopes. He grieved me to the heart by bidding me tell him
the whole truth; he even bade me give my word of honour that I was
speaking the truth. Then he asked me if he were positively in danger of
death."
"And you told him the truth?"
"Certainly not. I told him his sickness was undoubtedly a mortal one, but
that with the help of nature and art wonders might be worked."
"Then you deceived him, and told a lie?"
"I did not deceive him; his recovery comes under the category of the
possible. I did not want to leave him in despair, for despair would most
certainly kill him."
"Yes, yes; but you will confess that you told him a lie and broke your
word of honour."
"I told no lie, for I know that he may possibly be cured."
"Then you lied just now?"
"Not at all, for lie will die to-morrow."
"It seems to me that your reasoning is a little Jesuitical."
"No, it is not. My duty was to prolong my patient's life and to spare him
a sentence which would most certainly have shortened it, possibly by
several hours; besides, it is not an absolute impossibility that he
should recover, therefore I did not lie when I told him that he might
recover, nor did I lie just now when I gave it as my opinion (the result
of my experience) that he would die to-morrow. I would certainly wager a
million to one that he will die to-morrow, but I would not wager my
life."
"You are right, and yet for all that you deceived the poor man; for his
intention in asking you the question was not to be told a commonplace
which he knew as well as you, but to learn your true opinion as to his
life or death. But again I agree with you that as his physician you were
quite right not to shorten his few remaining hours by telling him the
terrible truth."
After a fortnight I left Schwetzingen, leaving some of my belongings
under the care of Veraci the poet, telling him I would call for them some
day; but I never came, and after a lapse of thirty-one years Veraci keeps
them still. He was one of the strangest poets I have ever met. He
affected eccentricity to make himself notorious, and opposed the great
Metastasio in everything, writing unwieldy verses which he said gave more
scope for the person who set them to music. He had got this extravagant
notion from Jumelli.
I traveled to Mayence and thence I sailed to Cologne, where I looked
forward to the pleasure of meeting with the burgomaster's wife who
disliked General Kettler, and had treated me so well seven years ago. But
that was not the only reason which impelled me to visit that odious town.
When I was at Dresden I had read in a number of the Cologne Gazette that
"Master Casanova has returned to Warsaw only to be sent about his
business again. The king has heard some stories of this famous
adventurer, which compel him to forbid him his Court."
I could not stomach language of this kind, and I resolved to pay Jacquet,
the editor, a visit, and now my time had come.
I made a hasty dinner and then called on the burgomaster, whom I found
sitting at table with his fair Mimi. They welcomed me warmly, and for two
hours I told them the story of my adventures during the last seven years.
Mimi had to go out, and I was asked to dine with them the next day.
I thought she looked prettier than ever, and my imagination promised me
some delicious moments with her. I spent an anxious and impatient night,
and called on my Amphitryon at an early hour to have an opportunity of
speaking to his dear companion. I found her alone, and began with an
ardent caress which she gently repelled, but her face froze my passion in
its course.
"Time is an excellent doctor," said she, "and it has cured me of a
passion which left behind it the sting of remorse."
"What! The confessional . . . ."
"Should only serve as a place wherein to confess our sins of the past,
and to implore grace to sin no more."
"May the Lord save me from repentance, the only source of which is a
prejudice! I shall leave Cologne to-morrow."
"I do not tell you to go."
"If there is no hope, it is no place for me. May I hope?"
"Never."
She was delightful at table, but I was gloomy and distracted. At seven
o'clock next day I set out, and as soon as I had passed the Aix la
Chapelle Gate, I told the postillion to stop and wait for me. I then
walked to Jacquet's, armed with a pistol and a cane, though I only meant
to beat him.
The servant shewed me into the room where he was working by himself. It
was on the ground floor, and the door was open for coolness' sake.
He heard me coming in and asked what he could do for me.
"You scoundrelly journalist." I replied, "I am the adventurer Casanova
whom you slandered in your miserable sheet four months ago."
So saying I directed my pistol at his head, with my left hand, and lifted
my cane with my right. But the wretched scribbler fell on his knees
before me with clasped hands and offered to shew me the signed letter he
had received from Warsaw, which contained the statements he had inserted
in his paper.
"Where is this letter?"
"You shall have it in a moment."
I made way for him to search, but I locked and bolted the door to prevent
his escaping. The man trembled like a leaf and began to look for the
letter amongst his Warsaw correspondence, which was in a disgraceful
state of confusion. I shewed him the date of the article in the paper,
but the letter could not be found; and at the end of an hour he fell down
again on his knees, and told me to do what I would to him. I gave him a
kick and told him to get up and follow me. He made no reply, and followed
me bareheaded till he saw me get into my chaise and drive off, and I have
no doubt he gave thanks to God for his light escape. In the evening, I
reached Aix-la-Chapelle, where I found Princess Lubomirska, General
Roniker, several other distinguished Poles, Tomatis and his wife, and
many Englishmen of my acquaintance.
CHAPTER II
My Stay at Spa--The Blow--The Sword--Della Croce--Charlotte;
Her Lying-in and Death--A Lettre de Cachet Obliges Me to
Leave Paris in the Course of Twenty-four Hours
All my friends seemed delighted to see me, and I was well pleased to find
myself in such good company. People were on the point of leaving Aix for
Spa. Nearly everyone went, and those who stayed only did so because
lodgings were not to be had at Spa. Everybody assured me that this was
the case, and many had returned after seeking in vain for a mere garret.
I paid no attention to all this, and told the princess that if she would
come with me I would find some lodging, were it only in my carriage. We
accordingly set out the next day, and got to Spa in good time, our
company consisting of the princess, the prothonotary, Roniker, and the
Tomatis. Everyone except myself had taken rooms in advance, I alone knew
not where to turn. I got out and prepared for the search, but before
going along the streets I went into a shop and bought a hat, having lost
mine on the way. I explained my situation to the shopwoman, who seemed to
take an interest in me, and began speaking to her husband in Flemish or
Walloon, and finally informed me that if it were only for a few days she
and her husband would sleep in the shop and give up their room to me. But
she said that she had absolutely no room whatever for my man.
"I haven't got one."
"All the better. Send away your carriage."
"Where shall I send it?"
"I will see that it is housed safely."
"How much am I to pay?"
"Nothing; and if you are not too particular, we should like you to share
our meals."
"I accept your offer thankfully."
I went up a narrow staircase, and found myself in a pretty little room
with a closet, a good bed, suitable furniture, and everything perfectly
neat and clean. I thought myself very lucky, and asked the good people
why they would not sleep in the closet rather than the shop, and they
replied with one breath that they would be in my way, while their niece
would not interfere with me.
This news about the niece was a surprise to me. The closet had no door,
and was not much bigger than the bed which it contained; it was, in fact,
a mere alcove, without any window.
I must note that my hostess and her husband, both of them from Liege,
were perfect models of ugliness.
"It's not within the limits of possibility," I said to myself, "for the
niece to be uglier than they, but if they allow her to sleep thus in the
same room with the first comer, she must be proof against all
temptation."
However, I gave no sign, and did not ask to see the niece for fear of
offense, and I went out without opening my trunk. I told them as I went
out that I should not be back till after supper, and gave them some money
to buy wax candles and night lights.
I went to see the princess with whom I was to sup. All the company
congratulated me on my good fortune in finding a lodging. I went to the
concert, to the bank at faro, and to the other gaming saloons, and there
I saw the so-called Marquis d'Aragon, who was playing at piquet with an
old count of the Holy Roman Empire. I was told about the duel he had had
three weeks before with a Frenchman who had picked a quarrel with him;
the Frenchman had been wounded in the chest, and was still ill.
Nevertheless, he was only waiting for his cure to be completed to have
his revenge, which he had demanded as he was taken off the field. Such is
the way of the French when a duel is fought for a trifling matter. They
stop at the first blood, and fight the duel over and over again. In
Italy, on the other hand, duels are fought to the death. Our blood burns
to fire when our adversary's sword opens a vein. Thus stabbing is common
in Italy and rare in France; while duels are common in France, and rare
in Italy.
Of all the company at Spa, I was most pleased to see the Marquis
Caraccioli, whom I had left in London. His Court had given him leave of
absence, and he was spending it at Spa. He was brimful of wit and the
milk of human kindness, compassionate for the weaknesses of others, and
devoted to youth, no matter of what sex, but he knew well the virtue of
moderation, and used all things without abusing them. He never played,
but he loved a good gamester and despised all dupes. The worthy marquis
was the means of making the fortune of the so-called Marquis d'Aragon by
becoming surety for his nobility and bona fides to a wealthy English
widow of fifty, who had taken a fancy to him, and brought him her fortune
of sixty thousand pounds sterling. No doubt the widow was taken with the
gigantic form and the beautiful title of d'Aragon, for Dragon (as his
name really was) was devoid of wit and manners, and his legs, which I
suppose he kept well covered, bore disgusting marks of the libertine life
he had led. I saw the marquis some time afterwards at Marseilles, and a
few years later he purchased two estates at Modena. His wife died in due
course, and according to the English law he inherited the whole of her
property.
I returned to my lodging in good time, and went to bed without seeing the
niece, who was fast asleep. I was waited on by the ugly aunt, who begged
me not to take a servant while I remained in her house, for by her
account all servants were thieves.
When I awoke in the morning the niece had got up and gone down. I dressed
to go to the Wells, and warned my host and hostess that I should have the
pleasure of dining with them. The room I occupied was the only place in
which they could take their meals, and I was astonished when they came
and asked my permission to do so. The niece had gone out, so I had to put
my curiosity aside. When I was out my acquaintances pointed out to me the
chief beauties who then haunted the Wells. The number of adventurers who
flock to Spa during the season is something incredible, and they all hope
to make their fortunes; and, as may be supposed, most of them go away as
naked as they came, if not more so. Money circulates with great freedom,
but principally amongst the gamesters, shop-keepers, money-lenders, and
courtezans. The money which proceeds from the gaming-table has three
issues: the first and smallest share goes to the Prince-Bishop of Liege;
the second and larger portion, to the numerous amateur cheats who
frequent the place; and by far the largest of all to the coffers of
twelve sharpers, who keep the tables and are authorized by the sovereign.
Thus goes the money. It comes from the pockets of the dupes--poor moths
who burn their wings at Spa!
The Wells are a mere pretext for gaming, intriguing, and fortune-hunting.
There are a few honest people who go for amusement, and a few for rest
and relaxation after the toils of business.
Living is cheap enough at Spa. The table d'hote is excellent, and only
costs a small French crown, and one can get good lodging for the like
sum.
I came home at noon having won a score of louis. I went into the shop,
intending to go to my room, but I was stopped short by seeing a handsome
brunette, of nineteen or twenty, with great black eyes, voluptuous lips,
and shining teeth, measuring out ribbon on the counter. This, then, was
the niece, whom I had imagined as so ugly. I concealed my surprise and
sat down in the shop to gaze at her and endeavour to make her
acquaintance. But she hardly seemed to see me, and only acknowledged my
presence by a slight inclination of the head. Her aunt came down to say
that dinner was ready, and I went upstairs and found the table laid for
four. The servant brought in the soup, and then asked me very plainly to
give her some money if I wanted any wine, as her master and mistress only
drank beer. I was delighted with her freedom, and gave her money to buy
two bottles of Burgundy.
The master came up and shewed me a gold repeater with a chain also of
gold by a well-known modern maker. He wanted to know how much it was
worth.
"Forty louis at the least."
"A gentleman wants me to give him twenty louis for it, on the condition
that I return it to-morrow if he brings me twenty-two."
"Then I advise you to accept his offer."
"I haven't got the money."
"I will lend it you with pleasure."
I gave him the twenty Louis, and placed the watch in my jewel-casket. At
table the niece sat opposite to me, but I took care not to look at her,
and she, like a modest girl, did not say a score of words all through the
meal. The meal was an excellent one, consisting of soup, boiled beef, an
entree, and a roast. The mistress of the house told me that the roast was
in my honour, "for," she said, "we are not rich people, and we only allow
ourselves this Luxury on a Sunday." I admired her delicacy, and the
evident sincerity with which she spoke. I begged my entertainers to help
me with my wine, and they accepted the offer, saying they only wished
they were rich enough to be able to drink half a bottle a day.
"I thought trade was good with you."
"The stuff is not ours, and we have debts; besides, the expenses are very
great. We have sold very little up to now."
"Do you only sell hats?"
"No, we have silk handkerchiefs, Paris stockings, and lace ruffs, but
they say everything is too dear."
"I will buy some things for you, and will send all my friends here. Leave
it to me; I will see what I can do for you."
"Mercy, fetch down one or two packets of those handkerchiefs and some
stockings, large size, for the gentleman has a big leg."
Mercy, as the niece was called, obeyed. I pronounced the handkerchiefs
superb and the stockings excellent. I bought a dozen, and I promised them
that they should sell out their whole stock. They overwhelmed me with
thanks, and promised to put themselves entirely in my hands.
After coffee, which, like the roast, was in my honour, the aunt told her
niece to take care to awake me in the morning when she got up. She said
she would not fail, but I begged her not to take too much trouble over
me, as I was a very heavy sleeper.
In the afternoon I went to an armourer's to buy a brace of pistols, and
asked the man if he knew the tradesman with whom I was staying.
"We are cousins-german," he replied.
"Is he rich?"
"Yes, in debts."
"Why?"
"Because he is unfortunate, like most honest people."
"How about his wife?"
"Her careful economy keeps him above water."
"Do you know the niece?"
"Yes; she's a good girl, but very pious. Her silly scruples keep
customers away from the shop."
"What do you think she should do to attract customers?"
"She should be more polite, and not play the prude when anyone wants to
give her a kiss."
"She is like that, is she?"
"Try her yourself and you will see. Last week she gave an officer a box
on the ear. My cousin scolded her, and she wanted to go back to Liege;
however, the wife soothed her again. She is pretty enough, don't you
think so?"
"Certainly I do, but if she is as cross-grained as you say, the best
thing will be to leave her alone."
After what I had heard I made up my mind to change my room, for Mercy had
pleased me in such a way that I was sure I should be obliged to pay her a
call before long, and I detested Pamelas as heartily as Charpillons.
In the afternoon I took Rzewuski and Roniker to the shop, and they bought
fifty ducats' worth of goods to oblige me. The next day the princess and
Madame Tomatis bought all the handkerchiefs.
I came home at ten o'clock, and found Mercy in bed as I had done the
night before. Next morning the watch was redeemed, and the hatter
returned me twenty-two louis. I made him a present of the two louis, and
said I should always be glad to lend him money in that way--the profits
to be his. He left me full of gratitude.
I was asked to dine with Madame Tomatis, so I told my hosts that I would
have the pleasure of supping with them, the costs to be borne by me. The
supper was good and the Burgundy excellent, but Mercy refused to taste
it. She happened to leave the room for a moment at the close of the meal,
and I observed to the aunt that her niece was charming, but it was a pity
she was so sad.
"She will have to change her ways, or I will keep her no longer."
"Is she the same with all men?"
"With all."
"Then she has never been in love."
"She says she has not, but I don't believe her."
"I wonder she can sleep so comfortably with a man at a few feet distant."
"She is not afraid."
Mercy came in, bade us good night, and said she would go to bed. I made
as if I would give her a kiss, but she turned her back on me, and placed
a chair in front of her closet so that I might not see her taking off her
chemise. My host and hostess then went to bed, and so did I, puzzling my
head over the girl's behaviour which struck me as most extraordinary and
unaccountable. However, I slept peacefully, and when I awoke the bird had
left the nest. I felt inclined to have a little quiet argument with the
girl, and to see what I could make of her; but I saw no chance of my
getting an opportunity. The hatter availed himself of my offer of purse
to lend money on pledges, whereby he made a good profit. There was no
risk for me in the matter, and he and his wife declared that they blessed
the day on which I had come to live with them.
On the fifth or sixth day I awoke before Mercy, and only putting on my
dressing-gown I came towards her bed. She had a quick ear and woke up,
and no sooner did she see me coming towards her than she asked me what I
wanted. I sat down on her bed and said gently that I only wanted to wish
her a good day and to have a little talk. It was hot weather, and she was
only covered by a single sheet; and stretching out one arm I drew her
towards me, and begged her to let me give her a kiss. Her resistance made
me angry; and passing an audacious hand under the sheet I discovered that
she was made like other women; but just as my hand was on the spot, I
received a fisticuff on the nose that made me see a thousand stars, and
quite extinguished the fire of my concupiscence. The blood streamed from
my nose and stained the bed of the furious Mercy. I kept my presence of
mind and left her on the spot, as the blow she had given me was but a
sample of what I might expect if I attempted reprisals. I washed my face
in cold water, and as I was doing so Mercy dressed herself and left the
room.
At last my blood ceased to flow, and I saw to my great annoyance that my
nose was swollen in such a manner that my face was simply hideous. I
covered it up with a handkerchief and sent for the hairdresser to do my
hair, and when this was done my landlady brought me up some fine trout,
of which I approved; but as I was giving her the money she saw my face
and uttered a cry of horror. I told her the whole story, freely
acknowledging that I was in the wrong, and begging her to say nothing to
her niece. Then heeding not her excuses I went out with my handkerchief
before my face, and visited a house which the Duchess of Richmond had
left the day before.
Half of the suite she had abandoned had been taken in advance by an
Italian marquis; I took the other half, hired a servant, and had my
effects transported there from my old lodgings. The tears and
supplications of my landlady had no effect whatever upon me, I felt I
could not bear the sight of Mercy any longer.
In the house into which I had moved I found an Englishman who said he
would bring down the bruise in one hour, and make the discoloration of
the flesh disappear in twenty-four. I let him do what he liked and he
kept his word. He rubbed the place with spirits of wine and some drug
which is unknown to me; but being ashamed to appear in public in the
state I was in, I kept indoors for the rest of the day. At noon the
distressed aunt brought me my trout, and said that Mercy was cut to the
heart to have used me so, and that if I would come back I could do what I
liked with her.
"You must feel," I replied, "that if I complied with your request the
adventure would become public to the damage of my honour and your
business, and your niece would not be able to pass for a devotee any
longer."
I made some reflections on the blow she had given the officer, much to
the aunt's surprise, for she could not think how I had heard of it; and I
shewed her that, after having exposed me to her niece's brutality, her
request was extremely out of place. I concluded by saying that I could
believe her to be an accomplice in the fact without any great stretch of
imagination. This made her burst into tears, and I had to apologize and
to promise to continue forwarding her business by way of consolation, and
so she left me in a calmer mood. Half an hour afterwards her husband came
with twenty-five Louis I had lent him on a gold snuff-box set with
diamonds, and proposed that I should lend two hundred Louis on a ring
worth four hundred.
"It will be yours," he said, "if the owner does not bring me two hundred
and twenty Louis in a week's time."
I had the money and proceeded to examine the stone which seemed to be a
good diamond, and would probably weigh six carats as the owner declared.
The setting was in gold.
"I consent to give the sum required if the owner is ready to give me a
receipt."
"I will do so myself in the presence of witnesses."
"Very good. You shall have the money in the course of an hour; I am going
to have the stone taken out first. That will make no difference to the
owner, as I shall have it reset at my own expense. If he redeems it, the
twenty Louis shall be yours."
"I must ask him whether he has any objection to the stone being taken
out."
"Very good, but you can tell him that if he will not allow it to be done
he will get nothing for it."
He returned before long with a jeweller who said he would guarantee the
stone to be at least two grains over the six carats.
"Have you weighed it?"
"No, but I am quite sure it weighs over six carats."
"Then you can lend the money on it?"
"I cannot command such a sum."
"Can you tell me why the owner objects to the stone being taken out and
put in at my expense?"
"No, I can't; but he does object."
"Then he may take his ring somewhere else."
They went away, leaving me well pleased at my refusal, for it was plain
that the stone was either false or had a false bottom.
I spent the rest of the day in writing letters and making a good supper,
In the morning I was awoke by someone knocking at my door, and on my
getting up to open it, what was my astonishment to find Mercy!
I let her in, and went back to bed, and asked her what she wanted with me
so early in the morning. She sat down on the bed, and began to overwhelm
me with apologies. I replied by asking her why, if it was her principle
to fly at her lovers like a tiger, she had slept almost in the same room
as myself.
"In sleeping in the closet," said she, "I obeyed my aunt's orders, and in
striking you (for which I am very sorry) I was but defending my honour;
and I cannot admit that every man who sees me is at liberty to lose his
reason. I think you will allow that your duty is to respect, and mine to
defend, my honour."
"If that is your line of argument, I acknowledge that you are right; but
you had nothing to complain of, for I bore your blow in silence, and by
my leaving the house you might know that it was my intention to respect
you for the future. Did you come to hear me say this? If so, you are
satisfied. But you will not be offended if I laugh at your excuses, for
after what you have said I cannot help thinking them very laughable."
"What have I said?"
"That you only did your duty in flattening my nose. If so, do you think
it is necessary to apologize for the performance of duty?"
"I ought to have defended myself more gently. But forget everything and
forgive me; I will defend myself no more in any way. I am yours and I
love you, and I am ready to prove my love."
She could not have spoken more plainly, and as she spoke the last words
she fell on me with her face close to mine, which she bedewed with her
tears. I was ashamed of such an easy conquest, and I gently withdrew from
her embrace, telling her to return after the bruise on my face had
disappeared. She left me deeply mortified.
The Italian, who had taken half the suite of rooms, had arrived in the
course of the night. I asked his name, and was given a card bearing the
name of The Marquis Don Antonio della Croce.
Was it the Croce I knew?
It was very possible.
I asked what kind of an establishment he had, and was informed that the
marchioness had a lady's maid, and the marquis a secretary and two
servants. I longed to see the nobleman in question.
I had not long to wait, for as soon as he heard that I was his neighbour,
he came to see me, and we spent two hours in telling each other our
adventures since we had parted in Milan. He had heard that I had made the
fortune of the girl he had abandoned, and in the six years that had
elapsed he had been travelling all over Europe, engaged in a constant
strife with fortune. At Paris and Brussels he had made a good deal of
money, and in the latter town he had fallen in love with a young lady of
rank, whom her father had shut up in a convent. He had taken her away,
and she it was whom he called the Marchioness della Croce, now six months
with child.
He made her pass for his wife, because, as he said, he meant to marry her
eventually.
"I have fifty thousand francs in gold," said he, "and as much again in
jewellery and various possessions. It is my intention to give suppers
here and hold a bank, but if I play without correcting the freaks of
fortune I am sure to lose." He intended going to Warsaw, thinking I would
give him introductions to all my friends there; but he made a mistake,
and I did not even introduce him to my Polish friends at Spa. I told him
he could easily make their acquaintance by himself, and that I would
neither make nor mar with him.
I accepted his invitation to dinner for the same day. His secretary, as
he called him, was merely his confederate. He was a clever Veronese named
Conti, and his wife was an essential accomplice in Croce's designs.
At noon my friend the hatter came again with the ring, followed by the
owner, who looked like a bravo. They were accompanied by the jeweller and
another individual. The owner asked me once more to lend him two hundred
louis on the ring.
My proper course would have been to beg to be excused, then I should have
had no more trouble in the matter; but it was not to be. I wanted to make
him see that the objection he made to having the stone taken out was an
insuperable obstacle to my lending him the money.
"When the stone is removed," said I, "we shall see what it really is.
Listen to my proposal: if it weighs twenty-six grains, I will give you,
not two but three hundred louis, but in its present condition I shall
give nothing at all."
"You have no business to doubt my word; you insult me by doing so."
"Not at all, I have no intentions of the kind. I simply propose a wager
to you. If the stone be found to weigh twenty-six grains, I shall lose
two hundred Louis, if it weighs much less you will lose the ring."
"That's a scandalous proposal; it's as much as to tell me that I am a
liar."
I did not like the tone with which these words were spoken, and I went up
to the chest of drawers where I kept my pistols, and bade him go and
leave me in peace.
Just then General Roniker came in, and the owner of the ring told him of
the dispute between us. The general looked at the ring, and said to
him,--
"If anyone were to give me the ring I should not have the stone taken
out, because one should not look a gift horse in the mouth; but if it
came to a question of buying or lending I would not give a crown for it,
were the owner an emperor, before the stone was taken out; and I am very
much surprised at your refusing to let this be done."
Without a word the knave made for the door, and the ring remained in the
hands of my late host.
"Why didn't you give him his ring?" said I.
"Because I have advanced him fifty Louis on it; but if he does not redeem
it to-morrow I will have the stone taken out before a judge, and
afterwards I shall sell it by auction."
"I don't like the man's manners, and I hope you will never bring anyone
to my rooms again."
The affair came to the following conclusion: The impostor did not redeem
the ring, and the Liege tradesman had the setting removed. The diamond
was found to be placed on a bed of rock crystal, which formed two-thirds
of the whole bulk. However, the diamond was worth fifty Louis, and an
Englishman bought it. A week afterwards the knave met me as I was walking
by myself, and begged me to follow him to place where we should be free
from observation, as his sword had somewhat to say to mine. Curiously
enough I happened to be wearing my sword at the time.
"I will not follow you," I replied; "the matter can be settled here?"
"We are observed."
"All the better. Make haste and draw your sword first."
"The advantage is with you."
"I know it, and so it ought to be. If you do not draw I will proclaim you
to be the coward I am sure you are."
At this he drew his sword rapidly and came on, but I was ready to receive
him. He began to fence to try my mettle, but I lunged right at his chest,
and gave him three inches of cold steel. I should have killed him on the
spot if he had not lowered his sword, saying he would take his revenge at
another time. With this he went off, holding his hand to the wound.
A score of people were close by, but no one troubled himself about the
wounded man, as he was known to have been the aggressor. The duel had no
further consequences for me. When I left Spa the man was still in the
surgeon's hands. He was something worse than an adventurer, and all the
French at Spa disowned him.
But to return to Croce and his dinner.
The marchioness, his wife so-called, was a young lady of sixteen or
seventeen, fair-complexioned and tall, with all the manners of the
Belgian nobility. The history of her escape is well known to her brothers
and sisters, and as her family are still in existence my readers will be
obliged to me for concealing her name.
Her husband had told her about me, and she received me in the most
gracious manner possible. She shewed no signs of sadness or of repentance
for the steps she had taken. She was with child for some months, and
seemed to be near her term, owing to the slimness of her figure.
Nevertheless she had the aspect of perfect health. Her countenance
expressed candour and frankness of disposition in a remarkable degree.
Her eyes were large and blue, her complexion a roseate hue, her small
sweet mouth, her perfect teeth made her a beauty worthy of the brush of
Albano.
I thought myself skilled in physiognomy, and concluded that she was not
only perfectly happy, but also the cause of happiness. But here let me
say how vain a thing it is for anyone to pronounce a man or woman to be
happy or unhappy from a merely cursory inspection.
The young marchioness had beautiful ear-rings, and two rings, which gave
me a pretext for admiring the beauty of her hands.
Conti's wife did not cut any figure at all, and I was all eyes for the
marchioness, whose name was Charlotte. I was profoundly impressed by her
that I was quite abstracted during dinner.
I sought in vain to discover by what merits Croce had been able to seduce
two such superior women. He was not a fine-looking man, he was not well
educated, his manners were doubtful, and his way of speaking by no means
seductive; in fine, I saw nothing captivating about him, and yet I could
be a witness to his having made two girls leave their homes to follow
him. I lost myself in conjecture; but I had no premonition of what was to
happen in the course of a few weeks.
When dinner was over I took Croce apart, and talked seriously to him. I
impressed on him the necessity of circumspect conduct, as in my opinion
he would be for ever infamous if the beautiful woman whom he had seduced
was to become wretched by his fault.
"For the future I mean to trust to my skill in play, and thus I am sure
of a comfortable living."
"Does she know, that your revenue is fed solely by the purses of dupes?"
"She knows that I am a gamester; and as she adores me, her will is as
mine. I am thinking of marrying her at Warsaw before she is confined. If
you are in any want of money, look upon my purse as your own."
I thanked him, and once more pressed on him the duty of exercising
extreme prudence.
As a matter of fact, I had no need of money. I had played with
moderation, and my profits amounted to nearly four hundred louis. When
the luck turned against me I was wise enough to turn my back on the
board. Although the bruise that Mercy had given me was still apparent, I
escorted the marchioness to the tables, and there she drew all eyes upon
her. She was fond of piquet, and we played together for small stakes for
some time. In the end she lost twenty crowns to me, and I was forced to
take the money for fear of offending her.
When we went back we met Croce and Conti, who had both won--Conti a score
of louis at Faro, and Croce more than a hundred guineas at 'passe dix',
which he had been playing at a club of Englishmen. I was more lively at
supper than dinner, and excited Charlotte to laughter by my wit.
Henceforth the Poles and the Tomatis only saw me at intervals. I was in
love with the fair marchioness, and everybody said it was very natural.
When a week had elapsed, Croce, finding that the pigeons would not come
to be plucked, despite the suppers he gave, went to the public room, and
lost continually. He was as used to loss as to gain, and his spirits were
unaltered; he was still gay, still ate well and drank better, and
caressed his victim, who had no suspicions of what was going on.
I loved her, but did not dare to reveal my passion, fearing lest it
should be unrequited; and I was afraid to tell her of Croce's losses lest
she should put down my action to some ulterior motive; in fine, I was
afraid to lose the trust she had already begun to place in me.
At the end of three weeks Conti, who had played with prudence and
success, left Croce and set out for Verona with his wife and servant. A
few days later Charlotte dismissed her maid, sending her back to Liege,
her native town.
Towards the middle of September all the Polish party left the Spa for
Paris, where I promised to rejoin them. I only stayed for Charlotte's
sake; I foresaw a catastrophe, and I would not abandon her. Every day
Croce lost heavily, and at last he was obliged to sell his jewellery.
Then came Charlotte's turn; she had to give up her watches, ear-rings,
her rings, and all the jewels she had. He lost everything, but this
wonderful girl was as affectionate as ever. To make a finish he despoiled
her of her lace and her best gowns, and then selling his own wardrobe he
went to his last fight with fortune, provided with two hundred Louis. He
played like a madman, without common-sense or prudence, and lost all.
His pockets were empty, and seeing me he beckoned to me, and I followed
him out of the Spa.
"My friend," he began, "I have two alternatives, I can kill myself this
instant or I can fly without returning to the house. I shall embrace the
latter and go to Warsaw on foot, and I leave my wife in your hands, for I
know you adore her. It must be your task to give her the dreadful news of
the pass to which I have come. Have a care of her, she is too good by far
for a poor wretch like me. Take her to Paris and I will write to you
there at your brother's address. I know you have money, but I would die
rather than accept a single louis from you. I have still two or three
pieces left, and I assure you that I am richer at the present moment than
I was two months ago. Farewell; once more I commend Charlotte to your
care; I would that she had never known me."
With these words he shed tears, and embracing me went his way. I was
stupefied at what lay before me.
I had to inform a pregnant woman that the man she dearly loved had
deserted her. The only thought that supported me in that moment was that
it would be done for love of her, and I felt thankful that I had
sufficient means to secure her from privation.
I went to the house and told her that we might dine at once, as the
marquis would be engaged till the evening. She sighed, wished him luck,
and we proceeded to dine. I disguised my emotions so well that she
conceived no suspicion. After the meal was over, I asked her to walk with
me in the garden of the Capuchin Monastery, which was close at hand. To
prepare her for the fatal news I asked her if she would approve of her
lover exposing himself to assassination for the sake of bidding adieu to
her rather than making his escape.
"I should blame him for doing so," she replied. "He ought to escape by
all means, if only to save his life for my sake. Has my husband done so?
Speak openly to me. My spirit is strong enough to resist even so fatal a
blow, for I know I have a friend in you. Speak."
"Well, I will tell you all. But first of all remember this; you must look
upon me as a tender father who will never let you want, so long as life
remains to him."
"In that case I cannot be called unfortunate, for I have a true friend.
Say on."
I told all that Croce had told me, not omitting his last words: "I
commend Charlotte to your care; I would that she had never known me."
For a few minutes she remained motionless, as one turned into stone. By
her attitude, by her laboured and unequal breath, I could divine somewhat
of the battle between love, and anger, and sorrow, and pity, that was
raging in the noble breast. I was cut to the heart. At last she wiped
away the big tears that began to trickle down her cheeks, and turning to
me sighed and said,--
"Dear friend, since I can count on you, I am far indeed from utter
misery."
"I swear to you, Charlotte, that I will never leave you till I place you
again in your husband's hands, provided I do not die before."
"That is enough. I swear eternal gratitude, and to be as submissive to
you as a good daughter ought to be."
The religion and philosophy with which her heart and mind were fortified,
though she made no parade of either, began to calm her spirit, and she
proceeded to make some reflections on Croce's unhappy lot, but all in
pity not in anger, excusing his inveterate passion for play. She had
often heard from Croce's lips the story of the Marseilles girl whom he
had left penniless in an inn at Milan, commending her to my care. She
thought it something wonderful that I should again be intervening as the
tutelary genius; but her situation was much the worse, for she was with
child.
"There's another difference," I added, "for I made the fortune of the
first by finding her an honest husband, whereas I should never have the
courage to adopt the same method with the second."
"While Croce lives I am no man's wife but his, nevertheless I am glad to
find myself free."
When we were back in the house, I advised her to send away the servant
and to pay his journey to Besanion, where she had taken him. Thus all
unpleasantness would be avoided. I made her sell all that remained of her
poor lover's wardrobe, as also his carriage, for mine was a better one.
She shewed me all she had left, which only amounted to some sets of linen
and three or four dresses.
We remained at Spa without going out of doors. She could see that my love
was a tenderer passion than the love of a father, and she told me so, and
that she was obliged to me for the respect with which I treated her. We
sat together for hours, she folded in my arms, whilst I gently kissed her
beautiful eyes, and asked no more. I was happy in her gratitude and in my
powers of self-restraint. When temptation was too strong I left the
beautiful girl till I was myself again, and such conquests made me proud.
In the affection between us there was somewhat of the purity of a man's
first love.
I wanted a small travelling cap, and the servant of the house went to my
former lodging to order one. Mercy brought several for me to choose from.
She blushed when she saw me, but I said nothing to her. When she had gone
I told Charlotte the whole story, and she laughed with all her heart when
I reminded her of the bruise on my face when we first met, and informed
her that Mercy had given it me. She praised my firmness in rejecting her
repentance, and agreed with me in thinking that the whole plan had been
concerted between her and her aunt.
We left Spa without any servant, and when we reached Liege we took the
way of the Ardennes, as she was afraid of being recognized if we passed
through Brussels. At Luxemburg we engaged a servant, who attended on us
till we reached Paris. All the way Charlotte was tender and affectionate,
but her condition prescribed limits to her love, and I could only look
forward to the time after her delivery. We got down at Paris at the
"Hotel Montmorenci," in the street of the same name.
Paris struck me quite as a new place. Madame d'Urfe was dead, my friends
had changed their houses and their fortunes; the poor had become rich and
the rich poor, new streets and buildings were rising on all sides; I
hardly knew my way about the town. Everything was dearer; poverty was
rampant, and luxury at it highest pitch. Perhaps Paris is the only city
where so great a change could take place in the course of five or six
years.
The first call I made was on Madame du Rumain, who was delighted to see
me. I repaid her the money she had so kindly lent me in the time of my
distress. She was well in health, but harassed by so many anxieties and
private troubles that she said Providence must have sent me to her to
relieve her of all her griefs by my cabala. I told her that I would wait
on her at any hour or hours; and this, indeed, was the least I could do
for the woman who had been so kind to me.
My brother had gone to live in the Faubourg St. Antoine. Both he and his
wife (who remained constant to him, despite his physical disability) were
overjoyed to see me, and entreated me to come and stop with them. I told
them I should be glad to do so, as soon as the lady who had travelled
with me had got over her confinement. I did not think proper to tell them
her story, and they had the delicacy to refrain from questioning me on
the subject. The same day I called on Princess Lubomirska and Tomatis,
begging them not to take it amiss if my visits were few and far between,
as the lady they had seen at Spa was approaching her confinement, and
demanded all my care.
After the discharge of these duties I remained constantly by Charlotte's
side. On October 8th I thought it would be well to take her to Madame
Lamarre, a midwife, who lived in the Faubourg St. Denis, and Charlotte
was of the same opinion. We went together, she saw the room, the bed, and
heard how she would be tended and looked after, for all of which I would
pay. At nightfall we drove to the place, with a trunk containing all her
effects.
As we were leaving the Rue Montmorenci our carriage was obliged to stop
to allow the funeral of some rich man to go by. Charlotte covered her
face with her handkerchief, and whispered in my ear, "Dearest, I know it
is a foolish superstition, but to a woman in my condition such a meeting
is of evil omen."
"What, Charlotte! I thought you were too wise to have such silly fears. A
woman in child-bed is not a sick woman, and no woman ever died of giving
birth to a child except some other disease intervened."
"Yes, my dear philosopher, it is like a duel; there are two men in
perfect health, when all of a sudden there comes a sword-thrust, and one
of them is dead."
"That's a witty idea. But bid all gloomy thoughts go by, and after your
child is born, and we have placed it in good hands, you shall come with
me to Madrid, and there I hope to see you happy and contented."
All the way I did my best to cheer her, for I knew only too well the
fatal effects of melancholy on a pregnant woman, especially in such a
delicate girl as Charlotte.
When I saw her completely settled I returned to the hotel, and the next
day I took up my quarters with my brother. However, as long as my
Charlotte lived, I only slept at his house, for from nine in the morning
till after midnight I was with my dear.
On October 13th Charlotte was attacked with a fever which never left her.
On the 17th she was happily delivered of a boy, which was immediately
taken to the church and baptized at the express wishes of the mother.
Charlotte wrote down what its name was to be--Jacques (after me), Charles
(after her), son of Antonio della Croce and of Charlotte de (she gave her
real name). When it was brought from the church she told Madame Lamarre
to carry it to the Foundling Hospital, with the certificate of baptism in
its linen. I vainly endeavoured to persuade her to leave the care of the
child to me. She said that if it lived the father could easily reclaim
it. On the same day, October 18th, the midwife gave me the following
certificate, which I still possess:
It was worded as follows:
"We, J. B. Dorival, Councillor to the King, Commissary of the Chatelet,
formerly Superintendent of Police in the City of Paris, do certify that
there has been taken to the Hospital for Children a male infant,
appearing to be one day old, brought from the Faubourg St. Denis by the
midwife Lamarre, and bearing a certificate of baptism to the effect that
its name is Jacques Charles, son of Antonio della Croce and of Charlotte
de----. Wherefore, we have delivered the above certificate at our office
in the City of Paris, this 18th day of October, in the year of our Lord,
1767, at seven o'clock in the afternoon.
"DORIVAL."
If any of my readers have any curiosity to know the real name of the
mother, I have given them the means of satisfying it.
After this I did not leave the bed of the invalid for a single instant.
In spite of all the doctor's care the fever increased, and at five
o'clock in the morning of October 26th, she succumbed to it. An hour
before she sighed her last, she bade me the last farewell in the presence
of the venerable ecclesiastic who had confessed her at midnight. The
tears which gather fast as I write these words are probably the last
honours I shall pay to this poor victim of a man who is still alive, and
whose destiny seemed to be to make women unhappy.
I sat weeping by the bed of her I loved so dearly, and in vain Madame
Lamarre tried to induce me to come and sit with her. I loved the poor
corpse better than all the world outside.
At noon my brother and his wife came to see me; they had not seen me for
a week, and were getting anxious. They saw the body lovely in death; they
understood my tears, and mingled theirs with mine. At last I asked them
to leave me, and I remained all night by Charlotte's bed, resolved not to
leave it till her body had been consigned to the grave.
The day before this morning of unhappy memory my brother had given me
several letters, but I had not opened any of them. On my return from the
funeral I proceeded to do so, and the first one was from M. Dandolo,
announcing the death of M. de Bragadin; but I could not weep. For
twenty-two years M. de Bragadin had been as a father to me, living
poorly, and even going into debt that I might have enough. He could not
leave me anything, as his property was entailed, while his furniture and
his library would become the prey of his creditors. His two friends, who
were my friends also, were poor, and could give me nothing but their
love. The dreadful news was accompanied by a bill of exchange for a
thousand crowns, which he had sent me twenty-four hours before his death,
foreseeing that it would be the last gift he would ever make me.
I was overwhelmed, and thought that Fortune had done her worst to me.
I spent three days in my brother's house without going out. On the fourth
I began to pay an assiduous court to Princess Lubomirska, who had written
the king, her brother, a letter that must have mortified him, as she
proved beyond a doubt that the tales he had listened to against me were
mere calumny. But your kings do not allow so small a thing to vex or
mortify them. Besides, Stanislas Augustus had just received a dreadful
insult from Russia. Repnin's violence in kidnapping the three senators
who had spoken their minds at the Diet was a blow which must have pierced
the hapless king to the heart.
The princess had left Warsaw more from hatred than love; though such was
not the general opinion. As I had decided to visit the Court of Madrid
before going to Portugal, the princess gave me a letter of introduction
to the powerful Count of Aranda; and the Marquis Caraccioli, who was
still at Paris, gave me three letters, one for Prince de la Catolica, the
Neapolitan ambassador at Madrid, one for the Duke of Lossada, the king's
favourite and lord high steward, and a third for the Marquis Mora
Pignatelli.
On November 4th I went to a concert with a ticket that the princess had
given me. When the concert was half-way through I heard my name
pronounced, accompanied by scornful laughter. I turned round and saw the
gentleman who was speaking contemptuously of me. It was a tall young man
sitting between two men advanced in years. I stared him in the face, but
he turned his head away and continued his impertinencies, saying, amongst
other things, that I had robbed him of a million francs at least by my
swindling his late aunt, the Marchioness d'Urfe.
"You are an impudent liar," I said to him, "and if we were out of this
room I would give you a kick to teach you to speak respectfully."
With these words I made my way out of the hall, and on turning my head
round I saw that the two elderly men were keeping the young blockhead
back. I got into my carriage and waited some time, and as he did not come
I drove to the theatre and chanced to find myself in the same box as
Madame Valville. She informed me that she had left the boards, and was
kept by the Marquis the Brunel.
"I congratulate you, and wish you good luck."
"I hope you will come to supper at my house."
"I should be only too happy, but unfortunately I have an engagement; but
I will come and see you if you will give me your address."
So saying, I slipped into her hand a rouleau, it being the fifty louis I
owed her.
"What is this?"
"The money you lent me so kindly at Konigsberg."
"This is neither the time nor the place to return it. I will only take it
at my own house, so please do not insist."
I put the money back into my pocket, she gave me her address, and I left
her. I felt too sad to visit her alone.
Two days later, as I was at table with my brother, my sister-in-law, and
some young Russians whom he was teaching to paint, I was told that a
Chevalier of St. Louis wanted to speak to me in the antechamber. I went
out, and he handed me a paper without making any preface. I opened the
document, and found it was signed "Louis." The great king ordered me to
leave Paris in twenty-four hours and his realm of France within three
weeks, and the reason assigned was: "It is our good pleasure."
CHAPTER III
My Departure From Paris--My Journey to Madrid--The Count of
Aranda--The Prince de la Catolica--The Duke of Lossada--
Mengs--A Ball--Madame Pichona--Donna Ignazia
"Well, chevalier," I said, "I have read the little note, and I will try
and oblige his majesty as soon as possible. However, if I have not time
to get away in twenty-four hours, his majesty must work his dread will on
me."
"My dear sir, the twenty-four hours are a mere formality. Subscribe the
order and give me a receipt for the lettre de cachet, and you can go at
your convenience. All I ask of you is that you give me your word of
honour not to go to the theatres or public places of amusement on foot."
"I give you my word with pleasure."
I took the chevalier to my room and gave him the necessary
acknowledgment, and with the observation that he would be glad to see my
brother, whom he knew already, I led him into the dining-room, and
explained with a cheerful face the purport of his visit.
My brother laughed and said,--
"But, M. Buhot, this news is like March in Lent, it was quite
unnecessary; my brother was going in the course of a week."
"All the better. If the minister had been aware of that he would not have
troubled himself about it."
"Is the reason known?"
"I have heard something about a proposal to kick a gentleman, who though
young, is too exalted a person to be spoken to in such a manner."
"Why, chevalier," said I, "the phrase is a mere formality like the
twenty-four hours for if the impudent young rascal had come out he would
have met me, and his sword should have been sufficient to ward off any
kicks."
I then told the whole story, and Buhot agreed that I was in the right
throughout; adding that the police were also in the right to prevent any
encounter between us. He advised me to go next morning and tell the tale
to M. de Sartine, who knew me, and would be glad to have the account from
my own lips. I said nothing, as I knew the famous superintendent of
police to be a dreadful sermoniser.
The lettre de cachet was dated November 6th, and I did not leave Paris
till the 20th.
I informed all my friends of the great honour his majesty had done me,
and I would not hear of Madame du Rumain appealing to the king on my
behalf, though she said she felt certain she could get the order revoked.
The Duc de Choiseul gave me a posting passport dated November 19th, which
I still preserve.
I left Paris without any servant, still grieving, though quietly, over
Charlotte's fate. I had a hundred Louis in cash, and a bill of exchange
on Bordeaux for eight thousand francs. I enjoyed perfect health, and
almost felt as if I had been rejuvenated. I had need of the utmost
prudence and discretion for the future. The deaths of M. de Bragadin and
Madame d'Urfe had left me alone in the world, and I was slowly but
steadily approaching what is called a certain age, when women begin to
look on a man with coldness.
I only called on Madame Valville on the eve of my departure: and found
her in a richly-furnished house, and her casket well filled with
diamonds. When I proposed to return her the fifty louis, she asked me if
I had got a thousand; and on learning that I had only five hundred she
refused the money absolutely and offered me her purse, which I in my turn
refused. I have not seen the excellent creature since then, but before I
left I gave her some excellent advice as to the necessity of saving her
gains for the time of her old age, when her charms would be no more. I
hope she has profited by my counsel. I bade farewell to my brother and my
sister-in-law at six o'clock in the evening, and got into my chaise in
the moonlight, intending to travel all night so as to dine next day at
Orleans, where I wanted to see an old friend. In half an hour I was at
Bourg-la-Reine, and there I began to fall asleep. At seven in the morning
I reached Orleans.
Fair and beloved France, that went so well in those days, despite lettres
de cachet, despite corvees, despite the people's misery and the king's
"good pleasure," dear France, where art thou now? Thy sovereign is the
people now, the most brutal and tyrannical sovereign in the world. You
have no longer to bear the "good pleasure" of the sovereign, but you have
to endure the whims of the mob and the fancies of the Republic--the ruin
of all good Government. A republic presupposes self-denial and a virtuous
people; it cannot endure long in our selfish and luxurious days.
I went to see Bodin, a dancer, who had married Madame Joffroy, one of my
thousand mistresses whom I had loved twenty-two years ago, and had seen
later at Turin, Paris, and Vienna. These meetings with old friends and
sweethearts were always a weak or rather a strong point with me. For a
moment I seemed to be young again, and I fed once more on the delights of
long ago. Repentance was no part of my composition.
Bodin and his wife (who was rather ugly than old-looking, and had become
pious to suit her husband's tastes, thus giving to God the devil's
leavings), Bodin, I say, lived on a small estate he had purchased, and
attributed all the agricultural misfortunes he met with in the course of
the year to the wrath of an avenging Deity.
I had a fasting dinner with them, for it was Friday, and they strictly
observed all the rules of the Church. I told them of my adventures of the
past years, and when I had finished they proceeded to make reflections on
the faults and failings of men who have not God for a guide. They told me
what I knew already: that I had an immortal soul, that there was a God
that judgeth righteously, and that it was high time for me to take
example by them, and to renounce all the pomps and vanities of the world.
"And turn Capuchin, I suppose?"
"You might do much worse."
"Very good; but I shall wait till my beard grows the necessary length in
a single night."
In spite of their silliness, I was not sorry to have spent six hours with
these good creatures who seemed sincerely repentant and happy in their
way, and after an affectionate embrace I took leave of them and travelled
all night. I stopped at Chanteloup to see the monument of the taste and
magnificence of the Duc de Choiseul, and spent twenty-four hours there. A
gentlemanly and polished individual, who did not know me, and for whom I
had no introduction, lodged me in a fine suite of rooms, gave me supper,
and would only sit down to table with me after I had used all my powers
of persuasion. The next day he treated me in the same way, gave me an
excellent dinner, shewed me everything, and behaved as if I were some
prince, though he did not even ask my name. His attentions even extended
to seeing that none of his servants were at hand when I got into my
carriage and drove off. This was to prevent my giving money to any of
them.
The castle on which the Duc de Choiseul had spent such immense sums had
in reality cost him nothing. It was all owing, but he did not trouble
himself about that in the slightest degree, as he was a sworn foe to the
principle of meum and tuum. He never paid his creditors, and never
disturbed his debtors. He was a generous man; a lover of art and artists,
to whom he liked to be of service, and what they did for him he looked
upon as a grateful offering. He was intellectual, but a hater of all
detail and minute research, being of a naturally indolent and
procrastinating disposition. His favourite saying was,
"There's time enough for that."
When I got to Poitiers, I wanted to push on to Vivonne; it was seven
o'clock in the evening, and two girls endeavoured to dissuade me from
this course.
"It's very cold," said they, "and the road is none of the best. You are
no courier, sup here, we will give you a good bed, and you shall start
again in the morning."
"I have made up my mind to go on, but if you will keep me company at
supper I will stay."
"That would cost you too dearly."
"Never too dear. Quick I make up your minds."
"Well, we will sup with you."
"Then lay the table for three; I must go on in an hour."
"In an hour! You mean three, sir; papa will take two hours to get you a
good supper."
"Then I will not go on, but you must keep me company all night."
"We will do so, if papa does not object. We will have your chaise put
into the coach-house."
These two minxes gave me an excellent supper, and were a match for me in
drinking as well as eating. The wine was delicious, and we stayed at
table till midnight, laughing and joking together, though without
overstepping the bounds of propriety.
About midnight, the father came in jovially, and asked me how I had
enjoyed my supper.
"Very much," I answered, "but I have enjoyed still more the company of
your charming daughters."
"I am delighted to hear it. Whenever you come this way they shall keep
you company, but now it is past midnight, and time for them to go to
bed."
I nodded my head, for Charlotte's death was still too fresh in my memory
to admit of my indulging in any voluptuous pleasures. I wished the girls
a pleasant sleep, and I do not think I should even have kissed them if
the father had not urged me to do this honour to their charms. However,
my vanity made me put some fire into the embrace, and I have no doubt
they thought me a prey to vain desires.
When I was alone I reflected that if I did not forget Charlotte I was a
lost man. I slept till nine o'clock, and I told the servant that came to
light my fire to get coffee for three, and to have my horses put in.
The two pretty girls came to breakfast with me, and I thanked them for
having made me stay the night. I asked for the bill, and the eldest said
it was in round figures a Louis apiece. I shewed no sign of anger at this
outrageous fleecing, but gave them three Louis with the best grace
imaginable and went on my way. When I reached Angouleme, where I expected
to find Noel, the King of Prussia's cook, I only found his father, whose
talents in the matter of pates was something prodigious. His eloquence
was as fervent as his ovens. He said he would send his pates all over
Europe to any address I liked to give him.
"What! To Venice, London, Warsaw, St. Petersburg?"
"To Constantinople, if you like. You need only give me your address, and
you need not pay me till you get the pates."
I sent his pates to my friends in Venice, Warsaw, and Turin, and
everybody thanked me for the delicious dish.
Noel had made quite a fortune. He assured me he had sent large
consignments to America, and with the exception of some losses by
shipwreck all the pates had arrived in excellent condition. They were
chiefly made of turkeys, partridges, and hare, seasoned with truffles,
but he also made pates de foie gras of larks and of thrushes, according
to the season.
In two days I arrived at Bordeaux, a beautiful town coming only second to
Paris, with respect to Lyons be it said. I spent a week there, eating and
drinking of the best, for the living there is the choicest in the world.
I transferred my bill of exchange for eight thousand francs to a Madrid
house, and crossed the Landes, passing by Mont de Marsan, Bayonne, and
St. Jean de Luz, where I sold my post-chaise. From St. Jean de Luz I went
to Pampeluna by way of the Pyrenees, which I crossed on mule-back, my
baggage being carried by another mule. The mountains struck me as higher
than the Alps. In this I may possibly be wrong, but I am certain that the
Pyrenees are the most picturesque, fertile, and agreeable of the two.
At Pampeluna a man named Andrea Capello took charge of me and my luggage,
and we set out for Madrid. For the first twenty leagues the travelling
was easy enough, and the roads as good as any in France. These roads did
honour to the memory of M. de Gages, who had administered Navarre after
the Italian war, and had, as I was assured, made the road at his own
expense. Twenty years earlier I had been arrested by this famous general;
but he had established a claim on posterity greater than any of his
victories. These laurels were dyed in blood, but the maker of a good road
is a solid benefactor of all posterity.
In time this road came to an end, and thenceforth it would be incorrect
to say that the roads were bad, for, to tell the truth, there were no
roads at all. There were steep ascents and violent descents, but no
traces of carriage wheels, and so it is throughout the whole of Old
Castile. There are no good inns, only miserable dens scarce good enough
for the muleteers, who make their beds beside their animals. Signor or
rather Senor Andrea tried to choose the least wretched inns for me, and
after having provided for the mules he would go round the entire village
to get something for me to eat. The landlord would not stir; he shewed me
a room where I could sleep if I liked, containing a fire-place, in which
I could light a fire if I thought fit, but as to procuring firewood or
provisions, he left that all to me. Wretched Spain!
The sum asked for a night's accommodation was less than a farmer would
ask in France or Germany for leave to sleep in his barn; but there was
always an extra charge of a 'pizetta por el ruido'. The pizetta is worth
four reals; about twenty-one French sous.
The landlord smoked his paper cigarette nonchalantly enough, blowing
clouds of smoke into the air with immense dignity. To him poverty was as
good as riches; his wants were small, and his means sufficed for them. In
no country in Europe do the lower orders live so contentedly on a very
little as in Spain. Two ounces of white bread, a handful of roast
chestnuts or acorns (called bellotas in Spanish) suffice to keep a
Spaniard for a day. It is his glory to say when a stranger is departing
from his abode,--
"I have not given myself any trouble in waiting on him."
This proceeds in part from idleness and in part from Castilian pride. A
Castilian should not lower himself, they say, by attending on a Gavacho,
by which name the Spaniards know the French, and, indeed, all foreigners.
It is not so offensive as the Turkish appellation of dog, or the damned
foreigner of the English. Of course, persons who have travelled or have
had a liberal education do not speak in this way, and a respectable
foreigner will find reasonable Spaniards as he will find reasonable Turks
and Englishmen.
On the second night of my journey I slept at Agreda, a small and ugly
town, or rather village. There Sister Marie d'Agreda became so crazy as
to write a life of the Virgin, which she affirmed to have been dictated
to her by the Mother of the Lord. The State Inquisitors had given me this
work to read when I was under the Leads, and it had nearly driven me mad.
We did ten Spanish leagues a day, and long and weary leagues they seemed
to me. One morning I thought I saw a dozen Capuchins walking slowly in
front of us, but when we caught them up I found they were women of all
ages.
"Are they mad?" I said to Senior Andrea.
"Not at all. They wear the Capuchin habit out of devotion, and you would
not find a chemise on one of them."
There was nothing surprising in their not having chemises, for the
chemise is a scarce article in Spain, but the idea of pleasing God by
wearing a Capuchin's habit struck me as extremely odd. I will here relate
an amusing adventure which befell me on my way.
At the gate of a town not far from Madrid I was asked for my passport. I
handed it over, and got down to amuse myself. I found the chief of the
customs' house engaged in an argument with a foreign priest who was on
his way to Madrid, and had no passport for the capital. He skewed one he
had had for Bilbao, but the official was not satisfied. The priest was a
Sicilian, and I asked him why he had exposed himself to being placed in
this disagreeable predicament. He said he thought it was unnecessary to
have a passport in Spain when one had once journeyed in the country.
"I want to go to Madrid," said he to me, "and hope to obtain a chaplaincy
in the house of a grandee. I have a letter for him."
"Shew it; they will let you pass then."
"You are right."
The poor priest drew out the letter and skewed it to the official, who
opened it, looked at the signature, and absolutely shrieked when he saw
the name Squillace.
"What, senor abbe! you are going to Madrid with a letter from Squillace,
and you dare to skew it?"
The clerks, constables, and hangers-on, hearing that the hated Squillace,
who would have been stoned to death if it had not been for the king's
protection, was the poor abbe's only patron, began to beat him violently,
much to the poor Sicilian's astonishment.
I interposed, however, and after some trouble I succeeded in rescuing the
priest, who was then allowed to pass, as I believe, as a set-off against
the blows he had received.
Squillace was sent to Venice as Spanish ambassador, and in Venice he died
at an advanced age. He was a man designed to be an object of intense
hatred to the people; he was simply ruthless in his taxation.
The door of my room had a lock on the outside but none on the inside. For
the first and second night I let it pass, but on the third I told Senor
Andrea that I must have it altered.
"Senor Don Jacob, you must bear with it in Spain, for the Holy
Inquisition must always be at liberty to inspect the rooms of
foreigners."
"But what in the devil's name does your cursed Inquisition want . . . ?"
"For the love of God, Senor Jacob, speak not thus! if you were overheard
we should both be undone."
"Well, what can the Holy Inquisition want to know?"
"Everything. It wants to know whether you eat meat on fast days, whether
persons of opposite sexes sleep together, if so, whether they are
married, and if not married it will cause both parties to be imprisoned;
in fine, Senor Don Jaimo, the Holy inquisition is continually watching
over our souls in this country."
When we met a priest bearing the viaticum to some sick man, Senor Andrea
would tell me imperatively to get out of my carriage, and then there was
no choice but to kneel in the mud or dust as the case might be. The chief
subject of dispute at that time was the fashion of wearing breeches.
Those who wore 'braguettes' were imprisoned, and all tailors making
breeches with 'braguettes' were severely punished. Nevertheless, people
persisted in wearing them, and the priests and monks preached in vain
against the indecency of such a habit. A revolution seemed imminent, but
the matter was happily settled without effusion of blood. An edict was
published and affixed to the doors of all the churches, in which it was
declared that breeches with braguettes were only to be worn by the public
hangmen. Then the fashion passed away; for no one cared to pass for the
public executioner.
By little and little I got an insight into the manners of the Spanish
nation as I passed through Guadalaxara and Alcala, and at length arrived
at Madrid.
Guadalaxara, or Guadalajara, is pronounced by the Spaniards with a strong
aspirate, the x and j having the same force. The vowel d, the queen of
letters, reigns supreme in Spain; it is a relic of the old Moorish
language. Everyone knows that the Arabic abounds in d's, and perhaps the
philologists are right in calling it the most ancient of languages, since
the a is the most natural and easy to pronounce of all the letters. It
seems to me very mistaken to call such words as Achald, Ayanda, Almanda,
Acard, Agracaramba, Alcantara, etc., barbarous, for the sonorous ring
with which they are pronounced renders the Castilian the richest of all
modern languages. Spanish is undoubtedly one of the finest, most
energetic, and most majestic languages in the world. When it is
pronounced 'ore rotundo' it is susceptible of the most poetic harmony. It
would be superior to the Italian, if it were not for the three guttural
letters, in spite of what the Spaniards say to the contrary. It is no
good remonstrating with them.
'Quisquis amat ranam, ranam purat esse Dianam'.
As I was entering the Gate of Alcala, my luggage was searched, and the
clerks paid the greatest attention to my books, and they were very
disappointed only to find the "Iliad" in Greek, and a Latin Horace. They
were taken away, but three days after, they were returned to me at my
lodging in the Rue de la Croix where I had gone in spite of Senor Andrea,
who had wanted to take me elsewhere. A worthy man whom I had met in
Bordeaux had given me the address. One of the ceremonies I had to undergo
at the Gate of Alcala displeased me in the highest degree. A clerk asked
me for a pinch of snuff, so I took out my snuff-box and gave it him, but
instead of taking a pinch he snatched it out of my hands and said,--
"Senor, this snuff will not pass in Spain" (it was French rappee); and
after turning it out on the ground he gave me back the box.
The authorities are most rigorous on the matter of this innocent powder,
and in consequence an immense contraband trade is carried on. The spies
employed by the Spanish snuff-makers are always on the look-out after
foreign snuff, and if they detect anyone carrying it they make him pay
dearly for the luxury. The ambassadors of foreign powers are the only
persons exempted from the prohibitions. The king who stuffs into his
enormous nose one enormous pinch as he rises in the morning wills that
all his subjects buy their snuff of the Spanish manufacturers. When
Spanish snuff is pure it is very good, but at the time I was in Spain the
genuine article could hardly be bought for its weight in gold. By reason
of the natural inclination towards forbidden fruit, the Spaniards are
extremely fond of foreign snuff, and care little for their own; thus
snuff is smuggled to an enormous extent.
My lodging was comfortable enough, but I felt the want of a fire as the
cold was more trying than that of Paris, in spite of the southern
latitude. The cause of this cold is that Madrid is the highest town in
Europe. From whatever part of the coast one starts, one has to mount to
reach the capital. The town is also surrounded by mountains and hills, so
that the slightest touch of wind from the north makes the cold intense.
The air of Madrid is not healthy for strangers, especially for those of a
full habit of body; the Spaniards it suits well enough, for they are dry
and thin, and wear a cloak even in the dog days.
The men of Spain dwell mentally in a limited horizon, bounded by
prejudice on every side; but the women, though ignorant, are usually
intelligent; while both sexes are the prey of desires, as lively as their
native air, as burning as the sun that shines on them. Every Spaniard
hates a foreigner, simply because he is a foreigner, but the women avenge
us by loving us, though with great precautions, for your Spaniard is
intensely jealous. They watch most jealously over the honour of their
wives and daughters. As a rule the men are ugly, though there are
numerous exceptions; while the women are pretty, and beauties are not
uncommon. The southern blood in their veins inclines them to love, and
they are always ready to enter into an intrigue and to deceive the spies
by whom they are surrounded. The lover who runs the greatest dangers is
always the favourite. In the public walks, the churches, the theatres,
the Spanish women are always speaking the language of the eyes. If the
person to whom it is addressed knows how to seize the instant, he may be
sure of success, but if not, the opportunity will never be offered him
again.
I required some kind of heat in my room, and could not bear a charcoal
brazier, so I incited an ingenious tin-smith to make me a stove with a
pipe going out of the window. However, he was so proud of his success
that he made me pay dearly.
Before the stove was ready I was told where I might go and warm myself an
hour before noon, and stay till dinner-time. It is called La Pueyta del
Sol, "The Gate of the Sun." It is not a gate, but it takes its name from
the manner in which the source of all heat lavishes his treasures there,
and warms all who come and bask in his rays. I found a numerous company
promenading there, walking and talking, but it was not much to my taste.
I wanted a servant who could speak French, and I had the greatest
difficulty in getting one, and had to pay dearly, for in Madrid the kind
of man I wanted was called a page. I could not compel him to mount behind
my carriage, nor to carry a package, nor to light me by night with a
torch or lantern.
My page was a man of thirty, and terribly ugly; but this was a
recommendation, as his ugliness secured him from the jealous suspicions
of husbands. A woman of rank will not drive out without one of these
pages seated in the forepart of her carriage. They are said to be more
difficult to seduce than the strictest of duennas.
I was obliged to take one of these rascally tribe into my service, and I
wish he had broken his leg on his way to my house.
I delivered all my introductions, beginning with the letter from Princess
Lubomirska to the Count of Aranda. The count had covered himself with
glory by driving the Jesuits out of Spain. He was more powerful than the
king himself, and never went out without a number of the royal guardsmen
about him, whom he made to sit down at his table. Of course all the
Spaniards hated him, but he did not seem to care much for that. A
profound politician, and absolutely resolute and firm, he privately
indulged in every luxury that he forbade to others, and did not care
whether people talked of it or not.
He was a rather ugly man, with a disagreeable squint. His reception of me
was far from cordial.
"What do you want in Spain?" he began.
"To add fresh treasures to my store of experience, by observing the
manners and the customs of the country, and if possible to serve the
Government with such feeble, talents as I may possess."
"Well, you have no need of my protection. If you do not infringe the
laws, no one will disturb you. As to your obtaining employment, you had
better go to the representative of your country; he will introduce you at
Court, and make you known."
"My lord, the Venetian ambassador will do nothing for me; I am in
disgrace with the Government. He will not even receive me at the
embassy."
"Then I would advise you to give up all hopes of employment, for the king
would begin by asking your ambassador about you, and his answer would be
fatal. You will do well to be satisfied with amusing yourself."
After this I called on the Neapolitan ambassador, who talked in much the
same way. Even the Marquis of Moras, one of the most pleasant men in
Spain, did not hold out any hopes. The Duke of Lossada, the high steward
and favourite of his Catholic majesty, was sorry to be disabled from
doing me any service, in spite of his good will, and advised me, in some
way or other, to get the Venetian ambassador to give me a good word, in
spite of my disgrace. I determined to follow his advice, and wrote to M.
Dandolo, begging him to get the ambassador to favour me at the Spanish
Court in spite of my quarrel with the Venetian Government. I worded my
letter in such a way that it might be read by the Inquisitors themselves,
and calculated on its producing a good impression.
After I had written this letter I went to the lodging of the Venetian
ambassador, and presented myself to the secretary, Gaspar Soderini, a
worthy and intelligent man. Nevertheless, he dared to tell me that he was
astonished at my hardihood in presenting myself at the embassy.
"I have presented myself, sir, that my enemies may never reproach me for
not having done so; I am not aware that I have ever done anything which
makes me too infamous to call on my ambassador. I should have credited
myself with much greater hardihood if I had left without fulfilling this
duty; but I shall be sorry if the ambassador views my proceedings in the
same light as yourself, and puts down to temerity what was meant for a
mark of respect. I shall be none the less astonished if his excellency
refuses to receive me on account of a private quarrel between myself and
the State Inquisitors, of which he knows no more than I do, and I know
nothing. You will excuse my saying that he is not the ambassador of the
State Inquisitors, but of the Republic of which I am a subject; for I
defy him and I defy the Inquisitors to tell me what crime I have
committed that I am to be deprived of my rights as a Venetian citizen. I
think that, while it is my duty to reverence my prince in the person of
my ambassador, it is his duty to afford me his protection."
This speech had made Soderini blush, and he replied,--
"Why don't you write a letter to the ambassador, with the arguments you
have just used to me?"
"I could not write to him before I know whether he will receive me or
not. But now, as I have reason to suppose that his opinions are much the
same as your own, I will certainly write to him."
"I do not know whether his excellency thinks as I do or not, and, in
spite of what I said to you, it is just possible that you do not know my
own opinions on the question; but write to him, and he may possibly give
you an audience."
"I shall follow your advice, for which I am much obliged."
When I got home I wrote to his excellency all I had said to the
secretary, and the next day I had a visit from Count Manucci. The count
proved to be a fine-looking young man of an agreeable presence. He said
that he lived in the embassy, that his excellency had read my letter, and
though he grieved not to receive me publicly he should be delighted to
see me in private, for he both knew and esteemed me.
Young Manucci told me that he was a Venetian, and that he knew me by
name, as he often heard his father and mother lamenting my fortune.
Before long it dawned upon me that this Count Manucci was the son of that
Jean Baptiste Manucci who had served as the spy of the State Inquisitors
and had so adroitly managed to get possession of my books of magic, which
were in all probability the chief corpus delicti.
I did not say anything to him, but I was certain that my guess was
correct. His mother was the daughter of a valet de chambre, and his
father was a poor mechanic. I asked the young man if he were called count
at the embassy, and he said he bore the title in virtue of a warrant from
the elector-palatine. My question skewed him that I knew his origin, and
he began to speak openly to me; and knowing that I was acquainted with
the peculiar tastes of M. de Mocenigo, the ambassador, he informed me
laughingly that he was his pathic.
"I will do my best for you," he added; and I was glad to hear him say so,
for an Alexis should be able to obtain almost anything from his Corydon.
We embraced, and he told me as we parted that he would expect me at the
embassy in the afternoon, to take coffee in his room; the ambassador, he
said, would certainly come in as soon as he heard of my presence.
I went to the embassy, and had a very kind reception from the ambassador,
who said he was deeply grieved not to be able to receive me publicly. He
admitted that he might present me at Court without compromising himself,
but he was afraid of making enemies.
"I hope soon to receive a letter from a friend of mine, which will
authorise your excellency producing me."
"I shall be delighted, in that case, to present you to all the Spanish
ministers."
This Mocenigo was the same that acquired such a reputation at Paris by
his leanings to pederasty, a vice or taste which the French hold in
horror. Later on, Mocenigo was condemned by the Council of Ten to ten
years' imprisonment for having started on an embassy to Vienna without
formal permission. Maria Theresa had intimated to the Venetian Government
that she would not receive such a character, as his habits would be the
scandal of her capital. The Venetian Government had some trouble with
Mocenigo, and as he attempted to set out for Vienna they exiled him and
chose another ambassador, whose morals were as bad, save that the new
ambassador indulged himself with Hebe and not Ganymede, which threw a
veil of decency over his proceedings.
In spite of his reputation for pederasty, Mocenigo was much liked at
Madrid. 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. However, in spite of the revolting
nature of this vice, it has been a favourite one with several great men.
It was well-known to the Ancients, and those who indulged in it were
called Hermaphrodites, which symbolises not a man of two sexes but a man
with the passions of the two sexes.
I had called two or three times on the painter Mengs, who had been
painter in ordinary to his Catholic majesty for six years, and had an
excellent salary. He gave me some good dinners. His wife and family were
at Rome, while he basked in the royal favours at Madrid, enjoying the
unusual privilege of being able to speak to the king whenever he would.
At Mengs's house I trade the acquaintance of the architect Sabatini, an
extremely able man whom the king had summoned from Naples to cleanse
Madrid, which was formerly the dirtiest and most stinking town in Europe,
or, for the matter of that, in the world. Sabatini had become a rich man
by constructing drains, sewers, and closets for a city of fourteen
thousand houses. He had married by proxy the daughter of Vanvitelli, who
was also an architect at Naples, but he had never seen her. She came to
Madrid about the same time as myself. She was a beauty of eighteen, and
no sooner did she see her husband than she declared she would never be
his wife. Sabatini was neither a young man nor a handsome one, but he was
kind-hearted and distinguished; and when he told his young wife that she
would have to choose between him and a nunnery, she determined to make
the best of what she thought a bad bargain. However, she had no reason to
repent of her choice; her husband was rich, affectionate, and easygoing,
and gave her everything she wanted. I sighed and burned for her in
silence, not daring to declare my love, for while the wound of the death
of Charlotte was still bleeding I also began to find that women were
beginning to give me the cold shoulder.
By way of amusing myself I began to go to the theatre, and the masked
balls to which the Count of Aranda had established. They were held in a
room built for the purpose, and named 'Los Scannos del Peral'. A Spanish
play is full of absurdities, but I rather relished the representations.
The 'Autos Sacramentales' were still represented; they were afterwards
prohibited. I could not help remarking the strange way in which the boxes
are constructed by order of the wretched police. Instead of being boarded
in front they are perfectly open, being kept up by small pillars. A
devotee once said to me at the theatre that this was a very wise
regulation, and he was surprised that it was not carried into force in
Italy.
"Why so?"
"Because lovers, who feel sure that no one in the pit can see them, may
commit improprieties."
I only answered with a shrug of the shoulders.
In a large box opposite to the stage sat 'los padres' of the Holy
Inquisition to watch over the morals of actors and audience. I was gazing
on them when of a sudden the sentinel at the door of the pit called out
"Dios!" and at this cry all the actors and all the audience, men and
women, fell down on their knees, and remained kneeling till the sound of
a bell in the street ceased to be heard. This bell betokened that a
priest was passing by carrying the viaticum to some sick man. I felt very
much inclined to laugh, but I had seen enough of Spanish manners to
refrain. All the religion of the Spaniard is in outward show and
ceremony. A profligate woman before yielding to the desires of her lover
covers the picture of Christ, or the Virgin, with a veil. If the lover
laughed at this absurdity he would run a risk of being denounced as an
Atheist, and most probably by the wretched woman who had sold him her
charms.
In Madrid, and possibly all over Spain, a gentleman who takes a lady to a
private room in an inn must expect to have a servant in the room the
whole of the time, that he may be able to swear that the couple took no
indecent liberties with each other. In spite of all, profligacy is
rampant at Madrid, and also the most dreadful hypocrisy, which is more
offensive to true piety than open sin. Men and women seemed to have come
to an agreement to set the whole system of surveillance utterly at
nought. However, commerce with women is not without its dangers; whether
it be endemic or a result of dirty habits, one has often good reason to
repent the favours one has obtained.
The masked ball quite captivated me. The first time I went to see what it
was like and it only cost me a doubloon (about eleven francs), but ever
after it cost me four doubloons, for the following reason:
An elderly gentleman, who sat next me at supper, guessed I was a
foreigner by my difficulty in making myself understood by the waiter, and
asked me where, I had left my lady friend.
"I have not got one; I came by myself to enjoy this delightful and
excellently-managed entertainment."
"Yes, but you ought to come with a companion; then you could dance. At
present you cannot do so, as every lady has her partner, who will not
allow her to dance with anyone else."
"Then I must be content not to dance, for, being a stranger, I do not
know any lady whom I can ask to come with me."
"As a stranger you would have much less difficulty in securing a partner
than a citizen of Madrid. Under the new fashion, introduced by the Count
of Aranda, the masked ball has become the rage of all the women in the
capital. You see there are about two hundred of them on the floor
to-night; well, I think there are at least four thousand girls in Madrid
who are sighing for someone to take them to the ball, for, as you may
know, no woman is allowed to come by herself. You would only have to go
to any respectable people, give your name and address, and ask to have
the pleasure of taking their daughter to the ball. You would have to send
her a domino, mask, and gloves; and you would take her and bring her back
in your carriage."
"And if the father and mother refused?"
"Then you would make your bow and go, leaving them to repent of their
folly, for the girl would sigh, and weep, and moan, bewail parental
tyranny, call Heaven to witness the innocency of going to a ball, and
finally go into convulsions."
This oration, which was uttered in the most persuasive style, made me
quite gay, for I scented an intrigue from afar. I thanked the masked (who
spoke Italian very well) and promised to follow his advice and to let him
know the results.
"I shall be delighted to hear of your success, and you will find me in
the box, where I shall be glad if you will follow me now, to be
introduced to the lady who is my constant companion."
I was astonished at so much politeness, and told him my name and followed
him. He took me into a box where there were two ladies and an elderly
man. They were talking about the ball, so I put in a remark or two on the
same topic, which seemed to meet with approval. One of the two ladies,
who retained some traces of her former beauty, asked me, in excellent
French, what circles I moved in.
"I have only been a short time in Madrid, and not having been presented
at Court I really know no one."
"Really! I quite pity you. Come and see me, you will be welcome. My name
is Pichona, and anybody will tell you where I live."
"I shall be delighted to pay my respects to you, madam."
What I liked best about the spectacle was a wonderful and fantastic dance
which was struck up at midnight. It was the famous fandango, of which I
had often heard, but of which I had absolutely no idea. I had seen it
danced on the stage in France and Italy, but the actors were careful not
to use those voluptuous gestures which make it the most seductive in the
world. It cannot be described. Each couple only dances three steps, but
the gestures and the attitudes are the most lascivious imaginable.
Everything is represented, from the sigh of desire to the final ecstasy;
it is a very history of love. I could not conceive a woman refusing her
partner anything after this dance, for it seemed made to stir up the
senses. I was so excited at this Bacchanalian spectacle that I burst out
into cries of delight. The masker who had taken me to his box told me
that I should see the fandango danced by the Gitanas with good partners.
"But," I remarked, "does not the Inquisition object to this dance?"
Madame Pichona told me that it was absolutely forbidden, and would not be
danced unless the Count of Aranda had given permission.
I heard afterwards that, on the count forbidding the fandango, the
ball-room was deserted with bitter complaints, and on the prohibition
being withdrawn everyone was loud in his praise.
The next day I told my infamous page to get me a Spaniard who would teach
me the fandango. He brought me an actor, who also gave me Spanish
lessons, for he pronounced the language admirably. In the course of three
days the young actor taught me all the steps so well that, by the
confession of the Spaniards themselves, I danced it to perfection.
For the next ball I determined to carry the masker's advice into effect,
but I did not want to take a courtesan or a married woman with me, and I
could not reasonably expect that any young lady of family would accompany
me.
It was St. Anthony's Day, and passing the Church of the Soledad I went
in, with the double motive of hearing mass and of procuring a partner for
the next day's ball.
I noticed a fine-looking girl coming out of the confessional, with
contrite face and lowered eyes, and I noted where she went. She knelt
down in the middle of the church, and I was so attracted by her
appearance that I registered a mental vow to the effect that she should
be my first partner. She did not look like a person of condition, nor, so
far as I could see, was she rich, and nothing about her indicated the
courtesan, though women of that class go to confession in Madrid like
everybody else. When mass was ended, the priest distributed the
Eucharist, and I saw her rise and approach humbly to the holy table, and
there receive the communion. She then returned to the church to finish
her devotions, and I was patient enough to wait till they were over.
At last she left, in company with another girl, and I followed her at a
distance. At the end of a street her companion left her to go into her
house, and she, retracing her steps, turned into another street and
entered a small house, one story high. I noted the house and the street
(Calle des Desinjano) and then walked up and down for half an hour, that
I might not be suspected of following her. At last I took courage and
walked in, and, on my ringing a bell, I heard a voice,
"Who is there?"
"Honest folk," I answered, according to the custom of the country; and
the door was opened. I found myself in the presence of a man, a woman,
the young devotee I had followed, and another girl, somewhat ugly.
My Spanish was bad, but still it was good enough to express my meaning,
and, hat in hand, I informed the father that, being a stranger, and
having no partner to take to the ball, I had come to ask him to give me
his daughter for my partner, supposing he had a daughter. I assured him
that I was a man of honour, and that the girl should be returned to him
after the ball in the same condition as when she started.
"Senor," said he, "there is my daughter, but I don't know you, and I
don't know whether she wants to go."
"I should like to go, if my parents will allow me."
"Then you know this gentleman?"
"I have never seen him, and I suppose he has never seen me."
"You speak the truth, senora."
The father asked me my name and address, and promised I should have a
decisive answer by dinner-time, if I dined at home. I begged him to
excuse the liberty I had taken, and to let me know his answer without
fail, so that I might have time to get another partner if it were
unfavourable to me.
Just as I was beginning to dine my man appeared. I asked him to sit down,
and he informed me that his daughter would accept my offer, but that her
mother would accompany her and sleep in the carriage. I said that she
might do so if she liked, but I should be sorry for her on account of the
cold. "She shall have a good cloak," said he; and he proceeded to inform
me that he was a cordwainer.
"Then I hope you will take my measure for a pair of shoes."
"I daren't do that; I'm an hidalgo, and if I were to take anyone's
measure I should have to touch his foot, and that would be a degradation.
I am a cobbler, and that is not inconsistent with my nobility."
"Then, will you mend me these boots?"
"I will make them like new; but I see they want a lot of work; it will
cost you a pezzo duro, about five francs."
I told him that I thought his terms very reasonable, and he went out with
a profound bow, refusing absolutely to dine with me.
Here was a cobbler who despised bootmakers because they had to touch the
foot, and they, no doubt, despised him because he touched old leather.
Unhappy pride how many forms it assumes, and who is without his own
peculiar form of it?
The next day I sent to the gentleman-cobbler's a tradesman with dominos,
masks, and gloves; but I took care not to go myself nor to send my page,
for whom I had an aversion which almost amounted to a presentiment. I
hired a carriage to seat four, and at nightfall I drove to the house of
my pious partner, who was quite ready for me. The happy flush on her face
was a sufficient index to me of the feelings of her heart. We got into
the carriage with the mother, who was wrapped up in a vast cloak, and at
the door of the dancing-room we descended, leaving the mother in the
carriage. As soon as we were alone my fair partner told me that her name
was Donna Ignazia.
CHAPTER IV
My Amours With Donna Ignazia--My Imprisonment At Buen
Retiro--My Triumph--I Am Commended to the Venetian
Ambassador by One of the State Inquisitors
We entered the ball-room and walked round several times. Donna Ignazia
was in such a state of ecstasy that I felt her trembling, and augured
well for my amorous projects. Though liberty, nay, license, seemed to
reign supreme, there was a guard of soldiers ready to arrest the first
person who created any disturbance. We danced several minuets and square
dances, and at ten o'clock we went into the supper-room, our conversation
being very limited all the while, she not speaking for fear of
encouraging me too much, and I on account of my poor knowledge of the
Spanish language. I left her alone for a moment after supper, and went to
the box, where I expected to find Madame Pichona, but it was occupied by
maskers, who were unknown to me, so I rejoined my partner, and we went on
dancing the minuets and quadrilles till the fandango was announced. I
took my place with my partner, who danced it admirably, and seemed
astonished to find herself so well supported by a foreigner. This dance
had excited both of us, so, after taking her to the buffet and giving her
the best wines and liqueurs procurable, I asked her if she were content
with me. I added that I was so deeply in love with her that unless she
found some means of making me happy I should undoubtedly die of love. I
assured her that I was ready to face all hazards.
"By making you happy," she replied, "I shall make myself happy, too. I
will write to you to-morrow, and you will find the letter sewn into the
hood of my domino."
"You will find me ready to do anything, fair Ignazia, if you will give me
hope."
At last the ball was over, and we went out and got into the carriage. The
mother woke up, and the coachman drove off, and I, taking the girl's
hands, would have kissed them. However, she seemed to suspect that I had
other intentions, and held my hands clasped so tightly that I believe I
should have found it a hard task to pull them away. In this position
Donna Ignazia proceeded to tell her mother all about the ball, and the
delight it had given her. She did not let go my hands till we got to the
corner of their street, when the mother called out to the coachman to
stop, not wishing to give her neighbours occasion for slander by stopping
in front of their own house.
The next day I sent for the domino, and in it I found a letter from Donna
Ignazia, in which she told me that a Don Francisco de Ramos would call on
me, that he was her lover, and that he would inform me how to render her
and myself happy.
Don Francisco wasted no time, for the next morning at eight o'clock my
page sent in his name. He told me that Donna Ignazia, with whom he spoke
every night, she being at her window and he in the street, had informed
him that she and I had been at the ball together. She had also told him
that she felt sure I had conceived a fatherly affection for her, and she
had consequently prevailed upon him to call on me, being certain that I
would treat him as my own son. She had encouraged him to ask me to lend
him a hundred doubloons which would enable them to get married before the
end of the carnival.
"I am employed at the Mint," he added, "but my present salary is a very
small one. I hope I shall get an increase before long, and then I shall
be in a position to make Ignazia happy. All my relations live at Toledo,
and I have no friends at Madrid, so when we set up our only friends will
be the father and mother of my wife and yourself, for I am sure you love
her like a daughter."
"You have probed my heart to its core," I replied, "but just now I am
awaiting remittances, and have very little money about me. You may count
on my discretion, and I shall be delighted to see you whenever you care
to call on me."
The gallant made me a bow, and took his departure in no good humour. Don
Francisco was a young man of twenty-two, ugly and ill-made. I resolved to
nip the intrigue in the bud, for my inclination for Donna Ignazia was of
the lightest description; and I went to call on Madame Pichona, who had
given me such a polite invitation to come and see her. I had made
enquiries about her, and had found out that she was an actress and had
been made rich by the Duke of Medina-Celi. The duke had paid her a visit
in very cold weather, and finding her without a fire, as she was too poor
to buy coals, had sent her the next day a silver stove, which he had
filled with a hundred thousand pezzos duros in gold, amounting to three
hundred thousand francs in French money. Since then Madame Pichona lived
at her ease and received good company.
She gave me a warm reception when I called on her, but her looks were
sad. I began by saying that as I had not found her in her box on the last
ball night I had ventured to come to enquire after her health.
"I did not go," said she, "for on that day died my only friend the Duke
of Medina-Celi. He was ill for three days."
"I sympathise with you. Was the duke an old man?"
"Hardly sixty. You have seen him; he did not look his age."
"Where have I seen him?"
"Did he not bring you to my box?"
"You don't say so! He did not tell me his name and I never saw him
before."
I was grieved to hear of his death; it was in all probability a
misfortune for me as well as Madame Pichona. All the duke's estate passed
to a son of miserly disposition, who in his turn had a son who was
beginning to evince the utmost extravagance.
I was told that the family of Medina-Celi enjoys thirty titles of
nobility.
One day a young man called on me to offer me, as a foreigner, his
services in a country which he knew thoroughly.
"I am Count Marazzini de Plaisance," he began, "I am not rich and I have
come to Madrid to try and make my fortune. I hope to enter the bodyguard
of his Catholic majesty. I have been indulging in the amusements of the
town ever since I came. I saw you at the ball with an unknown beauty. I
don't ask you to tell me her name, but if you are fond of novelty I can
introduce you to all the handsomest girls in Madrid."
If my experience had taught me such wholesome lessons as I might have
expected, I should have shown the impudent rascal the door. Alas! I began
to be weary of my experience and the fruits of it; I began to feel the
horrors of a great void; I had need of some slight passion to wile away
the dreary hours. I therefore made this Mercury welcome, and told him I
should be obliged by his presenting me to some beauties, neither too easy
nor too difficult to access.
"Come with me to the ball," he rejoined, "and I will shew you some women
worthy of your attention."
The ball was to take place the same evening, and I agreed; he asked me to
give him some dinner, and I agreed to that also. After dinner he told me
he had no money, and I was foolish enough to give him a doubloon. The
fellow, who was ugly, blind of one eye, and full of impudence, shewed me
a score of pretty women, whose histories he told me, and seeing me to be
interested in one of them he promised to bring her to a procuress. He
kept his word, but he cost me dear; for the girl only served for an
evening's amusement.
Towards the end of the carnival the noble Don Diego, the father of Donna
Ignazia, brought me my boots, and the thanks of his wife and himself for
the pleasure I had given her at the ball.
"She is as good as she is beautiful," said I, "she deserves to prosper,
and if I have not called on her it is only that I am anxious to do
nothing which could injure her reputation."
"Her reputation, Senor Caballero, is above all reproach, and I shall be
delighted to see you whenever you honour me with a call."
"The carnival draws near to its end," I replied, "and if Donna Ignazia
would like to go to another ball I shall be happy to take her again."
"You must come and ask her yourself."
"I will not fail to do so."
I was anxious to see how the pious girl, who had tried to make me pay a
hundred doubloons for the chance of having her after her marriage, would
greet me, so I called the same day. I found her with her mother, rosary
in hand, while her noble father was botching old boots. I laughed
inwardly at being obliged to give the title of don to a cobbler who would
not make boots because he was an hidalgo. Hidalgo, meaning noble, is
derived from 'higo de albo', son of somebody, and the people, whom the
nobles call 'higos de nade', sons of nobody, often revenge themselves by
calling the nobles hideputas, that is to say, sons of harlots.
Donna Ignazia rose politely from the floor, where she was sitting
cross-legged, after the Moorish fashion. I have seen exalted ladies in
this position at Madrid, and it is very common in the antechambers of the
Court and the palace of the Princess of the Asturias. The Spanish women
sit in church in the same way, and the rapidity with which they can
change this posture to a kneeling or a standing one is something amazing.
Donna Ignazia thanked me for honouring her with a visit, adding that she
would never have gone to the ball if it had not been for me, and that she
never hoped to go to it again, as I had doubtless found someone else more
worthy of my attentions.
"I have not found anyone worthy to be preferred before you," I replied,
"and if you would like to go to the ball again I should be most happy to
take you."
The father and mother were delighted with the pleasure I was about to
give to their beloved daughter. As the ball was to take place the same
evening, I gave the mother a doubloon to get a mask and domino. She went
on her errand, and, as Don Diego also went out on some business, I found
myself alone with the girl. I took the opportunity of telling her that if
she willed I would be hers, as I adored her, but that I could not sigh
for long.
"What can you ask, and what can I offer, since I must keep myself pure
for my husband?"
"You should abandon yourself to me without reserve, and you may be sure
that I should respect your innocence."
I then proceeded to deliver a gentle attack, which she repulsed, with a
serious face. I stopped directly, telling her that she would find me
polite and respectful, but not in the least affectionate, for the rest of
the evening.
Her face had blushed a vivid scarlet, and she replied that her sense of
duty obliged her to repulse me in spite of herself.
I liked this metaphysical line of argument. I saw that I had only to
destroy the idea of duty in her and all the rest would follow. What I had
to do was to enter into an argument, and to bear away the prize directly
I saw her at a loss for an answer.
"If your duty," I began, "forces you to repulse me in spite of yourself,
your duty is a burden on you. If it is a burden on you, it is your enemy,
and if it is your enemy why do you suffer it thus lightly to gain the
victory? If you were your own friend, you would at once expel this
insolent enemy from your coasts."
"That may not be."
"Yes, it may. Only shut your eyes."
"Like that?"
"Yes."
I immediately laid hands on a tender place; she repulsed me, but more
gently and not so seriously as before.
"You may, of course, seduce me," she said, "but if you really love me you
will spare me the shame."
"Dearest Ignazia, there is no shame in a girl giving herself up to the
man she loves. Love justifies all things. If you do not love me I ask
nothing of you."
"But how shall I convince you that I am actuated by love and not by
complaisance?"
"Leave me to do what I like, and my self-esteem will help me to believe
you."
"But as I cannot be certain that you will believe me, my duty plainly
points to a refusal."
"Very good, but you will make me sad and cold."
"Then I shall be sad, too."
At these encouraging words I embraced her, and obtained some solid
favours with one hardy hand. She made no opposition, and I was well
pleased with what I had got; and for a first attempt I could not well
expect more.
At this juncture the mother came in with the dominos and gloves. I
refused to accept the change, and went away to return in my carriage, as
before.
Thus the first step had been taken, and Donna Ignazia felt it would be
ridiculous not to join in with my conversation at the ball which all
tended to procuring the pleasure of spending our nights together. She
found me affectionate all the evening, and at supper I did my best to get
her everything she liked. I made her see that the part she had at last
taken was worthy of praise, and not blame. I filled her pockets with
sweets, and put into my own pockets two bottles of ratafia, which I
handed over to the mother, who was asleep in the carriage. Donna Ignazia
gratefully refused the quadruple I wished to give her, saying that if it
were in my power to make such presents, I might give the money to her
lover whenever he called on me.
"Certainly," I answered, "but what shall I say to prevent his taking
offence?"
"Tell him that it is on account of what he asked you. He is poor, and I
am sure he is in despair at not seeing me in the window to-night. I shall
tell him I only went to the ball with you to please my father."
Donna Ignazia, a mixture of voluptuousness and piety, like most Spanish
women, danced the fandango with so much fire that no words could have
expressed so well the Joys that were in store for me. What a dance it is!
Her bosom was heaving and her blood all aflame, and yet I was told that
for the greater part of the company the dance was wholly innocent, and
devoid of any intention. I pretended to believe it, but I certainly did
not. Ignazia begged me to come to mass at the Church of the Soledad the
next day at eight o'clock. I had not yet told her that it was there I had
seen her first. She also asked me to come and see her in the evening, and
said she would send me a letter if we were not left alone together.
I slept till noon, and was awoke by Marazzini, who came to ask me to give
him some dinner. He told me he had seen me with my fair companion the
night before, and that he had vainly endeavoured to find out who she was.
I bore with this singularly misplaced curiosity, but when it came to his
saying that he would have followed us if he had had any money, I spoke to
him in a manner that made him turn pale. He begged pardon, and promised
to bridle his curiosity for the future. He proposed a party of pleasure
with the famous courtezan Spiletta, whose favours were dear, but I
declined, for my mind was taken up with the fair Ignazia, whom I
considered a worthy successor to Charlotte.
I went to the church, and she saw me when she came in, followed by the
same companion as before.
She knelt down at two or three paces from me, but did not once look in my
direction. Her friend, on the other hand, inspected me closely; she
seemed about the same age as Ignazia, but she was ugly. I also noticed
Don Francisco, and as I was going out of the church my rival followed me,
and congratulated me somewhat bitterly on my good fortune in having taken
his mistress a second time to the ball. He confessed that he had been on
our track the whole evening, and that he should have gone away well
enough pleased if it had not been for the way in which we dance the
fandango. I felt this was an occasion for a little gentle management, and
I answered good-humouredly that the love he thought he noticed was wholly
imaginary, and that he was wrong to entertain any suspicions as to so
virtuous a girl as Donna Ignazia. At the same time I placed an ounce in
his hand, begging him to take it on account. He did so with an astonished
stare, and, calling me his father and guardian angel, swore an eternal
gratitude.
In the evening I called on Don Diego, where I was regaled with the
excellent ratafia I had given the mother, and the whole family began to
speak of the obligations Spain owed to the Count of Aranda.
"No exercise is more healthful than dancing," said Antonia, the mother,
"and before his time balls were strictly forbidden. In spite of that he
is hated for having expelled 'los padres de la compagnia de Jesus', and
for his sumptuary regulations. But the poor bless his name, for all the
money produced by the balls goes to them."
"And thus," said the father, "to go to the ball is to do a pious work."
"I have two cousins," said Ignazia, "who are perfect angels of goodness.
I told them that you had taken me to the ball; but they are so poor that
they have no hope of going. If you like you can make them quite happy by
taking them on the last day of the carnival. The ball closes at midnight,
so as not to profane Ash Wednesday."
"I shall be happy to oblige you, all the more as your lady mother will
not be obliged to wait for us in the carriage."
"You are very kind; but I shall have to introduce you to my aunt; she is
so particular. When she knows you, I am sure she will consent, for you
have all the air of discretion. Go and see her to-day; she lives in the
next street, and over her door you will see a notice that lace is washed
within. Tell her that my mother gave you the address. To-morrow morning,
after mass, I will see to everything else, and you must come here at noon
to agree as to our meeting on the last day of the carnival."
I did all this, and the next day I heard that it was settled.
"I will have the dominos ready at my house," I said, "and you must come
in at the back door. We will dine in my room, mask, and go to the ball.
The eldest of your cousins must be disguised as a man."
"I won't tell her anything about that, for fear she might think it a sin,
but once in your house you will have no difficulty in managing her."
The younger of the two cousins was ugly, but looked like a woman, where
as the elder looked like an ugly dressed man in woman's clothes. She made
an amusing contrast with Donna Ignazia, who looked most seductive when
she laid aside her air of piety.
I took care that everything requisite for our disguises should be at hand
in a neighbouring closet, unbeknown to my rascally page. I gave him a
piece of money in the morning, and told him to spend the last day of the
carnival according to his own taste, as I should not require his services
till noon the day after.
I ordered a good dinner, and a waiter to serve it, at the tavern, and got
rid of Marazzini by giving him a doubloon. I took great pains over the
entertainment I was to give the two cousins and the fair Ignazia, whom I
hoped that day to make my mistress. It was all quite a novelty for me; I
had to do with three devotees, two hideous and the third ravishingly
beautiful, who had already had a foretaste of the joys in store for her.
They came at noon, and for an hour I discoursed to them in a moral and
unctuous manner. I had taken care to provide myself with some excellent
wine, which did not fail to take effect on the three girls, who were not
accustomed to a dinner that lasted two hours. They were not exactly
inebriated, but their spirits were worked up to a pitch they had never
attained before.
I told the elder cousin, who might be twenty-five years old, that I was
going to disguise her as a man; consternation appeared on her features,
but I had expected as much, and Donna Ignazia told her she was only too
lucky, and her sister observed that she did not think it could be a sin.
"If it were a sin," said I, "do you suppose that I should have suggested
it to your virtuous sister."
Donna Ignazia, who knew the Legendarium by heart, corroborated my
assertion by saying that the blessed St. Marina had passed her whole life
in man's clothes; and this settled the matter.
I then burst into a very high-flown eulogium of her intellectual
capacity, so as to enlist her vanity in the good cause.
"Come with me," said I, "and do you ladies wait here; I want to enjoy
your surprise when you see her in man's clothes."
The ugly cousin made a supreme effort and followed me, and when she had
duly inspected her disguise I told her to take off her boots and to put
on white stockings and shoes, of which I had provided several pairs. I
sat down before her, and told her that if she suspected me of any
dishonourable intentions she would commit a mortal sin, as I was old
enough to be her father. She replied that she was a good Christian, but
not a fool. I fastened her garters for her, saying that I should never
have supposed she had so well-shapen and so white a leg, which compliment
made her smile in a satisfied manner.
Although I had a fine view of her thighs, I observed no traces of a blush
on her face. I then gave her a pair, of my breeches, which fitted her
admirably, though I was five inches taller than she, but this difference
was compensated by the posterior proportions, with which, like most
women, she was bountifully endowed. I turned away to let her put them on
in freedom, and, having given her a linen shirt, she told me she had
finished before she had buttoned it at the neck. There may possibly have
been a little coquetry in this, as I buttoned the shirt for her, and was
thus gratified with a sight of her splendid breast. I need not say
whether she was pleased or not at my refraining from complimenting her
upon her fine proportions. When her toilette was finished I surveyed her
from head to foot, and pronounced her to be a perfect man, with the
exception of one blemish.
"I am sorry for that."
"Will you allow me to arrange your shirt so as to obviate it?"
"I shall be much obliged, as I have never dressed in man's clothes
before."
I then sat down in front of her, and, after unbuttoning the fly, arranged
the shirt in a proper manner. In doing so I allowed myself some small
liberties, but I toyed with such a serious air that she seemed to take it
all as a matter of course.
When I had put on her domino and mask I led her forth, and her sister and
Donna Ignazia congratulated her on her disguise, saying that anybody
would take her for a man.
"Now it's your turn," I said to the younger one.
"Go with him," said the elder, "Don Jaime is as honest a man as you will
find in Spain."
There was really not much to be done to the younger sister, her disguise
being simply a mask and domino, but as I wanted to keep Ignazia a long
time I made her put on white stockings, change her kerchief, and a dozen
other trifles. When she was ready I brought her forth, and Donna Ignazia
noticing that she had changed her stockings and kerchief, asked her
whether I were as expert at dressing a lady as at turning a lady into a
gentleman.
"I don't know," she replied, "I did everything for myself."
Next came the turn of Don Diego's daughter, and as soon as I had her in
the closet I did my pleasure on her, she submitting with an air that
seemed to say, "I only give in because I can't resist." Wishing to save
her honour I withdrew in time, but in the second combat I held her for
half an hour to my arms. However, she was naturally of a passionate
disposition, and nature had endowed her with a temperament able to resist
the most vigorous attacks. When decency made us leave the closet, she
remarked to her cousins,
"I thought I should never have done; I had to alter the whole fit of the
domino."
I admired her presence of mind.
At nightfall we went to the ball, at which the fandango might be danced
ad libitum by a special privilege, but the crowd was so great that
dancing was out of the question. At ten we had supper, and then walked up
and down, till all at once the two orchestras became silent. We heard the
church clocks striking midnight the carnival was over, and Lent had
begun.
This rapid transition from wantonness to devotion, from paganism to
Christianity, has something startling and unnatural about it. At
fifty-nine minutes past eleven the senses are all aglow; midnight sounds,
and in a minute they are supposed to be brought low, and the heart to be
full of humble repentance; it is an absurdity, an impossibility.
I took the three girls to my house to take off their dominos, and we then
escorted the two cousins home. When we had left them for a few minutes
Donna Ignazia told me that she would like a little coffee. I understood
her, and took her to my house, feeling sure of two hours of mutual
pleasure.
I took her to my room, and was just going out to order the coffee when I
met Don Francisco, who asked me plainly to let him come up, as he had
seen Donna Ignazia go in with me. I had sufficient strength of mind to
conceal my rage and disappointment, and told him to come in, adding that
his mistress would be delighted at this unexpected visit. I went
upstairs, and he followed me, and I shewed him into the room,
congratulating the lady on the pleasant surprise.
I expected that she would play her part as well as I had played mine, but
I was wrong. In her rage she told him that she would never have asked me
to give her a cup of coffee if she had foreseen this piece of
importunity, adding that if he had been a gentleman he would have known
better than to intrude himself at such an hour.
In spite of my own anger I felt that I must take the poor devil's part;
he looked like a dog with a tin kettle tied to his tail. I tried to calm
Donna Ignazia, telling her that Don Francisco had seen us by a mere
accident, and that it was I who had asked him to come upstairs, in the
hope of pleasing her.
Donna Ignazia feigned to be persuaded and asked her lover to sit down,
but she did not speak another word to him, confining her remarks to me,
saying how much she had enjoyed the ball, and how kind I had been to take
her cousins.
After he had taken a cup of coffee, Don Francisco bade us a good night. I
told him I hoped he would come and see me before Lent was over, but Donna
Ignazia only vouchsafed him a slight nod. When he had gone she said,
sadly enough, that she was sorry he had deprived us both of our pleasure,
and that she was sure Don Francisco was still hanging about the place,
and that she dared not expose herself to his vengeance. "So take me home,
but if you love me come and see me again. The trick the stupid fellow has
played me shall cost him dear. Are you sure I don't love him?"
"Quite certain, for you love me too well to love anybody else."
Donna Ignazia gave me a hasty proof of her affection, and I escorted her
home, assuring her that she would be the sole object of my thoughts as
long as I stayed at Madrid.
The next day I dined with Mengs, and the day after that I was accosted in
the street by an ill-looking fellow, who bade me follow him to a
cloister, as he had something of importance to communicate to me.
As soon as he saw that we were unobserved, he told me that the Alcalde
Messa was going to pay me a visit that same night with a band of police,
"of whom," he added, "I am one. He knows you have concealed weapons in
your room. He knows, or thinks he knows, certain other things which
authorize him to seize your person and to take you to the prison where
persons destined for the galleys are kept. I give you all this warning
because I believe you to be a man of honour. Despise not my advice, but
look to yourself, and get into some place of security."
I credited what he told me, as the circumstance of my having arms was
perfectly true, so I gave the man a doubloon, and, instead of calling on
Donna Ignazia, as I intended, I went back to my lodging, and after
putting the weapons under my cloak I went to Mengs's, leaving word at the
cafe to send me my page as soon as he came back. In Mengs's house I was
safe, as it belonged to the king.
The painter was an honest fellow, but proud and suspicious in excess. He
did not refuse me an asylum for the night, but he told me that I must
look out for some other refuge, as the alcalde must have some other
accusation against me, and that knowing nothing of the merits or demerits
of the case he could not take any part in it. He gave me a room and we
supped together, discussing the matter all the time, I persisting that
the possession of arms was my only offence, and he replying that if it
were so I should have awaited the alcalde fearlessly, as it stood to
reason that a man had a right to keep defensive weapons in his own room.
To this I answered that I had only come to him to avoid passing the night
in prison, as I was certain that the man had told me the truth.
"To-morrow I shall look out for another lodging."
I confessed, however, that it would have been wiser of me to leave my
pistols and musket in my room.
"Yes, and you might have remained there yourself. I did not think you
were so easily frightened."
As we were arguing it over my landlord came and said that the alcalde
with thirty constables had been to my apartment and had broken open the
door. He had searched everything, but unsuccessfully, and had gone away
after sealing the room and its contents. He had arrested and imprisoned
my page on the charge of having warned me, "for otherwise," he said, "the
Venetian gentleman would never have gone to the house of Chevalier Mengs,
where he is out of my power."
At this Mengs agreed that I had been right in believing my informant's
tale, and he added that the first thing in the morning I should go and
protest my innocence before the Count of Aranda, but he especially urged
on me the duty of defending the poor page. My landlord went his way, and
we continued the discussion, Mengs insisting on the page's innocence,
till at last I lost all patience, and said,--
"My page must be a thorough-paced scoundrel; the magistrate's arresting
him for warning me is an absolute proof that he knew of my approaching
arrest. What is a servant who does not warn his master under such
circumstances but a rascal? Indeed I am absolutely certain that he was
the informer, for he was the only person who knew where the arms were
concealed."
Mengs could find no answer to this, and left to go to bed. I did the same
and had an excellent night.
Early the next morning the great Mengs sent me linen and all the
requisites of the toilette. His maid brought me a cup of chocolate, and
his cook came to ask if I had permission to eat flesh-meat. In such ways
a prince welcomes a guest, and bids him stay, but such behaviour in a
private person is equivalent to a hint to go. I expressed my gratitude,
and only accepted a cup of chocolate and one handkerchief.
My carriage was at the door, and I was just taking leave of Mengs when an
officer appeared on the scene, and asked the painter if the Chevalier de
Casanova was in his house.
"I am the Chevalier de Casanova," said I.
"Then I hope you will follow me of your own free will to the prison of
Buen Retiro. I cannot use force here, for this house is the king's, but I
warn you that in less than an hour the Chevalier Mengs will have orders
to turn you out, and then you will be dragged to prison, which would be
unpleasant for you. I therefore advise you to follow me quietly, and to
give up such weapons as you may possess."
"The Chevalier Mengs will give you the weapons in question. I have
carried them with me for eleven years; they are meant to protect me on
the highways. I am ready to follow you, but first allow me to write four
notes; I shall not be half an hour."
"I can neither allow you to wait nor to write, but you will be at liberty
to do so after you have reached the prison."
"Very good; then I am ready to follow you, for I have no choice. I shall
remember Spanish justice!"
I embraced Mengs, had the weapons put into my carriage, and got in with
the officer, who seemed a perfect gentleman.
He took me to the Castle of Buen Retiro, formerly a royal palace, and now
a prison. When my conductor had consigned me to the officer of the watch
I was handed over to a corporal, who led me into a vast hall on the
ground floor of the building. The stench was dreadful, and the prisoners
were about thirty, ten of them being soldiers. There were ten or twelve
large beds, some benches, no tables, and no chairs.
I asked a guard to get me some pens, ink, and paper, and gave him a duro
for the purpose. He took the coin smilingly, and went away, but he did
not return. When I asked his brethren what had become of him they laughed
in my face. But what surprised me the most was the sight of my page and
Marazzini, who told me in Italian that he had been there for three days,
and that he had not written to me as he had a presentiment that we should
soon meet. He added that in a fortnight's time we should be sent off
under a heavy escort to work in some fortress, though we might send our
pleas to the Government, and might possibly be let out after three or
four years' imprisonment.
"I hope," he said, "not to be condemned before I am heard. The alcalde
will come and interrogate you tomorrow, and your answers will be taken
down; that's all. You may then be sent to hard labour in Africa."
"Has your case been heard yet?"
"They were at me about it for three hours yesterday."
"What kind of questions did they ask you?"
"They wished to know what banker furnished me with money for my expenses.
I told them I had not got a banker, and that I lived by borrowing from my
friends, in the expectation of becoming one of the king's body-guard.
They then asked me how it was that the Parmese ambassador knew nothing
about me, and I replied that I had never been presented to him.
"'Without the favour of your ambassador,' they objected, 'you could never
join the royal guard, and you must be aware of that, but the king's
majesty shall give you employment where you will stand in need of no
commendation;' and so the alcalde left me. If the Venetian ambassador
does not interpose in your behalf you will be treated in the same way."
I concealed my rage, and sat down on a bed, which I left after three
hours, as I found myself covered with the disgusting vermin which seem
endemic in Spain. The very sight of them made me sick. I stood upright,
motionless, and silent, devouring the bile which consumed me.
There was no good in talking; I must write; but where was I to find
writing materials? However, I resolved to wait in silence; my time must
come, sooner or later.
At noon Marazzini told me that he knew a soldier for whose
trustworthiness he would answer, and who would get me my dinner if I gave
him the money.
"I have no appetite," I replied, "and I am not going to give a farthing
to anyone till the stolen crown is restored to me."
He made an uproar over this piece of cheating, but the soldiers only
laughed at him. My page then asked him to intercede with me, as he was
hungry, and had no money wherewith to buy food.
"I will not give him a farthing; he is no longer in my service, and would
to God I had never seen him!"
My companions in misery proceeded to dine on bad garlic soup and wretched
bread, washed down by plain water, two priests and an individual who was
styled corregidor excepted, and they seemed to fare very well.
At four o'clock one of Mengs's servants brought me a dinner which would
have sufficed for four. He wanted to leave me the dinner and come for the
plates in the evening; but not caring to share the meal with the vile mob
around me I made him wait till I had done and come again at the same time
the next day, as I did not require any supper. The servant obeyed.
Marazzini said rudely that I might at least have kept the bottle of wine;
but I gave him no answer.
At five o'clock Manucci appeared, accompanied by a Spanish officer. After
the usual compliments had passed between us I asked the officer if I
might write to my friends, who would not allow me to stay much longer in
prison if they were advised of my arrest.
"We are no tyrants," he replied; "you can write what letters you like."
"Then," said I, "as this is a free country, is it allowable for a soldier
who has received certain moneys to buy certain articles to pocket the
money and appropriate it to his own use?"
"What is his name?"
The guard had been relieved, and no one seemed to know who or where he
was.
"I promise you, sir," said the officer, "that the soldier shall be
punished and your money restored to you; and in the meanwhile you shall
have pens, ink, paper, a table, and a candle, immediately."
"And I," added Manucci, "promise you that one of the ambassador's
servants shall wait on you at eight o'clock to deliver any letters you
may write."
I took three crowns from my pocket, and told my fellow-prisoners that the
first to name the soldier who had deceived me should have the money;
Marazzini was the first to do so. The officer made a note of the man's
name with a smile; he was beginning to know me; I had spent three crowns
to get back one, and could not be very avaricious.
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. Under the pretext of snuffing the
candle, they put it out. However, I bore with it all. One of the soldiers
said he would keep them quiet for a crown, but I gave him no answer. In
spite of the hell around me, I finished my letters and sealed them up.
They were no studied or rhetorical epistles, but merely the expression of
the fury with which I was consumed.
I told Mocenigo that it was his duty to defend a subject of his prince,
who had been arrested and imprisoned by a foreign power on an idle
pretext. I shewed him that he must give me his protection unless I was
guilty, and that I had committed no offence against the law of the land.
I reminded him that I was a Venetian, in spite of my persecution at the
hands of the State Inquisitors, and that being a Venetian I had a right
to count on his protection.
To Don Emmanuel de Roda, a learned scholar, and the minister of justice,
I wrote that I did not ask any favour but only simple justice.
"Serve God and your master," said I. "Let his Catholic majesty save me
from the hands of the infamous alcalde who has arrested me, an honest and
a law-abiding man, who came to Spain trusting in his own innocence and
the protection of the laws. The person who writes to you, my lord, has a
purse full of doubloons in his pocket; he has already been robbed, and
fears assassination in the filthy den in which he has been imprisoned."
I wrote to the Duke of Lossada, requesting him to inform the king that
his servants had subjected to vile treatment a man whose only fault was
that he had a little money. I begged him to use his influence with his
Catholic majesty to put a stop to these infamous proceedings.
But the most vigorous letter of all was the one I addressed to the Count
of Aranda. I told him plainly that if this infamous action went on I
should be forced to believe that it was by his orders, since I had stated
in vain that I came to Madrid with an introduction to him from a
princess.
"I have committed no crime," I said; "what compensation am I to have when
I am released from this filthy and abominable place? Set me at liberty at
once, or tell your hangmen to finish their work, for I warn you that no
one shall take me to the galleys alive."
According to my custom I took copies of all the letters, and I sent them
off by the servant whom the all-powerful Manucci despatched to the
prison. I passed such a night as Dante might have imagined in his Vision
of Hell. All the beds were full, and even if there had been a spare place
I would not have occupied it. I asked in vain for a mattress, but even if
they had brought me one, it would have been of no use, for the whole
floor was inundated. There were only two or three chamber utensils for
all the prisoners, and everyone discharged his occasions on the floor.
I spent the night on a narrow bench without a back, resting my head on my
hands.
At seven o'clock the next morning Manucci came to see me; I looked upon
him as my Providence. I begged him to take me down to the guard-room, and
give me some refreshment, for I felt quite exhausted. My request was
granted, and as I told my sufferings I had my hair done by a barber.
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. He told me confidentially that the
ambassador dined with Aranda that day, and would speak in my favour as a
private individual, adding that he was afraid my letter would prejudice
the proud Spaniard against me.
"All I ask of you," said I, "is not to tell the ambassador that you have
seen the letter I wrote to the Count of Aranda."
He promised he would keep the secret.
An hour after his departure I saw Donna Ignazia and her father coming in,
accompanied by the officer who had treated me with such consideration.
Their visit cut me to the quick; nevertheless, I felt grateful, for it
shewed me the 'goodness of Don Diego's heart and the love of the fair
devotee.
I gave them to understand, in my bad Spanish, that I was grateful for the
honour they had done me in visiting me in this dreadful situation. Donna
Ignazia did not speak, she only wept in silence; but Don Diego gave me
clearly to understand that he would never have come to see me unless he
had felt certain that my accusation was a mistake or an infamous calumny.
He told me he was sure I should be set free, and that proper satisfaction
would be given me.
"I hope so," I replied, "for I am perfectly innocent of any offence." I
was greatly touched when the worthy man slipped into my hands a rouleau,
telling me it contained twelve quadruples, which I could repay at my
convenience.
It was more than a thousand francs, and my hair stood on end. I pressed
his hand warmly, and whispered to him that I had fifty in my pocket,
which I was afraid to shew him, for fear the rascals around might rob me.
He put back his rouleau, and bade me farewell in tears, and I promised to
come and see him as soon as I should be set at liberty.
He had not sent in his name, and as he was very well dressed he was taken
for a man of importance. Such characters are not altogether exceptional
in heroic Spain; it is a land of extremes.
At noon Mengs's servant came with a dinner that was choicer than before,
but not so plentiful. This was just what I liked. He waited for me to
finish, and went away with the plates, carrying my heartiest thanks to
his master.
At one o'clock an individual came up to me and bade me follow him. He
took me to a small room, where I saw my carbine and pistols. In front of
me was the Alcalde Messa, seated at a table covered with documents, and a
policeman stood on each side of him. The alcalde told me to sit down, and
to answer truly such questions as might be put to me, warning me that my
replies would be taken down.
"I do not understand Spanish well, and I shall only give written answers
to any questions that may be asked of me, in Italian, French, or Latin."
This reply, which I uttered in a firm and determined voice, seemed to
astonish him. He spoke to me for an hour, and I understood him very well,
but he only got one reply:
"I don't understand what you say. Get a judge who understands one of the
languages I have named, and I will write down my answers."
The alcalde was enraged, but I did not let his ill-humour or his threats
disturb me.
Finally he gave me a pen, and told me to write my name, profession, and
business in Spain in Italian. I could not refuse him this pleasure, so I
wrote as follows:
"My name is Jacques Casanova; I am a subject of the Republic of Venice,
by profession a man of letters, and in rank a Knight of the Golden Spur.
I have sufficient means, and I travel for my pleasure. I am known to the
Venetian ambassador, the Count of Aranda, the Prince de la Catolica, the
Marquis of Moras, and the Duke of Lossada. I have offended in no manner
against the laws of his Catholic majesty, but in spite of my innocence I
have been cast into a den of thieves and assassins by magistrates who
deserve a ten times greater punishment. Since I have not infringed the
laws, his Catholic majesty must know that he has only one right over me,
and that is to order me to leave his realms, which order I am ready to
obey. My arms, which I see before me, have travelled with me for the last
eleven years; I carry them to defend myself against highwaymen. They were
seen when my effects were examined at the Gate of Alcala, and were not
confiscated; which makes it plain that they have served merely as a
pretext for the infamous treatment to which I have been subjected."
After I had written out this document I gave it to the alcalde, who
called for an interpreter. When he had had it read to him he rose angrily
and said to me,--
"Valga me Dios! You shall suffer for your insolence."
With this threat he went away, ordering that I should be taken back to
prison.
At eight o'clock Manucci called and told me that the Count of Aranda had
been making enquiries about me of the Venetian ambassador, who had spoken
very highly in my favour, and expressed his regret that he could not take
my part officially on account of my being in disgrace with the State
Inquisitors.
"He has certainly been shamefully used," said the count, "but an
intelligent man should not lose his head. I should have known nothing
about it, but for a furious letter he has written me; and Don Emmanuel de
Roda and the Duke of Lossada have received epistles in the same style.
Casanova is in the right, but that is not the way to address people."
"If he really said I was in the right, that is sufficient."
"He said it, sure enough."
"Then he must do me justice, and as to my style everyone has a style of
their own. I am furious, and I wrote furiously. Look at this place; I
have no bed, the floor is covered with filth, and I am obliged to sleep
on a narrow bench. Don't you think it is natural that I should desire to
eat the hearts of the scoundrels who have placed me here? If I do not
leave this hell by tomorrow, I shall kill myself, or go mad."
Manucci understood the horrors of my situation. He promised to come again
early the next day, and advised me to see what money would do towards
procuring a bed, but I would not listen to him, for I was suffering from
injustice, and was therefore obstinate. Besides, the thought of the
vermin frightened me, and I was afraid for my purse and the jewels I had
about me.
I spent a second night worse than the first, going to sleep from sheer
exhaustion, only to awake and find myself slipping off the bench.
Manucci came before eight o'clock, and my aspect shocked him. He had come
in his carriage, bringing with him some excellent chocolate, which in
some way restored my spirits. As I was finishing it, an officer of high
rank, accompanied by two other officers, came in and called out,--
"M. de Casanova!"
I stepped forward and presented myself.
"Chevalier," he began, "the Count of Aranda is at the gate of the prison;
he is much grieved at the treatment you have received. He only heard
about it through the letter you wrote him yesterday, and if you had
written sooner your pains would have been shorter."
"Such was my intention, colonel, but a soldier . . . ."
I proceeded to tell him the story of the swindling soldier, and on
hearing his name the colonel called the captain of the guard, reprimanded
him severely, and ordered him to give me back the crown himself. I took
the money laughingly, and the colonel then ordered the captain to fetch
the offending soldier, and to give him a flogging before me.
This officer, the emissary of the all-powerful Aranda, was Count Royas,
commanding the garrison of Buen Retiro. I told him all the circumstances
of my arrest, and of my imprisonment in that filthy place. I told him
that if I did not get back that day my arms, my liberty, and my honour, I
should either go mad or kill myself.
"Here," I said, "I can neither rest nor sleep, and a man needs sleep
every night. If you had come a little earlier you would have seen the
disgusting filth with which the floor was covered."
The worthy man was taken aback with the energy with which I spoke. I saw
his feelings, and hastened to say,--
"You must remember, colonel, that I am suffering from injustice, and am
in a furious rage. I am a man of honour, like yourself, and you can
imagine the effect of such treatment on me."
Manucci told him, in Spanish, that in my normal state I was a good fellow
enough. The colonel expressed his pity for me, and assured me that my
arms should be restored to me, and my liberty too, in the course of the
day.
"Afterwards," said he, "you must go and thank his excellency the Count of
Aranda, who came here expressly for your sake. He bade me tell you that
your release would be delayed till the afternoon, that you may have full
satisfaction for the affront you have received, if it is an affront, for
the penalties of the law only dishonour the guilty. In this instance the
Alcalde Messa has been deceived by the rascal who was in your service."
"There he is," said I. "Be good enough to have him removed, or else, in
my indignation, I might kill him."
"He shall be taken away this moment," he replied.
The colonel went out, and two minutes later two soldiers came in and took
the rogue away between them. I never saw him again, and never troubled
myself to enquire what had become of him.
The colonel begged me to accompany him to the guard-room, to see the
thieving soldier flogged. Manucci was at my side, and at some little
distance stood the Count of Aranda, surrounded by officers, and
accompanied by a royal guard.
The business kept us there for a couple of hours. Before leaving me the
colonel begged me to meet Mengs at dinner at his house.
When I returned to my filthy prison I found a clean arm-chair, which I
was informed had been brought in for me. I sat down in it immediately,
and Manucci left me, after embracing me again and again. He was my
sincere friend, and I can never forgive myself the stupidity which made
me offend him grievously. He never forgave me, at which I am not
surprised, but I believe my readers will agree with me in thinking that
he carried his vengeance too far.
After the scene which had taken place, the vile crowd of prisoners stood
gazing at me in stupid silence, and Marazzini came up to me and begged me
to use my offices for him.
Dinner was brought me as usual, and at three o'clock the Alcalde Messa
appeared and begged me to follow him, as he had received orders to take
me back to my lodging, where he hoped I should find everything in perfect
order. At the same time he shewed me my arms, which one of his men was
going to bring to my house. The officer of the guard returned me my
sword, the alcalde, who was in his black cloak, put himself on my left
hand, and thus I was escorted home with a guard of thirty constables. The
seals were removed from my apartment, and after a brief inspection I
pronounced that everything was in perfect order.
"If you had not a rascal and a traitor (who shall end his days in the
galleys) in your service, Senor Caballero, you would never have written
down the servants of his Catholic majesty as scoundrels."
"Senor Alcalde, my indignation made me write the same sentence to four of
his majesty's ministers. Then I believed what I wrote, but I do so no
longer. Let us forget and forgive; but you must confess that if I had not
known how to write a letter you would have sent me to the galleys."
"Alas! it is very likely."
I need not say that I hastened to remove all traces of the vile prison
where I had suffered so much. When I was ready to go out my first
grateful visit was paid to the noble cobbler. The worthy man was proud of
the fulfilment of his prophecy, and glad to see me again. Donna Ignazia
was wild with delight--perhaps she had not been so sure of my
release--and when Don Diego heard of the satisfaction that had been given
me he said that a grandee of Spain could not have asked for more. I
begged the worthy people to come and dine with me, telling them that I
would name the day another time, and they accepted gladly.
I felt that my love for Donna Ignazia had increased immensely since our
last meeting.
Afterwards I called on Mengs, who with his knowledge of Spanish law
expected nothing less than to see me. When he heard of my triumphant
release he overwhelmed me with congratulations. He was in his Court
dress--an unusual thing with him, and on my asking him the reason he told
me that he had been to Don Emmanuel de Roda's to speak on my behalf, but
had not succeeded in obtaining an audience. He gave me a Venetian letter
which had just arrived for me. I opened it, and found it was from M.
Dandolo, and contained an enclosure for M. de Mocenigo. M. Dandolo said
that on reading the enclosed letter the ambassador would have no more
scruples about introducing me, as it contained a recommendation from one
of the Inquisitors on behalf of the three.
When I told Mengs of this he said it was now in my power to make my
fortune in Spain, and that now was the time when all the ministers would
be only too anxious to do something for me to make me forget the wrongs I
had received.
"I advise you," he said, "to take the letter to the ambassador
immediately. Take my carriage; after what you have undergone for the last
few days you cannot be in a walking humour."
I had need of rest, and told Mengs that I would not sup with him that
night, but would dine with him the next day. The ambassador was out, so I
left the letter with Manucci, and then drove home and slept profoundly
for twelve hours.
Manucci came to see me the next day in high spirits, and told me that M.
Girolamo Zulian had written to the ambassador on behalf of M. du Mula,
informing him that he need not hesitate to countenance me, as any
articles the Tribunal might have against me were in no degree prejudicial
to my honour.
"The ambassador," he continued, "proposes to introduce you at Court next
week, and he wants you to dine with him to-day; there will be a numerous
company at dinner."
"I am engaged to Mengs."
"No matter, he shall be asked as well; you must come. Consider the effect
of your presence at the ambassador's the day after your triumph."
"You are right. Go and ask Mengs, and tell the ambassador that I have
much pleasure in accepting his invitation."
CHAPTER V
Campomanes--Olavides--Sierra Morena--Aranjuez--Mengs--The
Marquis Grimaldi--Toledo--Madame Pelliccia--My Return to
Madrid
Different circumstances in my life seem to have combined to render me
somewhat superstitious; it is a humiliating confession, and yet I make
it. But who could help it? A man who abandons himself to his whims and
fancies is like a child playing with a billiard cue. It may make a stroke
that would be an honour to the most practised and scientific player; and
such are the strange coincidences of life which, as I have said, have
caused me to become superstitious.
Fortune, which under the humbler name of luck seems but a word, is a very
divinity when it guides the most important actions of a man's life.
Always it has seemed to me that this divinity is not blind, as the
mythologists affirm; she had brought me low only to exalt me, and I found
myself in high places, only, as it seems, to be cast into the depths.
Fortune has done her best to make me regard her as a reasoning, almighty
power; she has made me feel that the strength of my will is as nothing
before this mysterious power, which takes my will and moulds it, and
makes it a mere instrument for the accomplishment of its decrees.
I could not possibly have done anything in Spain without the help of the
representative of my country, and he would not have dared to do anything
for me without the letter I had just given him. This letter, in its turn,
would probably have had but slight effect if it had not come to hand so
soon after my imprisonment, which had become the talk of the town,
through the handsome satisfaction the Count of Aranda had given me.
The letter made the ambassador sorry that he had not interposed on my
behalf, but he hoped people would believe that the count would not have
acted as he did if it had not been for his interposition. His favourite,
Count Manucci, had come to ask me to dinner; as it happened I was engaged
to Mengs, which obtained an invitation for the painter, and flattered his
vanity excessively. He fancied that the invitation proceeded from
gratitude, and it certainly smoothed away the mortification he had felt
at seeing me arrested in his house. He immediately wrote to the effect
that he would call upon me with his carriage.
I called on the Count of Aranda, who kept me waiting for a quarter of an
hour, and then came in with some papers in his hand. He smiled when he
saw me, and said,--
"Your business is done. Stay, here are four letters; take them and read
them over again."
"Why should I read them again? This is the document I gave the alcalde."
"I know that. Read, and confess that you should not have written so
violently, in spite of the wrongs that vexed you."
"I crave your pardon, my lord, but a man who meditates suicide does not
pick terms. I believed that your excellency was at the bottom of it all."
"Then you don't know me. Go and thank Don Emmanuel de Roda, who wants to
know you, and I shall be glad if you will call once on the alcalde, not
to make him an apology, for you owe him none, but as an act of politeness
to salve over the hard things you said of him. If you write the history
of Princess Lubomirska, I hope you will tell her that I did my best for
you."
I then called on Colonel Royas, who told me that I had made a great
mistake in saying that I was satisfied.
"What could I claim?"
"Everything. Dismissal of the alcalde and compensation to the tune of
fifty thousand duros. Spain is a country where a man may speak out save
in the matters which the Holy Inquisition looks after."
This colonel, now a general, is one of the pleasantest Spaniards I have
ever met.
I had not long returned to my lodging when Mengs called for me in his
carriage. The ambassador gave me a most gracious reception, and
overwhelmed Mengs with compliments for having endeavoured to shelter me.
At dinner I told the story of my sufferings at Buen Retiro, and the
conversation I had just had with the Count of Aranda, who had returned me
my letters. The company expressed a desire to see them, and everyone gave
an opinion on the matter.
The guests were Abbe Bigliardi, the French consul, Don Rodrigues de
Campomanes, and the famous Don Pablo d'Olavides. Everyone spoke his mind,
and the ambassador condemned the letters as too ferocious. On the other
hand, Campomanes approved them, saying that they were not abusive, and
were wonderfully adapted to my purpose, namely, to force the reader to do
me prompt justice, were the reader to be the king himself. Olavides and
Bigliardi echoed this sentiment. Mengs sided with the ambassador, and
begged me to come and live with him, so as not to be liable to any more
inconveniences from spying servants. I did not accept this invitation
till I had been pressed for some time, and I noted the remark of the
ambassador, who said I owed Mengs this reparation for the indirect
affront he had received.
I was delighted to make the acquaintance of Campomanes and Olavides, men
of intellect and of a stamp very rare in Spain. They were not exactly men
of learning, but they were above religious prejudices, and were not only
fearless in throwing public scorn upon them but even laboured openly for
their destruction. It was Campomanes who had furnished Aranda with all
the damaging matter against the Jesuits. By a curious coincidence,
Campomanes, the Count of Aranda, and the General of the Jesuits, were all
squint-eyed. I asked Campomanes why he hated the Jesuits so bitterly, and
he replied that he looked upon them in the same light as the other
religious orders, whom he considered a parasitical and noxious race, and
would gladly banish them all, not only from the peninsula but from the
face of the earth.
He was the author of all the pamphlets that had been written on the
subject of mortmain; and as he was an intimate friend of the
ambassador's, M. Mocenigo had furnished him with an account of the
proceedings of the Venetian Republic against the monks. He might have
dispensed with this source of information if he had read the writings of
Father Paul Sarpi on the same subject. Quick-sighted, firm, with the
courage of his opinions, Campomanes was the fiscal of the Supreme Council
of Castille, of which Aranda was president. Everyone knew him to be a
thoroughly honest man, who acted solely for the good of the State. Thus
statesmen and officials had warm feelings of respect for him, while the
monks and bigots hated the sound of his name, and the Inquisition had
sworn to be his ruin. It was said openly that he would either become a
bishop or perish in the cells of the holy brotherhood. The prophecy was
only partly fulfilled. Four years after my visit to Spain he was
incarcerated in the dungeons of the Inquisition, but he obtained his
release after three years' confinement by doing public penance. The
leprosy which eats out the heart of Spain is not yet cured. Olavides was
still more harshly treated, and even Aranda would have fallen a victim if
he had not had the good sense to ask the king to send him to France as
his ambassador. The king was very glad to do so, as otherwise he would
have been forced to deliver him up to the infuriated monks. Charles III.
(who died a madman) was a remarkable character. He was as obstinate as a
mule, as weak as a woman, as gross as a Dutchman, and a thorough-paced
bigot. It was no wonder that he became the tool of his confessor.
At the time of which I am speaking the cabinet of Madrid was occupied in
a curious scheme. A thousand Catholic families had been enticed from
Switzerland to form a colony in the beautiful but deserted region called
the Sierra Morena, well known all over Europe by its mention in Don
Quixote. Nature seemed there to have lavished all her gifts; the climate
was perfect, the soil fertile, and streams of all kinds watered the land,
but in spite of all it was almost depopulated.
Desiring to change this state of things, his Catholic majesty had decided
to make a present of all the agricultural products for a certain number
of years to industrious colonists. He had consequently invited the Swiss
Catholics, and had paid their expenses for the journey. The Swiss
arrived, and the Spanish government did its best to provide them with
lodging and spiritual and temporal superintendence. Olavides was the soul
of this scheme. He conferred with the ministers to provide the new
population with magistrates, priests, a governor, craftsmen of all kinds
to build churches and houses, and especially a bull-ring, a necessity for
the Spaniards, but a perfectly useless provision as far as the simple
Swiss were concerned.
In the documents which Don Pablo Olavides had composed on the subject he
demonstrated the inexpediency of establishing any religious orders in the
new colony, but if he could have proved his opinion to be correct with
foot and rule he would none the less have drawn on his head the
implacable hatred of the monks, and of the bishop in whose diocese the
new colony was situated. The secular clergy supported Olavides, but the
monks cried out against his impiety, and as the Inquisition was eminently
monkish in its sympathies persecution had already begun, and this was one
of the subjects of conversation at the dinner at which I was present.
I listened to the arguments, sensible and otherwise, which were advanced,
and I finally gave my opinion, as modestly as I could, that in a few
years the colony would banish like smoke; and this for several reasons.
"The Swiss," I said, "are a very peculiar people; if you transplant them
to a foreign shore, they languish and die; they become a prey to
home-sickness. When this once begins in a Switzer, the only thing is to
take him home to the mountain, the lake, or the valley, where he was
born, or else he will infallibly die."
"It would be wise, I think," I continued, "to endeavour to combine a
Spanish colony with the Swiss colony, so as to effect a mingling of
races. At first, at all events, their rules, both spiritual and temporal,
should be Swiss, and, above all, you would have to insure them complete
immunity from the Inquisition. The Swiss who has been bred in the country
has peculiar customs and manners of love-making, of which the Spanish
Church might not exactly approve; but the least attempt to restrain their
liberty in this respect would immediately bring about a general
home-sickness."
At first Olavides thought I was joking, but he soon found out that my
remarks had some sense in them. He begged me to write out my opinions on
the subject, and to give him the benefit of my knowledge. I promised to
do so, and Mengs fixed a day for him to come and dine with me at his
house.
The next day I moved my household goods to Mengs's house, and began my
philosophical and physiological treatise on the colony.
I called on Don Emmanuel de Roda, who was a man of letters, a 'rara aves'
in Spain. He liked Latin poetry, had read some Italian, but very
naturally gave the palm to the Spanish poets. He welcomed me warmly,
begged me to come and see him again, and told me how sorry he had been at
my unjust imprisonment.
The Duke of Lossada congratulated me on the way in which the Venetian
ambassador spoke of me everywhere, and encouraged me in my idea of
getting some place under Government, promising to give me his support in
the matter.
The Prince della Catolica, invited me to dinner with the Venetian
ambassador; and in the course of three weeks I had made a great number of
valuable acquaintances. I thought seriously of seeking employment in
Spain, as not having heard from Lisbon I dared not go there on the chance
of finding something to do. I had not received any letters from Pauline
of late, and had no idea as to what had become of her.
I passed a good many of my evenings with a Spanish lady, named Sabatini,
who gave 'tertullas' or assemblies, frequented chiefly by fifth-rate
literary men. I also visited the Duke of Medina-Sidonia, a well-read and
intelligent man, to whom I had been presented by Don Domingo Varnier, one
of the gentlemen of the king's chamber, whom I had met at Mengs's house.
I paid a good many visits to Donna Ignazia, but as I was never left alone
with her these visits became tiresome. When I suggested a party of
pleasure with her and her cousins, she replied that she would like it as
much as I, but as it was Lent and near Holy Week, in which God died for
our salvation, it was more fit to think of penance than pleasure. After
Easter, she said, we might consider the matter. Ignazia was a perfect
example of the young Spanish devotee.
A fortnight after, the King and Court left Madrid for Aranjuez. M. de
Mocenigo asked me to come and stay with him, as he would be able to
present me at Court. As may be imagined, I should have been only too glad
to accept, but on the eve of my departure, as I was driving with Mengs, I
was suddenly seized with a fever, and was convulsed so violently that my
head was dashed against the carriage window, which it shivered to
fragments. Mengs ordered the coachman to drive home, and I was put to
bed. In four hours I was seized with a sweating fit, which lasted for ten
or twelve hours. The bed and two mattresses were soaked through with my
perspiration, which dripped on to the floor beneath. The fever abated in
forty-eight hours, but left me in such a state of weakness that I was
kept to my bed for a whole week, and could not go to Aranjuez till Holy
Saturday. The ambassador welcomed me warmly, but on the night I arrived a
small lump which I had felt in the course of the day grew as large as an
egg, and I was unable to go to mass on Easter Day.
In five days the excrescence became as large as an average melon, much to
the amazement of Manucci and the ambassador, and even of the king's
surgeon, a Frenchman who declared he had never seen the like before. I
was not alarmed personally, for, as I suffered no pain and the lump was
quite soft, I guessed it was only a collection of lymph, the remainder of
the evil humours which I had sweated away in the fever. I told the
surgeon the history of the fever and begged him to lance the abscess,
which he did, and for four days the opening discharged an almost
incredible amount of matter. On the fifth day the wound was almost
healed, but the exhaustion had left me so weak that I could not leave my
bed.
Such was my situation when I received a letter from Mengs. It is before
me at the present moment, and I give below a true copy:
"Yesterday the rector of the parish in which I reside affixed to the
church-door a list of those of his parishioners who are Atheists and have
neglected their Easter duties. Amongst them your name figures in full,
and the aforesaid rector has reproached me bitterly for harbouring a
heretic. I did not know what answer to make, for I feel sure that you
could have stopped in Madrid a day longer to discharge the duties of a
Christian, even if it were only out of regard for me. The duty I owe to
the king, my master, the care I am bound to take of my reputation, and my
fears of being molested, all make me request you to look upon my house as
yours no longer. When you return to Madrid you may go where you will, and
my servants shall transport your effects to your new abode.
"I am, etc.,
"ANTONIO RAPHAEL MENGS."
I was so annoyed by this rude, brutal, and ungrateful letter, that if I
had not been seven leagues from Madrid, and in a state of the utmost
weakness, Mengs should have suffered for his insolence. I told the
messenger who had brought it to begone, but he replied that he had orders
to await my reply. I crushed the letter in my hand and flung it at his
face, saying,--
"Go and tell your unworthy master what I did with his letter, and tell
him that is the only answer that such a letter deserves."
The innocent messenger went his way in great amazement.
My anger gave me strength, and having dressed myself and summoned a
sedan-chair I went to church, and was confessed by a Grey Friar, and at
six o'clock the next morning I received the Sacrament.
My confessor was kind enough to give me a certificate to the effect that
I had been obliged to keep my bed since my arrival 'al sitio', and that
in spite of my extreme weakness I had gone to church, and had confessed
and communicated like a good Christian. He also told me the name of the
priest who had affixed the paper containing my name to the door of the
church.
When I returned to the ambassador's house I wrote to this priest, telling
him that the certificate enclosed would inform him as to my reasons for
not communicating. I expressed a hope that, being satisfied of my
orthodoxy, he would not delay in removing my name from his church-doors,
and I concluded by begging him to hand the enclosed letter to the
Chevalier Mengs.
To the painter I wrote that I felt that I had deserved the shameful
insult he had given me by my great mistake in acceding to his request to
honour him by staying in his house. However, as a good Christian who had
just received the Holy Communion, I told him that his brutal behaviour
was forgiven; but I bade him to take to heart the line, well known to all
honest people, and doubtless unknown to him:
'Turpius ejicitur quam non admittitur hospes.'
After sending the letter I told the ambassador what had happened, to
which he replied,--
"I am not at all surprised at what you tell me. Mengs is only liked for
his talents in painting; in everything else he is well known to be little
better than a fool."
As a matter of fact he had only asked me to stay with him to gratify his
own vanity. He knew that all the town was talking of my imprisonment and
of the satisfaction the Count of Aranda had accorded me, and he wanted
people to think that his influence had obtained the favour that had been
shewn me. Indeed, he had said in a moment of exaltation that I should
have compelled the Alcade Messa to escort me not to my own house but to
his, as it was in his house that I had been arrested.
Mengs was an exceedingly ambitious and a very jealous man; he hated all
his brother painters. His colour and design were excellent, but his
invention was very weak, and invention is as necessary to a great painter
as a great poet.
I happened to say to him one day, "Just as every poet should be a
painter, so every painter should be a poet;" and he got quite angry,
thinking that I was alluding to his weakness of imagination, which he
felt but would not acknowledge.
He was an ignorant man, and liked to pass for a scholar; he sacrificed to
Bacchus and Comus, and would fain be thought sober; he was lustful,
bad-tempered, envious, and miserly, but yet would be considered a
virtuous man. He loved hard work, and this forced him to abstain, as a
rule, from dinner, as he drank so inordinately at that meal that he could
do nothing after it. When he dined out he had to drink nothing but water,
so as not to compromise his reputation for temperance. He spoke four
languages, and all badly, and could not even write his native tongue with
correctness; and yet he claimed perfection for his grammar and
orthography, as for all his other qualities. While I was staying with him
I became acquainted with some of his weak points, and endeavoured to
correct them, at which he took great offence. The fellow writhed under a
sense of obligation to me. Once I prevented his sending a petition to the
Court, which the king would have seen, and which would have made Mengs
ridiculous. In signing his name he had written 'el mas inclito', wishing
to say your most humble. I pointed out to him that 'el mas inclito' meant
the most illustrious, and that the Spanish for the expression he wanted
was 'el mas humilde'. The proud fool was quite enraged, telling me that
he knew Spanish better than I, but when the dictionary was searched he
had to swallow the bitter pill of confessing himself in the wrong.
Another time I suppressed a heavy and stupid criticism of his on someone
who had maintained that there were no monuments still existing of the
antediluvian period. Mengs thought he would confound the author by citing
the remains of the Tower of Babel--a double piece of folly, for in the
first place there are no such remains, and in the second, the Tower of
Babel was a post-diluvian building.
He was also largely given to the discussion of metaphysical questions, on
which his knowledge was simply nil, and a favourite pursuit of his was
defining beauty in the abstract, and when he was on this topic the
nonsense he talked was something dreadful.
Mengs was a very passionate man, and would sometimes beat his children
most cruelly. More than once I have rescued his poor sons from his
furious hands. He boasted that his father, a bad Bohemian artist, had
brought him up with the stick. Thus, he said, he had become a great
painter, and he wished his own children to enjoy the same advantages.
He was deeply offended when he received a letter, of which the address
omitted his title of chevalier, and his name, Rafael. One day I ventured
to say that these things were but trifles after all, and that I had taken
no offence at his omitting the chevalier on the letters he had written to
me, though I was a knight of the same order as himself. He very wisely
made no answer; but his objection to the omission of his baptismal name
was a very ridiculous one. He said he was called Antonio after Antonio
Correggio, and Rafael after Rafael da Urbino, and that those who omitted
these names, or either of them, implicitly denied his possession of the
qualities of both these great painters.
Once I dared to tell him that he had made a mistake in the hand of one of
his figures, as the ring finger was shorter than the index. He replied
sharply that it was quite right, and shewed me his hand by way of proof.
I laughed, and shewed him my hand in return, saying that I was certain
that my hand was made like that of all the descendants of Adam.
"Then whom do you think that I am descended from?"
"I don't know, but you are certainly not of the same species as myself."
"You mean you are not of my species; all well-made hands of men, and
women too, are like mine and not like yours."
"I'll wager a hundred doubloons that you are in the wrong."
He got up, threw down brushes and palette, and rang up his servants,
saying,--
"We shall see which is right."
The servants came, and on examination he found that I was right. For once
in his life, he laughed and passed it off as a joke, saying,--
"I am delighted that I can boast of being unique in one particular, at
all events."
Here I must note another very sensible remark of his.
He had painted a Magdalen, which was really wonderfully beautiful. For
ten days he had said every morning, "The picture will be finished
to-night." At last I told him that he had made a mistake in saying it
would be finished, as he was still working on it.
"No, I have not," he replied, "ninety-nine connoisseurs out of a hundred
would have pronounced it finished long ago, but I want the praise of the
hundredth man. There's not a picture in the world that can be called
finished save in a relative sense; this Magdalen will not be finished
till I stop working at it, and then it will be only finished relatively,
for if I were to give another day's work to it it would be more finished
still. Not one of Petrarch's sonnets is a really finished production; no,
nor any other man's sonnets. Nothing that the mind of man can conceive is
perfect, save it be a mathematical theorem."
I expressed my warm approval of the excellent way in which he had spoken.
He was not so sensible another time when he expressed a wish to have been
Raphael.
"He was such a great painter."
"Certainly," said I, "but what can you mean by wishing you had been
Raphael? This is not sense; if you had been Raphael, you would no longer
be existing. But perhaps you only meant to express a wish that you were
tasting the joys of Paradise; in that case I will say no more."
"No, no; I mean I would have liked to have been Raphael without troubling
myself about existing now, either in soul or body."
"Really such a desire is an absurdity; think it over, and you will see it
for yourself."
He flew into a rage, and abused me so heartily that I could not help
laughing.
Another time he made a comparison between a tragic author and a painter,
of course to the advantage of the latter.
I analysed the matter calmly, shewing him that the painter's labour is to
a great extent purely mechanical, and can be done whilst engaged in
casual talk; whilst a well-written tragedy is the work of genius pure and
simple. Therefore, the poet must be immeasurably superior to the painter.
"Find me if you can," said I, "a poet who can order his supper between
the lines of his tragedy, or discuss the weather whilst he is composing
epic verses."
When Mengs was beaten in an argument, instead of acknowledging his
defeat, he invariably became brutal and insulting. He died at the age of
fifty, and is regarded by posterity as a Stoic philosopher, a scholar,
and a compendium of all the virtues; and this opinion must be ascribed to
a fine biography of him in royal quarto, choicely printed, and dedicated
to the King of Spain. This panegyric is a mere tissue of lies. Mengs was
a great painter, and nothing else; and if he had only produced the
splendid picture which hangs over the high altar of the chapel royal at
Dresden, he would deserve eternal fame, though indeed he is indebted to
the great Raphael for the idea of the painting.
We shall hear more of Mengs when I describe my meeting with him at Rome,
two or three years later.
I was still weak and confined to my room when Manucci came to me, and
proposed that I should go with him to Toledo.
"The ambassador," he said, "is going to give a grand official dinner to
the ambassadors of the other powers, and as I have not been presented at
Court I am excluded from being present. However, if I travel, my absence
will not give rise to any remarks. We shall be back in five or six days."
I was delighted to have the chance of seeing Toledo, and of making the
journey in a comfortable carriage, so I accepted. We started the next
morning, and reached Toledo in the evening of the same day. For Spain we
were lodged comfortably enough, and the next day we went out under the
charge of a cicerone, who took us to the Alcazar, the Louvre of Toledo,
formerly the palace of the Moorish kings. Afterwards we inspected the
cathedral, which is well worthy of a visit, on account of the riches it
contains. I saw the great tabernacle used on Corpus Christi. It is made
of silver, and is so heavy that it requires thirty strong men to lift it.
The Archbishop of Toledo has three hundred thousand duros a year, and his
clergy have four hundred thousand, amounting to two million francs in
French money. One of the canons, as he was shewing me the urns containing
the relics, told me that one of them contained the thirty pieces of
silver for which Judas betrayed our Lord. I begged him to let me see
them, to which he replied severely that the king himself would not have
dared to express such indecent curiosity.
I hastened to apologise, begging him not to take offence at a stranger's
heedless questions; and this seemed to calm his anger.
The Spanish priests are a band of knaves, but one has to treat them with
more respect than one would pay to honest men elsewhere. The following
day we were shewn the museum of natural history. It was rather a dull
exhibition; but, at all events, one could laugh at it without exciting
the wrath of the monks and the terrors of the Inquisition. We were shewn,
amongst other wonders, a stuffed dragon, and the man who exhibited it
said,--
"This proves, gentlemen, that the dragon is not a fabulous animal;" but I
thought there was more of art than nature about the beast. He then shewed
us a basilisk, but instead of slaying us with a glance it only made us
laugh. The greatest wonder of all, however, was nothing else than a
Freemason's apron, which, as the curator very sagely declared, proved the
existence of such an order, whatever some might say.
The journey restored me to health, and when I returned to Aranjuez, I
proceeded to pay my court to all the ministers. The ambassador presented
me to Marquis Grimaldi, with whom I had some conversations on the subject
of the Swiss colony, which was going on badly. I reiterated my opinion
that the colony should be composed of Spaniards.
"Yes," said he, "but Spain is thinly peopled everywhere, and your plan
would amount to impoverishing one district to make another rich."
"Not at all, for if you took ten persons who are dying of poverty in the
Asturias, and placed them in the Sierra Morena, they would not die till
they had begotten fifty children. This fifty would beget two hundred and
so on."
My scheme was laid before a commission, and the marquis promised that I
should be made governor of the colony if the plan was accepted.
An Italian Opera Comique was then amusing the Court, with the exception
of the king, who had no taste for music. His majesty bore a considerable
resemblance to a sheep in the face, and it seemed as if the likeness went
deeper, for sheep have not the slightest idea of sound. His favourite
pursuit was sport, and the reason will be given later on.
An Italian musician at the Court desired to compose some music for a new
opera, and as there was no time to send to Italy I offered to compose the
libretto. My offer was accepted, and by the next day the first act was
ready. The music was composed in four days, and the Venetian ambassador
invited all the ministers to the rehearsal in the grand hall of his
palace. The music was pronounced exquisite; the two other acts were
written, and in a fortnight the opera was put upon the stage. The
musician was rewarded handsomely, but I was considered too grand to work
for money and my reward was paid me in the Court money of compliments.
However, I was glad to see that the ambassador was proud of me and that
the minister's esteem for me seemed increased.
In writing the libretto I had become acquainted with the actresses. The
chief of them was a Roman named Pelliccia, neither pretty nor ugly, with
a slight squint, and but moderate talents. Her younger sister was pretty
if not handsome; but no one cared for the younger, while the elder was a
universal favourite. Her expression was pleasant, her smile delightful,
and her manners most captivating. Her husband was an indifferent painter,
plain-looking, and more like her servant than her husband. He was indeed
her very humble servant, and she treated him with great kindness. The
feelings she inspired me with were not love, but a sincere respect and
friendship. I used to visit her every day, and wrote verses for her to
sing to the Roman airs she delivered so gracefully.
On one of the days of rehearsals I was pointing out to her the various
great personages who were present. The manager of the company,
Marescalchi by name, had entered into an arrangement with the Governor of
Valentia to bring the company there in September to play comic opera in a
small theatre which had been built on purpose. Italian opera had hitherto
never been presented at Valentia, and Marecalchi hoped to make a good
deal of money there. Madame Pelliccia knew nobody in Valentia, and wanted
a letter of introduction to someone there. She asked me if I thought she
could venture to ask the Venetian ambassador to do her the favour, but I
advised her to try the Duke of Arcos.
"Where is he?"
"That gentleman who is looking in your direction now."
"How can I dare to ask him?"
"He is a true nobleman, and I am sure he will be only too happy to oblige
you. Go and ask him now; you will not be denied."
"I haven't the courage to do so. Come with me and introduce me."
"That would spoil everything; he must not even think that I am your
adviser in the matter. I am just going to leave you; you must make your
request directly afterwards."
I walked towards the orchestra, and looking round I saw that the duke was
approaching the actress.
"The thing's as good as done," I said to myself.
After the rehearsal was over Madame Pelliccia came and told me that the
Duke would give her the letter on the day on which the opera was
produced. He kept his word, and she received a sealed letter for a
merchant and banker, Don Diego Valencia.
It was then May, and she was not to go to Valentia till September, so we
shall hear what the letter contained later on.
I often saw the king's gentleman of the chamber, Don Domingo Varnier,
another 'gentleman in the service of the Princess of the Asturias, and
one of the princess's bed-chamber women. This most popular princess
succeeded in suppressing a good deal of the old etiquette, and the tone
of her Court had lost the air of solemnity common in Spanish society. It
was a strange thing to see the King of Spain always dining at eleven
o'clock, like the Parisian cordwainers in the seventeenth century. His
meal always consisted of the same dishes, he always went out hunting at
the same hour, coming back in the evening thoroughly fatigued.
The king was ugly, but everything is relative, he was handsome compared
with his brother, who was terrifically ugly.
This brother never went anywhere without a picture of the Virgin, which
Mengs had painted for him. It was two feet high by three and a half
broad. The figure was depicted as seated on the grass with legs crossed
after the Eastern fashion, and uncovered up to the knees. It was, in
reality, a voluptuous painting; and the prince mistook for devotion that
which was really a sinful passion, for it was impossible to look upon the
figure without desiring to have the original within one's arms. However,
the prince did not see this, and was delighted to find himself in love
with the mother of the Saviour. In this he was a true Spaniard; they only
love pictures of this kind, and interpret the passions they excite in the
most favourable sense.
At Madrid I had, seen a picture of the Madonna with the child at her
breast. It was the altarpiece of a chapel in the Calle St. Jeronimo. The
place was filled all day by the devout, who came to adore the Mother of
God, whose figure was only interesting by reason of her magnificent
breast. The alms given at this chapel were so numerous, that in the
hundred and fifty years, since the picture had been placed there, the
clergy had been able to purchase numerous lamps and candlesticks of
silver, and vessels of silver gilt, and even of gold. The doorway was
always blocked by carriages, and a sentinel was placed there to keep
order amongst the coachmen; no nobleman would pass by without going in to
pray to the Virgin, and to contemplate those 'beata ubera, quae
lactaverunt aeterni patris filium'. But there came a change.
When I returned to Madrid I wanted to pay a visit to the Abbe Pico, and
told my coachman to take another way so as to avoid the crush in front of
the chapel.
"It is not so frequented now, senor," said he, "I can easily get by it."
He went on his way, and I found the entrance to the chapel deserted. As I
was getting out of the carriage I asked my coachman what was the reason
of the change, and he replied,--
"Oh, senor! men are getting more wicked every day."
This reason did not satisfy me, and when I had taken my chocolate with
the abbe, an intelligent and venerable old man, I asked him why the
chapel in question had lost its reputation.
He burst out laughing, and replied,--
"Excuse me, I really cannot tell you. Go and see for yourself; your
curiosity will soon be satisfied."
As soon as I left him I went to the chapel, and the state of the picture
told me all. The breast of the Virgin had disappeared under a kerchief
which some profane brush had dared to paint over it. The beautiful
picture was spoilt; the magic and fascination had disappeared. Even the
teat had been painted out; the Child held on to nothing, and the head of
the Virgin no longer appeared natural.
This disaster had taken place at the end of the Carnival of 1768. The old
chaplain died, and the Vandal who succeeded him pronounced the painting
to be a scandalous one, and robbed it of all its charm.
He may have been in the right as a fool, but as a Christian and a
Spaniard he was certainly in the wrong, and he was probably soon
convinced of the mistake he had made by the diminution in the offerings
of the faithful.
My interest in the study of human nature made me call on this priest,
whom I expected to find a stupid old man.
I went one morning, but instead of being old, the priest was an active,
clever-looking man of thirty, who immediately offered me chocolate with
the best grace imaginable. I refused, as was my duty as a stranger, and
indeed the Spaniards offer visitors chocolate so frequently at all hours,
that if one accepted it all one would be choked.
I lost no time in exordiums, but came to the point at once, by saying
that as a lover of paintings I had been grieved at finding the
magnificent Madonna spoilt.
"Very likely," he replied, "but it was exactly the physical beauty of the
picture that rendered it in my eyes unfit to represent one whose aspect
should purify and purge the senses, instead of exciting them. Let all the
pictures in the world be destroyed, if they be found to have caused the
commission of one mortal sin."
"Who allowed you to commit this mutilation? The Venetian State
Inquisitors, even M. Barberigo, though he is a devout man, would have put
you under the Leads for such a deed. The love of Paradise should not be
allowed to interfere with the fine arts, and I am sure that St. Luke
himself (who was a painter, as you know) would condemn you if he could
come to life again."
"Sir, I needed no one's leave or license. I have to say mass at that
altar every day, and I am not ashamed to tell you that I was unable to
consecrate. You are a man and a Christian, you can excuse my weakness.
That voluptuous picture drew away my thoughts from holy things."
"Who obliged you to look at it?"
"I did not look at it; the devil, the enemy of God, made me see it in
spite of myself."
"Then you should have mutilated yourself like Origen. Your generative
organs, believe me, are not so valuable as the picture you have ruined."
"Sir, you insult me."
"Not at all, I have no intention of doing so."
That young priest shewed me the door with such brusqueness that I felt
sure he would inform against me to the Inquisition. I knew he would have
no difficulty in finding out my name, so I resolved to be beforehand with
him.
Both my fear and my resolve were inspired by an incident which I shall
mention as an episode.
A few days before, I had met a Frenchman named Segur, who had just come
out of the prisons of the Inquisition. He had been shut up for three
years for committing the following crime:
In the hall of his house there was a fountain, composed of a marble basin
and the statue of a naked child, who discharged the water in the same way
as the well-known statue of Brussels, that is to say, by his virile
member. The child might be a Cupid or an Infant Jesus, as you pleased,
but the sculptor had adorned the head with a kind of aureole; and so the
fanatics declared that it was a mocking of God.
Poor Segur was accused of impiety, and the Inquisition dealt with him
accordingly.
I felt that my fault might be adjudged as great as Segur's, and not
caring to run the risk of a like punishment I called on the bishop, who
held the office of Grand Inquisitor, and told him word for word the
conversation I had had with the iconoclast chaplain. I ended by craving
pardon, if I had offended the chaplain, as I was a good Christian, and
orthodox on all points.
I had never expected to find the Grand Inquisitor of Madrid a kindly and
intelligent, though ill-favoured, prelate; but so it was, and he did
nothing but laugh from the beginning to the end of my story, for he would
not let me call it a confession.
"The chaplain," he said, "is himself blameworthy and unfit for his
position, in that he has adjudged others to be as weak as himself; in
fact, he has committed a wrong against religion. Nevertheless, my dear
son, it was not wise of you to go and irritate him." As I had told him my
name he shewed me, smilingly, an accusation against me, drawn up by
someone who had witnessed the fact. The good bishop gently chid me for
having called the friar-confessor of the Duke of Medina an ignoramus. He
had refused to admit that a priest might say mass a second time on a high
festival, after breaking his fast, on the command of his sovereign
prince, who, by the hypothesis, had not heard mass before.
"You were quite right in your contention," said the Inquisitor, "but yet
every truth is not good to utter, and it was wrong to call the man an
ignoramus in his presence. For the future you would do well to avoid all
idle discussion on religious matters, both on dogma and discipline. And I
must also tell you, in order that you may not leave Spain with any harsh
ideas on the Inquisition, that the priest who affixed your name to the
church-door amongst the excommunicated has been severely reprimanded. He
ought to have given you a fatherly admonition, and, above all, enquired
as to your health, as we know that you were seriously ill at the time."
Thereupon I knelt down and kissed his hand, and went my way, well pleased
with my call.
To go back to Aranjuez. As soon as I heard that the ambassador could not
put me up at Madrid, I wrote to the worthy cobbler, Don Diego, that I
wanted a well-furnished room, a closet, a good bed, and an honest
servant. I informed him how much I was willing to spend a month, and said
I would leave Aranjuez as soon as I heard that everything was ready.
I was a good deal occupied with the question of colonising the Sierra
Morena; I wrote principally on the subject of the civil government, a
most important item in a scheme for a new colony. My articles pleased the
Marquis Grimaldi and flattered Mocenigo; for the latter hoped that I
should become governor of the colony, and that his embassy would thereby
shine with a borrowed light.
My labours did not prevent my amusing myself, and I frequented the
society of those about the Court who could tell me most of the king and
royal family. Don Varnier, a man of much frankness and intelligence, was
my principal source of information.
I asked him one day whether the king was fond of Gregorio Squillace only
because he had been once his wife's lover.
"That's an idle calumny," he replied. "If the epithet of 'chaste' can be
applied to any monarch, Charles III. certainly deserves it better than
any other. He has never touched any woman in his life except his wife,
not only out of respect or the sanctity of marriage, but also as a good
Christian. He has avoided this sin that his soul may remain pure, and so
as not to have the shame of confessing it to his chaplain. He enjoys an
iron constitution, sickness is unknown to him, and he is a thorough
Spaniard in temperament. Ever since his marriage he has paid his duty to
his wife every day, except when the state of her health compelled her to
call for a truce. In such seasons this chaste husband brought down his
fleshly desires by the fatigue of hunting and by abstinence. You can
imagine his distress at being left a widower, for he would rather die
than take a mistress. His only resource was in hunting, and in so
planning out his day that he should have no time left wherein to think of
women. It was a difficult matter, for he cares neither for reading nor
writing, music wearies him, and conversation of a lively turn inspires
him with disgust.
"He has adopted the following plan, in which he will preserve till his
dying day: He dresses at seven, then goes into his closet and has his
hair dressed. At eight o'clock he says his prayers, then hears mass, and
when this is over he takes chocolate and an enormous pinch of snuff, over
which his big nose ruminates for some minutes; this is his only pinch in
the whole day. At nine o'clock he sees his ministers, and works with them
till eleven. Then comes dinner, which he always takes alone, then a short
visit to the Princess of the Austurias, and at twelve sharp he gets into
his carriage and drives to the hunting-grounds. At seven o'clock he takes
a morsel wherever he happens to be, and at eight o'clock he comes home,
so tired that he often goes to sleep before he can get his clothes off.
Thus he keeps down the desires of the flesh."
"Poor voluntary martyr!"
"He thought of marrying a second time, but when Adelaide of France saw
his portrait she was quite frightened and refused him. He was very
mortified, and renounced all thoughts of marriage; and woe to the
courtier who should advise him to get a mistress!"
In further speaking of his character Don Domingo told me that the
ministers had good cause for making him inaccessible, as whenever anyone
did succeed in getting at him and asked a favour, he made a point of
granting it, as it was at such times that he felt himself really a king.
"Then he is not a hard man, as some say?"
"Not at all. Kings seldom have the reputation they deserve. The most
accessible monarchs are the least generous; they are overwhelmed with
importunate requests, and their first instinct is always to refuse."
"But as Charles III. is so inaccessible he can have no opportunity of
either granting or refusing."
"People catch him when he is hunting; he is usually in a good humour
then. His chief defect is his obstinacy; when he has once made up his
mind there is no changing it.
"He has the greatest liking for his brother, and can scarce refuse him
anything, though he must be master in all things. It is thought he will
give him leave to marry for the sake of his salvation; the king has the
greatest horror of illegitimate children, and his brother has three
already."
There were an immense number of persons at Aranjuez, who persecuted the
ministers in the hope of getting employment.
"They will go back as they come," said Don Domingo, "and that is
empty-handed."
"Then they ask impossibilities?"
"They don't ask anything. 'What do you want?' says a minister.
"'What your excellency will let me have.'
"'What can you do?'
"'I am ready to do whatever your excellency pleases to think best for me'
"'Please leave me. I have no time to waste.'"
That is always the way. Charles III. died a madman; the Queen of Portugal
is mad; the King of England has been mad, and, as some say, is not really
cured. There is nothing astonishing in it; a king who tries to do his
duty is almost forced into madness by his enormous task.
I took leave of M. Mocenigo three days before he left Aranjuez, and I
embraced Manucci affectionately. He had been most kind to me throughout
my stay.
My cobbler had written to tell me that for the sum I had mentioned he
could provide me with a Biscayan maid who could cook. He sent me the
address of my new lodging in the Calle Alcala. I arrived there in the
afternoon, having started from Aranjuez in the morning.
I found that the Biscayan maid could speak French; my room was a very
pleasant one, with another chamber annexed where I could lodge a friend.
After I had had my effects carried up I saw my man, whose face pleased
me.
I was anxious to test the skill of my cook, so I ordered her to get a
good supper for me, and I gave her some money.
"I have some money," she replied, "and I will let you have the bill
to-morrow."
After taking away whatever I had left with Mengs I went to Don Diego's
house, and to my astonishment found it empty. I went back and asked
Philippe, my man, where Don Diego was staying.
"It's some distance, sir; I will take you there tomorrow."
"Where is my landlord?"
"In the floor above; but they are very quiet people."
"I should like to see him."
"He is gone out and won't be home till ten."
At nine o'clock I was told that my supper was ready. I was very hungry,
and the neatness with which the table was laid was a pleasant surprise in
Spain. I was sorry that I had had no opportunity of expressing my
satisfaction to Don Diego, but I sat down to supper. Then indeed I
thought the cobbler a hero; the Biscayan maid might have entered into
rivalry with the best cook in France. There were five dishes, including
my favourite delicacy 'las criadillas', and everything was exquisite. My
lodging was dear enough, but the cook made the whole arrangement a
wonderful bargain.
Towards the end of supper Philippe told me that the landlord had come in,
and that with my leave he would wish me a good evening.
"Shew him in by all means."
I saw Don Diego and his charming daughter enter; he had rented the house
on purpose to be my landlord.
CHAPTER VI
My Amours With Donna Ignazia--Return of M. de Mocenino to
Madrid
All you barons, counts, and marquises who laugh at an untitled man who
calls himself a gentleman, pause and reflect, spare your disdain till you
have degraded him; allow him a gentle title so long as he does gentle
deeds. Respect the man that defines nobility in a new way, which you
cannot understand. With him nobility is not a series of descents from
father to son; he laughs at pedigrees, in which no account is taken of
the impure blood introduced by wifely infidelities; he defines a nobleman
as one who does noble deeds, who neither lies nor cheats, who prefers his
honour to his life.
This latter part of the definition should make you tremble for your
lives, if you meditate his dishonour. From imposture comes contempt, from
contempt hatred, from hatred homicide, which takes out the blot of
dishonour.
The cobbler Don Diego might have feared, perhaps, that I should laugh at
him, when he told me he was noble; but feeling himself to be really so he
had done his best to prove it to me. The fineness of his behaviour when I
was in prison had given me some idea of the nobility of his soul, but he
was not content with this. On the receipt of my letter, he had taken a
new house only to give up the best part of it to me. No doubt he
calculated on not losing in the long run, as after I had left he would
probably have no difficulty in letting the apartment, but his chief
motive was to oblige me.
He was not disappointed; henceforth I treated him entirely as an equal.
Donna Ignazia was delighted at what her father had done for me. We talked
an hour, settling our business relations over a bottle of excellent wine.
I succeeded in my contention that the Biscayan cook should be kept at my
expense. All the same, I wanted the girl to think that she was in Don
Diego's service, so I begged him to pay her every day, as I should take
all my meals at home, at all events, till the return of the ambassador. I
also told him that it was a penance to me to eat alone, and begged him to
keep me company at dinner and supper every day. He tried to excuse
himself, and at last gave in on the condition that his daughter should
take his place when he had too much work to do. As may be imagined I had
anticipated this condition, and made no difficulty about it.
The next morning, feeling curious to see the way in which my landlord was
lodged, I paid him a visit. I went into the little room sacred to Donna
Ignazia. A bed, a chest, and a chair made up the whole furniture; but
beside the bed was a desk before a picture, four feet high, representing
St. Ignatius de Loyola as a fine young man, more calculated to irritate
the sense than to arouse devotion.
My cobbler said to me,
"I have a much better lodging than I had before; and the rent of your
room pays me for the house four times over."
"How about the furniture and the linen?"
"It will all be paid in the course of four years. I hope this house will
be the dower of my daughter. It is an excellent speculation, and I have
to thank you for it."
"I am glad to hear it; but what is this, you seem to be making new
boots?"
"Quite so; but if you look you will see that I am working on a last which
has been given me. In this way I have not to put them on, nor need I
trouble myself whether they fit well or ill."
"How much do you get?"
"Thirty reals."
"That's a larger price than usual."
"Yes, but there's a great difference between my work and my leather, and
the usual work and leather of the bootmakers."
"Then I will have a last made, and you shall make me a pair of shoes, if
you will; but I warn you they must be of the finest skin, and the soles
of morocco."
"They will cost more, and not last so long."
"I can't help that; I can't bear any but the lightest boots."
Before I left him he said his daughter should dine with me that day as he
was very busy.
I called on the Count of Aranda, who received me coldly, but with great
politeness. I told him how I had been treated by my parish priest and by
Mengs.
"I heard about it; this was worse than your imprisonment, and I don't
know what I could have done for you if you had not communicated, and
obliged the priest to take out your name. Just now they are trying to
annoy me with posters on the walls, but I take no notice."
"What do they want your excellency to do?"
"To allow long cloaks and low-crowned hats; you must know all about it."
"I only arrived at Madrid yesterday evening."
"Very good. Don't come here on Sunday, as my house is to be blown up."
"I should like to see that, my lord, so I will be in your hall at noon."
"I expect you will be in good company."
I duly went, and never had I seen it so full. The count was addressing
the company, under the last poster threatening him with death, two very
energetic lines were inscribed by the person who put up the poster,
knowing that he was at the same time running his head into the noose:
Si me cogen, me horqueran,
Pero no me cogeran.
"If they catch me, they will hang me,
So I shall not let them catch me."
At dinner Donna Ignazia told me how glad she was to have me in the house,
but she did not respond to all my amorous speeches after Philippe had
left the room. She blushed and sighed, and then being obliged to say
something, begged me to forget everything that had passed between us. I
smiled, and said that I was sure she knew she was asking an
impossibility. I added that even if I could forget the past I would not
do so.
I knew that she was neither false nor hypocritical, and felt sure that
her behaviour proceeded from devotion; but I knew this could not last
long. I should have to conquer her by slow degrees. I had had to do so
with other devotees who had loved me less than she, nevertheless, they
had capitulated. I was therefore sure of Donna Ignazia.
After dinner she remained a quarter of an hour with me, but I refrained
from any amorous attempts.
After my siesta I dressed, and went out without seeing her. In the
evening when she came in for her father, who had supped with me, I
treated her with the greatest politeness without shewing any ill-humour.
The following day I behaved in the same manner. At dinner she told me she
had broken with her lover at the beginning of Lent, and begged me not to
see him if he called on me.
On Whit Sunday I called on the Count of Aranda, and Don Diego, who was
exquisitely dressed, dined with me. I saw nothing of his daughter. I
asked after her, and Don Diego replied, with a smile, that she had shut
herself up in her room to celebrate the Feast of Pentecost. He pronounced
these words in a manner and with a smile that he would not have dared to
use if he had been speaking to a fellow-Spaniard. He added that she
would, no doubt, come down and sup with me, as he was going to sup with
his brother.
"My dear Don Diego, don't let there be any false compliments between us.
Before you go out, tell your daughter not to put herself out for me, and
that I do not pretend to put my society in comparison with that of God.
Tell her to keep her room to-night, and she can sup with me another time.
I hope you will take my message to her."
"As you will have it so, you shall be obeyed."
After my siesta, the worthy man said that Donna Ignazia thanked me and
would profit by my kindness, as she did not want to see anyone on that
holy day.
"I am very glad she has taken me at my word, and to-morrow I will thank
her for it."
I had some difficulty in shaping my lips to this reply; for this excess
of devotion displeased me, and even made me tremble for her love. I could
not help laughing, however, when Don Diego said that a wise father
forgives an ecstasy of love. I had not expected such a philosophic remark
from the mouth of a Spaniard.
The weather was unpleasant, so I resolved to stay indoors. I told
Philippe that I should not want the carriage, and that he could go out. I
told my Biscayan cook that I should not sup till ten. When I was alone I
wrote for some time, and in the evening the mother lit my candles,
instead of the daughter, so in the end I went to bed without any supper.
At nine o'clock next morning, just as I was awaking, Donna Ignazia
appeared, to my great astonishment, telling me how sorry she was to hear
that I had not taken any supper.
"Alone, sad, and unhappy," I replied, "I felt that abstinence was the
best thing for me."
"You look downcast."
"You alone can make me look cheerful."
Here my barber came in, and she left me. I then went to mass at the
Church of the Good Success, where I saw all the handsome courtezans in
Madrid. I dined with Don Diego, and when his daughter came in with
dessert he told her that it was her fault I had gone supperless to bed.
"It shall not happen again," said she.
"Would you like to come with me to our Lady of Atocha?" said I.
"I should like it very much," she replied, with a side-glance at her
father.
"My girl," said Don Diego, "true devotion and merriment go together, and
the reason is that the truly devout person has trust in God and in the
honesty of all men. Thus you can trust in Don Jaime as an honest man,
though he has not the good fortune to be born in Spain."
I could not help laughing at this last sentence, but Don Diego was not
offended. Donna Ignazia kissed her father's hands, and asked if she might
bring her cousin too.
"What do you want to take the cousin for?" said Don Diego; "I will answer
for Don Jaime."
"You are very kind, Don Diego, but if Ignazia likes her cousin to come I
shall be delighted, provided it be the elder cousin, whom I like better
than the younger."
After this arrangement the father went his way, and I sent Philippe to
the stables to put in four mules.
When we were alone Ignazia asked me repentantly to forgive her.
"Entirely, if you will forgive me for loving you."
"Alas, dearest! I think I shall go mad if I keep up the battle any
longer."
"There needs no battle, dearest Ignazia, either love me as I love you, or
tell me to leave the house, and see you no more. I will obey you, but
that will not make you happy."
"I know that. No, you shall not go from your own house. But allow me to
tell you that you are mistaken in your estimate of my cousins'
characters. I know what influenced you, but you do not know all. The
younger is a good girl, and though she is ugly, she too has succumbed to
love. But the elder, who is ten times uglier, is mad with rage at never
having had a lover. She thought she had made you in love with her, and
yet she speaks evil of you. She reproaches me for having yielded so
easily and boasts that she would never have gratified your passion."
"Say no more, we must punish her; and the younger shall come."
"I am much obliged to you."
"Does she know that we love each other?"
"I have never told her, but she has guessed it, and pities me. She wants
me to join her in a devotion to Our Lady de la Soledad, the effect of
which would be a complete cure for us both."
"Then she is in love, too?"
"Yes; and she is unhappy in her love, for it is not returned. That must
be a great grief."
"I pity her, and yet, with such a face, I do not know any man who would
take compassion on her. The poor girl would do well to leave love alone.
But as to you. . . ."
"Say nothing about me: my danger is greater than hers. I am forced to
defend myself or to give in, and God knows there are some men whom it is
impossible to ward off! God is my witness that in Holy Week I went to a
poor girl with the smallpox, and touched her in the hope of catching it,
and so losing my beauty; but God would not have it so, and my confessor
blamed me, bidding me to do a penance I had never expected."
"Tell me what it is?"
"He told me that a handsome face is the index of a handsome soul, and is
a gift of God, for which a woman should render thanks continually; that
in attempting to destroy this beauty I had sinned, for I had endeavoured
to destroy God's handiwork. After a good deal of rebuke in this style, he
ordered me to put a little rouge on my cheeks whenever I felt myself
looking pale. I had to submit, and I have bought a pot of rouge, but
hitherto I have not felt obliged to use it. Indeed, my father might
notice it, and I should not like to tell him that it is done by way of
penance."
"Is your confessor a young man?"
"He is an old man of seventy."
"Do you tell him all your sins without reserve?"
"Certainly, for the smallest circumstance may be really a great sin."
"Does he ask you questions?"
"No, for he sees that I am telling him the whole truth. It is a great
trial, but I have to submit to it."
"Have you had this confessor for long?"
"For two years. Before him I had a confessor who was quite unbearable. He
asked me questions which made me quite indignant."
"What questions were these?"
"You must please excuse me telling you."
"Why do you go to confession so often?"
"Why? Would to God I had not good cause! but after all I only go once a
week."
"That's too often."
"Not so, for when I am in mortal sin I cannot sleep at night. I am afraid
of dying in my sleep."
"I pity you, dearest; I have a consolation which is denied you. I have an
infinite trust in the infinite mercy of God."
The cousin arrived and we set out. We found a good many carriages in
front of the church-door, and the church itself was full of devotees,
both male and female. Amongst others I saw the Duchess of Villadorias,
notorious for her andromania. When the 'furor uterinus' seized her,
nothing could keep her back. She would rush at the man who had excited
her, and he had no choice but to satisfy her passion. This had happened
several times in public assemblies, and had given rise to some
extraordinary scenes. I had seen her at a ball; she was still both young
and pretty. As I entered the church I saw her kneeling on the stones of
the church floor. She lifted her eyes, and gazed at me, as if doubtful
whether she knew me or not, as she had only seen me in domino. After my
devotees had prayed for half an hour, they rose to go, and the duchess
rose also; and as soon as we were out of the church she asked me if I
knew her. I replied in the affirmative, and she asked why I had not been
to see her, and if I visited the Duchess of Benevento. I told her that I
did not visit her grace, and that I should have the honour of paying her
a call before long.
On our way I explained to my two companions the nature of the duchess's
malady. Donna Ignazia asked me anxiously if I really meant to go and see
her. She seemed reassured when I replied in the negative.
A common and to my mind a ridiculous question is which of the two sexes
enjoys the generative act the more. Homer gives us Jupiter and Juno
disputing on this point. Tiresias, who was once a woman, has given a
correct though amusing decision on the point. A laconic answer has it
that a woman enjoys the act the most because with her it is sharper,
repeated more frequently, and finally because the battle is fought in her
field. She is at the same time an active and passive agent, while action
is indispensable to the pleasure of the man. But the most conclusive
reason is that if the woman's pleasure were not the greater nature would
be unjust, and she never is or can be unjust. Nothing in this universe is
without its use, and no pleasure or pain is without its compensation or
balance. If woman had not more pleasure than man she would not have more
organs than he. The greater nervous power planted in the female organ is
demonstrated by the andromania to which some women are subject, and which
makes them either Messalines or martyrs. Men have nothing at all similar
to this.
Nature has given to women this special enjoyment to compensate for the
pains they have to undergo. What man would expose himself, for the
pleasure he enjoys, to the pains of pregnancy and the dangers of
childbed? But women will do so again and again; so it must be concluded
that they believe the pleasure to outbalance the pain; and so it is
clearly the woman who has the better share in the enjoyment. In spite of
this, if I had the choice of being born again as a woman, I should say
no; for in spite of my voluptuousness, a man has pleasures which a woman
cannot enjoy. Though, indeed, rather than not be born again, I would be a
woman, and even a brute, provided always that I had my memory, for
without it I should no longer be myself.
We had some ices, and my two companions returned home with me, well
pleased with the enjoyment I had given them without offending God. Donna
Ignazia, who was delighted with my continence during the day, and
apparently afraid of its not lasting, begged me to invite her cousin to
supper. I agreed, and even did so with pleasure.
The cousin was ugly, and also a fool, but she had a great heart and was
sympathetic. I knew that Donna Ignazia had told her all, and as she was
no restraint on me I did not mind her being at supper, while Ignazia
looked upon her as a safeguard.
The table had been laid for three, when I heard a step coming up the
stairs. It was the father, and I asked him to sup with us. Don Diego was
a pleasant man, as I have said, but what amused me most of all about him
was his moral maxims. He knew or suspected that I was fond of his
daughter, though in an honourable way; he thought my honour or his
daughter's piety would be a sufficient safeguard. If he had suspected
what had really happened, I do not think he would ever have allowed us to
be together.
He sat beside his niece and facing his daughter, and did most of the
talking, for your Spaniard, though grave, is eloquent, and fond of
hearing the fine harmonies of his native tongue.
It was very hot, so I asked him to take off his waistcoat, and to tell
his daughter to do just as she would if only he and his wife had been
present.
Donna Ignazia had not to be entreated long before she took off her
kerchief, but the poor cousin did not like having to shew us her bones
and swarthy skin.
Donna Ignazia told her father how much she had enjoyed herself, and how
they had seen the Duchess of Villadorias, who had asked me to come and
see her.
The good man began to philosophise and to jest on her malady, and he told
me some stories, germane to the question, which the girls pretended not
to understand.
The good wine of La Mancha kept us at table till a late hour, and the
time seemed to pass very quickly. Don Diego told his niece that she could
sleep with his daughter, in the room we were in, as the bed was big
enough for two. I hastened to add that if the ladies would do so I should
be delighted; but Donna Ignazia blushed and said it would not do, as the
room was only separated from mine by a glass door. At this I smiled at
Don Diego, who proceeded to harangue his daughter in a manner which
amused me extremely. He told her that I was at least twenty years older
than herself, and that in suspecting me she had committed a greater sin
than if she allowed me to take some slight liberty.
"I am sure," he added, "that when you go to confession next Sunday you
will forget to accuse yourself of having wrongfully suspected Don Jaime
of a dishonourable action."
Donna Ignazia looked at me affectionately, asked my pardon, and said she
would do whatever her father liked. The cousin said nothing, and the
father kissed his daughter, bade me a good night, and went away well
pleased with the harangue he had delivered.
I suspected that Donna Ignazia expected me to make some attempt on her
honour, and feeling sure that she would resist for the sake of
appearance, I determined to leave her in peace. Next morning I got up and
went into their room in the hope of playing some trick on them. However,
the birds were flown, and I had no doubt that they had gone to hear mass.
Donna Ignazia came home by herself at ten o'clock. She found me alone,
dressed, and writing. She told me she had been in the church for three
hours.
"You have been to confession, I suppose?"
"No; I went last Sunday, and I shall wait till next Sunday."
"I am very glad that your confession will not be lengthened by any sins I
have helped you to commit."
"You are wrong."
"Wrong? I understand; but you must know that I am not going to be damned
for mere desires. I do not wish to torment you or to become a martyr
myself. What you granted me has made me fall deeply in love with you, and
it makes me shudder when I imagine that our love has become a subject of
repentance with you. I have had a bad night; and it is time for me to
think of my health. I must forget you, but to bring about that effect I
will see you no longer. I will keep on the house, but I will not live in
it. If your religion is an intelligent one, you will approve of my idea.
Tell your confessor of it next Sunday, and you will see that he will
approve it."
"You are right, but I cannot agree to it. You can go away if you like,
and I shall say nothing, but I shall be the most unhappy girl in all
Madrid."
As she spoke these words, two big tears rolled down her cheeks, and her
face dropped; I was profoundly moved.
"I love you, dearest Ignazia, and I hope not to be damned for my love. I
cannot see you without loving you and to this love some positive proof is
essential; otherwise, I am unhappy. If I go you say you will be unhappy,
and if I stay it is I that will be unhappy, my health will be ruined. But
tell me which I shall do stay or go? Say."
"Stay."
"Then you must be as loving and tender as you were before."
"Alas! I promised to commit that sin no more. I tell you to stay, because
I am sure that in eight or ten days we shall have become so accustomed to
one another that I shall be able to love you like a father, and you will
be able to take me in your arms without any amorous sentiments."
"Are you sure of this?"
"Yes, dearest, quite sure."
"You make a mistake."
"Let me be mistaken, and believe me I shall be glad to be mistaken."
"Unhappy devotee!"
"Why unhappy?"
"Nothing, nothing. I may be too long, I shall endanger . . . let us say
no more about it. I will stay."
I went out more pained with her state than my own, and I felt that the
best thing I could do would be to forget her, "for," said I to myself,
"even if I do enjoy her once, Sunday will come again; she will confess,
repent, and I shall have to begin all over again. She confessed her love,
and flatters herself that she will be able to subdue it--a foolish hope,
which could only exist in a mind under the dominion of prejudice."
I came home at noon, and Don Diego dined with me; his daughter did not
appear till the dessert. I begged her to sit down, politely, but coldly.
Her father asked her jestingly if I had paid her a visit in the night.
"I never suspected Don Jaime of such a thing," she replied, "and I only
objected out of shyness."
I interrupted her by praising her modesty, and telling her that she would
have done quite right to beware of me, if my sense of duty had not been
stronger than any voluptuous desires inspired by her charms.
Don Diego pronounced this declaration of love as good as anything to be
found in the "Morte d'Arthur."
His daughter said I was laughing at her, but Don Diego said he was
certain that I was in earnest, and that I had known her before taking her
to the ball.
"You are utterly mistaken," said Donna Ignazia, with some degree of fire.
"Your father is wiser than you, senora," I replied.
"What! How and when did you see me?"
"At the church where I heard mass, and you communicated, when you went
out with your cousin. I followed you at some distance; you can guess the
rest."
She was speechless, and her father enjoyed the consciousness of his
superior intellect.
"I am going to see the bull fight," said he; "it's a fine day, and all
Madrid will be there, so one must go early to get a good place. I advise
you to go, as you have never seen a bull fight; ask Don Jaime to take you
with him, Ignazia."
"Would you like to have my companionship?" said she, tenderly.
"Certainly I would, but you must bring your cousin, as I am in love with
her."
Don Diego burst out laughing, but Ignazia said, slyly,
"It is not so impossible after all."
We went to see the splendid but barbarous spectacle in which Spaniards
take so much delight. The two girls placed themselves in front of the
only vacant box, and I sat behind on the second bench, which was a foot
and a half higher than the first. There were already two ladies there,
and much to my amusement one of them was the famous Duchess of
Villadorias. She was in front of me, and sat in such a position that her
head was almost between my legs. She recognized me, and said we were
fortunate in meeting one another; and then noticing Donna Ignazia, who
was close to her, she congratulated me in French on her charms, and asked
me whether she was my mistress or my wife. I replied that she was a
beauty before whom I sighed in vain. She replied, with a smile, that she
was rather a sceptical person; and turning to Donna Ignazia began a
pleasant and amorous discourse, thinking the girl to be as learned in the
laws of love as herself. She whispered something in her ear which made
Ignazia blush, and the duchess, becoming enthusiastic, told me I had
chosen the handsomest girl in Madrid, and that she would be delighted to
see us both at her country house.
I promised to come, as I was obliged to do, but I begged to be excused
naming the day. Nevertheless, she made me promise to call on her at four
o'clock the next day, telling me, much to my terror, that she would be
alone. She was pretty enough, but too notorious a character; and such a
visit would have given rise to talk.
Happily the fight began, and silence became general, for the Spaniards
are passionately devoted of bull fighting.
So much has been written on the subject that my readers will pardon my
giving a detailed account of the fight. I may say that the sport is, in
my opinion, a most barbarous one, and likely to operate unfavourably on
the national morals; the arena is sometimes drenched in the blood of
bulls, horses, and even of the unfortunate picadores and matadores, whose
sole defence is the red rag with which they irritate the bull.
When it was over I escorted the girls--who had enjoyed themselves
immensely--back to the house, and made the ugly cousin stay to supper, as
I foresaw that they would again sleep together.
We supped together, but it was a melancholy affair, for Don Diego was
away, and I did not feel in the humour to amuse my company.
Donna Ignazia became pensive when, in reply to a question of hers, I said
that it would be absolutely rude of me not to go to the duchess's.
"You will come with me some day," I added, "to dine at her country
house."
"You need not look for that."
"Why not?"
"Because she is a madwoman. She talked to me in a way that would have
offended me if I did not know that she fancied she was honouring me by
laying aside her rank."
We rose from table, and after I had dismissed my man we sat on the
balcony to wait for Don Diego and to enjoy the delicious evening breezes.
As we sat near to each other in the twilight, so favourable to lovers'
vows, I looked into Donna Ignazia's eyes, and saw there that my hour had
come. I clasped her to me with one arm, I clung with my lips to hers, and
by the way she trembled I guessed the flame which consumed her.
"Will you go and see the duchess?"
"No, if you will promise me not to go to confession next Sunday."
"But what will he say if I do not go?"
"Nothing at all, if he understands his business. But let us talk it over
a little."
We were so tightly clasped together that the cousin, like a good girl,
left us, and went to the other end of the balcony, taking care to look
away from us.
Without changing my position, in spite of the temptation to do so, I
asked her if she felt in the humour to repent of the sin she was ready to
commit.
"I was not thinking of repentance just then, but as you remind me of it,
I must tell you that I shall certainly go to confession."
"And after you have been to confession will you love me as you love me
now?"
"I hope God will give me strength to offend Him no more."
"I assure you that if you continue loving me God will not give you grace,
yet I feel sure that on Sunday evening you will refuse me that which you
are now ready to grant."
"Indeed I will, sweetheart; but why should we talk of that now?"
"Because if I abandon myself to pleasure now I shall be more in love with
you than ever, and consequently more unhappy than ever, when the day of
your repentance comes. So promise me that you will not go to confession
whilst I remain at Madrid, or give the fatal order now, and bid me leave
you. I cannot abandon myself to love to-day knowing that it will be
refused me on Sunday."
As I remonstrated thus, I clasped her affectionately in my arms,
caressing her most ardently; but before coming to the decisive action I
asked her again whether she would promise not to go to confession next
Sunday.
"You are cruel," said she, "I cannot make you that promise for my
conscience sake."
At this reply, which I had quite expected, I remained motionless, feeling
sure that she must be in a state of desperate irritation at the work half
begun and not concluded. I, too, suffered, for I was at the door of the
sanctuary, and a slight movement would have sent me into the inmost
shrine; but I knew that her torments must be greater than mine, and that
she could not resist long.
Donna Ignazia was indeed in a terrible state; I had not repulsed her, but
I was perfectly inactive. Modesty prevented her asking me openly to
continue, but she redoubled her caresses, and placed herself in an easier
position, reproaching me with my cruelty. I do not know whether I could
have held out much longer, but just then the cousin turned round and told
us that Don Diego was coming in.
We hastened to arrange our toilette, and to sit in a decent position. The
cousin came up to us, and Don Diego, after making a few remarks, left us
on the balcony, wishing us a good night. I might have begun over again,
but I clung to my system of repression, and after wishing the girls good
night with a melancholy air, I went to bed.
I hoped Donna Ignazia would repent and come and keep me company, but I
was disappointed. They left their room early in the morning, and at noon
Don Diego came to dine with me, saying his daughter had such a bad
headache that she had not even gone to mass.
"We must get her to eat something."
"No, I think abstinence will do her good, and in the evening I daresay
she will be able to sup with you."
I went to keep her company by her bedside after I had taken my siesta. I
did my best for three hours to convince her of her folly; but she kept
her eyes closed, and said nothing, only sighing when I said something
very touching.
I left her to walk in St. Jerome's Park, and told her that if she did not
sup with me I should understand that she did not wish to see me again.
This threat had its effect. She came to table at supper-time, but she
looked pale and exhausted. She ate little, and said nothing, for she knew
not what to say. I saw that she was suffering, and I pitied her from my
heart.
Before going to bed she asked me if I had been to see the duchess. She
seemed somewhat cheered when I answered in the negative. I told her that
she might satisfy herself of the truth of my reply by asking Philippe,
who had taken my note begging her grace to excuse me for that day.
"But will you go another day?"
"No, dearest, because I see it would grieve you."
She gave a sigh of content, and I embraced her gently, and she left me as
sad as I was.
I could see that what I asked of her was a great deal; but I had good
grounds for hope, as I knew her ardent disposition. It was not God and I
that were disputing for her, but her confessor and I. If she had not been
a Catholic I should have won her the first day.
She had told me that she would get into trouble with her confessor if she
did not go to him as usual; she had too much of fine Spanish honour in
her to tell him what was not true, or to endeavour to combine her love
with her religion.
The Friday and the Saturday passed without any events of consequence. Her
father, who could not blind himself to our love any longer, trusted, I
suppose, to his daughter's virtue, and made her dine and sup with me
every day. On Saturday evening Donna Ignazia left me sadder than ever,
and turned her head away when I would have kissed her as usual. I saw
what was the matter; she was going to communicate the next day. I admired
her consistency, in spite of myself, and pitied her heartily; for I could
guess the storm that must be raging in her breast. I began to repent
having demanded all, and wished I had been contented with a little.
I wished to be satisfied with my own eyes, and got up early on Sunday
morning and followed her. I knew that she would call for her cousin, so I
went on to the church. I placed myself by the sacristy-door, where I
could see without being seen.
I waited a quarter of an hour, then they came in, and after kneeling down
for a few moments, separated, each going to her own confessor.
I only noticed Donna Ignazia; I saw her going to the confessional, and
the confessor turning towards her.
I waited patiently. I thought the confession would never come to an end.
"What is he saying?" I repeated to myself as I saw the confessor speaking
to her now and again.
I could bear it no longer, and I was on the point of going away when I
saw her rise from her knees.
Donna Ignazia, looking like a saint, came to kneel in the church, but out
of my sight. I thought she would come forward to receive the Holy
Communion at the end of the Mass that was being said, but instead of that
she went towards the door, rejoined her cousin and they left the church.
I was astonished. My heart was seized with a pang of remorse.
"It's all over," I said to myself. "The poor girl has made a sincere and
full confession, she has avowed her love, and the priest's cruel duty has
made him refuse her absolution.
"All is lost. What will come of it?"
"My peace of mind and hers require me to leave her.
"Wretch that I am, to have lost all for all! I should have made allowance
for the peculiar Spanish character.
"I might have enjoyed her by surprise now and again; the difficulty would
have added piquancy to the intrigue. I have behaved as if I were once
more twenty, and I have lost all.
"At dinner she will be all sad and tearful. I must find some way out of
this terrible situation."
Thus soliloquising, I came home ill pleased with the line of conduct I
had adopted.
My hairdresser was waiting for me, but I sent him away, and told my cook
not to serve my dinner till I ordered it; then, feeling the need of rest,
I flung myself on my bed and slept profoundly till one o'clock.
I got up and ordered dinner to be brought in, and sent a message to the
father and daughter that I was expecting them.
My surprise may be imagined when Donna Ignazia appeared in a costume of
black velvet, adorned with ribbons and lace. In my opinion there is no
more seductive costume in Europe when the wearer is pretty.
I also noticed that every feature of her face breathed peace and calm; I
had never seen her looking so well, and I could not help congratulating
her. She replied with a smile, and I gave her a kiss, which she took as
meekly as a lamb.
Philippe arrived, and we sat down to table. I saw that my fair sweetheart
had crossed the Rubicon; the day was won.
"I am going to be happy," said she, "but let us say nothing, and it will
come of itself."
However, I did not conceal my bliss, and made love to her whenever the
servant was out of the room. She was not only submissive, but even
ardent.
Before we left the table she asked me if I still loved her.
"More than ever, darling; I adore you."
"Then take me to the bull fight."
"Quick! Fetch the hairdresser."
When my hair was done I made an elaborate toilette, and burning with
impatience we set out on foot, as I was afraid we should not secure a
good place if we waited till the carriage was ready. We found a fine box
with only two persons in it, and Ignazia, after glancing round, said she
was glad that the detestable duchess was not anywhere near us.
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. We greeted each other with due
Spanish politeness, and the ambassador paid me a high compliment on the
beauty of my companion. Donna Ignazia pretended not to understand, but
she pressed my arm with Spanish delicacy.
After walking a short distance with us M. de Mocenigo said he hoped I
would dine with him on the following day, and after I had nodded
acquiescence in the French style we parted.
Towards the evening we took some ices and returned home, and the gentle
pressure of my arm on the way prepared me for the bliss I was to enjoy.
We found Don Diego on the balcony waiting for us. He congratulated his
daughter on her pleasant appearance and the pleasure she must have taken
in my society.
Charmed with papa's good humour, I asked him to sup with us, and he
accepted, and amused us with his witty conversation and a multitude of
little tales that pleased me exceedingly. He made the following speech on
leaving us, which I give word for word, but I cannot give the reader any
idea of the inimitable Spanish gravity with which it was delivered.
"Amigo Senior Don Jaime, I leave you here to enjoy the cool air with my
daughter. I am delighted at your loving her, and you may be assured that
I shall place no obstacle in the way of your becoming my son-in-law as
soon as you can shew your titles of nobility."
When he was gone, I said to his daughter,--
"I should be only too happy, if it could be managed; but you must know
that in my country they only are called nobles who have an hereditary
right to rule the state. If I had been born in Spain I should be noble,
but as it is I adore you, and I hope you will make me happy."
"Yes, dearest, but we must be happy together; I cannot suffer any
infidelity."
"I give you my word of honour that I will be wholly faithful to you."
"Come then, 'corazon mio', let us go in."
"No, let us put out the lights, and stay here a quarter of an hour. Tell
me, my angel, whence comes this unexpected happiness?"
"You owe it to a piece of tyranny which drove me to desperation. God is
good, and I am sure He would not have me become my own executioner. When
I told my confessor that I could not help loving you, but that I could
restrain myself from all excess of love, he replied that this
self-confidence was misplaced, as I had already fallen. He wanted me to
promise never to be alone with you again, and on my refusing to do so he
would not give me absolution.
"I have never had such a piece of shame cast on me, but I laid it all in
the hands of God, and said, 'Thy will be done.'
"Whilst I heard mass my mind was made up, and as long as you love me I
shall be yours, and yours only. When you leave Spain and abandon me to
despair, I shall find another confessor. My conscience holds me
guiltless; this is my comfort. My cousin, whom I have told all, is
astonished, but then she is not very clever."
After this declaration, which put me quite at my ease, and would have
relieved me of any scruples if I had had them, I took her to my bed. In
the morning, she left me tired out, but more in love with her than ever.
EPISODE 27 -- EXPELLED FROM SPAIN
CHAPTER VII
I Make a Mistake and Manucci Becomes My Mortal Foe--His
Vengeance--I Leave Madrid--Saragossa--Valentia--Nina--
I Arrive at Barcelona
[Illustration: Chapter 7]
If these Memoirs, only written to console me in the dreadful weariness
which is slowly killing me in Bohemia--and which, perhaps, would kill me
anywhere, since, though my body is old, my spirit and my desires are as
young as ever--if these Memoirs are ever read, I repeat, they will only
be read when I am gone, and all censure will be lost on me.
Nevertheless, seeing that men are divided into two sections, the one and
by far the greater composed of the ignorant and superficial, and the
other of the learned and reflective, I beg to state that it is to the
latter I would appeal. Their judgment, I believe, will be in favour of my
veracity, and, indeed, why should I not be veracious? A man can have no
object in deceiving himself, and it is for myself that I chiefly write.
Hitherto I have spoken nothing but the truth, without considering whether
the truth is in my favour or no. My book is not a work of dogmatic
theology, but I do not think it will do harm to anyone; while I fancy
that those who know how to imitate the bee and to get honey from every
flower will be able to extract some good from the catalogue of my vices
and virtues.
After this digression (it may be too long, but that is my business and
none other's), I must confess that never have I had so unpleasant a truth
to set down as that which I am going to relate. I committed a fatal act
of indiscretion--an act which after all these years still gives my heart
a pang as I think of it.
The day after my conquest I dined with the Venetian ambassador, and I had
the pleasure of hearing that all the ministers and grandees with whom I
had associated had the highest possible opinion of me. In three or four
days the king, the royal family, and the ministers would return to town,
and I expected to have daily conferences with the latter respecting the
colony in the Sierra Morena, where I should most probably be going.
Manucci, who continued to treat me as a valued friend, proposed to
accompany me on my journey, and would bring with him an adventuress, who
called herself Porto-Carrero, pretending to be the daughter or niece of
the late cardinal of that name, and thus obtained a good deal of
consideration; though in reality she was only the mistress of the French
consul at Madrid, the Abbe Bigliardi.
Such was the promising state of my prospects when my evil genius brought
to Madrid a native of Liege, Baron de Fraiture, chief huntsman of the
principality, and a profligate, a gamester, and a cheat, like all those
who proclaim their belief in his honesty nowadays.
I had unfortunately met him at Spa, and told him I was was going to
Portugal. He had come after me, hoping to use me as a means of getting
into good society, and of filling his pocket with the money of the dupes
he aspired to make.
Gamesters have never had any proof of my belonging to their infernal
clique, but they have always persisted in believing that I too am a
"Greek."
As soon as this baron heard that I was in Madrid he called on me, and by
dint of politeness obliged me to receive him. I thought any small
civilities I might shew or introductions I might give could do me no
harm. He had a travelling companion to whom he introduced me. He was a
fat, ignorant fellow, but a Frenchman, and therefore agreeable. A
Frenchman who knows how to present himself, who is well dressed, and has
the society air, is usually accepted without demur or scrutiny. He had
been a cavalry captain, but had been fortunate enough to obtain an
everlasting furlough.
Four or five days after his appearance the baron asked me quietly enough
to lend him a score of louis, as he was hard up. I replied as quietly,
thanking him for treating me as a friend, but informing him that I really
could not lend him the money, as I wanted what little I had for my own
necessities.
"But we can do good business together, and you cannot possibly be
moneyless."
"I do not know anything about good business, but I do know that I want my
money and cannot part with it."
"We are at our wits' end to quiet our landlord; come and speak to him."
"If I were to do so I should do you more harm than good. He would ask me
if I would answer for you, and I should reply that you are one of those
noblemen who stand in need of no surety. All the same, the landlord would
think that if I did not stand your surety, it must be from my
entertaining doubts as to your solvency."
I had introduced Fraiture to Count Manucci, on the Pando, and he
requested me to take him to see the count, to which request I was foolish
enough to accede.
A few days later the baron opened his soul to Manucci.
He found the Venetian disposed to be obliging, but wary. He refused to
lend money himself, but introduced the baron to someone who lent him
money on pledges without interest.
The baron and his friend did a little gaming and won a little money, but
I held aloof from them to the best of my ability.
I had my colony and Donna Ignazia, and wanted to live peacefully; and if
I had spent a single night away from home, the innocent girl would have
been filled with alarm.
About that time M. de Mocenigo went as ambassador to France, and was
replaced by M. Querini. Querini was a man of letters, while Mocenigo only
liked music and his own peculiar kind of love.
The new ambassador was distinctly favourable to me, and in a few days I
had reason to believe that he would do more for me than ever Mocenigo
would have done.
In the meanwhile, the baron and his friend began to think of beating a
retreat to France. There was no gaming at the ambassador's and no gaming
at the Court; they must return to France, but they owed money to their
landlord, and they wanted money for the journey. I could give them
nothing, Manucci would give them nothing; we both pitied them, but our
duty to ourselves made us cruel to everyone else. However, he brought
trouble on us.
One morning Manucci came to see me in evident perturbation.
"What is the matter?" said I.
"I do not know exactly. For the last week I have refused to see the Baron
Fraiture, as not being able to give him money, his presence only wearied
me. He has written me a letter, in which he threatens to blow out his
brains to-day if I will not lend him a hundred pistoles."
"He said the same thing to me three days ago; but I replied that I would
bet two hundred pistoles that he would do nothing of the kind. This made
him angry, and he proposed to fight a duel with me; but I declined on the
plea that as he was a desperate man either he would have an advantage
over me or I, over him. Give him the same answer, or, better still, no
answer at all."
"I cannot follow your advice. Here are the hundred pistoles. Take them to
him and get a receipt."
I admired his generosity and agreed to carry out his commission. I called
on the baron, who seemed rather uncomfortable when I walked in; but
considering his position I was not at all surprised.
I informed him that I was the bearer of a thousand francs from Count
Manucci, who thereby placed him in a position to arrange his affairs and
to leave Madrid. He received the money without any signs of pleasure,
surprise, or gratitude, and wrote out the receipt. He assured me that he
and his friend would start for Barcelona and France on the following day.
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.
Three days after I went to dine with the ambassadors (for they all dined
together), but to my astonishment the porter told me that he had received
orders not to admit me.
The effect of this sentence on me was like that of a thunderbolt; I
returned home like a man in a dream. I immediately sat down and wrote to
Manucci, asking him why I had been subjected to such an insult; but
Philippe, my man, brought me back the letter unopened.
This was another surprise; I did not know what to expect next. "What can
be the matter?" I said to myself. "I cannot imagine, but I will have an
explanation, or perish."
I dined sadly with Donna Ignazia, without telling her the cause of my
trouble, and just as I was going to take my siesta a servant of Manucci's
brought me a letter from his master and fled before I could read it. The
letter contained an enclosure which I read first. It was from Baron de
Fraiture. He asked Manucci to lend him a hundred pistoles, promising to
shew him the man whom he held for his dearest friend to be his worst
enemy.
Manucci (honouring me, by the way, with the title of ungrateful traitor)
said that the baron's letter had excited his curiosity and he had met
him in St. Jerome's Park, where the baron had clearly proved this enemy
to be myself, since I had informed the baron that though the name of
Manucci was genuine the title of count was quite apocryphal.
After recapitulating the information which Fraiture had given him, and
which could only have proceeded from myself, he advised me to leave
Madrid as soon as possible, in a week at latest.
I can give the reader no idea of the shock this letter gave me. For the
first time in my life I had to confess myself guilty of folly,
ingratitude, and crime. 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. The young man might have known that my
self-respect would forbid my following such a piece of advice. He could
not compel me to obey his counsel or command; and to leave Madrid would
have been to commit a second baseness worse than the first.
A prey to grief I spent the day without taking any steps one way or the
other, and I went to bed without supping and without the company of Donna
Ignazia.
After a sound sleep I got up and wrote to the friend whom I had offended
a sincere and humble confession of my fault. I concluded my letter by
saying that I hoped that this evidence of my sincere and heartfelt
repentance would suffice, but if not that I was ready to give him any
honourable satisfaction in my power.
"You may," I said, "have me assassinated if you like, but I shall not
leave Madrid till its suits me to do so."
I put a commonplace seal on my letter, and had the address written by
Philippe, whose hand was unknown to Manucci, and then I sent it to Pando
where the king had gone.
I kept my room the whole day; and Donna Ignazia, seeing that I had
recovered my spirits to some degree, made no more enquiries about the
cause of my distress. I waited in the whole of the next day, expecting a
reply, but in vain.
The third day, being Sunday, I went out to call on the Prince della
Catolica. My carriage stopped at his door, but the porter came out and
told me in a polite whisper that his highness had his reasons for not
receiving me any longer.
This was an unexpected blow, but after it I was prepared for anything.
I drove to the Abbe Bigliardi, but the lackey, after taking in my name,
informed me that his master was out.
I got into my carriage and went to Varnier, who said he wanted to speak
to me.
"Come into my carriage," said I, "we will go and hear mass together."
On our way he told me that the Venetian ambassador, Mocenigo, had warned
the Duke of Medina Sidonia that I was a dangerous character.
"The duke," he added, "replied that he would cease to know you as soon as
he found out the badness of your character himself."
These three shocks, following in such quick succession, cast me into a
state of confusion. I said nothing till we heard mass together, but I
believe that if I had not then told him the whole story I should have had
an apoplectic fit.
Varnier pitied me, and said,--
"Such are the ways of the great when they have abjured all virtue and
honesty. Nevertheless, I advise you to keep silence about it, unless you
would irritate Manucci still farther."
When I got home I wrote to Manucci begging him to suspend his vengeance,
or else I should be obliged to tell the story to all those who insulted
me for the ambassador's sake. I sent the letter to M. Soderini, the
secretary of the embassy, feeling sure that he would forward it to
Manucci.
I dined with my mistress, and took her to the bull fight, where I chanced
to find myself in a box adjoining that in which Manucci and the two
ambassadors were seated. I made them a bow which they were obliged to
return, and did not vouchsafe them another glance for the rest of the
spectacle.
The next day the Marquis Grimaldi refused to receive me, and I saw that I
should have to abandon all hope. The Duke of Lossada remained my friend
on account of his dislike to the ambassador and his unnatural tastes; but
he told me that he had been requested not to receive me, and that he did
not think I had the slightest chance of obtaining any employment at
Court.
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. There was still the Count of Aranda, and I was just going to see him
when a servant of his highness's came and told me that his master wished
to see me.
I shuddered, for in my then state of mind I drew the most sinister
conclusions from the message.
I found the great man alone, looking perfectly calm. This made me pluck
up a heart. He asked me to sit down--a favour he had not hitherto done
me, and this further contributed to cheer me.
"What have you been doing to offend your ambassador?" he began.
"My lord, I have done nothing to him directly, but by an inexcusable act
of stupidity I have wounded his dear friend Manucci in his tenderest
part. With the most innocent intentions I reposed my confidence in a
cowardly fellow, who sold it to Manucci for a hundred pistoles. In his
irritation, Manucci has stirred up the great man against me: 'hinc illae
lacrimae'."
"You have been unwise, but what is done is done. I am sorry for you,
because there is an end to all your hopes of advancement. The first thing
the king would do would be to make enquiries about you of the
ambassador."
"I feel it to my sorrow, my lord, but must I leave Madrid?"
"No. The ambassador did his best to make me send you way, but I told him
that I had no power over you so long as you did not infringe the laws."
"'He has calumniated a Venetian subject whom I am bound to protect,' said
he.
"'In that case,' I replied, 'you can resort to the ordinary law, and
punish him to the best of your ability.'"
"The ambassador finally begged me to order you not to mention the matter
to any Venetian subjects at Madrid, and I think you can safely promise me
this."
"My lord, I have much pleasure in giving your excellency my word of
honour not to do so."
"Very good. Then you can stay at Madrid as long as you please; and,
indeed, Mocenigo will be leaving in the course of a week."
From that moment I made up my mind to amuse myself without any thought of
obtaining a position in Spain. However, the ties of friendship made me
keep up my acquaintance with Varnier, the Duke of Medina Sidonia, and the
architect, Sabatini, who always gave me a warm welcome, as did his wife.
Donna Ignazia had more of my company than ever, and congratulated me on
my freedom from the cares of business.
After the departure of Mocenigo I thought I would go and see if Querini,
his nephew, was equally prejudiced against me. The porter told me that he
had received orders not to admit me, and I laughed in the man's face.
Six or seven weeks after Manucci's departure I, too, left Madrid. I did
so on compulsion, in spite of my love for Ignazia, for I had no longer
hopes of doing anything in Portugal, and my purse was nearly exhausted.
I thought of selling a handsome repeater and a gold snuff-box so as to
enable me to go to Marseilles, whence I thought of going to
Constantinople and trying my fortune there without turning renegade.
Doubtless, I should have found the plan unsuccessful, for I was attaining
an age when Fortune flies. I had no reason, however, to complain of
Fortune, for she had been lavish in her gifts to me, and I in my turn had
always abused them.
In my state of distress the learned Abbe Pinzi introduced me to a Genoese
bookseller, named Carrado, a thoroughly honest man, who seemed to have
been created that the knavery of most of the Genoese might be pardoned.
To him I brought my watch and snuff-box, but the worthy Carrado not only
refused to buy them, but would not take them in pledge. He gave me
seventeen hundred francs with no other security than my word that I would
repay him if I were ever able to do so. Unhappily I have never been able
to repay this debt, unless my gratitude be accounted repayment.
As nothing is sweeter than the companionship between a man and the woman
he adores, so nothing is bitterer than the separation; the pleasure has
vanished away, and only the pain remains.
I spent my last days at Madrid drinking the cup of pleasure which was
embittered by the thought of the pain that was to follow. The worthy
Diego was sad at the thought of losing me, and could with difficulty
refrain from tears.
For some time my man Philippe continued to give me news of Donna Ignazia.
She became the bride of a rich shoemaker, though her father was extremely
mortified by her making a marriage so much beneath her station.
I had promised the Marquis de las Moras and Colonel Royas that I would
come and see them at Saragossa, the capital of Aragon, and I arrived
there at the beginning of September. My stay lasted for a fortnight,
during which time I was able to examine the manners and customs of the
Aragonese, who were not subject to the ordinances of the Marquis of
Aranda, as long cloaks and low hats were to be seen at every corner. They
looked like dark phantoms more than men, for the cloak covered up at
least half the face. Underneath the cloak was carried el Spadino, a sword
of enormous length. Persons who wore this costume were treated with great
respect, though they were mostly arrant rogues; still they might possibly
be powerful noblemen in disguise.
The visitor to Saragossa should see the devotion which is paid to our
Lady del Pilar. I have seen processions going along the streets in which
wooden statues of gigantic proportions were carried. I was taken to the
best assemblies, where the monks swarmed. I was introduced to a lady of
monstrous size, who, I was informed, was cousin to the famous Palafox,
and I did not feel my bosom swell with pride as was evidently expected. I
also made the acquaintance of Canon Pignatelli, a man of Italian origin.
He was President of the Inquisition, and every morning he imprisoned the
procuress who had furnished him with the girl with whom he had supped and
slept. He would wake up in the morning tired out with the pleasures of
the night; the girl would be driven away and the procuress imprisoned. He
then dressed, confessed, said mass, and after an excellent breakfast with
plenty of good wine he would send out for another girl, and this would go
on day after day. Nevertheless, he was held in great respect at
Saragossa, for he was a monk, a canon, and an Inquisitor.
The bull fights were finer at Saragossa than at Madrid--that is to say,
they were deadlier; and the chief interest of this barbarous spectacle
lies in the shedding of blood. The Marquis de las Moras and Colonel Royas
gave me some excellent dinners. The marquis was one of the pleasantest
men I met in Spain; he died very young two years after.
The Church of Nuestra Senora del Pilar is situated on the ramparts of the
town, and the Aragonese fondly believe this portion of the town defences
to be impregnable.
I had promised Donna Pelliccia to go and see her at Valentia, and on my
way I saw the ancient town of Saguntum on a hill at some little distance.
There was a priest travelling with me and I told him and the driver (who
preferred his mules to all the antiquities in the world) that I should
like to go and see the town. How the muleteer and the priest objected to
this proposal!
"There are only ruins there, senor."
"That's just what I want to see."
"We shall never get to Valentia to-night."
"Here's a crown; we shall get there to-morrow."
The crown settled everything, and the man exclaimed,
"Valga me Dios, es un hombre de buen!" (So help me God, this is an honest
man!) A subject of his Catholic majesty knows no heartier praise than
this.
I saw the massive walls still standing and in good condition, and yet
they were built during the second Punic War. I saw on two of the gateways
inscriptions which to me were meaningless, but which Seguier, the old
friend of the Marquis Maffei, could no doubt have deciphered.
The sight of this monument to the courage of an ancient race, who
preferred to perish in the flames rather than surrender, excited my awe
and admiration. The priest laughed at me, and I am sure he would not have
purchased this venerable city of the dead if he could have done so by
saying a mass. The very name has perished; instead of Saguntum it is
called Murviedro from the Latin 'muri veteres' (old walls); but Time that
destroys marble and brass destroys also the very memory of what has been.
"This place," said the priest, "is always called Murviedro."
"It is ridiculous to do so," I replied; "common sense forbids us calling
a thing old which was once young enough. That's as if you would tell me
that New Castille is really new."
"Well, Old Castille is more ancient than New Castille."
"No so. New Castille was only called so because it was the latest
conquest; but as a matter of fact it is the older of the two."
The poor priest took refuge in silence; shaking his head, and evidently
taking me for a madman.
I tried vainly to find Hannibal's head, and the inscription in honour of
Caesar Claudius, but I found out the remains of the amphitheatre.
The next day I remarked the mosaic pavement, which had been discovered
twenty years before.
I reached Valentia at nine o'clock in the morning, and found that I
should have to content myself with a bad lodging, as Marescalchi, the
opera manager, had taken all the best rooms for the members of his
company. Marescalchi was accompanied by his brother, a priest, whom I
found decidedly learned for his age. We took a walk together, and he
laughed when I proposed going into a cafe, for there was not such a thing
in the town. There were only taverns of the lowest class where the wine
is not fit to drink. I could scarcely believe it, but Spain is a peculiar
country. When I was at Valentia, a good bottle of wine was scarcely
obtainable, though Malaga and Alicante were both close at hand.
In the first three days of my stay at Valentia (the birthplace of
Alexander VI.), I saw all the objects of interest in the town, and was
confirmed in my idea that what seems so admirable in the descriptions of
writers and the pictures of artists loses much of its charm on actual
inspection.
Though Valentia is blessed with an excellent climate, though it is well
watered, situated in the midst of a beautiful country, fertile in all the
choicest products of nature, though it is the residence of many of the
most distinguished of the Spanish nobility, though its women are the most
handsome in Spain, though it has the advantage of being the seat of an
archbishop; in spite of all these commodities, it is a most disagreeable
town to live in. One is ill lodged and ill fed, there is no good wine and
no good company, there is not even any intellectual provision, for though
there is a university, lettered men are absolutely unknown.
As for the bridges, churches, the arsenal, the exchange, the town hall,
the twelve town gates, and the rest, I could not take pleasure in a town
where the streets are not paved, and where a public promenade is
conspicuous by its absence. Outside the town the country is delightful,
especially on the side towards the sea; but the outside is not the
inside.
The feature which pleased me most was the number of small one-horse
vehicles which transport the traveller rapidly from one point to another,
at a very slight expense, and will even undertake a two or three days'
journey.
If my frame of mind had been a more pleasant one, I should have travelled
through the kingdoms of Murcia and Grenada, which surpass Italy in beauty
and fertility.
Poor Spaniards! This beauty and fertility of your land are the cause of
your ignorance, as the mines of Peru and Potosi have brought about that
foolish pride and all the prejudices which degrade you.
Spaniards, when will the impulse come? when will you shake off that fatal
lethargy? Now you are truly useless to yourselves, and the rest of the
world; what is it you need?
A furious revolution, a terrible shock, a conquest of regeneration; your
case is past gentle methods, it needs the cautery and the fire.
The first call I paid was on Donna Pelliccia. The first performance was
to be given in two days. This was not a matter of any difficulty, as the
same operas were to be presented as had been already played at Aranjuez,
the Escurial, and the Granja, for the Count of Aranda would never have
dared to sanction the performance of an Italian comic opera at Madrid.
The novelty would have been too great, and the Inquisition would have
interfered.
The balls were a considerable shock, and two years after they were
suppressed. Spain will never make any real advance, until the Inquisition
is suppressed also.
As soon as Donna Pelliccia arrived, she sent in the letter of
introduction she had received from the Duke of Arcos, three months
before. She had not seen the duke since their meeting at Aranjuez.
"Madam," said Don Diego, the person to whom she was commended, "I have
come to offer you my services, and to tell you of the orders his grace
has laid on me, of which you may possibly be ignorant."
"I hope, sir," she replied, "that I am not putting you to any
inconvenience, but I am extremely grateful to the duke and to yourself;
and I shall have the honour of calling on you to give you my thanks."
"Not at all; I have only to say that I have orders to furnish you with
any sums you may require, to the amount of twenty-five thousand
doubloons."
"Twenty-five thousand doubloons?"
"Exactly, madam, two hundred and fifty thousand francs in French money,
and no more. Kindly read his grace's letter; you do not seem to be aware
of its contents."
The letter was a brief one:
"Don Diego,--You will furnish Donna Pelliccia with whatever sums she may
require, not exceeding twenty-five thousand doubloons, at my account.
"THE DUKE DOS ARCOS"
We remained in a state of perfect stupefaction. Donna Pelliccia returned
the epistle to the banker, who bowed and took his leave.
This sounds almost incredible generosity, but in Spain such things are
not uncommon. I have already mentioned the munificent gift of Medina-Celi
to Madame Pichona.
Those who are unacquainted with the peculiar Spanish character and the
vast riches of some of the nobility, may pronounce such acts of
generosity to be ridiculous and positively injurious, but they make a
mistake. The spendthrift gives and squanders by a kind of instinct, and
so he will continue to do as long as his means remain. But these splendid
gifts I have described do not come under the category of senseless
prodigality. The Spaniard is chiefly ambitious of praise, for praise he
will do anything; but this very desire for admiration serves to restrain
him from actions by which he would incur blame. He wants to be thought
superior to his fellows, as the Spanish nation is superior to all other
nations; he wants to be thought worthy of a throne, and to be considered
as the possessor of all the virtues.
I may also note that while some of the Spanish nobility are as rich as
the English lords, the former have not so many ways of spending their
money as the latter, and thus are enabled to be heroically generous on
occasion.
As soon as Don Diego had gone, we began to discuss the duke's noble
behaviour.
Donna Pelliccia maintained that the duke had wished to shew his
confidence in her by doing her the honour of supposing her incapable of
abusing his generosity; "at all events," she concluded, "I would rather
die of hunger than take a single doubloon of Don Diego."
"The duke would be offended," said a violinist; "I think you ought to
take something."
"You must take it all," said the husband.
I was of the lady's opinion, and told her that I was sure the duke would
reward her delicacy by making her fortune.
She followed my advice and her own impulse, though the banker
remonstrated with her.
Such is the perversity of the human mind that no one believed in Donna
Pelliccia's delicacy. When the king heard what had happened he ordered
the worthy actress to leave Madrid, to prevent the duke ruining himself.
Such is often the reward of virtue here below, but the malicious persons
who had tried to injure Donna Pelliccia by calumniating her to the king
were the means of making her fortune.
The duke who had only spoken once or twice to the actress in public, and
had never spent a penny on her, took the king's command as an insult, and
one not to be borne. He was too proud to solicit the king to revoke the
order he had given, and in the end behaved in a way befitting so
noble-minded a man. For the first time he visited Donna Pelliccia at her
own house, and begging her to forgive him for having been the innocent
cause of her disgrace, asked her to accept a rouleau and a letter which
he laid on the table.
The rouleau contained a hundred gold ounces with the words "for
travelling expenses," and the letter was addressed to a Roman bank, and
proved to be an order for twenty-four thousand Roman crowns.
For twenty-nine years this worthy woman kept an establishment at Rome,
and did so in a manner which proved her worthy of her good fortune.
The day after Donna Pelliccia's departure the king saw the Duke of Arcos,
and told him not to be sad, but to forget the woman, who had been sent
away for his own good.
"By sending her away, your majesty obliged me to turn fiction into fact,
for I only knew her by speaking to her in various public places, and I
had never made her the smallest present."
"Then you never gave her twenty-five thousand doubloons?"
"Sire, I gave her double that sum, but only on the day before yesterday.
Your majesty has absolute power, but if she had not received her
dismissal I should never have gone to her house, nor should I have given
her the smallest present."
The king was stupefied and silent; he was probably meditating on the
amount of credit a monarch should give to the gossip that his courtiers
bring him.
I heard about this from M. Monnino, who was afterwards known under the
title of Castille de Florida Blanca, and is now living in exile in
Murcia, his native country.
After Marescalchi had gone, and I was making my preparations for my
journey to Barcelona, I saw one day, at the bull fight, a woman whose
appearance had a strange kind of fascination about it.
There was a knight of Alcantara at my side, and I asked him who the lady
was.
"She is the famous Nina."
"How famous?"
"If you do not know her story, it is too long to be told here."
I could not help gazing at her, and two minutes later an ill-looking
fellow beside her came up to my companion and whispered something in his
ear.
The knight turned towards me and informed me in the most polite manner
that the lady whose name I had asked desired to know mine.
I was silly enough to be flattered by her curiosity, and told the
messenger that if the lady would allow me I would come to her box and
tell her my name in person after the performance.
"From your accent I should suppose you were an Italian."
"I am a Venetian."
"So is she."
When he had gone away my neighbour seemed inclined to be more
communicative, and informed me that Nina was a dancer whom the Count de
Ricla, the Viceroy of Barcelona, was keeping for some weeks at Valentia,
till he could get her back to Barcelona, whence the bishop of the diocese
had expelled her on account of the scandals to which she gave rise. "The
count," he added, "is madly in love with her, and allows her fifty
doubloons a day."
"I should hope she does not spend them."
"She can't do that, but she does not let a day pass without committing
some expensive act of folly."
I felt curious to know a woman of such a peculiar character, and longed
for the end of the bull fight, little thinking in what trouble this new
acquaintance would involve me.
She received me with great politeness, and as she got into her carriage
drawn by six mules, she said she would be delighted if I would breakfast
with her at nine o'clock on the following day.
I promised to come, and I kept my word.
Her house was just outside the town walls, and was a very large building.
It was richly and tastefully furnished, and was surrounded by an enormous
garden.
The first thing that struck me was the number of the lackeys and the
richness of their liveries, and the maids in elegant attire, who seemed
to be going and coming in all directions.
As I advanced I heard an imperious voice scolding some one.
The scold was Nina, who was abusing an astonished-looking man, who was
standing by a large table covered with stuffs and laces.
"Excuse me," said she, "but this fool of a Spaniard wants to persuade me
that this lace is really handsome."
She asked me what I thought of the lace, and though I privately thought
it lace of the finest quality, I did not care to contradict her, and so
replied that I was no judge.
"Madam," said the tradesman, "if you do not like the lace, leave it; will
you keep the stuffs?"
"Yes," she replied; "and as for the lace, I will shew you that it is not
the money that deters me."
So saying the mad girl took up a pair of scissors and cut the lace into
fragments.
"What a pity!" said the man who had spoken to me at the bull fight.
"People will say that you have gone off your head."
"Be silent, you pimping rogue!" said she, enforcing her words with a
sturdy box on the ear.
The fellow went off, calling her strumpet, which only made her scream
with laughter; then, turning to the Spaniard, she told him to make out
his account directly.
The man did not want telling twice, and avenged himself for the abuse he
had received by the inordinate length of his bill.
She took up the account and placed her initials at the bottom without
deigning to look at the items, and said,--
"Go to Don Diego Valencia; he will pay you immediately."
As soon as we were alone the chocolate was served, and she sent a message
to the fellow whose ears she had boxed to come to breakfast directly.
"You needn't be surprised at my way of treating him," she said. "He's a
rascal whom Ricla has placed in my house to spy out my actions, and I
treat him as you have seen, so that he may have plenty of news to write
to his master."
I thought I must be dreaming; such a woman seemed to me beyond the limits
of the possible.
The poor wretch, who came from Bologna and was a musician by profession,
came and sat down with us without a word. His name was Molinari.
As soon as he had finished his breakfast he left the room, and Nina spent
an hour with me talking about Spain, Italy, and Portugal, where she had
married a dancer named Bergonzi.
"My father," she said, "was the famous charlatan Pelandi; you may have
known him at Venice."
After this piece of confidence (and she did not seem at all ashamed of
her parentage) she asked me to sup with her, supper being her favourite
meal. I promised to come, and I left her to reflect on the extraordinary
character of the woman, and on the good fortune which she so abused.
Nina was wonderfully beautiful; but as it has always been my opinion that
mere beauty does not go for much, I could not understand how a viceroy
could have fallen in love with her to such an extent. As for Molinari,
after which I had seen, I could only set him down as an infamous wretch.
I went to supper with her for amusement's sake, for, with all her beauty,
she had not touched my heart in the slightest degree. It was at the
beginning of October, but at Valentia the thermometer marked twenty
degrees Reaumur in the shade.
Nina was walking in the garden with her companion, both of them being
very lightly clad; indeed, Nina had only her chemise and a light
petticoat.
As soon as she saw me she came up and begged me to follow their example
in the way of attire, but I begged to be excused. The presence of that
hateful fellow revolted me in the highest degree.
In the interval before supper Nina entertained me with a number of
lascivious anecdotes of her experiences from the time she began her
present mode of living up to the age of twenty-two, which was her age
then.
If it had not been for the presence of the disgusting Argus, no doubt all
these stories would have produced their natural effect on me; but as it
was they had none whatever.
We had a delicate supper and ate with appetite, and after it was over I
would have gladly left them; but Nina would not let me go. The wine had
taken effect, and she wished to have a little amusement.
After all the servants had been dismissed, this Messalina ordered
Molinari to strip naked, and she then began to treat him in a manner
which I cannot describe without disgust.
The rascal was young and strong, and, though he was drunk, Nina's
treatment soon placed him in a hearty condition. I could see that she
wished me to play my part in the revels, but my disgust had utterly
deprived me of all my amorous faculties.
Nina, too, had undressed, and seeing that I viewed the orgy coldly she
proceeded to satiate her desires by means of Molinari.
I had to bear with the sight of this beautiful woman coupling herself
with an animal, whose only merit lay in his virile monstrosity, which she
no doubt regarded as a beauty.
When she had exhausted her amorous fury she threw herself into a bath,
then came back, drank a bottle of Malmsey Madeira, and finally made her
brutal lover drink till he fell on to the floor.
I fled into the next room, not being able to bear it any longer, but she
followed me. She was still naked, and seating herself beside me on an
ottoman she asked me how I had enjoyed the spectacle.
I told her boldy that the disgust with which her wretched companion had
inspired me was so great that it had utterly annulled the effect of her
charms.
"That may be so, but now he is not here, and yet you do nothing. One
would not think it, to look at you."
"You are right, for I have my feelings like any other man, but he has
disgusted me too much. Wait till tomorrow, and let me not see that
monster so unworthy of enjoying you."
"He does not enjoy me. If I thought he did I would rather die than let
him have to do with me, for I detest him."
"What! you do not love him, and yet you make use of him in the way you
do?"
"Yes, just as I might use a mechanical instrument."
In this woman I saw an instance of the depths of degradation to which
human nature may be brought.
She asked me to sup with her on the following day, telling me that we
would be alone, as Molinari would be ill.
"He will have got over the effects of the wine."
"I tell you he will be ill. Come to-morrow, and come every evening."
"I am going the day after to-morrow."
"You will not go for a week, and then we will go together."
"That's impossible."
"If you go you will insult me beyond bearing."
I went home with my mind made up to depart without having anything more
to do with her; and though I was far from inexperienced in wickedness of
all kinds, I could not help feeling astonished at the unblushing
frankness of this Megaera, who had told me what I already knew, but in
words that I had never heard a woman use before.
"I only use him to satisfy my desires, and because I am certain that he
does not love me; if I thought he did I would rather die than allow him
to do anything with me, for I detest him."
The next day I went to her at seven o'clock in the evening. She received
me with an air of feigned melancholy, saying,--
"Alas! we shall have to sup alone; Molinari has got the colic."
"You said he would be ill; have you poisoned him?"
"I am quite capable of doing so, but I hope I never shall."
"But you have given him something?"
"Only what he likes himself; but we will talk of that again. Let us sup
and play till to-morrow, and tomorrow evening we will begin again."
"I am going away at seven o'clock to-morrow."
"No, no, you are not; and your coachman will have no cause for complaint,
for he has been paid; here is the receipt."
These remarks, delivered with an air of amorous despotism, flattered my
vanity. I made up my mind to submit gaily, called her wanton, and said I
was not worth the pains she was taking over me.
"What astonishes me," said I, "is that with this fine house you do not
care to entertain company."
"Everybody is afraid to come; they fear Ricla's jealousy, for it is well
known that that animal who is now suffering from the colic tells him
everything I do. He swears that it is not so, but I know him to be a
liar. Indeed, I am very glad he does write to Ricla, and only wish he had
something of real importance to write about."
"He will tell him that I have supped alone with you."
"All the better; are you afraid?"
"No; but I think you ought to tell me if I have anything really to fear."
"Nothing at all; it will fall on me."
"But I should not like to involve you in a dispute which might be
prejudicial to your interests."
"Not at all; the more I provoke him, the better he loves me, and I will
make him pay dearly when he asks me to make it up."
"Then you don't love him?"
"Yes, to ruin him; but he is so rich that there doesn't seem much hope of
my ever doing that."
Before me I saw a woman as beautiful as Venus and as degraded as Lucifer;
a woman most surely born to be the ruin of anyone who had the misfortune
to fall in love with her. I had known women of similar character, but
never one so dangerous as she.
I determined to make some money out of her if I could.
She called for cards, and asked me to play with her at a game called
primiera. It is a game of chance, but of so complicated a nature that the
best player always wins. In a quarter of an hour I found that I was the
better player, but she had such luck that at the end of the game I had
lost twenty pistoles, which I paid on the spot. She took the money,
promising to give me my revenge.
We had supper, and then we committed all the wantonness she wished and I
was capable of performing, for with me the age of miracles was past.
The next day I called to see her earlier in the evening. We played again;
and she lost, and went on losing evening after evening, till I had won a
matter of two or three hundred doubloons, no unwelcome addition to my
somewhat depleted purse.
The spy recovered from his colic and supped with us every evening, but
his presence no longer interfered with my pleasure since Nina had ceased
to prostitute herself to him in my presence. She did the opposite; giving
herself to me, and telling him to write to the Comte de Ricla whatever he
liked.
The count wrote her a letter which she gave me to read. The poor
love-sick viceroy informed her that she might safely return to Barcelona,
as the bishop had received an order from the Court to regard her as
merely au actress, whose stay in his diocese would only be temporary; she
would thus be allowed to live there in peace so long as she abstained
from giving cause for scandal. She told me that whilst she was at
Barcelona I could only see her after ten o'clock at night, when the count
always left her. She assured me that I should run no risk whatever.
Possibly I should not have stayed at Barcelona at all if Nina had not
told me that she would always be ready to lend me as much money as I
wanted.
She asked me to leave Valentia a day before her, and to await her at
Tarragona. I did so, and spent a very pleasant day in that town, which
abounds in remains of antiquity.
I ordered a choice supper according to her instructions, and took care
that she should have a separate bedroom so as to avoid any scandal.
She started in the morning begging me to wait till the evening, and to
travel by night so as to reach Barcelona by day-time. She told me to put
up at the "Santa Maria," and not to call till I had heard from her.
I followed all the directions given me by this curious woman, and found
myself comfortably lodged at Barcelona. My landlord was a Swiss who told
me in confidence that he had received instructions to treat me well, and
that I had only to ask for what I wanted.
We shall see soon what was the result of all this.
CHAPTER VIII
My Imprudence--Passano--I Am Imprisoned--My Departure from
Barcelona--Madame Castelbajac at Montpellier--Nimes--
I Arrive at Aix
[Illustration: Chapter 8]
Although my Swiss landlord seemed an honest and trustworthy kind of man,
I could not help thinking that Nina had acted very imprudently in
commending me to him. She was the viceroy's mistress; and though the
viceroy might be a very agreeable man, he was a Spaniard, and not likely
to be easy-going in his love affairs. Nina herself had told me that he
was ardent, jealous, and suspicious. But the mischief was done, and there
was no help for it.
When I got up my landlord brought me a valet de place, for whose
character he said he could answer, and he then sent up an excellent
dinner. I had slept till three o'clock in the afternoon.
After dinner I summoned my host, and asked him whether Nina had told him
to get me a servant. He answered in the affirmative, and added that a
carriage was awaiting my commands at the door; it had been taken by the
week.
"I am astonished to hear it, for no one but myself can say what I can
afford or not."
"Sir, everything is paid for."
"Paid for! I will not have it!"
"You can settle that with her, but I shall certainly take no payment."
I saw dangers ahead, but as I have never cared to cherish forbodings I
dismissed the idea.
I had a letter of introduction from the Marquis de las Moras to Don
Miguel de Cevallos, and another from Colonel Royas to Don Diego de la
Secada. I took my letters, and the next day Don Diego came to see me, and
took me to the Comte de Peralda. The day after Don Miguel introduced me
to the Comte de Ricla, Viceroy of Catalonia, and the lover of Nina.
The Comte de Peralada was a young man with a pleasant face but with an
ill-proportioned body. He was a great debauchee and lover of bad company,
an enemy of religion, morality, and law. He was directly descended from
the Comte de Peralada, who served Philip II. so well that this king
declared him "count by the grace of God." The original patent of nobility
was the first thing I saw in his antechamber, where it was framed and
glazed so that all visitors might see it in the quarter of an hour they
were kept waiting.
The count received me with an easy and cordiale manner, which seemed to
say that he renounced all the dignities of his rank. He thanked Don Diego
for introducing me, and talked a good deal about Colonel Royas. He asked
me if I had seen the English girl he was keeping at Saragossa, and on my
replying in the affirmative, he told me in a whisper that he had slept
with her.
He took me to his stables, where he had some splendid horses, and then
asked me to dine with him the next day.
The viceroy received me in a very different manner; he stood up so that
he might not have to offer me a chair, and though I spoke Italian, with
which language I knew him to be well acquainted, he answered me in
Spanish, styling me 'ussia' (a contraction of 'vuestra senoria', your
lordship, and used by everyone in Spain), while I gave him his proper
title of excellence.
He talked a good deal about Madrid, and complained that M. de Mocenigo
had gone to Paris by Bayonne instead of Barcelona, as he had promised
him.
I tried to excuse my ambassador by saying that by taking the other route
he had saved fifty leagues of his journey, but the viceroy replied that
'tenir la palabra' (keeping to one's words) comes before all else.
He asked me if I thought of staying long at Barcelona, and seemed
surprised when I told him that, with his leave, I hoped to make a long
stay.
"I hope you will enjoy yourself," he said, "but I must warn you that if
you indulge in the pleasures which my nephew Peralada will doubtless
offer you, you will not enjoy a very good reputation at Barcelona."
As the Comte de Ricla made this observation in public, I thought myself
justified in communicating it to Peralada himself. He was delighted, and
told me, with evident vanity, that he had gone to Madrid three times, and
had been ordered to return to Catalonia on each occasion.
I thought my best plan would be to follow the viceroy's indirect advice,
so I refused to join in any of the little parties of pleasure which
Peralada proposed.
On the fifth day after my arrival, an officer came to ask me to dinner at
the viceroy's. I accepted the invitation with much pleasure, for I had
been afraid of the viceroy's having heard of my relations with Nina, and
thought it possible that he might have taken a dislike to me. He was very
pleasant to me at dinner, often addressing his observations to me, but
always in a tone of great gravity.
I had been in Barcelona for a week, and was beginning to wonder why I had
not heard from Nina; but one evening she wrote me a note, begging me to
come on foot and alone to her house at ten o'clock the same night.
If I had been wise I should not have gone, for I was not in love with the
woman, and should have remembered the respect due to the viceroy; but I
was devoid of all wisdom and prudence. All the misfortunes I have
experienced in my long life never taught me those two most necessary
virtues.
At the hour she had named I called on her, wearing my great coat, and
with a sword for my only weapon. I found Nina with her sister, a woman of
thirty-six or thereabouts, who was married to an Italian dancer,
nicknamed Schizza, because he had a flatter nose than any Tartar.
Nina had just been supping with her lover, who had left her at ten
o'clock, according to his invariable custom.
She said she was delighted to hear I had been to dinner with him, as she
had herself spoken to him in my praise, saying how admirably I had kept
her company at Valentia.
"I am glad to hear it, but I do not think you are wise in inviting me to
your house at such late hours."
"I only do so to avoid scandal amongst my neighbours."
"In my opinion my coming so late is only likely to increase the
probability of scandal, and to make your viceroy jealous."
"He will never hear of your coming."
"I think you are mistaken."
I went away at midnight, after a conversation of the most decent
character. Her sister did not leave us for a moment, and Nina gave her no
cause to suspect the intimacy of our relations.
I went to see her every evening, without encroaching on the count's
preserves. I thought myself secure, but the following warning should have
made me desist if I had not been carried away by the forces of destiny
and obstinacy in combination.
An officer in the Walloon Guards accosted me one day as I was walking by
myself just outside the town. He begged me in the most polite manner to
excuse him if he spoke on a matter which was indifferent to him but of
great consequence to me.
"Speak, sir," I replied, "I will take whatever you say in good part."
"Very good. You are a stranger, sir, and may not be acquainted with our
Spanish manners, consequently you are unaware of the great risk you run
in going to see Nina every evening after the count has left her."
"What risk do I run? I have no doubt that the count knows all about it
and does not object."
"I have no doubt as to his knowing it, and he may possibly pretend to
know nothing before her, as he fears as well as loves her; but if she
tells you that he does not object, she either deceives herself or you. He
cannot love her without being jealous, and a jealous Spaniard . . .
"Follow my advice, sir, and forgive my freedom."
"I am sincerely obliged to you for your kind interest in me, but I cannot
follow your advice, as by doing so I should be wanting in politeness to
Nina, who likes to see me and gives me a warm welcome. I shall continue
to visit her till she orders me not to do so, or till the count signifies
to me his displeasure at my visits to his mistress."
"The count will never do such a thing; he is too careful of his dignity."
The worthy officer then narrated to me all the acts of injustice which
Ricla had committed since he had fallen in love with this woman. He had
dismissed gentlemen from his service on the mere suspicion that they were
in love with her; some had been exiled, and others imprisoned on one
frivolous pretext or another. Before he had known Nina he had been a
pattern of wisdom, justice, and virtue, and now he had become unjust,
cruel, blindly passionate, and in every way a scandal to the high
position he occupied.
All this should have influenced me, but it had not the slightest effect.
I told him for politeness' sake that I would endeavour to part from her
by degrees, but I had no intention of doing so.
When I asked him how he knew that I visited Nina, he laughed and said it
was a common topic of conversation all over the town.
The same evening I called on her without mentioning my conversation with
the officer. There would have been some excuse for me if I had been in
love with her, but as it was . . . I acted like a madman.
On the 14th of November I went to see her at the usual time. I found her
with a man who was shewing her miniatures. I looked at him and found that
he was the scoundrel Passano, or Pogomas.
My blood boiled; I took Nina's hand and led her into a neighbouring room,
and told her to dismiss the rogue at once, or I would go to return no
more.
"He's a painter."
"I am well acquainted with his history, and will tell you all about it
presently; but send him away, or I shall go."
She called her sister, and told her to order the Genoese to leave the
house and never to enter it again.
The thing was 'done in a moment, but the sister told us that as he went
out he had said,--
"Se ne pentira." ("He shall be sorry for it.").
I occupied an hour in relating some of the injuries I had received from
this scoundrelly fellow.
The next day (November 15th), I went to Nina at the usual time, and after
spending two hours in pleasant converse with her and her sister I went
out as the clocks were striking midnight.
The door of the house was under an arcade, which extended to the end of
the street. It was a dark night; and I had scarcely gone twenty-five
paces when two men suddenly rushed at me.
I stepped back, drawing my sword, and exclaiming, "Assassins!" and then
with a rapid movement, I thrust my blade into the body of the nearest
assailant. I then left the arcade, and began to run down the street. The
second assassin fired a pistol at me, but it fortunately missed me. I
fell down and dropped my hat in my rapid flight, and got up and continued
my course without troubling to pick it up. I did not know whether I was
wounded or not, but at last I got to my inn, and laid down the bloody
sword on the counter, under the landlord's nose. I was quite out of
breath.
I told the landlord what had happened, and on taking off my great coat, I
found it to be pierced in two places just below the armpit.
"I am going to bed," I said to the landlord, "and I leave my great coat
and the sword in your charge. Tomorrow morning I shall ask you to come
with me before the magistrate to denounce this act of assassination, for
if the man was killed it must be shewn that I only slew him to save my
own life."
"I think your best plan would be to fly Barcelona immediately."
"Then you think I have not told you the strict truth?"
"I am sure you have; but I know whence the blow comes, and God knows what
will befall you!"
"Nothing at all; but if I fly I shall be accounted guilty. Take care of
the sword; they tried to assassinate me, but I think the assassins got
the worst of it."
I went to bed somewhat perturbed, but I had the consoling thought that if
I had killed a man I had done so to self-defence; my conscience was quite
clear.
At seven o'clock the next morning I heard a knocking at my door. I opened
it, and saw my landlord, accompanied by an officer, who told me to give
him all my papers, to dress, and to follow him, adding that he should be
compelled to use force in case of resistance.
"I have no intention of resisting," I replied. "By whose authority do you
ask me for my papers?"
"By the authority of the governor. They will be returned to you if
nothing suspicious is found amongst them."
"Where are you going to take me?"
"To the citadel."
I opened my trunk, took out my linen and my clothes, which I gave to my
landlord, and I saw the officer's astonishment at seeing my trunk half
filled with papers.
"These are all the papers I have," I said. I locked the box and gave the
officer the key.
"I advise you, sir," he said, "to put all necessary articles into a
portmanteau." He then ordered the landlord to send me a bed, and finally
asked me if I had any papers in my pockets.
"Only my passports."
"That's exactly what we want," he rejoined, with a grim smile.
"My passports are sacred; I will never give them to anyone but the
governor-general. Reverence your king; here is his passport, here is that
of the Count of Aranda, and here the passport of the Venetian ambassador.
You will have to bind me hand and foot before you get them."
"Be more moderate, sir. In giving them to me it is just as if you gave
them to the viceroy. If you resist I will not bind you hand and foot, but
I shall take you before the viceroy, and then you will be forced to give
them up in public. Give them to me with a good grace, and you shall have
an acknowledgement."
The worthy landlord told me I should be wiser to give in, so I let myself
be persuaded. The officer gave me a full quittance, which I put in my
pocketbook (this he let me keep out of his kindness), and then I followed
him. He had six constables with him, but they kept a good distance away.
Comparing this with the circumstances of my arrest at Madrid, I thought
myself well treated.
Before we left the inn the officer told me that I might order what meals
I pleased, and I asked the landlord to let me have my dinner and supper
as usual.
On the way I told him of my adventure of the night before; he listened
attentively but made no comments.
When we reached the citadel I was delivered to the officer of the guard,
who gave me a room on the first floor. It was bare of furniture, but the
windows looked on to a square and had no iron bars.
I had scarcely been there ten minutes when my carpet bag and an excellent
bed were brought in.
As soon as I was alone I began to think over the situation. I finished
where I ought to have begun.
"What can this imprisonment have to do with my last night's adventure?" I
reflected.
I could not make out the connection.
"They are bent on examining my papers; they must think I have been
tampering in some political or religious intrigue; but my mind is quite
at ease on that score. I am well lodged at present, and no doubt shall be
set free after my papers have been examined; they can find nothing
against me there.
"The affair of my attempted assassination will, no doubt, be considered
separately.
"Even if the rascal is dead, I do not see what they can do to me.
"On the other hand, my landlord's advice to fly from Barcelona looks
ominous; what if the assassins received their orders from some person
high in authority?
"It is possible that Ricla may have vowed my ruin, but it does not seem
probable to me.
"Would it have been wise to follow the landlord's advice?
"Possibly, but I do not think so; my honour would have suffered, and I
might have been caught and laid up in some horrid dungeon, whereas for a
prison I am comfortable enough here.
"In three or four days the examination of my papers will have been
completed, and as there is nothing in them likely to be offensive to the
powers that be, they will be returned to me with my liberty, which will
taste all the sweeter for this short deprivation.
"As for my passports they all speak in my favour.
"I cannot think that the all-powerful hand of the viceroy could have
directed the assassin's sword; it would be a dishonour to him, and if it
were so, he would not be treating me so kindly now. If it were his doing,
he must have heard directly that the blow had failed, and in that case I
do not think he would have arrested me this morning.
"Shall I write to Nina? Will writing be allowed here?"
As I was puzzling my brains with these reflections, stretched on my bed
(for I had no chair), I heard some disturbance, and on opening my window
I saw, to my great astonishment, Passano being brought into the prison by
a corporal and two soldiers. As he was going in, the rascal looked up and
saw me, and began to laugh.
"Alas!" I said to myself, "here is fresh food for conjecture. The fellow
told Nina's sister that I should be sorry for what I had done. He must
have directed some fearful calumny against me, and they are imprisoning
him so as to be sure of his evidence."
On reflection, I was well pleased at the turn affairs had taken.
An excellent dinner was set before me, but I had no chair or table. The
deficiency was remedied by the soldier who was in charge of me for the
consideration of a duro.
Prisoners were not allowed to have pen and ink without special
permission; but paper and pencils were not included under this
regulation, so my guard got them for me, together with candles and
candlesticks, and I proceeded to kill time by making geometrical
calculations. I made the obliging soldier sup with me, and he promised to
commend me to one of his comrades who would serve me well. The guard was
relieved at eleven.
On the fourth day the officer of the guard came to me with a distressed
look, and told me that he had the disagreeable duty of giving me some
very bad news.
"What is that, sir?"
"I have received orders to transfer you to the bottom of the tower."
"To transfer me?"
"Yes."
"Then they must have discovered in me a criminal of the deepest dye! Let
us go at once."
I found myself in a kind of round cellar, paved with large flagstones,
and lighted by five or six narrow slits in the walls. The officer told me
I must order what food required to be brought once a day, as no one was
allowed to come into the 'calabozo', or dungeon, by night.
"How about lights?"
"You may lave one lamp always burning, and that will be enough, as books
are not allowed. When your dinner is brought, the officer on duty will
open the pies and the poultry to see that they do not contain any
documents; for here no letters are allowed to come in or go out."
"Have these orders been given for my especial benefit?"
"No, sir; it is the ordinary rule. You will be able to converse with the
sentinel."
"The door will be open, then?"
"Not at all."
"How about the cleanliness of my cell?"
"A soldier will accompany the officer in charge of your dinner, and he
will attend to your wants for a trifle."
"May I amuse myself by making architectural plans with the pencil?"
"As much as you like."
"Then will you be good enough to order some paper to be bought for me?"
"With pleasure."
The officer seemed to pity me as he left me, and bolted and barred the
heavy door behind which I saw a man standing sentry with his bayonet
fixed. The door was fitted with a small iron grating.
When I got my paper and my dinner at noonday the officer cut open a fowl,
and plunged a fork in the other dishes so as to make sure that there were
no papers at the bottom.
My dinner would have sufficed for six people. I told the officer that I
should be much honoured by his dining with me, but he replied that it was
strictly forbidden. He gave me the same answer when I asked if I might
have the newspapers.
It was a festival time for the sentinels, as I shared my meals and my
good wine with them; and consequently these poor fellows were firmly
attached to me.
I was curious to know who was paying for my good cheer, but there was no
chance of my finding out, for the waiter from the inn was never allowed
to approach my cell.
In this dungeon, where I was imprisoned for forty-two days, I wrote in
pencil and without other reference than my memory, my refutation of
Amelot de la Houssaye's "History of the Venetian Government."
I was most heartily amused during my imprisonment, and in the following
manner:
While I was at Warsaw an Italian named Tadini came to Warsaw. He had an
introduction to Tomatis who commended him to me. He called himself an
oculist. Tomatis used to give him a dinner now and again, but not being
well off in those days I could only give him good words and a cup of
coffee when he chanced to come about my breakfast-time.
Tadini talked to everybody about the operations he had performed, and
condemned an oculist who had been at Warsaw for twenty years, saying that
he did not understand how to extract a cataract, while the other oculist
said that Tadini was a charlatan who did not know how the eye was made.
Tadini begged me to speak in his favour to a lady who had had a cataract
removed by the Warsaw oculist, only to return again a short time after
the operation.
The lady was blind of the one eye, but she could see with the other, and
I told Tadini that I did not care to meddle with such a delicate matter.
"I have spoken to the lady," said Tadini, "and I have mentioned your name
as a person who will answer for me."
"You have done wrong; in such a matter I would not stand surety for the
most learned of men, and I know nothing about your learning."
"But you know I am an oculist."
"I know you were introduced to me as such, but that's all. As a
professional man, you should not need anyone's commendation, you should
be able to say, 'Operibus credite'. That should be your motto."
Tadini was vexed with my incredulity, and shewed me a number of
testimonials, which I might possibly have read, if the first which met my
eye had not been from a lady who protested to all and singular that M.
Tadini had cured her of amaurosis. At this I laughed in his face and told
him to leave me alone.
A few days after I found myself dining with him at the house of the lady
with the cataract. She had almost made up her mind to submit to the
operation, but as the rascal had mentioned my name, she wanted me to be
present at a dispute between Tadini and the other oculist who came in
with the dessert.
I disposed myself to listen to the arguments of the two rival professors
with considerable pleasure. The Warsaw oculist was a German, but spoke
French very well; however, he attacked Tadini in Latin. The Italian
checked him by saying that their discourse must be conducted in a
language intelligible to the lady, and I agreed with him. It was plain
that Tadini did not know a word of Latin.
The German oculist began by admitting that after the operation for
cataract there was no chance of the disease returning, but that there was
a considerable risk of the crystalline humour evaporating, and the
patient being left in a state of total blindness.
Tadini, instead of denying this statement (which was inaccurate), had the
folly to take a little box out of his pocket. It contained a number of
minute round crystals.
"What's that?" said the old professor.
"A substance which I can place in the cornea to supply the loss of the
crystalline matter."
The German went off into a roar of laughter so long and loud that the
lady could not help laughing. I should have liked to join them, but I was
ashamed to be thought the patron of this ignorant fellow, so I preserved
a gloomy silence.
Tadini no doubt interpreted my silence as a mark of disapproval of the
German's laughter, and thought to better matters by asking me to give my
opinion.
"As you want to hear it," said I, "here it is."
"There's a great difference between a tooth and the crystalline humour;
and though you may have succeeded in putting an artificial tooth into a
gum, this treatment will not do with the eye."
"Sir, I am not a dentist."
"No, nor an oculist either."
At this the ignorant rascal got up and left the room, and it was
decidedly the best thing he could do.
We laughed over this new treatment, and the lady promised to have nothing
more to do with him. The professor was not content to despise his
opponent in silence. He had him cited before the Faculty of Medicine to
be examined on his knowledge of the eye, and procured the insertion of a
satiric article in the news on the new operation for replacing the
crystalline humour, alluding to the wonderful artist then in Warsaw who
could perform this operation as easily as a dentist could put in a false
tooth.
This made Tadini furious, and he set upon the old professor in the street
and forced him to the refuge in a house.
After this he no doubt left the town on foot, for he was seen no more.
Now the reader is in a position to understand my surprise and amusement,
when, one day as I peered through the grating in my dungeon, I saw the
oculist Tadini standing over me with gun in hand. But he at all events
evinced no amusement whatever, while I roared and roared again with
laughter for the two hours his duty lasted.
I gave him a good meal and a sufficiency of my excellent wine, and at the
end a crown, promising that he should have the same treatment every time
he returned to the post. But I only saw him four times, as the guard at
my cell was a position eagerly coveted and intrigued for by the other
soldiers.
He amused me by the story of his misadventures since he had left Warsaw.
He had travelled far and wide without making a fortune, and at last
arrived in Barcelona, where he failed to meet with any courtesy or
consideration. He had no introduction, no diploma; he had refused to
submit to an examination in the Latin tongue, because (as he said) there
was no connection between the learned languages and the diseases of the
eye; and the result was that, instead of the common fate of being ordered
to leave the country, he was made into a soldier. He told me in
confidence that he intended to desert, but he said he should take care to
avoid the galleys.
"What have you done with your crystals?"
"I have renounced them since I left Warsaw, though I am sure they would
succeed."
I never heard of him again.
On December 28th, six weeks after my arrest, the officer of the guard
came to my cell and told me to dress and follow him.
"Where are we going?"
"I am about to deliver you to an officer of the viceroy, who is waiting."
I dressed hastily, and after placing all my belongings in a portmanteau I
followed him. We went to the guardroom, and there I was placed under the
charge of the officer who had arrested me, who took me to the palace.
There a Government official shewed me my trunk, telling me that I should
find all my papers intact; and he then returned me my three passports,
with the remark that they were genuine documents.
"I knew that all along."
"I suppose so, but we had reasons for doubting their authenticity."
"They must have been strange reasons, for, as you now confess, these
reasons were devoid of reason."
"You must be aware that I cannot reply to such an objection."
"I don't ask you to do so."
"Your character is perfectly clear; all the same I must request you to
leave Barcelona in three days, and Catalonia in a week."
"Of course I will obey; but it strikes me that the Catalonian method of
repairing injustice is somewhat peculiar."
"If you think you have ground for complaint you are at liberty to go to
Madrid and complain to the Court."
"I have certainly grounds enough for complaint, sir, but I shall go to
France, and not to Madrid; I have had enough of Spanish justice. Will you
please give me the order to leave in writing?"
"That's unnecessary; you may take it for granted. My name is Emmanuel
Badillo; I am a secretary of state. That gentleman will escort you back
to the room where you were arrested. You will find everything just as you
have left it. You are a free man. To-morrow I will send you your
passport, signed by the viceroy and myself. Good day, sir."
Accompanied by the officer and a servant bearing my portmanteau, I
proceeded to my old inn.
On my way I saw a theatrical poster, and decided to go to the opera. The
good landlord was delighted to see me again, and hastened to light me a
fire, for a bitterly cold north wind was blowing. He assured me that no
one but himself had been in my room, and in the officer's presence he
gave me back my sword, my great coat, and, to my astonishment, the hat I
had dropped in my flight from the assassins.
The officer asked me if I had any complaints to make, and I replied that
I had none.
"I should like to hear you say that I had done nothing but my duty, and
that personally I have not done you any injury."
I shook his hand, and assured him of my esteem.
"Farewell, sir," said he, "I hope you will have a pleasant journey." I
told my landlord that I would dine at noon, and that I trusted to him to
celebrate my liberation in a fitting manner, and then I went to the post
office to see if there were any letters for me. I found five or six
letters, with the seals intact, much to my astonishment. What is one to
make of a Government which deprives a man of his liberty on some trifling
pretext, and, though seizing all his papers, respects the privacy of his
letters? But Spain, as I have remarked, is peculiar in every way. These
letters were from Paris, Venice, Warsaw, and Madrid, and I have never had
any reason to believe that any other letters had come for me during my
imprisonment.
I went back to my inn, and asked my landlord to bring the bill.
"You do not owe me anything, sir. Here is your bill for the period
preceding your imprisonment, and, as you see, it has been settled. I also
received orders from the same source to provide for you during your
imprisonment, and as long as you stayed at Barcelona."
"Did you know how long I should remain in prison?"
"No, I was paid by the week."
"Who paid you?"
"You know very well."
"Have you had any note for me?"
"Nothing at all."
"What has become of the valet de place?"
"I paid him, and sent him away immediately after your arrest."
"I should like to have him with me as far as Perpignan."
"You are right, and I think the best thing you can do is to leave Spain
altogether, for you will find no justice in it."
"What do they say about my assassination?"
"Why, they say you fired the shot that people heard yourself, and that
you made your own sword bloody, for no one was found there, either dead
or wounded."
"That's an amusing theory. Where did my hat come from?"
"It was brought to me three days after."
"What a confusion! But was it known that I was imprisoned in the tower?"
"Everybody knew it, and two good reasons were given, the one in public,
and the other in private."
"What are these reasons?"
"The public reason was that you had forged your passports; the private
one, which was only whispered at the ear, was that you spent all your
nights with Nina."
"You might have sworn that I never slept out of your inn."
"I told everyone as much, but no matter; you did go to her house, and for
a certain nobleman that's a crime. I am glad you did not fly as I advised
you, for as it is your character is cleared before everybody."
"I should like to go to the opera this evening; take me a box."
"It shall be done; but do not have anything more to do with Nina, I
entreat you."
"No, my good friend, I have made up my mind to see her no more."
Just as I was sitting down to dinner, a banker's clerk brought me a
letter which pleased me very much. It contained the bills of exchange I
had drawn in Genoa, in favour of M. Augustin Grimaldi. He now sent them
back, with these words:
"Passano has been vainly endeavouring to persuade me to send these bills
to Barcelona, so that they may be protested, and you arrested. I now send
them to you to convince you that I am not one of those who delight in
trampling down the victims of bad fortune.
"--Genoa, November 30th, 1768."
For the fourth time a Genoese had behaved most generously to me. I was
almost persuaded that I ought to forgive the infamous Passano for the
sake of his four excellent fellow-countrymen.
But this virtue was a little beyond me. I concluded that the best thing I
could do would be to rid the Genoese name of the opprobrium which this
rascal was always bringing on it, but I could never find an opportunity.
Some years after I heard that the wretch died in miserable poverty in
Genoa.
I was curious at the time to know what had become of him, as it was
important for me to be on my guard. I confided my curiosity to my
landlord, and he instructed one of the servants to make enquiries. I only
heard the following circumstance:
Ascanio Pogomas, or Passano, had been released at the end of November,
and had then been embarked on a felucca bound for Toulon.
The same day I wrote a long and grateful letter to M. Grimaldi. I had
indeed reason to be grateful, for if he had listened to my enemy he might
have reduced me to a state of dreadful misery.
My landlord had taken the box at the opera in my name, and two hours
afterwards, to everyone's great astonishment, the posters announcing the
plays of the evening were covered by bills informing the public that two
of the performers had been taken ill, that the play would not be given,
and the theatre closed till the second day of the new year.
This order undoubtedly came from the viceroy, and everybody knew the
reason.
I was sorry to have deprived the people of Barcelona of the only
amusement they had in the evening, and resolved to stay indoors, thinking
that would be the most dignified course I could adopt.
Petrarch says,--
'Amor che fa gentile un cor villano'.
If he had known the lover of Nina he would have changed the line into
'Amor che fa villan un cor gentile'.
In four months I shall be able to throw some more light on this strange
business.
I should have left Barcelona the same day, but a slight tinge of
superstition made me desire to leave on the last day of the unhappy year
I had spent in Spain. I therefore spent my three days of grace in writing
letters to all my friends.
Don Miguel de Cevallos, Don Diego de la Secada, and the Comte de la
Peralada came to see me, but separately. Don Diego de la Secada was the
uncle of the Countess A---- B---- whom I had met at Milan. These gentlemen
told me a tale as strange as any of the circumstances which had happened
to me at Barcelona.
On the 26th of December the Abbe Marquisio, the envoy of the Duke of
Modena, asked the viceroy, before a considerable number of people, if he
could pay me a visit, to give me a letter which he could place in no
hands but mine. If not he said he should be obliged to take the letter to
Madrid, for which town he was obliged to set out the next day.
The count made no answer, to everyone's astonishment, and the abbe left
for Madrid the next day, the eve of my being set at liberty.
I wrote to the abbe, who was unknown to me, but I never succeeded in
finding out the truth about this letter.
There could be no doubt that I had been arrested by the despotic viceroy,
who had been persuaded by Nina that I was her favoured lover. The
question of my passports must have been a mere pretext, for eight or ten
days would have sufficed to send them to Madrid and have them back again
if their authenticity had been doubted. Possibly Passano might have told
the viceroy that any passports of mine were bound to be false, as I
should have had to obtain the signature of my own ambassador. This, he
might have said, was out of the question as I was in disgrace with the
Venetian Government. As a matter of fact, he was mistaken if he really
said so, but the mistake would have been an excusable one.
When I made up my mind at the end of August to leave Madrid, I asked the
Count of Aranda for a passport. He replied that I must first obtain one
from my ambassador, who, he added, could not refuse to do me this
service.
Fortified with this opinion I called at the embassy. M. Querini was at
San Ildefonso at the time, and I told the porter that I wanted to speak
to the secretary of embassy.
The servant sent in my name, and the fop gave himself airs, and pretended
that he could not receive me. In my indignation I wrote to him saying
that I had not called to pay my court to the secretary, but to demand a
passport which was my right. I gave my name and my degree (doctor of
law), and begged him to leave the passport with the porter, as I should
call for it on the following day.
I presented myself accordingly, and the porter told me that the
ambassador had left verbal orders that I was not to have a passport.
I wrote immediately to the Marquis Grimaldi and to the Duke of Lossada,
begging them to request the ambassador to send me a passport in the usual
form, or else I should publish the shameful reasons for which his uncle
Mocenigo had disgraced me.
I do not know whether these gentlemen shewed my letters to Querini, but I
do know that the secretary Oliviera sent me my passport.
Thereupon the Count Aranda furnished me with a passport signed by the
king.
On the last day of the year I left Barcelona with a servant who sat
behind my chaise, and I agreed with my driver to take me to Perpignan by
January 3rd, 1769.
The driver was a Piedmontese and a worthy man: The next day he came into
the room of the wayside inn where I was dining, and in the presence of my
man asked me whether I had any suspicion that I was being followed.
"Well, I may be," I said, "but what makes you ask that question?"
"As you were leaving Barcelona yesterday, I noticed three ill-looking
fellows watching us, armed to the teeth. Last night they slept in the
stable with my mules. They dined here to-day, and they went on three
quarters of an hour ago. They don't speak to anyone, and I don't like the
looks of them."
"What shall we do to avoid assassination, or the dread of it?"
"We must start late, and stop at an inn I know of, a league this side of
the ordinary stage where they will be awaiting us. If they turn back, and
sleep at the same inn as ourselves, we shall be certain."
I thought the idea a sensible one, and we started, I going on foot nearly
the whole way; and at five o'clock we halted at a wretched inn, but we
saw no signs of the sinister trio.
At eight o'clock I was at supper, when my man came in and told me that
the three fellows had come back, and were drinking with our driver in the
stable.
My hair stood on end. There could be no more doubt about the matter.
At present, it was true, I had nothing to fear; but it would be getting
dark when we arrived at the frontier, and then my peril would come.
I told my servant to shew no sign, but to ask the driver to come and
speak with me when the assassins were asleep.
He came at ten o'clock, and told me plainly that we should be all
murdered as we approached the French frontier.
"Then you have been drinking with them?"
"Yes, and after we had dispatched a bottle at my expense, one of them
asked me why I had not gone on to the end of the stage, where you would
be better lodged. I replied that it was late, and you were cold. I might
have asked in my turn, why they had not stayed at the stage themselves,
and where they were going, but I took care to do nothing of the kind. All
I asked was whether the road to Perpignan was a good one, and they told
me it was excellent all the way."
"What are they doing now?"
"They are sleeping by my mules, covered with their cloaks."
"What shall we do?"
"We will start at day-break after them, of course, and we shall dine at
the usual stage; but after dinner, trust me, we will take a different
road, and at midnight we shall be in France safe and sound."
If I could have procured a good armed escort I would not have taken his
advice, but in the situation I was in I had no choice.
We found the three scoundrels in the place where the driver had told me
we should see them. I gave them a searching glance, and thought they
looked like true Sicarii, ready to kill anyone for a little money.
They started in a quarter of an hour, and half an hour later we set out,
with a peasant to guide us, and so struck into a cross road. The mules
went at a sharp pace, and in seven hours we had done eleven leagues. At
ten o'clock we stopped at an inn in a French village, and we had no more
to fear. I gave our guide a doubloon, with which he was well pleased, and
I enjoyed once more a peaceful night in a French bed, for nowhere will
you find such soft beds or such delicious wines as in the good land of
France.
The next day I arrived at the posting-inn at Perpignan in time for
dinner. I endeavoured in vain to think who could have paid my assassins,
but the reader will see the explanation when we get twenty days farther.
At Perpignan I dismissed my driver and my servant, rewarding them
according to my ability. I wrote to my brother at Paris, telling him I
had had a fortunate escape from the dagger of the assassin. I begged him
to direct his answer to Aix, where I intended to spend a fortnight, in
the hope of seeing the Marquis d'Argens. I left Perpignan the day after
my arrival, and slept at Narbonne, and the day after at Beziers.
The distance from Narbonne to Beziers is only five leagues, and I had not
intended to stop; but the good cheer which the kindest of landladies gave
me at dinner made me stop with her to supper.
Beziers is a town which looks pleasant even at the worst time of the
year. A philosopher who wished to renounce all the vanities of the world,
and an Epicurean who would enjoy good cheer cheaply, could find no better
retreat than Beziers.
Everybody at Beziers is intelligent, all the women are pretty, and the
cooks are all artists; the wines are exquisite--what more could one
desire! May its riches never prove its ruin!
When I reached Montpellier, I got down at the "White Horse," with the
intention of spending a week there. In the evening I supped at the table
d'hote, where I found a numerous company, and I saw to my amusement that
for every guest there was a separate dish brought to table.
Nowhere is there better fare than at Montpellier. 'Tis a veritable land
of Cocagne!
The next day I breakfasted at the cafe (an institution peculiar to
France, the only country where the science of living is really
understood), and addressed the first gentleman I met, telling him that I
was a stranger and that I would like to know some of the professors. He
immediately offered to take me to one of the professors who enjoyed a
great reputation.
Herein may be seen another of the good qualities of the French, who rank
above other nations by so many titles. To a Frenchman a foreigner is a
sacred being; he receives the best of hospitality, not merely in form,
but in deed; and his welcome is given with that easy grace which so soon
sets a stranger at his ease.
My new friend introduced me to the professor, who received me with all
the polished courtesy of the French man of letters. He that loves letters
should love all other lovers of letters, and in France that is the case,
even more so than Italy. In Germany the literary man has an air of
mysterious reserve. He thinks he is proclaiming to all the world that he
at all events is a man of no pretension, whereas his pride peeps through
every moment. Naturally the stranger is not encouraged by such a manner
as this.
At the time of my visit there was an excellent company of actors at
Montpellier, whom I went to see the same evening. My bosom swelled at
finding myself in the blessed air of France after all the annoyances I
had gone through in Spain. I seemed to have become young again; but I was
altered, for several beautiful and clever actresses appeared on the stage
without arousing any desires within me; and I would have it so.
I had a lively desire to find Madame Castelbajac, not with any wish to
renew my old relations with her. I wished to congratulate her on her
improved position, but I was afraid of compromising her by asking for her
in the town.
I knew that her husband was an apothecary, so I resolved to make the
acquaintance of all the apothecaries in the place. I pretended to be in
want of some very rare drugs, and entered into conversation about the
differences between the trade in France and in foreign countries. If I
spoke to the master I hoped he would talk to his wife about the stranger
who had visited the countries where she had been, and that that would
make her curious to know me. If, on the other hand, I spoke to the man, I
knew he would soon tell me all he knew about his master's family.
On the third day my stratagem succeeded. My old friend wrote me a note,
telling me that she had seen me speaking to her husband in his shop. She
begged me to come again at a certain time, and to tell her husband that I
had known her under the name of Mdlle. Blasin in England, Spa, Leipzig,
and Vienna, as a seller of lace. She ended her note with these words:
"I have no doubt that my husband will finally introduce you to me as his
wife."
I followed her advice, and the good man asked me if I had ever known a
young lace seller of the name of Mdlle. Blasin, of Montpellier.
"Yes, I remember her well enough--a delightful and most respectable young
woman; but I did not know she came from Montpellier. She was very pretty
and very sensible, and I expect she did a good business. I have seen her
in several European cities, and the last time at Vienna, where I was able
to be of some slight service to her. Her admirable behaviour won her the
esteem of all the ladies with whom she came in contact. In England I met
her at the house of a duchess."
"Do you think you would recognize her if you saw her again?"
"By Jove! I should think so! But is she at Montpellier? If so, tell her
that the Chevalier de Seingalt is here."
"Sir, you shall speak to her yourself, if you will do me the honour to
follow me."
My heart leapt, but I restrained myself. The worthy apothecary went
through the shop, climbed a stair, and, opening a door on the first
floor, said to me,--
"There she is."
"What, mademoiselle! You here? I am delighted to see you."
"This is not a young lady, sir, 'tis my dear wife; but I hope that will
not hinder you from embracing her."
"I have never had such an honour; but I will avail myself of your
permission with pleasure. Then you have got married at Montpellier. I
congratulate both of you, and wish you all health and happiness. Tell me,
did you have a pleasant journey from Vienna to Lyons?"
Madame Blasin (for so I must continue to designate her) answered my
question according to her fancy, and found me as good an actor as she was
an actress.
We were very glad to see each other again, but the apothecary was
delighted at the great respect with which I treated his wife.
For a whole hour we carried on a conversation of a perfectly imaginary
character, and with all the simplicity of perfect truth.
She asked me if I thought of spending the carnival at Montpellier, and
seemed quite mortified when I said that I thought of going on the next
day.
Her husband hastened to say that that was quite out of the question.
"Oh, I hope you won't go," she added, "you must do my husband the honour
of dining with us."
After the husband had pressed me for some time I gave in, and accepted
their invitation to dinner for the day after next.
Instead of stopping two days I stopped four. I was much pleased with the
husband's mother, who was advanced in years but extremely intelligent.
She had evidently made a point of forgetting everything unpleasant in the
past history of her son's wife.
Madame Blasin told me in private that she was perfectly happy, and I had
every reason to believe that she was speaking the truth. She had made a
rule to be most precise in fulfilling her wifely duties, and rarely went
out unless accompanied by her husband or her mother-in-law.
I spent these four days in the enjoyment of pure and innocent friendship
without there being the slightest desire on either side to renew our
guilty pleasures.
On the third day after I had dined with her and her husband, she told me,
while we were alone for a moment, that if I wanted fifty louis she knew
where to get them for me. I told her to keep them for another time, if I
was so happy as to see her again, and so unhappy as to be in want.
I left Montpellier feeling certain that my visit had increased the esteem
in which her husband and her mother-in-law held her, and I congratulated
myself on my ability to be happy without committing any sins.
The day after I had bade them farewell, I slept at Nimes, where I spent
three days in the company of a naturalist: M. de Seguier, the friend of
the Marquis Maffei of Verona. In his cabinet of natural history I saw and
admired the immensity and infinity of the Creator's handiwork.
Nimes is a town well worthy of the stranger's observation; it provides
food for the mind, and the fair sex, which is really fair there, should
give the heart the food it likes best.
I was asked to a ball, where, as a foreigner, I took first place--a
privilege peculiar to France, for in England, and still more in Spain, a
foreigner means an enemy.
On leaving Nimes I resolved to spend the carnival at Aix, where the
nobility is of the most distinguished character. I believe I lodged at
the "Three Dolphins," where I found a Spanish cardinal on his way to Rome
to elect a successor to Pope Rezzonico.
CHAPTER IX
My Stay at Aix; I Fall Ill--I am Cared for By an Unknown
Lady--The Marquis d'Argens--Cagliostro
My room was only separated from his Castilian eminence's by a light
partition, and I could hear him quite plainly reprimanding his chief
servant for being too economical.
"My lord, I do my best, but it is really impossible to spend more, unless
I compel the inn-keepers to take double the amount of their bills; and
your eminence will admit that nothing in the way of rich and expensive
dishes has been spared."
"That may be, but you ought to use your wits a little; you might for
example order meals when we shall not require any. Take care that there
are always three tables--one for us, one for my officers, and the third
for the servants. Why I see that you only give the postillions a franc
over the legal charge, I really blush for you; you must give them a crown
extra at least. When they give you change for a louis, leave it on the
table; to put back one's change in one's pocket is an action only worthy
of a beggar. They will be saying at Versailles and Madrid, and maybe at
Rome itself, that the Cardinal de la Cerda is a miser. I am no such
thing, and I do not want to be thought one. You must really cease to
dishonour me, or leave my service."
A year before this speech would have astonished me beyond measure, but
now I was not surprised, for I had acquired some knowledge of Spanish
manners. I might admire the Senor de la Cerda's prodigality, but I could
not help deploring such ostentation on the part of a Prince of the Church
about to participate in such a solemn function.
What I had heard him say made me curious to see him, and I kept on the
watch for the moment of his departure. What a man! He was not only ill
made, short and sun-burnt; but his face was so ugly and so low that I
concluded that AEsop himself must have been a little Love beside his
eminence. I understood now why he was so profuse in his generosity and
decorations, for otherwise he might well have been taken for a stableboy.
If the conclave took the eccentric whim of making him pope, Christ would
never have an uglier vicar.
I enquired about the Marquis d'Argens soon after the departure of his
eminence, and was told that he was in the country with his brother, the
Marquis d'Eguille, President of the Parliament, so I went there.
This marquis, famous for his friendship for Frederick II. rather than for
his writings (which are no longer read), was an old man when I saw him.
He was a worthy man, fond of pleasure, a thorough-paced Epicurean, and
had married an actress named Cochois, who had proved worthy of the honour
he had laid on her. He was deeply learned and had a thorough knowledge of
Latin, Greek, and Hebrew literature. His memory was prodigious.
He received me very well, and recalled what his friend the marshal had
written about me. He introduced me to his wife and to his brother, a
distinguished jurist, a man of letters, and a strictly moral man by
temperament as much as religion. Though a highly intellectual man, he was
deeply and sincerely religious.
He was very fond of his brother, and grieved for his irreligion, but
hoped that grace would eventually bring him back to the fold of the
Church. His brother encouraged him in his hopes, while laughing at them
in private, but as they were both sensible men they never discussed
religion together.
I was introduced to a numerous company of both sexes, chiefly consisting
of relations. All were amiable and highly polished, like all the
Provencal nobility.
Plays were performed on the miniature stage, good cheer prevailed, and at
intervals we walked in the garden, in spite of the weather. In Province,
however, the winter is only severe when the wind blows from the north,
which unfortunately often happens.
Among the company were a Berlin lady (widow of the marquis's nephew) and
her brother. This young gentleman, who was gay and free from care,
enjoyed all the pleasures of the house without paying any attention to
the religious services which were held every day. If he thought on the
matter at all, he was a heretic; and when the Jesuit chaplain was saying
mass he amused himself by playing on the flute; he laughed at everything.
He was unlike his sister, who had not only become a Catholic, but was a
very devout one. She was only twenty-two.
Her brother told me that her husband, who had died of consumption, and
whose mind was perfectly clear to the last, as is usually the case in
phthisis, had told her that he could not entertain any hopes of seeing
her in the other world unless she became a Catholic.
These words were engraved on her heart; she had adored her husband, and
she resolved to leave Berlin to live with his relations. No one ventured
to oppose this design, her brother accompanying her, and she was welcomed
joyfully by all her husband's kinsfolk.
This budding saint was decidedly plain.
Her brother, finding me less strict than the others, soon constituted
himself my friend. He came over to Aix every day, and took me to the
houses of all the best people.
We were at least thirty at table every day, the dishes were delicate
without undue profusion, the conversation gay and animated without any
improprieties. I noticed that whenever the Marquis d'Argens chanced to
let slip any equivocal expressions, all the ladies made wry faces, and
the chaplain hastened to turn the conversation. This chaplain had nothing
jesuitical in his appearance; he dressed in the costume of an ordinary
priest, and I should never had known him if the Marquis d'Argens had not
warned me. However, I did not allow his presence to act as a wet blanket.
I told, in the most decent manner possible, the story of the picture of
the Virgin suckling her Divine Child, and how the Spaniards deserted the
chapel after a stupid priest had covered the beautiful breast with a
kerchief. I do not know how it was, but all the ladies began to laugh.
The disciple of Loyola was so displeased at their mirth, that he took
upon himself to tell me that it was unbecoming to tell such equivocal
stories in public. I thanked him by an inclination of the head, and the
Marquis d'Argens, by way of turning the conversation, asked me what was
the Italian for a splendid dish of stewed veal, which Madame d'Argens was
helping.
"Una crostata," I replied, "but I really do not know the Italian for the
'beatilles' with which it is stuffed."
These 'beatilles' were balls of rice, veal, champignons, artichoke, foie
gras, etc.
The Jesuit declared that in calling them 'beatilles' I was making a mock
of the glories of hereafter.
I could not help roaring with laughter at this, and the Marquis d'Eguille
took my part, and said that 'beatilles' was the proper French for these
balls.
After this daring difference of opinion with his director, the worthy man
thought it would be best to talk of something else. Unhappily, however,
he fell out of the frying-pan into the fire by asking me my opinion as to
the election of the next pope.
"I believe it will be Ganganelli," I replied, "as he is the only monk in
the conclave."
"Why should it be necessary to choose a monk?"
"Because none but a monk would dare to commit the excess which the
Spaniards will demand of the new pope."
"You mean the suppression of the Jesuits."
"Exactly."
"They will never obtain such a demand."
"I hope not, for the Jesuits were my masters, and I love them
accordingly. But all the same Ganganelli will be elected, for an amusing
and yet a weighty reason."
"Tell us the reason."
"He is the only cardinal who does not wear a wig; and you must consider
that since the foundation of the Holy See the Pope has never been
bewigged."
This reason created a great deal of amusement; but the conversation was
brought back to the suppression of the Jesuits, and when I told the
company that I had heard from the Abbe Pinzi I saw the Jesuit turn pale.
"The Pope could never suppress the order," he said.
"It seems that you have never been at a Jesuit seminary," I replied, "for
the dogma of the order is that the Pope can do everything, 'et aliquid
pluris'."
This answer made everybody suppose me to be unaware that I was speaking
to a Jesuit, and as he gave me no answer the topic was abandoned.
After dinner I was asked to stay and see 'Polieucte' played; but I
excused myself, and returned to Aix with the young Berliner, who told me
the story of his sister, and made me acquainted with the character of the
society to which the Marquis d'Eguille was chiefly addicted. I felt that
I could never adapt myself to their prejudices, and if it had not been
for my young friend, who introduced me to some charming people, I should
have gone on to Marseilles.
What with assemblies, balls, suppers, and the society of the handsome
Provenqal ladies, I managed to spend the whole of the carnival and a part
of Lent at Aix.
I had made a present of a copy of the "Iliad" to the learned Marquis
d'Argens; to his daughter, who was also a good scholar, I gave a Latin
tragedy.
The "Iliad" had Porphyry's comment; it was a copy of a rare edition, and
was richly bound.
As the marquis came to Aix to thank me, I had to pay another visit to the
country house.
In the evening I drove back in an open carriage. I had no cloak, and a
cold north wind was blowing; I was perishing with cold, but instead of
going to bed at once I accompanied the Berliner to the house of a woman
who had a daughter of the utmost beauty. Though the girl was only
fourteen, she had all the indications of the marriageable age, and yet
none of the Provencal amateurs had succeeded in making her see daylight.
My friend had already made several unsuccessful efforts. I laughed at
him, as I knew it was all a cheat, and I followed him to the house with
the idea of making the young imposter dismount from her high horse, as I
had done in similar cases in England and Metz.
We set to work; and, far from resisting, the girl said she would be only
too glad to get rid of the troublesome burden.
I saw that the difficulty only proceeded from the way she held herself,
and I ought to have whipped her, as I had done in Venice twenty-five
years ago, but I was foolish enough to try to take the citadel by storm.
But my age of miracles was gone.
I wearied myself to no purpose for a couple of hours, and then went to my
inn, leaving the young Prussian to do his best.
I went to bed with a pain in my side, and after six hours' sleep awoke
feeling thoroughly ill. I had pleurisy. My landlord called in an old
doctor, who refused to let me blood. A severe cough came on, and the next
day I began to spit blood. In six or seven days the malady became so
serious that I was confessed and received the last sacraments.
On the tenth day, the disease having abated for three days, my clever old
doctor answered for my life, but I continued to spit blood till the
eighteenth day.
My convalescence lasted for three weeks, and I found it more trying than
the actual illness, for a man in pain has no time to grow weary.
Throughout the whole case I was tended day and night by a strange woman,
of whom I knew nothing. She nursed me with the tenderest care, and I
awaited my recovery to give her my sincere thanks.
She was not an old woman, neither was she attractive looking. She had
slept in my room all the time. After Eastertide, feeling I was well
enough to venture out, I thanked her to the best of my ability, and asked
who had sent her to me. She told me it was the doctor, and so bade me
farewell.
A few days later I was thanking my old doctor for having procured me such
a capital nurse, but he stared at me and said he knew nothing about the
woman.
I was puzzled, and asked my landlord if she could throw any light on the
strange nurse's identity; but she knew nothing, and her ignorance seemed
universal. I could not discover whence or how she came to attend me.
After my convalescence I took care to get all the letters which had been
awaiting me, and amongst them was a letter from my brother in Paris, in
answer to the epistle I wrote him from Perpignan. He acknowledged my
letter, and told me how delighted he had been to receive it, after
hearing the dreadful news that I had been assassinated on the borders of
Catalonia at the beginning of January.
"The person who gave me the news," my brother added, "was one of your
best friends, Count Manucci, an attache at the Venetian embassy. He said
there could be no doubt as to the truth of the report."
This letter was like a flash of lightning to me. This friend of mine had
pushed his vengeance so far as to pay assassins to deprive me of my life.
Manucci had gone a little too far.
He must have been pretty well qualified to prophesy, as he was so certain
of my death. He might have known that in thus proclaiming in advance the
manner of my death, he was also proclaiming himself as my murderer.
I met him at Rome, two years later, and when I would have made him
confess his guilt, he denied everything, saying he had received the news
from Barcelona; however, we will speak of this in its proper place.
I dined and supped every day at the table d'hote, and one day I heard the
company talking of a male and female pilgrim who had recently arrived.
They were Italians, and were returning from St. James of Compostella.
They were said to be high-born folks, as they had distributed large alms
on their entry into the town.
It was said that the female pilgrim, who had gone to bed on her arrival,
was charming. They were staying at the same inn as I was, and we all got
very curious about them.
As an Italian, I put myself at the head of the band who proceeded to call
on the pilgrims, who, in my opinion, must either be fanatics or rogues.
We found the lady sitting in an arm-chair, looking very tired. She was
young, beautiful, and melancholy-looking, and in her hands she held a
brass crucifix some six inches long. She laid it down when we came in,
and got up and received us most graciously. Her companion, who was
arranging cockle-shells on his black mantle, did not stir; he seemed to
say, by glancing at his wife, that we must confine our attentions to her.
He seemed a man of twenty-four or twenty-five years of age. He was short
and badly hung, and his face bore all the indications of daring,
impudence, sarcasm, and imposture. His wife, on the other hand, was all
meekness and simplicity, and had that modesty which adds so much to the
charm of feminine beauty. They only spoke just enough French to make
themselves understood on their journey, and when they heard me addressing
them in Italian they seemed much relieved.
The lady told me she was a Roman, but I could have guessed as much from
her accent. I judged the man to be a Neapolitan or Sicilian. Their
passport, dated Rome, called him Balsamo, while she bore the names of
Serafina Feliciani, which she still retains. Ten years later we shall
hear more of this couple under the name of Cagliostro.
"We are going back to Rome," said she, "well pleased with our devotions
to St. James of Compostella and to Our Lady del Pilar. We have walked the
whole way on foot, living on alms, so as to more surely win the mercy of
the God whom I have offended so grievously. We have had silver, and even
gold money given us, and in every town we came to we gave what remained
to the poor, so as not to offend God by lack of faith.
"My husband is strong, and has not suffered much, but I have found so
much walking very fatiguing. We have slept on straw or bad beds, always
with our clothes on, to avoid contracting diseases it would be hard to
rid one's self of."
It seemed to me that this last circumstance was added to make us wish to
find out whether the rest of her body could compare with her hands and
arms in whiteness.
"Do you think of making any stay?"
"My weariness will oblige us to stay here for three days; then we shall
go to Rome by the way of Turin, where we shall pay our devotion to the
Holy Sudary."
"You know, of course, that there are several of them in Europe."
"So we have heard, but we are assured that the Sudary of Turin is the
true one. It is the kerchief with which St. Veronica wiped the face of
Our Lord, who left the imprint of His divine face upon it."
We left them, well pleased with the appearance and manners of the lady
pilgrim, but placing very little trust in her devotion. I was still weak
from my illness, and she inspired me with no desires, but the rest would
have gladly supped with her if they had thought there was anything to
follow.
Next day her husband asked me if I would come up and breakfast with them,
or if they should come down and breakfast with me. It would have been
impolite to have replied neither, so I said that I should be delighted to
see them in my room.
At breakfast I asked the pilgrim what he did, and he replied that he was
an artist.
He could not design a picture, but he could copy it, and he assured me
that he could copy an engraving so exactly that none could tell the copy
from the original.
"I congratulate you. If you are not a rich man, you are, at least,
certain of earning a living with this talent."
"Everybody says the same, but it is a mistake. I have pursued this craft
at Rome and at Naples, and found I had to work all day to make half a
tester, and that's not enough to live on."
He then shewed me some fans he had done, and I thought them most
beautiful. They were done in pen and ink, and the finest copper-plate
could not have surpassed them.
Next he showed me a copy from a Rembrandt, which if anything, was finer
than the original. In spite of all he swore that the work he got barely
supported him, but I did not believe what he said. He was a weak genius
who preferred a vagabond life to methodical labour.
I offered a Louis for one of his fans, but he refused to take it, begging
me to accept the fan as a gift, and to make a collection for him at the
table d'hote, as he wanted to start the day after next.
I accepted the present and promised to do as he desired, and succeeded in
making up a purse of two hundred francs for them.
The woman had the most virtuous air. She was asked to write her name on a
lottery ticket, but refused, saying that no honest girls were taught to
write at Rome.
Everybody laughed at this excuse except myself, and I pitied her, as I
could see that she was of very low origin.
Next day she came and asked me to give her a letter of introduction for
Avignon. I wrote her out two; one to M. Audifret the banker, and the
other to the landlady of the inn. In the evening she returned me the
letter to the banker, saying that it was not necessary for their
purposes. At the same time she asked me to examine the letter closely, to
see if it was really the same document I had given her. I did so, and
said I was sure it was my letter.
She laughed, and told me I was mistaken as it was only a copy.
"Impossible!"
She called her husband, who came with the letter in his hand.
I could doubt no longer, and said to him,--
"You are a man of talents, for it is much harder to imitate a handwriting
than an engraving. You ought to make this talent serve you in good stead;
but be careful, or it may cost you your life."
The next day the couple left Aix. In ten years I saw them again under the
name of Count and Countess Pellegrini.
At the present period he is in a prison which he will probably never
leave, and his wife is happy, maybe, in a convent.
CHAPTER X
My Departure--Letter from Henriette--Marsellies--History of
Nina--Nice--Turin--Lugano--Madame De****
As soon as I had regained my usual strength, I went to take leave of the
Marquis d'Argens and his brother. I dined with them, pretending not to
observe the presence of the Jesuit, and I then spent three delightful
hours in conversation with the learned and amiable Marquis d'Argens. He
told me a number of interesting anecdotes about the private life of
Frederick II. No doubt the reader would like to have them, but I lack the
energy to set them down. Perhaps some other day when the mists about Dux
have dispersed, and some rays of the sun shine in upon me, I shall commit
all these anecdotes to paper, but now I have not the courage to do so.
Frederick had his good and his bad qualities, like all great men, but
when every deduction on the score of his failings has been made, he still
remains the noblest figure in the eighteenth century.
The King of Sweden, who has been assassinated, loved to excite hatred
that he might have the glory of defying it to do its worst. He was a
despot at heart, and he came to a despot's end. He might have foreseen a
violent death, for throughout his life he was always provoking men to the
point of despair. There can be no comparison between him and Frederick.
The Marquis d'Argens made me a present of all his works, and on my asking
him if I could congratulate myself on possessing the whole number, he
said yes, with the exception of a fragment of autobiography which he had
written in his youth, and which he had afterwards suppressed.
"Why so?" I asked.
"Because I was foolish enough to write the truth. Never give way to this
temptation, if it assails you. If you once begin on this plan you are not
only compelled to record all your vices and follies, but to treat them in
the severe tone of a philosophical historian. You must not, of course,
omit the good you may have done; and so praise and blame is mingled on
every page. All the evil you say of yourself will be held for gospel,
your peccadilloes will be made into crimes, and your good deeds will not
only be received with incredulity, but you will be taxed with pride and
vanity for having recorded them. Besides, if you write your memoirs, you
make an enemy in every chapter if you once begin to tell the truth. A man
should neither talk of himself nor write of himself, unless it be to
refute some calumny or libel."
I was convinced, and promised never to be guilty of such a folly, but in
spite of that I have been writing memoirs for the last seven years, and
though I repent of having begun, I have sworn to go on to the end.
However, I write in the hope that my Memoirs may never see the light of
day; in the first place the censure would not allow them to be printed,
and in the second I hope I shall be strong-minded enough, when my last
illness comes, to have all my papers burnt before my eyes. If that be not
the case I count on the indulgence of my readers, who should remember
that I have only written my story to prevent my going mad in the midst of
all the petty insults and disagreeables which I have to bear day by day
from the envious rascals who live with me in this castle of Count
Waldstein, or Wallenstein, at Dux.
I write ten or twelve hours a day, and so keep black melancholy at bay.
My readers shall hear more of my sufferings later on, if I do not die
before I write them down.
The day after Corpus Christi I left Aix for Marseilles. But here I must
set down a circumstance that I had forgotten; I mean the procession of
Corpus Christi.
Everyone knows that this festival is celebrated with great ceremony all
over Christendom; but at Aix these ceremonies are of such a nature that
every man of sense must be shocked at my recital.
It is well known that this procession in honour of the Being of beings,
represented under the sacramental forms, is followed by all the religious
confraternities, and this is duly done at Aix; but the scandalous part of
the ceremony is the folly and the buffoonery which is allowed in a rite
which should be designed to stir up the hearts of men to awe and
reverence their Creator.
Instead of that, the devil, death, and the seven deadly sins, are
impersonated in the procession. They are clad in the most absurd
costumes, and make hideous contortions, beating and abusing each other in
their supposed vexation at having to join in the Creator's praises. The
people hoot and hiss them, the lower classes sing songs in derision of
them, and play them all manner of tricks, and the whole scene is one of
incredible noise, uproar, and confusion, more worthy of some pagan
bacchanalia than a procession of Christian people. All the country-folk
from five or six leagues around Aix pour into the town on that day to do
honour to God. It is the only occasion of the kind, and the clergy,
either knavish or ignorant, encourage all this shameful riot. The lower
orders take it all in good faith, and anyone who raised any objection
would run some risk, for the bishop goes in front of the saturnalia, and
consequently it is all holy.
I expressed my disapproval of the whole affair, as likely to bring
discredit on religion, to a councillor of parliament, M. de St. Marc; but
he told me gravely that it was an excellent thing, as it brought no less
than a hundred thousand francs into the town on the single day.
I could find no reply to this very weighty reason.
Every day I spent at Aix I thought of Henriette. I knew her real name,
and remembering the message she had sent me by Marcoline I hoped to meet
her in some assembly, being ready to adapt my conduct to hers. I had
often heard her name mentioned, but I never allowed myself to ask any
question, not wishing our old friendship to be suspected. Believing her
to be at her country house, I had resolved on paying her a visit, and had
only stayed on at Aix so as to recover my health before seeing her. In
due course I left Aix with a letter in my pocket for her, resolving to
send it in, and to remain in my carriage till she asked me to get down.
We arrived at her residence at eleven o'clock. A man came to the door,
took my letter, and said madam should have it without fail.
"Then she is not here."
"No, sir; she is at Aix."
"Since when?"
"For the last six months."
"Where does she live?"
"In her town house. She will be coming here in three weeks to spend the
summer as usual."
"Will you let me write a letter?"
"If you will get down you will find all the necessary materials in
madam's room."
I went into the house, and to my extreme surprise found myself face to
face with my nurse.
"You live here, then."
"Yes, sir."
"Since when?"
"For the last ten years."
"How did you come to nurse me?"
"If you will step upstairs I will tell you."
Her story was as follows:
"Madam sent for me in haste, and told me to go and attend to you as if it
were herself. She told me to say that the doctor had sent me if you asked
any questions."
"The doctor said he didn't know you."
"Perhaps he was speaking the truth, but most likely he had received
orders from madam. That's all I know, but I wonder you haven't seen her
at Aix."
"She cannot see any company, for I have been everywhere."
"She does not see any company at her own house, but she goes everywhere."
"It's very strange. I must have seen her, and yet I do not think I could
have passed her by unrecognized. You have been with her ten years?"
"Yes, sir, as I had the honour of informing you."
"Has she changed? Has she had any sickness? Has she aged?"
"Not at all. She has become rather stout, but I assure you you would take
her for a woman of thirty."
"I must be blind, or I cannot have seen her. I am going to write to her
now."
The woman went out, leaving me in astonishment, at the extraordinary
situation in which I was placed.
"Ought I to return to Aix immediately?" I asked myself. She has a town
house, but does not see company, but she might surely see me: She loves
me still. She cared for me all through my illness, and she would not have
done so if she had become indifferent to me. She will be hurt at my not
recognizing her. She must know that I have left Aix, and will no doubt
guess that I am here now. Shall I go to her or shall I write? I resolved
to write, and I told her in my letter that I should await her reply at
Marseilles. I gave the letter to my late nurse, with some money to insure
its being dispatched at once, and drove on to Marseilles where I alighted
at an obscure inn, not wishing to be recognized. I had scarcely got out
of my carriage when I saw Madame Schizza, Nina's sister. She had left
Barcelona with her husband. They had been at Marseilles three or four
days and were going to Leghorn.
Madame Schizza was alone at the moment, her husband having gone out; and
as I was full of curiosity I begged her to come up to my room while my
dinner was getting ready.
"What is your sister doing? Is she still at Barcelona?"
"Yes; but she will not be there long, for the bishop will not have her in
the town or the diocese, and the bishop is stronger than the viceroy. She
only returned to Barcelona on the plea that she wished to pass through
Catalonia of her way home, but she does not need to stay there for nine
or ten months on that account. She will have to leave in a month for
certain, but she is not much put out, as the viceroy is sure to keep her
wherever she goes, and she may eventually succeed in ruining him. In the
meanwhile she is revelling in the bad repute she has gained for her
lover."
"I know something of her peculiarities; but she cannot dislike a man who
has made her rich."
"Rich! She has only got her diamonds. Do you imagine this monster capable
of any feelings of gratitude? She is not a human being, and no one knows
her as I do. She has made the count commit a hundred acts of injustice so
that all Spain may talk of her, and know that she has made herself
mistress of his body and soul, and all he has. The worse his actions are,
the more certain she feels that people will talk of her, and that is all
she wants. Her obligations to me are beyond counting, for she owes me
all, even to her existence, and instead of continuing my husband in her
service she has sent him about his business."
"Then I wonder how she came to treat me so generously."
"If you knew all, you would not feel grateful to her."
"Tell me all, then."
"She only paid for your keep at the inn and in prison to make people
believe you were her lover, and to shame the count. All Barcelona knows
that you were assassinated at her door, and that you were fortunate
enough to run the fellow through."
"But she cannot have been the instigator of, or even the accomplice in,
the plot for my assassination. That's against nature."
"I dare say, but everything in Nina is against nature. What I tell you is
the bare truth, for I was a witness of it all. Whenever the viceroy
visited her she wearied him with praise of your gallantry, your wit, your
noble actions, comparing you with the Spaniards, greatly to their
disadvantage.
"The count got impatient and told her to talk of something else, but she
would not; and at last he went away, cursing your name. Two days before
you came to grief he left her, saying,--
"'Valga me Dios! I will give you a pleasure you do not expect.'
"I assure you that when we heard the pistol-shot after you had gone, she
remarked, without evincing the slightest emotion, that the shot was the
pleasure her rascally Spaniard had promised her.
"I said that you might be killed.
"'All the worse for the count,' she replied, 'for his turn will come
also.'
"Then she began laughing like a madcap; she was thinking of the
excitement your death would cause in Barcelona.
"At eight o'clock the following day, your man came and told her that you
had been taken to the citadel; and I will say it to her credit, she
seemed relieved to hear you were alive."
"My man--I did not know that he was in correspondence with her."
"No, I suppose not; but I assure you the worthy man was very much
attached to you."
"I am sure he was. Go on."
"Nina then wrote a note to your landlord. She did not shew it me, but it
no doubt contained instructions to supply you with everything.
"The man told us that he had seen your sword all red with blood, and that
your cloak had a bullet hole through it. She was delighted, but do not
think it was because she loved you; she was glad you had escaped that you
might take your revenge. However, she was troubled by the pretext on
which the count had had you arrested.
"Ricla did not come to see her that day, but he came the next day at
eight o'clock, and the infamous creature received him with a smiling
face. She told him she had heard he had imprisoned you, and that she was
obliged to him, as he had, of course, done so to protect you from any
fresh attempts on your life.
"He answered, dryly, that your arrest had nothing to do with anything
that might have happened the night before. He added that you had only
been seized pending the examination of your papers, and that if they were
found to be in good form, you would be set at liberty in the course of a
few days.
"Nina asked him who was the man that you had wounded. He replied that the
police were enquiring into the matter, but that so far they had neither
found a dead man nor a wounded man, nor any traces of blood. All that had
been found was Casanova's hat, and this had been returned to him.
"I left them alone together till midnight, so I cannot say what further
converse they may have had on the subject, but three or four days later
everybody knew that you were imprisoned in the tower.
"Nina asked the count the reason of this severity in the evening, and he
replied that your passports were thought to be forgeries, because you
were in disgrace with the State Inquisitors, and therefore would not be
in a position to get a passport from the Venetian ambassador. On this
supposition he said you had been placed in the tower, and if it proved to
be a true one, you would be still more severely punished.
"This news disturbed us, and when we heard that Pogomas had been arrested
we felt certain he had denounced you in revenge for your having procured
his dismissal from Nina's house. When we heard that he had been let out
and sent to Genoa, we expected to hear of your being set at liberty, as
the authorities must have been satisfied of the genuine character of your
passports; but you were still shut up, and Nina did not know what to
think, and the count would not answer her when she made enquiries about
you. She had made up her mind to say no more about it, when at last we
heard you had been set free and that your passports had been declared
genuine.
"Nina thought to see you in the pit of the opera-house, and made
preparations for a triumph in her box; but she was in despair when she
heard no performance was to be given. In the evening the count told her
that your passports had been returned with the order to leave in three
days. The false creature praised her lover's prudence to his face, but
she cursed him in her heart.
"She knew you would not dare to see her, and when you left without
writing her a note, she said you had received secret orders not to hold
any further communications with her. She was furious with the viceroy.
"'If Casanova had had the courage to ask me to go with him, I would have
gone,' said she.
"Your man told her of your fortunate escape from three assassins. In the
evening she congratulated Ricla on the circumstance, but he swore he knew
nothing about it. Nina did not believe him. You may thank God from the
bottom of your heart that you ever left Spain alive after knowing Nina.
She would have cost you your life at last, and she punishes me for having
given her life."
"What! Are you her mother?"
"Yes; Nina, that horrible woman, is my daughter."
"Really? Everybody says you are her sister."
"That is the horrible part of it, everybody is right."
"Explain yourself!"
"Yes, though it is to my shame. She is my sister and my daughter, for she
is the daughter of my father."
"What! your father loved you?"
"I do not know whether the scoundrel loved me, but he treated me as his
wife. I was sixteen then. She is the daughter of the crime, and God knows
she is sufficient punishment for it. My father died to escape her
vengeance; may he also escape the vengeance of God. I should have
strangled her in her cradle, but maybe I shall strangle her yet. If I do
not, she will kill me."
I remained dumb at the conclusion of this dreadful story, which bore all
the marks of truth.
"Does Nina know that you are her mother?"
"Her own father told her the secret when she was twelve, after he had
initiated her into the life she has been living ever since. He would have
made her a mother in her turn if he had not killed himself the same year,
maybe to escape the gallows."
"How did the Conte de Ricla fall in love with her?"
"It is a short story and a curious one. Two years ago she came to
Barcelona from Portugal, and was placed in one of the ballets for the
sake of her pretty face, for as to talents she had none, and could only
do the rebaltade (a sort of skip and pirouette) properly.
"The first evening she danced she was loudly applauded by the pit, for as
she did the rebaltade she shewed her drawers up to her waist. In Spain
any actress who shews her drawers on the stage is liable to a fine of a
crown. Nina knew nothing about this, and, hearing the applause, treated
the audience to another skip of the same kind, but at the end of the
ballet she was told to pay two crowns for her immodesty. Nina cursed and
swore, but she had to give in. What do you think she did to elude the
law, and at the same time avenge herself?"
"Danced badly, perhaps."
"She danced without any drawers at all, and did her rebdltade as before,
which caused such an effervescence of high spirits in the house as had
never been known at Barcelona.
"The Conte de Ricla had seen her from his box, and was divided between
horror and admiration, and sent for the inspector to tell him that this
impudent creature must be punished.
"'In the mean time,' said he, 'bring her before me.'
"Presently Nina appeared in the viceroy's box, and asked him, impudently,
what he wanted with her.
"'You are an immodest woman, and have failed in your duty to the public.'
"'What have I done?
"'You performed the same skip as before.'
"'Yes, but I haven't broken your law, for no one can have seen my drawers
as I took the precaution not to put any on. What more can I do for your
cursed law, which has cost me two crowns already? Just tell me.'
"The viceroy and the great personages around him had much ado to refrain
from laughter, for Nina was really in the right, and a serious discussion
of the violated law would have been ridiculous.
"The viceroy felt he was in a false position, and merely said that if she
ever danced without drawers again she should have a month's imprisonment
on bread and water.
"A week after one of my husband's ballets was given. It was so well
received that the audience encored it with enthusiasm. Ricla gave orders
that the public should be satisfied, and all the dancers were told they
would have to reappear.
"Nina, who was almost undressed, told my husband to do as best he could,
as she was not going to dance again. As she had the chief part my husband
could not do without her, and sent the manager to her dressing-room. She
pushed the poor man out with so much violence that he fell against the
wall of the passage, head foremost.
"The manager told his piteous tale to the viceroy, who ordered two
soldiers to bring her before him. This was his ruin; for Nina is a
beautiful woman, and in her then state of undress she would have seduced
the coldest of men.
"The count reproved her, but his voice and his manner were ill-assured,
and growing bolder as she watched his embarrassment, Nina replied that he
might have her torn to pieces if he liked, but she would not dance
against her will, and nowhere in her agreement was it stipulated that she
should dance twice in the same evening, whether for his pleasure or
anyone else's. She also expressed her anger at making her appear before
him in a state of semi-nudity, and swore she would never forgive his
barbarous and despotic conduct.
"'I will dance no more before you or your people. Let me go away, or kill
me if you like; do your worst on me, and you shall find that I am a
Venetian and a free woman!'
"The viceroy sat astonished, and said she must be mad. He then summoned
my husband and told him she was no longer in his service. Nina was told
she was free, and could go where she would.
"She went back to her dressing-room and came to us, where she was living.
"The ballet went on without her, and the poor viceroy sat in a dream, for
the poison had entered into his veins.
"Next day a wretched singer named Molinari called on Nina and told her
that the viceroy was anxious to know whether she were really mad or not,
and would like to see her in a country house, the name of which he
mentioned: this was just what the wretched woman wanted.
"'Tell his highness,' she said to Molinari, 'that I will come, and that
he will find me as gentle as a lamb and as good as an angel.'
"This is the way in which the connection began, and she fathomed his
character so astutely that she maintained her conquest as much with
ill-treatment and severity as with her favours."
Such was the tale of the hapless Madame Schizza. It was told with all the
passion of an Italian divided between repentance for the past and the
desire of vengeance.
The next day, as I had expected, I received a letter from Henriette. It
ran as follows:
"My Dear Old Friend,--Nothing could be more romantic than our meeting at
my country house six years ago, and now again, after a parting of so many
years. Naturally we have both grown older, and though I love you still I
am glad you did not recognize me. Not that I have become ugly, but I am
stout, and this gives me another look. I am a widow, and well enough off
to tell you that if you lack money you will find some ready for you in
Henriette's purse. Do not come back to Aix to see me, as your return
might give rise to gossip; but if you chance to come here again after
some time, we may meet, though not as old acquaintances. I am happy to
think that I have perhaps prolonged your days by giving you a nurse for
whose trustworthiness I would answer. If you would like to correspond
with me I should be happy to do my part. I am very curious to know what
happened to you after your flight from The Leads, and after the proofs
you have given me of your discretion I think I shall be able to tell you
how we came to meet at Cesena, and how I returned to my country. The
first part is a secret for everyone; only M. d'Antoine is acquainted with
a portion of the story. I am grateful for the reticence you have
observed, though Marcoline must have delivered the message I gave her.
Tell me what has become of that beautiful girl. Farewell!"
I replied, accepting her offer to correspond, and I told her the whole
story of my adventures. From her I received forty letters, in which the
history of her life is given. If she die before me, I shall add these
letters to my Memoirs, but at present she is alive and happy, though
advanced in years.
The day after I went to call on Madame Audibert, and we went together to
see Madame N---- N----, who was already the mother of three children. Her
husband adored her, and she was very happy. I gave her good news of
Marcoline, and told the story of Croce and Charlotte's death, which
affected her to tears.
In turn she told me about Rosalie, who was quite a rich woman. I had no
hopes of seeing her again, for she lived at Genoa, and I should not have
cared to face M. Grimaldi.
My niece (as I once called her) mortified me unintentionally; she said I
was ageing. Though a man can easily make a jest of his advancing years, a
speech like this is not pleasant when one has not abandoned the pursuit
of pleasure. She gave me a capital dinner, and her husband made me offers
which I was ashamed to accept. I had fifty Louis, and, intending to go on
to Turin, I did not feel uneasy about the future.
At Marseilles I met the Duc de Vilardi, who was kept alive by the art of
Tronchin. This nobleman, who was Governor of Provence, asked me to
supper, and I was surprised to meet at his house the self-styled Marquis
d'Aragon; he was engaged in holding the bank. I staked a few coins and
lost, and the marquis asked me to dine with him and his wife, an elderly
Englishwoman, who had brought him a dowry of forty thousand guineas
absolutely, with twenty thousand guineas which would ultimately go to her
son in London. I was not ashamed to borrow fifty Louis from this lucky
rascal, though I felt almost certain that I should never return the
money.
I left Marseilles by myself, and after crossing the Alps arrived at
Turin.
There I had a warm welcome from the Chevalier Raiberti and the Comte de
la Perouse. Both of them pronounced me to be looking older, but I
consoled myself with the thought that, after all, I was only forty-four.
I became an intimate friend of the English ambassador, Sir N----, a rich,
accomplished and cultured man, who kept the choicest of tables. Everybody
loved him, and amongst others this feeling was warmly shared by a Parmese
girl, named Campioni, who was wonderfully beautiful.
As soon as I had told my friends that I intended to go into Switzerland
to print at my own expense a refutation in Italian of the "History of the
Venetian Government," by Amelot de la Houssaye, they all did their best
by subscribing and obtaining subscriptions. The most generous of all was
the Comte de la Perouse, who gave me two hundred and fifty francs for
fifty copies. I left Turin in a week with two thousand lire in my purse.
With this I should be able to print the book I had composed in my prison;
but I should have to rewrite it 'ab initio', with the volume to my hand,
as also the "History of Venice," by Nani.
When I had got these works I set out with the intention of having my book
printed at Lugano, as there was a good press there and no censure. I also
knew that the head of the press was a well-read man, and that the place
abounded in good cheer and good society.
Lugano is near Milan, Como, and Lake Maggiore, and I was well pleased
with the situation. I went to the best inn, which was kept by a man named
Tagoretti, who gave me the best room in the house.
The day after my arrival I called on Dr. Agnelli, who was at once
printer, priest, theologian, and an honest man. I made a regular
agreement with him, he engaging to print at the rate of four sheets a
week, and on my side I promised to pay him every week. He reserved the
right of censorship, expressing a hope that our opinions might coincide.
I gave him the preface and the preliminary matter at once, and chose the
paper and the size, large octavo.
When I got back to my inn the landlord told me that the bargello, or
chief constable, wanted to see me.
Although Lugano is in Switzerland, its municipal government is modelled
after that of the Italian towns.
I was curious to hear what this ill-omened personage could have to say to
me, so I told him to shew him in. After giving me a profound bow, with
his hat in his hand, Signor Bargello told me that he had come to offer me
his services, and to assure me that I should enjoy complete tranquillity
and safety in Lugano, whether from any enemies within the State or from
the Venetian Government, in case I had any dispute with it.
"I thank you, signor," I replied, "and I am sure that you are telling me
the truth, as I am in Switzerland."
"I must take the liberty of telling you, sir, that it is customary for
strangers who take up their residence in Lugano, to pay some trifling
sum, either by the week, the month, or the year."
"And if they refuse to pay?"
"Then their safety is not so sure."
"Money does everything in Lugano, I suppose."
"But, sir---- "
"I understand, but let me tell you that I have no fears, and I shall
consequently beg to be excused from paying anything."
"You will forgive me, but I happen to know that you have some disputes
with the Venetian Government."
"You are making a mistake, my good fellow."
"No, I am not."
"If you are so sure, find someone to bet me two hundred sequins that I
have reason to fear the Venetian Government; I will take the bet and
deposit the amount."
The bargello remained silent, and the landlord told him he seemed to have
made some kind of mistake, so he went away, looking very disappointed.
My landlord was delighted to hear that I thought of making some stay at
Lugano, and advised me to call on the high bailiff, who governed the
place.
"He's a very nice Swiss gentleman," said he, "and his wife a clever
woman, and as fair as the day."
"I will go and see him to-morrow."
I sent in my name to the high bailiff at noon on the day following, and
what was my surprise to find myself in the presence of M. de R and his
charming wife. Beside her was a pretty boy, five or six years old.
Our mutual surprise may be imagined!
CHAPTER XI
The Punishment of Marazzani--I Leave Lugano--Turin--
M. Dubois at Parma--Leghorn--The Duke of Orloff--Pisa--
Stratico--Sienna--The Marchioness Chigi--My Departure from
Sienna With an Englishwoman
These unforeseen, haphazard meetings with old friends have always been
the happiest moments of my life.
We all remained for some time dumb with delight. M. de R. was the first
to break the silence by giving me a cordial embrace. We burst out into
mutual excuses, he for having imagined that there might be other
Casanovas in Italy, and I for not having ascertained his name. He made me
take pot-luck with him the same day, and we seemed as if we had never
parted. The Republic had given him this employ--a very lucrative one--and
he was only sorry that it would expire in two years. He told me he was
delighted to be able to be of use to me, and begged me to consider he was
wholly at my service. He was delighted to hear that I should be engaged
in seeing my work through the press for three or four months, and seemed
vexed when I told him that I could not accept his hospitality more than
once a week as my labours would be incessant.
Madame de R---- could scarcely recover from her surprise. It was nine
years since I had seen her at Soleure, and then I thought her beauty must
be at its zenith; but I was wrong, she was still more beautiful and I
told her so. She shewed me her only child, who had been born four years
after my departure. She cherished the child as the apple of her eye, and
seemed likely to spoil it; but I heard, a few years ago, that this child
is now an amiable and accomplished man.
In a quarter of an hour Madame de R---- informed me of all that had
happened at Soleure since my departure. Lebel had gone to Besancon, where
he lived happily with his charming wife.
She happened to observe in a casual way that I no longer looked as young
as I had done at Soleure, and this made me regulate my conduct in a
manner I might not otherwise have done. I did not let her beauty carry me
away; I resisted the effect of her charms, and I was content to enjoy her
friendship, and to be worthy of the friendship of her good husband.
The work on which I was engaged demanded all my care and attention, and a
love affair would have wasted most of my time.
I began work the next morning, and save for an hour's visit from M. de
R---- I wrote on till nightfall. The next day I had the first proof-sheet
with which I was well enough pleased.
I spent the whole of the next month in my room, working assiduously, and
only going out to mass on feast days, to dine with M. de R----, and to
walk with his wife and her child.
At the end of a month my first volume was printed and stitched, and the
manuscript of the second volume was ready for the press. Towards the end
of October the printer sent in the entire work in three volumes, and in
less than a year the edition was sold out.
My object was not so much to make money as to appease the wrath of the
Venetian Inquisitors; I had gone all over Europe, and experienced a
violent desire to see my native land once more.
Amelot de la Houssaye had written his book from the point of view of an
enemy of Venice. His history was rather a satire, containing learned and
slanderous observations mingled together. It had been published for
seventy years, but hitherto no one had taken the trouble to refute it. If
a Venetian had attempted to do so he would not have obtained permission
from his Government to print it in the States of Venice, for the State
policy is to allow no one to discuss the actions of the authorities,
whether in praise or blame; consequently no writer had attempted to
refute the French history, as it was well known that the refutation would
be visited with punishment and not with reward.
My position was an exceptional one. I had been persecuted by the Venetian
Government, so no one could accuse me of being partial; and by my
exposing the calumnies of Amelot before all Europe I hoped to gain a
reward, which after all would only be an act of justice.
I had been an exile for fourteen years, and I thought the Inquisitors
would be glad to repair their injustice on the pretext of rewarding my
patriotism.
My readers will see that my hopes were fulfilled, but I had to wait for
five more years instead of receiving permission to return at once.
M. de Bragadin was dead, and Dandolo and Barbaro were the only friends I
had left at Venice; and with their aid I contrived to subscribe fifty
copies of my book in my native town.
Throughout my stay at Lugano I only frequented the house of M. de R----,
where I saw the Abbe Riva, a learned and discreet man, to whom I had been
commended by M. Querini, his relation. The abbe enjoyed such a reputation
for wisdom amongst his fellow-countrymen that he was a kind of arbiter in
all disputes, and thus the expenses of the law were saved. It was no
wonder that the gentlemen of the long robe hated him most cordially. His
nephew, Jean Baptiste Riva, was a friend of the Muses, of Bacchus, and of
Venus; he was also a friend of mine, though I could not match him with
the bottles. He lent me all the nymphs he had initiated into the
mysteries, and they liked him all the better, as I made them some small
presents. With him and his two pretty sisters I went to the Borromean
Isles. I knew that Count Borromeo, who had honoured me with his
friendship at Turin, was there, and from him I felt certain of a warm
welcome. One of the two sisters had to pass for Riva's wife, and the
other for his sister-in-law.
Although the count was a ruined man he lived in his isles like a prince.
It would be impossible to describe these Islands of the Blest; they must
be seen to be imagined. The inhabitants enjoy an everlasting spring;
there is neither heat nor cold.
The count regaled us choicely, and amused the two girls by giving them
rods and lines and letting them fish. Although he was ugly, old, and
ruined, he still possessed the art of pleasing.
On the way back to Lugano, as I was making place for a carriage in a
narrow road, my horse slipped and fell down a slope ten feet high. My
head went against a large stone, and I thought my last hour was come as
the blood poured out of the wound. However, I was well again in a few
days. This was my last ride on horseback.
During my stay at Lugano the inspectors of the Swiss cantons came there
in its turn. The people dignified them with the magnificent title of
ambassadors, but M. de R---- was content to call them avoyers.
These gentlemen stayed at my inn, and I had my meals with them throughout
their stay.
The avoyer of Berne gave me some news of my poor friend M. F----. His
charming daughter Sara had become the wife of M, de V----, and was happy.
A few days after these pleasant and cultured men had left, I was startled
one morning by the sudden appearance of the wretched Marazzani in my
room. I seized him by his collar, threw him out, and before he had time
to use his cane or his sword, I had kicked, beaten, and boxed him most
soundly. He defended himself to the best of his ability, and the landlord
and his men ran up at the noise, and had some difficulty in separating
us.
"Don't let him go!" I cried, "send for the bargello and have him away to
prison."
I dressed myself hastily, and as I was going out to see M. de R----, the
bargello met me, and asked me on what charge I gave the man into custody.
"You will hear that at M. de R----'s, where I shall await you."
I must now explain my anger. You may remember, reader, that I left the
wretched fellow in the prison of Buen Retiro. I heard afterwards that the
King of Spain, Jerusalem, and the Canary Islands, had given him a small
post in a galley off the coast of Africa.
He had done me no harm, and I pitied him; but not being his intimate
friend, and having no power to mitigate the hardship of his lot, I had
well-nigh forgotten him.
Eight months after, I met at Barcelona Madame Bellucci, a Venetian
dancer, with whom I had had a small intrigue. She gave an exclamation of
delight on seeing me, and said she was glad to see me delivered from the
hard fate to which a tyrannous Government had condemned me.
"What fate is that?" I asked, "I have seen a good deal of misfortune
since I left you."
"I mean the presidio."
"But that has never been my lot, thank God! Who told you such a story?"
"A Count Marazzani, who was here three weeks ago, and told me he had been
luckier than you, as he had made his escape."
"He's a liar and a scoundrel; and if ever I meet him again he shall pay
me dearly."
From that moment I never thought of the rascal without feeling a lively
desire to give him a thrashing, but I never thought that chance would
bring about so early a meeting.
Under the circumstances I think my behaviour will be thought only
natural. I had beaten him, but that was not enough for me. I seemed to
have done nothing, and indeed, I had got as good as I gave.
In the mean time he was in prison, and I went to M. de R---- to see what
he could do for me.
As soon as M. de R heard my statement he said he could neither keep him
in prison nor drive him out of the town unless I laid a plea before him,
craving protection against this man, whom I believed to have come to
Lugano with the purpose of assassinating me.
"You can make the document more effective," he added, "by placing your
actual grievance in a strong light, and laying stress on his sudden
appearance in your room without sending in his name. That's what you had
better do, and it remains to be seen how I shall answer your plea. I
shall ask him for his passport and delay the case, and order him to be
severely treated; but in the end I shall only be able to drive him out of
the town, unless he can find good bail."
I could ask no more. I sent in my plea, and the next day I had the
pleasure of seeing him brought into the court bound hand and foot.
M. de R began to examine him, and Marazzani swore he had no evil
intentions in calling on me. As to the calumny, he protested he had only
repeated common rumour, and professed his joy at finding it had been
mistaken.
This ought to have been enough for me, but I continued obdurate.
M. de R---- said the fact of my being sent to the galleys having been
rumoured was no justification for his repeating it.
"And furthermore," he proceeded, "M. Casanova's suspicion that you were
going to assassinate him is justified by your giving a false name, for
the plaintiff maintains that you are not Count Marazzani at all. He
offers to furnish surety on this behalf, and if M. Casanova does you
wrong, his bail will escheat to you as damages. In the mean time you will
remain in prison till we have further information about your real
status."
He was taken back, and as the poor devil had not a penny in his pocket it
would have been superfluous to tell the bargedlo to treat him severely.
M. de R wrote to the Swiss agent at Parma to obtain the necessary
information; but as the rascal knew this would be against him, he wrote
me a humble letter, in which he confessed that he was the son of a poor
shopkeeper of Bobbio, and although his name was really Marazzani, he had
nothing to do with the Marazzanis of Plaisance. He begged me to set him
at liberty.
I shewed the letter to M. de R----, who let him out of prison with orders
to leave Lugano in twenty-four hours.
I thought I had been rather too harsh with him, and gave the poor devil
some money to take him to Augsburg, and also a letter for M. de
Sellentin, who was recruiting there for the Prussian king. We shall hear
of Marazzani again.
The Chevalier de Breche came to the Lugano Fair to buy some horses, and
stopped a fortnight. I often met him at M. de R----'s, for whose wife he
had a great admiration, and I was sorry to see him go.
I left Lugano myself a few days later, having made up my mind to winter
in Turin, where I hoped to see some pleasant society.
Before I left I received a friendly letter from Prince Lubomirski, with a
bill for a hundred ducats, in payment of fifty copies of my book. The
prince had become lord high marshal on the death of Count Bilinski.
When I got to Turin I found a letter from the noble Venetian M. Girolamo
Zulian, the same that had given me an introduction to Mocenigo. His
letter contained an enclosure to M. Berlendis, the representative of the
Republic at Turin, who thanked me for having enabled him to receive me.
The ambassador, a rich man, and a great lover of the fair sex, kept up a
splendid establishment, and this was enough for his Government, for
intelligence is not considered a necessary qualification for a Venetian
ambassador. Indeed it is a positive disadvantage, and a witty ambassador
would no doubt fall into disgrace with the Venetian Senate. However,
Berlendis ran no risk whatever on this score; the realm of wit was an
unknown land to him.
I got this ambassador to call the attention of his Government to the work
I had recently published, and the answer the State Inquisitors gave may
astonish my readers, but it did not astonish me. The secretary of the
famous and accursed Tribunal wrote to say that he had done well to call
the attention of the Inquisitors to this work, as the author's
presumption appeared on the title-page. He added that the work would be
examined, and in the mean time the ambassador was instructed to shew me
no signal marks of favour lest the Court should suppose he was protecting
me as a Venetian.
Nevertheless, it was the same tribunal that had facilitated my access to
the ambassador to Madrid--Mocenigo.
I told Berlendis that my visits should be limited in number, and free
from all ostentation.
I was much interested in his son's tutor; he was a priest, a man of
letters, and a poet. His name was Andreis, and he is now resident in
England, where he enjoys full liberty, the greatest of all blessings.
I spent my time at Turin very pleasantly, in the midst of a small circle
of Epicureans; there were the old Chevalier Raiberti, the Comte de la
Perouse, a certain Abbe Roubien, a delightful man, the voluptuous Comte
de Riva, and the English ambassador. To the amusements which this society
afforded I added a course of reading, but no love affairs whatever.
While I was at Turin, a milliner, Perouse's mistress, feeling herself in
'articulo mortis', swallowed the portrait of her lover instead of the
Eucharist. This incident made me compose two sonnets, which pleased me a
good deal at the time, and with which I am still satisfied. No doubt some
will say that every poet is pleased with his own handiwork, but as a
matter of fact, the severest critic of a sensible author is himself.
The Russian squadron, under the command of Count Alexis Orloff, was then
at Leghorn; this squadron threatened Constantinople, and would probably
have taken it if an Englishman had been in command.
As I had known Count Orloff in Russia, I imagined that I might possibly
render myself of service to him, and at the same time make my fortune.
The English ambassador having given me a letter for the English consul, I
left Turin with very little money in my purse and no letter of credit on
any banker.
An Englishman named Acton commended me to an English banker at Leghorn,
but this letter did not empower me to draw any supplies.
Acton was just then involved in a curious complication. When he was at
Venice he had fallen in love with a pretty woman, either a Greek or a
Neapolitan. The husband, by birth a native of Turin, and by profession a
good-for-nothing, placed no obstacle in Acton's way, as the Englishman
was generous with his money; but he had a knack of turning up at those
moments when his absence would have been most desirable.
The generous but proud and impatient Englishman could not be expected to
bear this for long. He consulted with the lady, and determined to shew
his teeth. The husband persisted in his untimely visits, and one day
Acton said, dryly,--
"Do you want a thousand guineas? You can have them if you like, on the
condition that your wife travels with me for three years without our
having the pleasure of your society."
The husband thought the bargain a good one, and signed an agreement to
that effect.
After the three years were over the husband wrote to his wife, who was at
Venice, to return to him, and to Acton to put no obstacle in the way.
The lady replied that she did not want to live with him any more, and
Acton explained to the husband that he could not be expected to drive his
mistress away against her will. He foresaw, however, that the husband
would complain to the English ambassador, and determined to be
before-handed with him.
In due course the husband did apply to the English ambassador, requesting
him to compel Acton to restore to him his lawful wife. He even asked the
Chevalier Raiberti to write to the Commendatore Camarana, the Sardinian
ambassador at Venice, to apply pressure on the Venetian Government, and
he would doubtless have succeeded if M. Raiberti had done him this
favour. However, as it was he did nothing of the sort, and even gave
Acton a warm welcome when he came to Turin to look into the matter. He
had left his mistress at Venice under the protection of the English
consul.
The husband was ashamed to complain publicly, as he would have been
confronted with the disgraceful agreement he had signed; but Berlendis
maintained that he was in the right, and argued the question in the most
amusing manner. On the one hand he urged the sacred and inviolable
character of the marriage rite, and on the other he shewed how the wife
was bound to submit to her husband in all things. I argued the matter
with him myself, shewing him his disgraceful position in defending a man
who traded on his wife's charms, and he was obliged to give in when I
assured him that the husband had offered to renew the lease for the same
time and on the same terms as before.
Two years later I met Acton at Bologna, and admired the beauty whom he
considered and treated as his wife. She held on her knees a fine little
Acton.
I left Turin for Parma with a Venetian who, like myself, was an exile
from his country. He had turned actor to gain a livelihood; and was going
to Parma with two actresses, one of whom was interesting. As soon as I
found out who he was, we became friends, and he would have gladly made me
a partner in all his amusements, by the way, if I had been in the humour
to join him.
This journey to Leghorn was undertaken under the influence of chimerical
ideas. I thought I might be useful to Count Orloff, in the conquest he
was going to make, as it was said, of Constantinople. I fancied that it
had been decreed by fate that without me he could never pass through the
Dardanelles. In spite of the wild ideas with which my mind was occupied,
I conceived a warm friendship for my travelling companion, whose name was
Angelo Bentivoglio. The Government never forgave him a certain crime,
which to the philosophic eye appears a mere trifle. In four years later,
when I describe my stay at Venice, I shall give some further account of
him.
About noon we reached Parma, and I bade adieu to Bentivoglio and his
friends. The Court was at Colorno, but having nothing to gain from this
mockery of a court, and wishing to leave for Bologna the next morning, I
asked Dubois-Chateleraux, Chief of the Mint, and a talented though vain
man, to give me some dinner. The reader will remember that I had known
him twenty two years before, when I was in love with Henriette. He was
delighted to see me, and seemed to set great store by my politeness in
giving him the benefit of my short stay at Parma. I told him that Count
Orloff was waiting for me at Leghorn, and that I was obliged to travel
day and night.
"He will be setting sail before long," said he; "I have advices from
Leghorn to that effect."
I said in a mysterious tone of voice that he would not sail without me,
and I could see that my host treated me with increased respect after
this. He wanted to discuss the Russian Expedition, but my air of reserve
made him change the conversation.
At dinner we talked a good deal about Henriette, whom he said he had
succeeded in finding out; but though he spoke of her with great respect,
I took care not to give him any information on the subject. He spent the
whole afternoon in uttering complaints against the sovereigns of Europe,
the King of Prussia excepted, as he had made him a baron, though I never
could make out why.
He cursed the Duke of Parma who persisted in retaining his services,
although there was no mint in existence in the duchy, and his talents
were consequently wasted there.
I listened to all his complaints, and agreed that Louis XV. had been
ungrateful in not conferring the Order of St. Michael on him; that Venice
had rewarded his services very shabbily; that Spain was stingy, and
Naples devoid of honesty, etc., etc. When he had finished, I asked him if
he could give me a bill on a banker for fifty sequins.
He replied in the most friendly manner that he would not give me the
trouble of going to a banker for such a wretched sum as that; he would be
delighted to oblige me himself.
I took the money promising to repay him at an early date, but I have
never been able to do so. I do not know whether he is alive or dead, but
if he were to attain the age of Methuselah I should not entertain any
hopes of paying him; for I get poorer every day, and feel that my end is
not far off.
The next day I was in Bologna, and the day after in Florence, where I met
the Chevalier Morosini, nephew of the Venetian procurator, a young man of
nineteen, who was travelling with Count Stratico, professor of
mathematics at the University of Padua. He gave me a letter for his
brother, a Jacobin monk, and professor of literature at Pisa, where I
stopped for a couple of hours on purpose to make the celebrated monk's
acquaintance. I found him even greater than his fame, and promised to
come again to Pisa, and make a longer stay for the purpose of enjoying
his society.
I stopped an hour at the Wells, where I made the acquaintance of the
Pretender to the throne of Great Britain, and from there went on to
Leghorn, where I found Count Orloff still waiting, but only because
contrary winds kept him from sailing.
The English consul, with whom he was staying, introduced me at once to
the Russian admiral, who received me with expressions of delight. He told
me he would be charmed if I would come on board with him. He told me to
have my luggage taken off at once, as he would set sail with the first
fair wind. When he was gone the English consul asked me what would be my
status with the admiral.
"That's just what I mean to find out before embarking my effects."
"You won't be able to speak to him till to-morrow." Next morning I called
on Count Orloff, and sent him in a short note, asking him to give me a
short interview before I embarked my mails.
An officer came out to tell me that the admiral was writing in bed, and
hoped I would wait.
"Certainly."
I had been waiting a few minutes, when Da Loglio, the Polish agent at
Venice and an old friend of mine, came in.
"What are you doing here, my dear Casanova?" said he.
"I am waiting for an interview with the admiral."
"He is very busy."
After this, Da Loglio coolly went into the admiral's room. This was
impertinent of him; it was as if he said in so many words that the
admiral was too busy to see me, but not too busy to see him.
A moment after, Marquis Manucci came in with his order of St. Anne and
his formal air. He congratulated me on my visit to Leghorn, and then said
he had read my work on Venice, and had been surprised to find himself in
it.
He had some reason for surprise, for there was no connection between him
and the subject-matter; but he should have discovered before that the
unexpected often happens. He did not give me time to tell him so, but
went into the admiral's room as Da Loglio had done.
I was vexed to see how these gentlemen were admitted while I danced
attendance, and the project of sailing with Orloff began to displease me.
In five hours Orloff came out followed by a numerous train. He told me
pleasantly that we could have our talk at table or after dinner.
"After dinner, if you please," I said.
He came in and sat down at two o'clock, and I was among the guests.
Orloff kept on saying, "Eat away, gentlemen, eat away;" and read his
correspondence and gave his secretary letters all the time.
After dinner he suddenly glanced up at me, and taking me by the hand led
me to the window, and told me to make haste with my luggage, as he should
sail before the morning if the wind kept up.
"Quite so; but kindly tell me, count, what is to be my status or
employment an board your ship?"
"At present I have no special employ to give you; that will come in time.
Come on board as my friend."
"The offer is an honourable one so far as you are concerned, but all the
other officers might treat me with contempt. I should be regarded as a
kind of fool, and I should probably kill the first man who dared to
insult me. Give me a distinct office, and let me wear your uniform; I
will be useful to you. I know the country for which you are bound, I can
speak the language, and I am not wanting in courage."
"My dear sir, I really have no particular office to give you."
"Then, count, I wish you a pleasant sail; I am going to Rome. I hope you
may never repent of not taking me, for without me you will never pass the
Dardanelles."
"Is that a prophecy?"
"It's an oracle."
"We will test its veracity, my dear Calchus."
Such was the short dialogue I had with the worthy count, who, as a matter
of fact, did not pass the Dardanelles. Whether he would have succeeded if
I had been on board is more than I can say.
Next day I delivered my letters to M. Rivarola and the English banker.
The squadron had sailed in the early morning.
The day after I went to Pisa, and spent a pleasant week in the company of
Father Stratico, who was made a bishop two or three years after by means
of a bold stroke that might have ruined him. He delivered a funeral
oration over Father Ricci, the last general of the Jesuits. The Pope,
Ganganelli, had the choice of punishing the writer and increasing the
odium of many of the faithful, or of rewarding him handsomely. The
sovereign pontiff followed the latter course. I saw the bishop some years
later, and he told me in confidence that he had only written the oration
because he felt certain, from his knowledge of the human heart, that his
punishment would be a great reward.
This clever monk initiated me into all the charms of Pisan society. He
had organized a little choir of ladies of rank, remarkable for their
intelligence and beauty, and had taught them to sing extempore to the
guitar. He had had them instructed by the famous Gorilla, who was crowned
poetess-laureate at the capitol by night, six years later. She was
crowned where our great Italian poets were crowned; and though her merit
was no doubt great, it was, nevertheless, more tinsel than gold, and not
of that order to place her on a par with Petrarch or Tasso.
She was satirised most bitterly after she had received the bays; and the
satirists were even more in the wrong than the profaners of the capitol,
for all the pamphlets against her laid stress on the circumstance that
chastity, at all events, was not one of her merits. All poetesses, from
the days of Homer to our own, have sacrificed on the altar of Venus. No
one would have heard of Gorilla if she had not had the sense to choose
her lovers from the ranks of literary men; and she would never have been
crowned at Rome if she had not succeeded in gaining over Prince Gonzaga
Solferino, who married the pretty Mdlle. Rangoni, daughter of the Roman
consul, whom I knew at Marseilles, and of whom I have already spoken.
This coronation of Gorilla is a blot on the pontificate of the present
Pope, for henceforth no man of genuine merit will accept the honour which
was once so carefully guarded by the giants of human intellect.
Two days after the coronation Gorilla and her admirers left Rome, ashamed
of what they had done. The Abbe Pizzi, who had been the chief promoter of
her apotheosis, was so inundated with pamphlets and satires that for some
months he dared not shew his face.
This is a long digression, and I will now return to Father Stratico, who
made the time pass so pleasantly for me.
Though he was not a handsome man, he possessed the art of persuasion to
perfection; and he succeeded in inducing me to go to Sienna, where he
said I should enjoy myself. He gave me a letter of introduction for the
Marchioness Chigi, and also one for the Abbe Chiaccheri; and as I had
nothing better to do I went to Sienna by the shortest way, not caring to
visit Florence.
The Abbe Chiaccheri gave me a warm welcome, and promised to do all he
could to amuse me; and he kept his word. He introduced me himself to the
Marchioness Chigi, who took me by storm as soon as she had read the
letter of the Abbe Stratico, her dear abbe, as she called him, when she
read the superscription in his writing.
The marchioness was still handsome, though her beauty had begun to wane;
but with her the sweetness, the grace, and the ease of manner supplied
the lack of youth. She knew how to make a compliment of the slightest
expression, and was totally devoid of any affection of superiority.
"Sit down," she began. "So you are going to stay a week, I see, from the
dear abbe's letter. That's a short time for us, but perhaps it may be too
long for you. I hope the abbe has not painted us in too rosy colours."
"He only told me that I was to spend a week here, and that I should find
with you all the charms of intellect and sensibility."
"Stratico should have condemned you to a month without mercy."
"Why mercy? What hazard do I run?"
"Of being tired to death, or of leaving some small morsel of your heart
at Sienna."
"All that might happen in a week, but I am ready to dare the danger, for
Stratico has guarded me from the first by counting on you, and from the
second by counting on myself. You will receive my pure and intelligent
homage. My heart will go forth from Sienna as free as it came, for I have
no hope of victory, and defeat would make me wretched."
"Is it possible that you are amongst the despairing?"
"Yes, and to that fact I owe my happiness."
"It would be a pity for you if you found yourself mistaken."
"Not such a pity as you may think, Madam. 'Carpe diem' is my motto. 'Tis
likewise the motto of that finished voluptuary, Horace, but I only take
it because it suits me. The pleasure which follows desires is the best,
for it is the most acute.
"True, but it cannot be calculated on, and defies the philosopher. May
God preserve you, madam, from finding out this painful truth by
experience! The highest good lies in enjoyment; desire too often remains
unsatisfied. If you have not yet found out the truth of Horace's maxim, I
congratulate you."
The amiable marchioness smiled pleasantly and gave no positive answer.
Chiaccheri now opened his mouth for the first time, and said that the
greatest happiness he could wish us was that we should never agree. The
marchioness assented, rewarding Chiaccheri with a smile, but I could not
do so.
"I had rather contradict you," I said, "than renounce all hopes of
pleasing you. The abbe has thrown the apple of discord between us, but if
we continue as we have begun I shall take up my abode at Sienna."
The marchioness was satisfied with the sample of her wit which she had
given me, and began to talk commonplaces, asking me if I should like to
see company and enjoy society of the fair sex. She promised to take me
everywhere.
"Pray do not take the trouble," I replied. "I want to leave Sienna with
the feeling that you are the only lady to whom I have done homage, and
that the Abbe Chiaccheri has been my only guide."
The marchioness was flattered, and asked the abbe and myself to dine with
her on the following day in a delightful house she had at a hundred paces
from the town.
The older I grew the more I became attached to the intellectual charms of
women. With the sensualist, the contrary takes place; he becomes more
material in his old age: requires women well taught in Venus's shrines,
and flies from all mention of philosophy.
As I was leaving her I told the abbe that if I stayed at Sienna I would
see no other woman but her, come what might, and he agreed that I was
very right.
The abbe shewed me all the objects of interest in Sienna, and introduced
me to the literati, who in their turn visited me.
The same day Chiaccheri took me to a house where the learned society
assembled. It was the residence of two sisters--the elder extremely ugly
and the younger very pretty, but the elder sister was accounted, and very
rightly, the Corinna of the place. She asked me to give her a specimen of
my skill, promising to return the compliment. I recited the first thing
that came into my head, and she replied with a few lines of exquisite
beauty. I complimented her, but Chiaccheri (who had been her master)
guessed that I did not believe her to be the author, and proposed that we
should try bouts rimes. The pretty sister gave out the rhymes, and we all
set to work. The ugly sister finished first, and when the verses came to
be read, hers were pronounced the best. I was amazed, and made an
improvisation on her skill, which I gave her in writing. In five minutes
she returned it to me; the rhymes were the same, but the turn of the
thought was much more elegant. I was still more surprised, and took the
liberty of asking her name, and found her to be the famous "Shepherdess,"
Maria Fortuna, of the Academy of Arcadians.
I had read the beautiful stanzas she had written in praise of Metastasio.
I told her so, and she brought me the poet's reply in manuscript.
Full of admiration, I addressed myself to her alone, and all her
plainness vanished.
I had had an agreeable conversation with the marchioness in the morning,
but in the evening I was literally in an ecstacy.
I kept on talking of Fortuna, and asked the abbe if she could improvise
in the manner of Gorilla. He replied that she had wished to do so, but
that he had disallowed it, and he easily convinced me that this
improvisation would have been the ruin of her fine talent. I also agreed
with him when he said that he had warned her against making impromptus
too frequently, as such hasty verses are apt to sacrifice wit to rhyme.
The honour in which improvisation was held amongst the Greeks and Romans
is due to the fact that Greek and Latin verse is not under the dominion
of rhyme. But as it was, the great poets seldom improvised; knowing as
they did that such verses were usually feeble and common-place.
Horace often passed a whole night searching for a vigorous and
elegantly-turned phrase. When he had succeeded, he wrote the words on the
wall and went to sleep. The lines which cost him nothing are generally
prosaic; they may easily be picked out in his epistles.
The amiable and learned Abbe Chiaccheri, confessed to me that he was in
love with his pupil, despite her ugliness. He added that he had never
expected it when he began to teach her to make verses.
"I can't understand that," I said, "sublata lucerna', you know."
"Not at all," said he, with a laugh, "I love her for her face, since it
is inseparable from my idea of her."
A Tuscan has certainly more poetic riches at his disposal than any other
Italian, and the Siennese dialect is sweeter and more energetic than that
of Florence, though the latter claims the title of the classic dialect,
on account of its purity. This purity, together with its richness and
copiousness of diction it owes to the academy. From the great richness of
Italian we can treat a subject with far greater eloquence than a French
writer; Italian abounds in synonyms, while French is lamentably deficient
in this respect. Voltaire used to laugh at those who said that the French
tongue could not be charged with poverty, as it had all that was
necessary. A man may have necessaries, and yet be poor. The obstinacy of
the French academy in refusing to adopt foreign words skews more pride
than wisdom. This exclusiveness cannot last.
As for us we take words from all languages and all sources, provided they
suit the genius of our own language. We love to see our riches increase;
we even steal from the poor, but to do so is the general characteristic
of the rich.
The amiable marchioness gave us a delicious dinner in a house designed by
Palladio. Chiaccheri had warned me to say nothing about the Shepherdess
Fortuna; but at dinner she told him she was sure he had taken me to her
house. He had not the face to deny it, and I did not conceal the pleasure
I had received.
"Stratico admires Fortuna," said the marchioness, "and I confess that her
writings have great merit, but it's a pity one cannot go to the house,
except under an incognito."
"Why not?" I asked, in some astonishment.
"What!" said she to the abbe, "you did not tell him whose house it is?"
"I did not think it necessary, her father and mother rarely shew
themselves."
"Well, it's of no consequence."
"But what is her father?" I asked, "the hangman, perhaps?"
"Worse, he's the 'bargello', and you must see that a stranger cannot be
received into good society here if he goes to such places as that."
Chiaccheri looked rather hurt, and I thought it my duty to say that I
would not go there again till the eve of my departure.
"I saw her sister once," said the marchioness; "she is really charmingly
pretty, and it's a great pity that with her beauty and irreproachable
morality she should be condemned to marry a man of her father's class."
"I once knew a man named Coltellini," I replied; "he is the son of the
bargello of Florence, and is poet-in-ordinary to the Empress of Russia. I
shall try to make a match between him and Fortuna's sister; he is a young
man of the greatest talents."
The marchioness thought my idea an excellent one, but soon after I heard
that Coltellini was dead.
The 'bargello' is a cordially-detested person all over Italy, if you
except Modena, where the weak nobility make much of the 'bargello', and
do justice to his excellent table. This is a curious fact, for as a rule
these bargellos are spies, liars, traitors, cheats, and misanthropes, for
a man despised hates his despisers.
At Sienna I was shewn a Count Piccolomini, a learned and agreeable man.
He had a strange whim, however, of spending six months in the year in the
strictest seclusion in his own house, never going out and never seeing
any company; reading and working the whole time. He certainly did his
best to make up for his hibernation during the other six months in the
year.
The marchioness promised she would come to Rome in the course of the
summer. She had there an intimate friend in Bianconi who had abandoned
the practice of medicine, and was now the representative of the Court of
Saxony.
On the eve of my departure, the driver who was to take me to Rome came
and asked me if I would like to take a travelling companion, and save
myself three sequins.
"I don't want anyone."
"You are wrong, for she is very beautiful."
"Is she by herself?"
"No, she is with a gentleman on horseback, who wishes to ride all the way
to Rome."
"Then how did the girl come here?"
"On horseback, but she is tired out, and cannot bear it any longer. The
gentleman has offered me four sequins to take her to Rome, and as I am a
poor man I think you might let me earn the money."
"I suppose he will follow the carriage?"
"He can go as he likes; that can't make much difference to either of us."
"You say she is young and pretty."
"I have been told so, but I haven't seen her myself."
"What sort of a man is her companion?"
"He's a fine man, but he can speak very little Italian."
"Has he sold the lady's horse?"
"No, it was hired. He has only one trunk, which will go behind the
carriage."
"This is all very strange. I shall not give any decision before speaking
to this man."
"I will tell him to wait on you."
Directly afterwards, a brisk-looking young fellow, carrying himself well
enough, and clad in a fancy uniform, came in. He told me the tale I had
heard from the coachman, and ended by saying that he was sure I would not
refuse to accommodate his wife in my carriage.
"Your wife, sir?"
I saw he was a Frenchman, and I addressed him in French.
"God be praised! You can speak my native tongue. Yes, sir, she is an
Englishwoman and my wife. I am sure she will be no trouble to you."
"Very good. I don't want to start later than I had arranged. Will she be
ready at five o'clock?"
"Certainly."
The next morning when I got into my carriage, I found her already there.
I paid her some slight compliment, and sat down beside her, and we drove
off.
CHAPTER XII
Miss Betty--The Comte de L'Etoile--Sir B * * * M * * *--
Reassured
This was the fourth adventure I had had of this kind. There is nothing
particularly out of the common in having a fellow-traveller in one's
carriage; this time, however, the affair had something decidedly romantic
about it.
I was forty-five, and my purse contained two hundred sequins. I still
loved the fair sex, though my ardour had decreased, my experience had
ripened, and my caution increased. I was more like a heavy father than a
young lover, and I limited myself to pretensions of the most modest
character.
The young person beside me was pretty and gentle-looking, she was neatly
though simply dressed in the English fashion, she was fair and small, and
her budding breast could be seen outlined beneath the fine muslin of her
dress. She had all the appearances of modesty and noble birth, and
something of virginal innocence, which inspired one with attachment and
respect at the same time.
"I hope you can speak French madam?" I began.
"Yes, and a little Italian too."
"I congratulate myself on having you for my travelling companion."
"I think you should congratulate me."
"I heard you came to Sienna on horseback."
"Yes, but I will never do such a foolish thing again."
"I think your husband would have been wise to sell his horse and buy a
carriage."
"He hired it; it does not belong to him. From Rome we are going to drive
to Naples."
"You like travelling?"
"Very much, but with greater comfort."
With these words the English girl, whose white skin did not look as if it
could contain a drop of blood, blushed most violently.
I guessed something of her secret, and begged pardon; and for more than
an hour I remain silent, pretending to gaze at the scenery, but in
reality thinking of her, for she began to inspire me with a lively
interest.
Though the position of my young companion was more than equivocal, I
determined to see my way clearly before I took any decisive step; and I
waited patiently till we got to Bon Couvent, where we expected to dine
and meet the husband.
We got there at ten o'clock.
In Italy the carriages never go faster than a walk; a man on foot can
outstrip them, as they rarely exceed three miles an hour. The tedium of a
journey under such circumstances is something dreadful, and in the hot
months one has to stop five or six hours in the middle of the day to
avoid falling ill.
My coachman said he did not want to go beyond St. Quirico, where there
was an excellent inn, that night, so he proposed waiting at Bon Couvent
till four o'clock. We had therefore six hours wherein to rest.
The English girl was astonished at not finding her husband, and looked
for him in all directions. I noticed her, and asked the landlord what had
become of him. He informed us that he had breakfasted and baited his
horse, and had then gone on, leaving word that he would await us at St.
Quirico and order supper there.
I thought it all very strange, but I said nothing. The poor girl begged
me to excuse her husband's behaviour.
"He has given me a mark of his confidence, madam, and there is nothing to
be offended at."
The landlord asked me if the vetturino paid my expenses, and I answered
in the negative; and the girl then told him to ask the vetturino if he
was paying for her.
The man came in, and to convince the lady that providing her with meals
was not in the contract, he gave her a paper which she handed to me to
read. It was signed "Comte de l'Etoile."
When she was alone with me my young companion begged me only to order
dinner for myself.
I understood her delicacy, and this made her all the dearer to me.
"Madame," said I, "you must please look upon me as an old friend. I guess
you have no money about you, and that you wish to fast from motives of
delicacy. Your husband shall repay me, if he will have it so. If I told
the landlord to only prepare dinner for myself I should be dishonouring
the count, yourself possibly, and myself most of all."
"I feel you are right sir. Let dinner be served for two, then; but I
cannot eat, for I feel ill, and I hope you will not mind my lying on the
bed for a moment."
"Pray do not let me disturb you. This is a pleasant room, and they can
lay the table in the next. Lie down, and sleep if you can, and I will
order dinner to be ready by two. I hope you will be feeling better by
then."
I left her without giving her time to answer, and went to order dinner.
I had ceased to believe the Frenchman to be the beautiful Englishwoman's
husband, and began to think I should have to fight him.
The case, I felt certain, was one of elopement and seduction; and,
superstitious as usual, I was sure that my good genius had sent me in the
nick of time to save her and care for her, and in short to snatch her
from the hands of her infamous deceiver.
Thus I fondled my growing passion.
I laughed at the absurd title the rascal had given himself, and when the
thought struck me that he had possibly abandoned her to me altogether, I
made up my mind that he deserved hanging. Nevertheless, I resolved never
to leave her.
I lay down on the bed, and as I built a thousand castles in the air I
fell asleep.
The landlady awoke me softly, saying that three o'clock had struck.
"Wait a moment before you bring in the dinner. I will go and see if the
lady is awake."
I opened the door gently, and saw she was still asleep, but as I closed
the door after me the noise awoke her, and she asked if I had dined.
"I shall not take any dinner, madam, unless you do me the honour to dine
with me. You have had a five hours' rest, and I hope you are better."
"I will sit down with you to dinner, as you wish it."
"That makes me happy, and I will order dinner to be served forthwith."
She ate little, but what little she did eat was taken with a good
appetite. She was agreeably surprised to see the beefsteaks and plum
pudding, which I had ordered for her.
When the landlady came in, she asked her if the cook was an Englishman,
and when she heard that I had given directions for the preparation of her
national dishes, she seemed full of gratitude. She cheered up, and
congratulated me on my appetite, while I encouraged her to drink some
excellent Montepulciano and Montefiascone. By dessert she was in good
spirits, while I felt rather excited. She told me, in Italian, that she
was born in London, and I thought I should have died with joy, in reply
to my question whether she knew Madame Cornelis, she replied that she had
known her daughter as they had been at school together.
"Has Sophie grown tall?"
"No, she is quite small, but she is very pretty, and so clever."
"She must now be seventeen."
"Exactly. We are of the same age."
As she said this she blushed and lowered her eyes.
"Are you ill?"
"Not at all. I scarcely like to say it, but Sophie is the very image of
you."
"Why should you hesitate to say so? It has been remarked to me before. No
doubt it is a mere coincidence. How long ago is it since you have seen
her?"
"Eighteen months; she went back to her mother's, to be married as it was
said, but I don't know to whom."
"Your news interests me deeply."
The landlord brought me the bill, and I saw a note of three pains which
her husband had spent on himself and his horse.
"He said you would pay," observed the landlord.
The Englishwoman blushed. I paid the bill, and we went on.
I was delighted to see her blushing, it proved she was not a party to her
husband's proceedings.
I was burning with the desire to know how she had left London and had met
the Frenchman, and why they were going to Rome; but I did not want to
trouble her by my questions, and I loved her too well already to give her
any pain.
We had a three hours' drive before us, so I turned the conversation to
Sophie, with whom she had been at school.
"Was Miss Nancy Steyne there when you left?" said I.
The reader may remember how fond I had been of this young lady, who had
dined with me, and whom I had covered with kisses, though she was only
twelve.
My companion sighed at hearing the name of Nancy, and told me that she
had left.
"Was she pretty when you knew her?"
"She was a beauty, but her loveliness was a fatal gift to her. Nancy was
a close friend of mine, we loved each other tenderly; and perhaps our
sympathy arose from the similarity of the fate in store for us. Nancy,
too loving and too simple, is now, perhaps, even more unhappy than
myself."
"More unhappy? What do you mean?"
"Alas!"
"Is it possible that fate has treated you harshly? Is it possible that
you can be unhappy with such a letter of commendation as nature has given
you?"
"Alas! let us speak of something else."
Her countenance was suffused with emotion. I pitied her in secret, and
led the conversation back to Nancy.
"Tell me why you think Nancy is unhappy."
"She ran away with a young man she loved; they despaired of gaining the
parents' consent to the match. Since her flight nothing has been heard of
her, and you see I have some reason to fear that she is unhappy."
"You are right. I would willingly give my life if it could be the saving
of her."
"Where did you know her?"
"In my own house. She and Sophie dined with me, and her father came in at
the end of the meal."
"Now I know who you are. How often have I heard Sophie talking of you.
Nancy loved you as well as her father. I heard that you had gone to
Russia, and had fought a duel with a general in Poland. Is this true? How
I wish I could tell dear Sophie all this, but I may not entertain such
hopes now."
"You have heard the truth about me; but what should prevent you writing
what you like to England? I take a lively interest in you, trust in me,
and I promise you that you shall communicate with whom you please."
"I am vastly obliged to you."
With these words she became silent, and I left her to her thoughts.
At seven o'clock we arrived at St. Quirico, and the so-called Comte de
l'Etoile came out and welcomed his wife in the most loving fashion,
kissing her before everybody, no doubt with the object of giving people
to understand that she was his wife, and I her father.
The girl responded to all his caresses, looking as if a load had been
lifted off her breast, and without a word of reproach she went upstairs
with him, having apparently forgotten my existence. I set that down to
love, youth, and the forgetfulness natural to that early age.
I went upstairs in my turn with my carpet bag, and supper was served
directly, as we had to start very early the next morning if we wished to
reach Radicofani before the noonday heat.
We had an excellent supper, as the count had preceded us by six hours,
and the landlord had had plenty of time to make his preparations. The
English girl seemed as much in love with de l'Etoile as he with her, and
I was left completely out in the cold. I cannot describe the high
spirits, the somewhat risky sallies, and the outrageous humours of the
young gentleman; the girl laughed with all her heart, and I could not
help laughing too.
I considered that I was present at a kind of comedy, and not a gesture,
not a word, not a laugh did I allow to escape me.
"He may be merely a rich and feather-brained young officer," I said to
myself, "who treats everything in this farcical manner. He won't be the
first of the species I have seen. They are amusing, but frivolous, and
sometimes dangerous, wearing their honour lightly, and too apt to carry
it at the sword's point."
On this hypothesis I was ill pleased with my position. I did not much
like his manner towards myself; he seemed to be making a dupe of me, and
behaved all the while as if he were doing me an honour.
On the supposition that the Englishwoman was his wife, his treatment of
myself was certainly not warranted, and I was not the man to play zero. I
could not disguise the fact, however, that any onlooker would have
pronounced me to be playing an inferior part.
There were two beds in the room where we had our supper. When the
chambermaid came to put on the sheets, I told her to give me another
room. The count politely begged me to sleep in the same room with them,
and the lady remained neutral; but I did not much care for their company,
and insisted on leaving them alone.
I had my carpet bag taken to my room, wished them a good night and locked
myself in. My friends had only one small trunk, whence I concluded that
they had sent on their luggage by another way; but they did not even have
the trunk brought up to their room. I went to bed tranquilly, feeling
much less interested about the lady than I had been on the journey.
I was roused early in the morning, and made a hasty toilette. I could
hear my neighbours dressing, so I half opened my door, and wished them
good day without going into their room.
In a quarter of an hour I heard the sound of a dispute in the court-yard,
and on looking out, there were the Frenchman and the vetturino arguing
hotly. The vetturino held the horse's bridle, and the pretended count did
his best to snatch it away from him.
I guessed the bone of contention: the Frenchman had no money, and the
vetturino asked in vain for his due. I knew that I should be drawn into
the dispute, and was making up my mind to do my duty without mercy, when
the Count de l'Etoile came in and said,--
"This blockhead does not understand what I say to him; but as he may have
right on his side, I must ask you to give him two sequins. I will return
you the money at Rome. By an odd chance I happen to have no money about
me, but the fellow might trust me as he has got my trunk. However, he
says he must be paid, so will you kindly oblige me? You shall hear more
of me at Rome."
Without waiting for me to reply, the rascal went out and ran down the
stairs. The vetturino remained in the room. I put my head out of the
window, and saw him leap on horseback and gallop away.
I sat down on my bed, and turned the scene over in my mind, rubbing my
hands gently. At last I went off into a mad roar of laughter; it struck
me as so whimsical and original an adventure.
"Laugh too," said I to the lady, "laugh or I will never get up."
"I agree with you that it's laughable enough, but I have not the spirit
to laugh."
"Well, sit down at all events."
I gave the poor devil of a vetturino two sequins, telling him that I
should like some coffee and to start in a quarter of an hour.
I was grieved to see my companion's sadness.
"I understand your grief," said I, "but you must try to overcome it. I
have only one favour to ask of you, and if you refuse to grant me that, I
shall be as sad as you, so we shall be rather a melancholy couple."
"What can I do for you?"
"You can tell me on your word of honour whether that extraordinary
character is your husband, or only your lover."
"I will tell you the simple truth; he is not my husband, but we are going
to be married at Rome."
"I breathe again. He never shall be your husband, and so much the better
for you. He has seduced you, and you love him, but you will soon get over
that."
"Never, unless he deceives me."
"He has deceived you already. I am sure he has told you that he is rich,
that he is a man of rank, and that he will make you happy; and all that
is a lie."
"How can you know all this?"
"Experience--experience is my great teacher. Your lover is a young
feather-brain, a man of no worth. He might possibly marry you, but it
would be only to support himself by the sale of your charms."
"He loves me; I am sure of it."
"Yes, he loves you, but not with the love of a man of honour. Without
knowing my name, or my character, or anything about me, he delivered you
over to my tender mercies. A man of any delicacy would never abandon his
loved one thus."
"He is not jealous. You know Frenchmen are not."
"A man of honour is the same in France, and England, and Italy, and all
the world over. If he loved you, would he have left you penniless in this
fashion? What would you do, if I were inclined to play the brutal lover?
You may speak freely."
"I should defend myself."
"Very good; then I should abandon you here, and what would you do then?
You are pretty, you are a woman of sensibility, but many men would take
but little account of your virtue. Your lover has left you to me; for all
he knew I might be the vilest wretch; but as it is, cheer up, you have
nothing to fear.
"How can you think that adventurer loves you? He is a mere monster. I am
sorry that what I say makes you weep, but it must be said. I even dare
tell you that I have taken a great liking to you; but you may feel quite
sure that I shall not ask you to give me so much as a kiss, and I will
never abandon you. Before we get to Rome I shall convince you that the
count, as he calls himself, not only does not love you, but is a common
swindler as well as a deceiver."
"You will convince me of that?"
"Yes, on my word of honour! Dry your eyes, and let us try to make this
day pass as pleasantly as yesterday. You cannot imagine how glad I feel
that chance has constituted me your protector. I want you to feel assured
of my friendship, and if you do not give me a little love in return, I
will try and bear it patiently."
The landlord came in and brought the bill for the count and his mistress
as well as for myself. I had expected this, and paid it without a word,
and without looking at the poor wandering sheep beside me. I recollected
that too strong medicines kill, and do not cure, and I was afraid I had
said almost too much.
I longed to know her history, and felt sure I should hear it before we
reached Rome. We took some coffee and departed, and not a word passed
between us till we got to the inn at La Scala, where we got down.
The road from La Scala to Radicofani is steep and troublesome. The
vetturino would require an extra horse, and even then would have taken
four hours. I decided, therefore, to take two post horses, and not to
begin the journey till ten o'clock.
"Would it not be better to go on now?" said the English girl; "it will be
very hot from ten till noon."
"Yes, but the Comte de l'Ltoile, whom we should be sure to meet at
Radicofani, would not like to see me."
"Why not? I am sure he would."
If I had told her my reason she would have wept anew, so in pity I spared
her. I saw that she was blinded by love, and could not see the true
character of her lover. It would be impossible to cure her by gentle and
persuasive argument; I must speak sharply, the wound must be subjected to
the actual cautery. But was virtue the cause of all this interest? Was it
devotion to a young and innocent girl that made me willing to undertake
so difficult and so delicate a task? Doubtless these motives went for
something, but I will not attempt to strut in borrowed plumes, and must
freely confess that if she had been ugly and stupid I should probably
have left her to her fate. In short, selfishness was at the bottom of it
all, so let us say no more about virtue.
My true aim was to snatch this delicate morsel from another's hand that I
might enjoy it myself. I did not confess as much to myself, for I could
never bear to calmly view my own failings, but afterwards I came to the
conclusion that I acted a part throughout. Is selfishness, then, the
universal motor of our actions? I am afraid it is.
I made Betty (such was her name) take a country walk with me, and the
scenery there is so beautiful that no poet nor painter could imagine a
more delicious prospect. Betty spoke Tuscan with English idioms and an
English accent, but her voice was so silvery and clear that her Italian
was delightful to listen to. I longed to kiss her lips as they spoke so
sweetly, but I respected her and restrained myself.
We were walking along engaged in agreeable converse, when all at once we
heard the church bells peal out. Betty said she had never seen a Catholic
service, and I was glad to give her that pleasure. It was the feast day
of some local saint, and Betty assisted at high mass with all propriety,
imitating the gestures of the people, so that no one would have taken her
for a Protestant. After it was over, she said she thought the Catholic
rite was much more adapted to the needs of loving souls than the
Angelican. She was astonished at the southern beauty of the village
girls, whom she pronounced to be much handsomer that the country lasses
in England. She asked me the time, and I replied without thinking that I
wondered she had not got a watch. She blushed and said the count had
asked her to give it him to leave in pawn for the horse he hired.
I was sorry for what I had said, for I had put Betty, who was incapable
of a lie, to great pain.
We started at ten o'clock with three horses, and as a cool wind was
blowing we had a pleasant drive, arriving at Radicofani at noon.
The landlord, who was also the postmaster, asked if I would pay three
pauls which the Frenchman had expended for his horse and himself,
assuring the landlord that his friend would pay.
For Betty's sake I said I would pay; but this was not all.
"The gentleman," added the man, "has beaten three of my postillions with
his naked sword. One of them was wounded in the face, and he has followed
his assailant, and will make him pay dearly for it. The reason of the
assault was that they wanted to detain him till he had paid."
"You were wrong to allow violence to be used; he does not look like a
thief, and you might have taken it for granted that I should pay."
"You are mistaken; I was not obliged to take anything of the sort for
granted; I have been cheated in this sort many times before. Your dinner
is ready if you want any."
Poor Betty was in despair. She observed a distressed silence; and I tried
to raise her spirits, and to make her eat a good dinner, and to taste the
excellent Muscat, of which the host had provided an enormous flask.
All my efforts were in vain, so I called the vetturino to tell him that I
wanted to start directly after dinner. This order acted on Betty like
magic.
"You mean to go as far as Centino, I suppose," said the man. "We had
better wait there till the heat is over."
"No, we must push on, as the lady's husband may be in need of help. The
wounded postillion has followed him; and as he speaks Italian very
imperfectly, there's no knowing what may happen to him."
"Very good; we will go off."
Betty looked at me with the utmost gratitude; and by way of proving it,
she pretended to have a good appetite. She had noticed that this was a
certain way of pleasing me.
While we were at dinner I ordered up one of the beaten postillions, and
heard his story. He was a frank rogue; he said he had received some blows
with the flat of the sword, but he boasted of having sent a stone after
the Frenchman which must have made an impression on him.
I gave him a Paul, and promised to make it a crown if he would go to
Centino to bear witness against his comrade, and he immediately began to
speak up for the count, much to Betty's amusement. He said the man's
wound in the face was a mere scratch, and that he had brought it on
himself, as he had no business to oppose a traveller as he had done. By
way of comfort he told us that the Frenchman had only been hit by two or
three stones. Betty did not find this very consoling, but I saw that the
affair was more comic than tragic, and would end in nothing. The
postillion went off, and we followed him in half an hour.
Betty was tranquil enough till we got there, and heard that the count had
gone on to Acquapendente with the two postillions at his heels; she
seemed quite vexed. I told her that all would be well; that the count
knew how to defend himself; but she only answered me with a deep sigh.
I suspected that she was afraid we should have to pass the night
together, and that I would demand some payment for all the trouble I had
taken.
"Would you like us to go on to Acquapendente?" I asked her.
At this question her face beamed all over; she opened her arms, and I
embraced her.
I called the vetturino, and told him. I wanted to go on to Acquapendente
immediately.
The fellow replied that his horses were in the stable, and that he was
not going to put them in; but that I could have post horses if I liked.
"Very good. Get me two horses immediately."
It is my belief that, if I had liked, Betty would have given me
everything at that moment, for she let herself fall into my arms. I
pressed her tenderly and kissed her, and that was all She seemed grateful
for my self-restraint.
The horses were put in, and after I had paid the landlord for the supper,
which he swore he had prepared for us, we started.
We reached Acquapendente in three quarters of an hour, and we found the
madcap count in high spirits. He embraced his Dulcinea with transports,
and Betty seemed delighted to find him safe and sound. He told us
triumphantly that he had beaten the rascally postillions, and had warded
their stones off.
"Where's the slashed postillion?" I asked.
"He is drinking to my health with his comrade; they have both begged my
pardon."
"Yes," said Betty, "this gentleman gave him a crown."
"What a pity! You shouldn't have given them anything."
Before supper the Comte de l'Etoile skewed us the bruises on his thighs
and side; the rascal was a fine well-made fellow. However, Betty's
adoring airs irritated me, though I was consoled at the thought of the
earnest I had received from her.
Next day, the impudent fellow told me that he would order us a good
supper at Viterbo, and that of course I would lend him a sequin to pay
for his dinner at Montefiascone. So saying, he skewed me in an off-hand
way a bill of exchange on Rome for three thousand crowns.
I did not trouble to read it, and gave him the sequin, though I felt sure
I should never see it again.
Betty now treated me quite confidentially, and I felt I might ask her
almost any questions.
When we were at Montefiascone she said,--
"You see my lover is only without money by chance; he has a bill of
exchange for a large amount."
"I believe it to be a forgery."
"You are really too cruel."
"Not at all; I only wish I were mistaken, but I am sure of the contrary.
Twenty years ago I should have taken it for a good one, but now it's
another thing, and if the bill is a good one, why did he not negotiate it
at Sienna, Florence, or Leghorn?"
"It may be that he had not the time; he was in such a hurry to be gone.
Ah! if you knew all!"
"I only want to know what you like to tell me, but I warn you again that
what I say is no vague suspicion but hard fact."
"Then you persist in the idea that he does not love me."
"Nay, he loves you, but in such a fashion as to deserve hatred in
return."
"How do you mean?"
"Would you not hate a man who loved you only to traffic in your charms?"
"I should be sorry for you to think that of him."
"If you like, I will convince you of what I say this evening."
"You will oblige me; but I must have some positive proof. It would be a
sore pain to me, but also a true service."
"And when you are convinced, will you cease to love him?"
"Certainly; if you prove him to be dishonest, my love will vanish away."
"You are mistaken; you will still love him, even when you have had proof
positive of his wickedness. He has evidently fascinated you in a deadly
manner, or you would see his character in its true light before this."
"All this may be true; but do you give me your proofs, and leave to me
the care of shewing that I despise him."
"I will prove my assertions this evening; but tell me how long you have
known him?"
"About a month; but we have only been together for five days."
"And before that time you never accorded him any favours?"
"Not a single kiss. He was always under my windows, and I had reason to
believe that he loved me fondly."
"Oh, yes! he loves you, who would not? but his love is not that of a man
of honour, but that of an impudent profligate."
"But how can you suspect a man of whom you know nothing?"
"Would that I did not know him! I feel sure that not being able to visit
you, he made you visit him, and then persuaded you to fly with him."
"Yes, he did. He wrote me a letter, which I will shew you. He promises to
marry me at Rome."
"And who is to answer for his constancy?"
"His love is my surety."
"Do you fear pursuit?"
"No."
"Did he take you from a father, a lover, or a brother?"
"From a lover, who will not be back at Leghorn for a week or ten days."
"Where has he gone?"
"To London on business; I was under the charge of a woman whom he
trusted."
"That's enough; I pity you, my poor Betty. Tell me if you love your
Englishman, and if he is worthy of your love."
"Alas! I loved him dearly till I saw this Frenchman, who made me
unfaithful to a man I adored. He will be in despair at not finding me
when he returns."
"Is he rich?"
"Not very; he is a business man, and is comfortably off."
"Is he young?"
"No. He is a man of your age, and a thoroughly kind and honest person. He
was waiting for his consumptive wife to die to marry me."
"Poor man! Have you presented him with a child?"
"No. I am sure God did not mean me for him, for the count has conquered
me completely."
"Everyone whom love leads astray says the same thing."
"Now you have heard everything, and I am glad I told you, for I am sure
you are my friend."
"I will be a better friend to you, dear Betty, in the future than in the
past. You will need my services, and I promise not to abandon you. I love
you, as I have said; but so long as you continue to love the Frenchman I
shall only ask you to consider me as your friend."
"I accept your promise, and in return I promise not to hide anything from
you."
"Tell me why you have no luggage."
"I escaped on horseback, but my trunk, which is full of linen and other
effects, will be at Rome two days after us. I sent it off the day before
my escape, and the man who received it was sent by the count."
"Then good-bye to your trunk!"
"Why, you foresee nothing but misfortune!"
"Well, dear Betty, I only wish my prophecies may not be accomplished.
Although you escaped on horseback I think you should have brought a cloak
and a carpet bag with some linen."
"All that is in the small trunk; I shall have it taken into my room
tonight."
We reached Viterbo at seven o'clock, and found the count very cheerful.
In accordance with the plot I had laid against the count, I began by
shewing myself demonstratively fond of Betty, envying the fortunate
lover, praising his heroic behaviour in leaving her to me, and so forth.
The silly fellow proceeded to back me up in my extravagant admiration. He
boasted that jealousy was utterly foreign to his character, and
maintained that the true lover would accustom himself to see his mistress
inspire desires in other men.
He proceeded to make a long dissertation on this theme, and I let him go
on, for I was waiting till after supper to come to the conclusive point.
During the meal I made him drink, and applauded his freedom from vulgar
prejudices. At dessert he enlarged on the duty of reciprocity between
lovers.
"Thus," he remarked, "Betty ought to procure me the enjoyment of Fanny,
if she has reason to think I have taken a fancy to her; and per contra,
as I adore Betty, if I found that she loved you I should procure her the
pleasure of sleeping with you."
Betty listened to all this nonsense in silent astonishment.
"I confess, my dear count," I replied, "that, theoretically speaking,
your system strikes me as sublime, and calculated to bring about the
return of the Golden Age; but I am afraid it would prove absurd in
practice. No doubt you are a man of courage, but I am sure you would
never let your mistress be enjoyed by another man. Here are twenty-five
sequins. I will wager that amount that you will not allow me to sleep
with your wife."
"Ha! ha! You are mistaken in me, I assure you. I'll bet fifty sequins
that I will remain in the room a calm spectator of your exploits. My dear
Betty, we must punish this sceptic; go to bed with him."
"You are joking."
"Not at all; to bed with you, I shall love you all the more."
"You must be crazy, I shall do nothing of the kind."
The count took her in his arms, and caressing her in the tenderest manner
begged her to do him this favour, not so much for the twenty-five Louis,
as to convince me that he was above vulgar prejudices. His caresses
became rather free, but Betty repulsed him gently though firmly, saying
that she would never consent, and that he had already won the bet, which
was the case; in fine the poor girl besought him to kill her rather than
oblige her to do a deed which she thought infamous.
Her words, and the pathetic voice with which they were uttered, should
have shamed him, but they only put him into a furious rage. He repulsed
her, calling her the vilest names, and finally telling her that she was a
hypocrite, and he felt certain she had already granted me all a worthless
girl could grant.
Betty grew pale as death, and furious in my turn, I ran for my sword. I
should probably have run him through, if the infamous scoundrel had not
fled into the next room, where he locked himself in.
I was in despair at seeing Betty's distress, of which I had been the
innocent cause, and I did my best to soothe her.
She was in an alarming state. Her breath came with difficulty, her eyes
seemed ready to start out of her head, her lips were bloodless and
trembling, and her teeth shut tight together. Everyone in the inn was
asleep. I could not call for help, and all I could do was to dash water
in her face, and speak soothing words.
At last she fell asleep, and I remained beside her for more than two
hours, attentive to her least movements, and hoping that she would awake
strengthened and refreshed.
At day-break I heard l'Etoile going off, and I was glad of it. The people
of the inn knocked at our door, and then Betty awoke.
"Are you ready to go, my dear Betty?"
"I am much better, but I should so like a cup of tea."
The Italians cannot make tea, so I took what she gave me, and went to
prepare it myself.
When I came back I found her inhaling the fresh morning air at the
window. She seemed calm, and I hoped I had cured her. She drank a few
cups of tea (of which beverage the English are very fond), and soon
regained her good looks.
She heard some people in the room where we had supped, and asked me if I
had taken up the purse which I had placed on the table. I had forgotten
it completely.
I found my purse and a piece of paper bearing the words, "bill of
exchange for three thousand crowns." The impostor had taken it out of his
pocket in making his bet, and had forgotten it. It was dated at Bordeaux,
drawn on a wine merchant at Paris to l'Etoile's order. It was payable at
sight, and was for six months. The whole thing was utterly irregular.
I took it to Betty, who told me she knew nothing about bills, and begged
me to say nothing more about that infamous fellow. She then said, in a
voice of which I can give no idea,--
"For pity's sake do not abandon a poor girl, more worthy of compassion
than blame!"
I promised her again to have all a father's care for her, and soon after
we proceeded on our journey.
The poor girl fell asleep, and I followed her example. We were awoke by
the vetturino who informed us, greatly to our astonishment, that we were
at Monterosi. We had slept for six hours, and had done eighteen miles.
We had to stay at Monterosi till four o'clock, and we were glad of it,
for we needed time for reflection.
In the first place I asked about the wretched deceiver, and was told that
he had made a slight meal, paid for it, and said he was going to spend
the night at La Storta.
We made a good dinner, and Betty plucking up a spirit said we must
consider the case of her infamous betrayer, but for the last time.
"Be a father to me," said she; "do not advise but command; you may reckon
on my obedience. I have no need to give you any further particulars, for
you have guessed all except the horror with which the thought of my
betrayer now inspires me. If it had not been for you, he would have
plunged me into an abyss of shame and misery."
"Can you reckon on the Englishman forgiving you?"
"I think so."
"Then we must go back to Leghorn. Are you strong enough to follow this
counsel? I warn you that if you approve of it, it must be put into
execution at once. Young, pretty, and virtuous as you are, you need not
imagine that I shall allow you to go by yourself, or in the company of
strangers. If you think I love you, and find me worthy of your esteem,
that is sufficient regard for me. I will live with you like a father, if
you are not in a position to give me marks of a more ardent affection. Be
sure I will keep faith with you, for I want to redeem your opinion of
men, and to shew you that there are men as honourable as your seducer was
vile."
Betty remained for a quarter of an hour in profound silence, her head
resting on her elbows, and her eyes fixed on mine. She did not seem
either angry or astonished, but as far as I could judge was lost in
thought. I was glad to see her reflective, for thus she would be able to
give me a decided answer: At last she said:
"You need not think, my dear friend, that my silence proceeds from
irresolution. If my mind were not made up already I should despise
myself. I am wise enough at any rate to appreciate the wisdom of your
generous counsels. I thank Providence that I have fallen into the hands
of such a man who will treat me as if I were his daughter."
"Then we will go back to Leghorn, and start immediately."
"My only doubt is how to manage my reconciliation with Sir B---- M----. I
have no doubt he will pardon me eventually; but though he is tender and
good-hearted he is delicate where a point of honour is concerned, and
Subject to sudden fits of violence. This is what I want to avoid; for he
might possibly kill me, and then I should be the cause of his ruin."
"You must consider it on the way, and tell me any plans you may think
of."
"He is an intelligent man, and it would be hopeless to endeavour to dupe
him by a lie. I must make a full confession in writing without hiding a
single circumstance; for if he thought he was being duped his fury would
be terrible. If you will write to him you must not say that you think me
worthy of forgiveness; you must tell him the facts and leave him to judge
for himself. He will be convinced of my repentance when he reads the
letter I shall bedew with my tears, but he must not know of my
whereabouts till he has promised to forgive me. He is a slave to his word
of honour, and we shall live together all our days without my ever
hearing of this slip. I am only sorry that I have behaved so foolishly."
"You must not be offended if I ask you whether you have ever given him
like cause for complaint before."
"Never."
"What is his history?"
"He lived very unhappily with his first wife; and he was divorced from
his second wife for sufficient reasons. Two years ago he came to our
school with Nancy's father, and made my acquaintance. My father died, his
creditors seized everything, and I had to leave the school, much to
Nancy's distress and that of the other pupils. At this period Sir
B---- M---- took charge of me, and gave me a sum which placed me beyond the
reach of, want for the rest of my days. I was grateful, and begged him to
take me with him when he told me he was leaving England. He was
astonished; and, like a man of honour, said he loved me too well to
flatter himself that we could travel together without his entertaining
more ardent feelings for me than those of a father. He thought it out of
the question for me to love him, save as a daughter.
"This declaration, as you may imagine, paved the way for a full
agreement."
"'However you love me,' I said, 'I shall be well pleased, and if I can do
anything for you I shall be all the happier.'
"He then gave me of his own free will a written promise to marry me on
the death of his wife. We started on our travels, and till my late
unhappy connection I never gave him the slightest cause for complaint."
"Dry your eyes, dear Betty, he is sure to forgive you. I have friends at
Leghorn, and no one shall find out that we have made acquaintance. I will
put you in good hands, and I shall not leave the town till I hear you are
back with Sir B---- M----. If he prove inexorable I promise never to
abandon you, and to take you back to England if you like."
"But how can you spare the time?"
"I will tell you the truth, my dear Betty. I have nothing particular to
do at Rome, or anywhere else. London and Rome are alike to me."
"How can I shew my gratitude to you?"
I summoned the vetturino, and told him we must return to Viterbo. He
objected, but I convinced him with a couple of piastres, and by agreeing
to use the post horses and to spare his own animals.
We got to Viterbo by seven o'clock, and asked anxiously if no one had
found a pocket-book which I pretended I had lost. I was told no such
thing had been found, so I ordered supper with calmness, although
bewailing my loss. I told Betty that I acted in this sort to obviate any
difficulties which the vetturino might make about taking us back to
Sienna, as he might feel it his duty to place her in the hands of her
supposed husband. I had up the small trunk, and after we had forced the
lock Betty took out her cloak and the few effects she had in it, and we
then inspected the adventurer's properties, most likely all he possessed
in the world. A few tattered shirts, two or three pairs of mended silk
stockings, a pair of breeches, a hare's foot, a pot of grease, and a
score of little books-plays or comic operas, and lastly a packet of
letters; such were the contents of the trunk.
We proceeded to read the letters, and the first thing we noted was the
address: "To M. L'Etoile, Actor, at Marseilles, Bordeaux, Bayonne,
Montpellier, etc."
I pitied Betty. She saw herself the dupe of a vile actor, and her
indignation and shame were great.
"We will read it all to-morrow," said I; "to-day we have something else
to do."
The poor girl seemed to breathe again.
We got over our supper hastily, and then Betty begged me to leave her
alone for a few moments for her to change her linen and go to bed.
"If you like," said I, "I will have a bed made up for me in the next
room."
"No, dear friend, ought I not to love your society? What would have
become of me without you?"
I went out for a few minutes, and when I returned and came to her bedside
to wish her good night, she gave me such a warm embrace that I knew my
hour was come.
Reader, you must take the rest for granted. I was happy, and I had reason
to believe that Betty was happy also.
In the morning, we had just fallen asleep, when the vettuyino knocked at
the door.
I dressed myself hastily to see him.
"Listen," I said, "it is absolutely necessary for me to recover my
pocket-book, and I hope to find it at Acquapendente."
"Very good, sir, very good," said the rogue, a true Italian, "pay me as
if I had taken you to Rome, and a sequin a day for the future, and if you
like, I will take you to England on those terms."
The vetturino was evidently what is called wide awake. I gave him his
money, and we made a new agreement. At seven o'clock we stopped at
Montefiascone to write to Sir B---- M----, she in English, and I in
French.
Betty had now an air of satisfaction and assurance which I found
charming. She said she was full of hope, and seemed highly amused at the
thought of the figure which the actor would cut when he arrived at Rome
by himself. She hoped that we should come across the man in charge of her
trunk, and that we should have no difficulty in getting it back.
"He might pursue us."
"He dare not do so."
"I expect not, but if he does I will give him a warm welcome. If he does
not take himself off I will blow out his brains."
Before I began my letter to Sir B---- M----. Betty again warned me to
conceal nothing from him.
"Not even the reward you gave me?"
"Oh, yes! That is a little secret between ourselves."
In less than three hours the letters were composed and written. Betty was
satisfied with my letter; and her own, which she translated for my
benefit, was a perfect masterpiece of sensibility, which seemed to me
certain of success.
I thought of posting from Sienna, to ensure her being in a place of
safety before the arrival of her lover.
The only thing that troubled me was the bill of exchange left behind by
l'Etoile, for whether it were true or false, I felt bound to deal with it
in some way, but I could not see how it was to be done.
We set out again after dinner in spite of the heat, and arrived at
Acquapendente in the evening and spent the night in the delights of
mutual love.
As I was getting up in the morning I saw a carriage in front of the inn,
just starting for Rome. I imagined that amidst the baggage Betty's trunk
might be discovered, and I told her to get up, and see if it were there.
We went down, and Betty recognized the trunk she had confided to her
seducer.
We begged the vetturino to restore it to us, but he was inflexible; and
as he was in the right we had to submit. The only thing he could do was
to have an embargo laid on the trunk at Rome, the said embargo to last
for a month. A notary was called, and our claim properly drawn up. The
vetturino, who seemed an honest and intelligent fellow, assured us he had
received nothing else belonging to the Comte de l'Etoile, so we were
assured that the actor was a mere beggar on the lookout for pickings, and
that the rags in the small trunk were all his possessions.
After this business had been dispatched Betty brightened up amazingly.
"Heaven," she exclaimed, "is arranging everything. My mistake will serve
as a warning to me for the future, for the lesson has been a severe one,
and might have been much worse if I had not had the good fortune of
meeting you."
"I congratulate you," I replied, "on having cured yourself so quickly of
a passion that had deprived you of your reason."
"Ah! a woman's reason is a fragile thing. I shudder when I think of the
monster; but I verily believe that I should not have regained my senses
if he had not called me a hypocrite, and said that he was certain I had
already granted you my favours. These infamous words opened my eyes, and
made me see my shame. I believe I would have helped you to pierce him to
the heart if the coward had not run away. But I am glad he did run away,
not for his sake but for ours, for we should have been in an unpleasant
position if he had been killed."
"You are right; he escaped my sword because he is destined for the rope."
"Let him look to that himself, but I am sure he will never dare to shew
his face before you or me again."
We reached Radicofani at ten o'clock, and proceeded to write postscripts
to our letters to Sir B---- M---- We were sitting at the same table, Betty
opposite to the door and I close to it, so that anyone coming in could
not have seen me without turning round.
Betty was dressed with all decency and neatness, but I had taken off my
coat on account of the suffocating heat. Nevertheless, though I was in
shirt sleeves, I should not have been ashamed of my attire before the
most respectable woman in Italy.
All at once I heard a rapid step coming along the passage, and the door
was dashed open. A furious-looking man came in, and, seeing Betty, cried
out,--
"Ah! there you are."
I did not give him time to turn round and see me, but leapt upon him and
seized him by the shoulders. If I had not done so he would have shot me
dead on the spot.
As I leapt upon him I had involuntarily closed the door, and as he cried,
"Let me go, traitor!" Betty fell on her knees before him, exclaiming,
"No, no! he is my preserver."
Sir B---- M---- was too mad with rage to pay any attention to her, and kept
on,---
"Let me go, traitors!"
As may be imagined, I did not pay much attention to this request so long
as the loaded pistol was in his hand.
In our struggles he at last fell to the ground and I on top of him. The
landlord and his people had heard the uproar, and were trying to get in;
but as we had fallen against the door they could not do so.
Betty had the presence of mind to snatch the pistol from his hand, and I
then let him go, calmly observing,
"Sir, you are labouring under a delusion."
Again Betty threw herself on her knees, begging him to calm himself, as I
was her preserver not her betrayer.
"What do you mean by 'preserver'?" said B---- M----
Betty gave him the letter, saying,--
"Read that."
The Englishman read the letter through without rising from the ground,
and as I was certain of its effect I opened the door and told the
landlord to send his people away, and to get dinner for three, as
everything had been settled.
EPISODE 28 -- RETURN TO ROME
CHAPTER XIII
Rome--The Actor's Punishment--Lord Baltimore--Naples--Sara
Goudar--Departure of Betty--Agatha--Medina--Albergoni--Miss
Chudleigh--The Prince of Francavilla--The Swimmers
As I fell over the Englishman I had struck my hand against a nail, and
the fourth finger of my left hand was bleeding as if a vein had been
opened. Betty helped me to tie a handkerchief around the wound, while Sir
B---- M---- read the letter with great attention. I was much pleased with
Betty's action, it shewed she was confident, and sure of her lover's
forgiveness.
I took up my coat and carpet-bag, and went into the next room to change
my linen, and dress for dinner. Any distress at the termination of my
intrigue with Betty was amply compensated for by my joy at the happy
ending of a troublesome affair which might have proved fatal for me.
I dressed myself, and then waited for half an hour, as I heard Betty and
Sir B---- M---- speaking in English calmly enough, and I did not care to
interrupt them. At last the Englishman knocked at my door, and came in
looking humble and mortified. He said he was sure I had not only saved
Betty, but had effectually cured her of her folly.
"You must forgive my conduct, sir," said he, "for I could not guess that
the man I found with her was her saviour and not her betrayer. I thank
Heaven which inspired you with the idea of catching hold of me from
behind, as I should certainly have killed you the moment I set eyes on
you, and at this moment I should be the most wretched of men. You must
forgive me, sir, and become my friend."
I embraced him cordially, telling him that if I had been in his place I
should have acted in a precisely similar manner.
We returned to the room, and found Betty leaning against the bed, and
weeping bitterly.
The blood continuing to flaw from my wound, I sent for a surgeon who said
that a vein had been opened, and that a proper ligature was necessary.
Betty still wept, so I told Sir B---- M---- that in my opinion she deserved
his forgiveness.
"Forgiveness?" said he, "you may be sure I have already forgiven her, and
she well deserves it. Poor Betty repented directly you shewed her the
path she was treading, and the tears she is shedding now are tears of
sorrow at her mistake. I am sure she recognizes her folly, and will never
be guilty of such a slip again."
Emotion is infectious. Betty wept, Sir B---- M---- wept, and I wept to keep
them company. At last nature called a truce, and by degrees our sobs and
tears ceased and we became calmer.
Sir B---- M----, who was evidently a man of the most generous character,
began to laugh and jest, and his caresses had great effect in calming
Betty. We made a good dinner, and the choice Muscat put us all in the
best of spirits.
Sir B---- M---- said we had better rest for a day or two; he had journeyed
fifteen stages in hot haste, and felt in need of repose.
He told us that on arriving at Leghorn, and finding no Betty there, he
had discovered that her trunk had been booked to Rome, and that the
officer to whom it belonged had hired a horse, leaving a watch as a
pledge for it. Sir B---- M---- recognized Betty's watch, and feeling
certain that she was either on horseback with her seducer or in the wagon
with her trunk, he immediately resolved to pursue.
"I provided myself," he added, "with two good pistols, not with the idea
of using one against her, for my first thought about her was pity, and my
second forgiveness; but I determined to blow out the scoundrel's brains,
and I mean to do it yet. We will start for Rome to-morrow."
Sir B---- M----'s concluding words filled Betty with joy, and I believe
she would have pierced her perfidious lover to the heart if he had been
brought before her at that moment.
"We shall find him at Roland's," said I.
Sir B---- M---- took Betty in his arms, and gazed at me with an air of
content, as if he would have shewn me the greatness of an English
heart--a greatness which more than atones for its weakness.
"I understand your purpose," I said, "but you shall not execute your
plans without me. Let me have the charge of seeing that justice is done
you. If you will not agree, I shall start for Rome directly, I shall get
there before you, and shall give the wretched actor warning of your
approach. If you had killed him before I should have said nothing, but at
Rome it is different, and you would have reason to repent of having
indulged your righteous indignation. You don't know Rome and priestly
justice. Come, give me your hand and your word to do nothing without my
consent, or else I shall leave you directly."
Sir B---- M---- was a man of my own height but somewhat thinner, and five
or six years older; the reader will understand his character without my
describing it.
My speech must have rather astonished him, but he knew that my
disposition was benevolent, and he could not help giving me his hand and
his pledge.
"Yes, dearest," said Betty, "leave vengeance to the friend whom Heaven
has sent us."
"I consent to do so, provided everything is done in concert between us."
After this we parted, and Sir B---- M----, being in need of rest, I went
to tell the vetturino that we should start for Rome again on the
following day.
"For Rome! Then you have found your pocketbook? It seems to me, my good
sir, that you would have been wiser not to search for it."
The worthy man, seeing my hand done up in lint, imagined I had fought a
duel, and indeed everybody else came to the same conclusion.
Sir B---- M---- had gone to bed, and I spent the rest of the day in the
company of Betty, who was overflowing with the gratitude. She said we
must forget what had passed between us, and be the best of friends for
the rest of our days, without a thought of any further amorous relations.
I had not much difficulty in assenting to this condition.
She burned with the desire for vengeance on the scoundrelly actor who had
deceived her; but I pointed out that her duty was to moderate Sir
B---- M----'s passions, as if he attempted any violence in Rome it might
prove a very serious matter for him, besides its being to the
disadvantage of his reputation to have the affair talked of.
"I promise you," I added, "to have the rogue imprisoned as soon as we
reach Rome, and that ought to be sufficient vengeance for you. Instead of
the advantages he proposed for himself, he will receive only shame and
all the misery of a prison."
Sir B---- M---- slept seven or eight hours, and rose to find that a good
deal of his rage had evaporated. He consented to abide by my
arrangements, if he could have the pleasure of paying the fellow a visit,
as he wanted to know him.
After this sensible decision and a good supper I went to my lonely couch
without any regret, for I was happy in the consciousness of having done a
good action.
We started at day-break the next morning, and when we reached
Acquapendente we resolved to post to Rome. By the post the journey took
twelve hours, otherwise we should have been three days on the road.
As soon as we reached Rome I went to the customhouse and put in the
document relating to Betty's trunk. The next day it was duly brought to
our inn and handed over to Betty.
As Sir B---- M---- had placed the case in my hands I went to the bargello,
an important person at Rome, and an expeditious officer when he sees a
case clearly and feels sure that the plaintiffs do not mind spending
their money. The bargello is rich, and lives well; he has an almost free
access to the cardinal-vicar, the governor, and even the Holy Father
himself.
He gave me a private interview directly, and I told him the whole story,
finally saying that all we asked for was that the rogue should be
imprisoned and afterwards expelled from Rome.
"You see," I added, "that our demand is a very moderate one, and we could
get all we want by the ordinary channels of the law; but we are in a
hurry, and I want you to take charge of the whole affair. If you care to
do so we shall be prepared to defray legal expenses to the extent of
fifty crowns."
The bargello asked me to give him the bill of exchange and all the
effects of the adventurer, including the letters.
I had the bill in my pocket and gave it him on the spot, taking a receipt
in exchange. I told him to send to the inn for the rest.
"As soon as I have made him confess the facts you allege against him,"
said the bargello, "we shall be able to do something. I have already
heard that he is at Roland's, and has been trying to get the
Englishwoman's trunk. If you liked to spend a hundred crowns instead of
fifty we could send him to the galleys for a couple of years."
"We will see about that," said I, "for the present we will have him into
prison."
He was delighted to hear that the horse was not l'Etoile's property, and
said that if I liked to call at nine o'clock he would have further news
for me.
I said I would come. I really had a good deal to do at Rome. I wanted to
see Cardinal Bernis in the first place, but I postponed everything to the
affair of the moment.
I went back to the inn and was told by a valet de place, whom Sir
B---- M---- had hired, that the Englishman had gone to bed.
We were in need of a carriage, so I summoned the landlord and was
astonished to find myself confronted by Roland in person.
"How's this?" I said. "I thought you were still at the Place d'Espagne."
"I have given my old house to my daughter who has married a prosperous
Frenchman, while I have taken this palace where there are some
magnificent rooms."
"Has your daughter many foreigners staying at her house now?"
"Only one Frenchman, the Comte de l'Etoile, who is waiting for his
equipage to come on. He has an excellent horse, and I am thinking of
buying it from him."
"I advise you to wait till to-morrow, and to say nothing about the advice
I have given you."
"Why should I wait?"
"I can't say any more just now."
This Roland was the father of the Therese whom I had loved nine years
before, and whom my brother Jean had married in 1762, a year after my
departure. Roland told me that my brother was in Rome with Prince
Beloselski, the Russian ambassador to the Court of Saxony.
"I understood that my brother could not come to Rome."
"He came with a safe-conduct which the Dowager Electress of Saxony
obtained for him from the Holy Father. He wants his case to be re-tried,
and there he makes a mistake, for if it were heard a hundred times the
sentence would continue the same. No one will see him, everyone avoids
him, even Mengs will have nothing to say to him."
"Mengs is here, is he? I though he had been at Madrid."
"He has got leave of absence for a year, but his family remains in
Spain."
After hearing all this news which was far from pleasant to me, as I did
not wish to see Mengs or my brother, I went to bed, leaving orders that I
was to be roused in time for dinner.
In an hour's time I was awakened by the tidings that some one was waiting
to give me a note. It was one of the bargello's men, who had come to take
over l'Etoile's effects.
At dinner I told Sir B---- M---- what I had done, and we agreed that he
should accompany me to the bargello's in the evening.
In the afternoon we visited some of the principal palaces, and after
taking Betty back to the inn we went to the bargello, who told us our man
was already in prison, and that it would cost very little to send him to
the galleys.
"Before making up my mind I should like to speak to him," said Sir
B---- M----.
"You can do so to-morrow. He confessed everything without any trouble,
and made a jest of it, saying he was not afraid of any consequences, as
the young lady had gone with him of her own free will. I shewed him the
bill of exchange, but he evinced no emotion whatever. He told me that he
was an actor by profession, but also a man of rank. As to the horse, he
said he was at perfect liberty to sell it, as the watch he had left in
pledge was worth more than the beast."
I had forgotten to inform the bargello that the watch aforesaid belonged
to Betty.
We gave the worthy official fifty crowns, and supped with Betty, who had,
as I have remarked, recovered her trunk, and had been busying herself in
putting her things to rights.
She was glad to hear that the rascal was in prison, but she did not seem
to wish to pay him a visit.
We went to see him in the afternoon of the next day.
The bargello had assigned us an advocate, who made out a document
demanding payment by the prisoner of the expenses of the journey, and of
his arrest, together with a certain sum as compensation to the person
whom he had deceived, unless he could prove his right to the title of
count in the course of six weeks.
We found l'Etoile with this document in his hand; someone was translating
it for him into French.
As soon as the rascal saw me, he said, with a laugh, that I owed him
twenty-five Louis as he had left Betty to sleep with me.
The Englishman told him he lied; it was he that had slept with her.
"Are you Betty's lover?" asked l'Etoile.
"Yes, and if I had caught you with her I should have blown out your
brains, for you have deceived her doubly; you're only a beggarly actor."
"I have three thousand crowns."
"I will pay six thousand if the bill proves to be a good one. In the
meanwhile you will stay here, and if it be false, as I expect it is, you
will go to the galleys."
"Very good."
"I shall speak to my counsel."
We went out and called on the advocate, for Sir B---- M---- had a lively
desire to send the impudent rascal to the galleys. However, it could not
be done, for l'Etoile said he was quite ready to give up the bill, but
that he expected Sir B---- M---- to pay a crown a day for his keep while he
remained in prison.
Sir B---- M---- thought he would like to see something of Rome, as he was
there, and was obliged to buy almost everything as he had left his
belongings behind him, while Betty was well provided for as her trunk was
of immense capacity. I went with them everywhere; it was not exactly the
life I liked, but there would be time for me to please myself after they
had gone. I loved Betty without desiring her, and I had taken a liking to
the Englishman who had an excellent heart. At first he wanted to stay a
fortnight at Rome, and then to return to Leghorn; but his friend Lord
Baltimore, who had come to Rome in the meanwhile, persuaded him to pay a
short visit to Naples.
This nobleman, who had with him a very pretty Frenchwoman and two
servants, said he would see to the journey, and that I must join the
party. I had made his acquaintance at London.
I was glad to have the opportunity of seeing Naples again. We lodged at
the "Crocielles" at Chiaggia, or Chiaja, as the Neapolitans call it.
The first news I heard was the death of the Duke of Matalone and the
marriage of his widow with Prince Caramanica.
This circumstance put an end to some of my hopes, and I only thought of
amusing myself with my friends, as if I had never been at Naples before.
Lord Baltimore had been there several times, but his mistress, Betty, and
Sir B---- M----, were strangers, and wanted to see everything. I
accordingly acted as cicerone, for which part I and my lord, too, were
much better qualified than the tedious and ignorant fellows who had an
official right to that title.
The day after our arrival I was unpleasantly surprised to see the
notorious Chevalier Goudar, whom I had known at London. He called on Lord
Baltimore.
This famous rout had a house at Pausilippo, and his wife was none other
than the pretty Irish girl Sara, formerly a drawer in a London tavern.
The reader has been already introduced to her. Goudar knew I had met her,
so he told me who she was, inviting us all to dine with him the next day.
Sara skewed no surprise nor confusion at the sight of me, but I was
petrified. She was dressed with the utmost elegance, received company
admirably, spoke Italian with perfect correctness, talked sensibly, and
was exquisitely beautiful; I was stupefied; the metamorphosis was so
great.
In a quarter of an hour five or six ladies of the highest rank arrived,
with ten or twelve dukes, princes, and marquises, to say nothing of a
host of distinguished strangers.
The table was laid for thirty, but before dinner Madame Goudar seated
herself at the piano, and sang a few airs with the voice of a siren, and
with a confidence that did not astonish the other guests as they knew
her, but which astonished me extremely, for her singing was really
admirable.
Goudar had worked this miracle. He had been educating her to be his wife
for six or seven years.
After marrying her he had taken her to Paris, Vienna, Venice, Florence,
Rome, etc., everywhere seeking fortune, but in vain. Finally he had come
to Naples, where he had brought his wife into the fashion of obliging her
to renounce in public the errors of the Anglican heresy. She had been
received into the Catholic Church under the auspices of the Queen of
Naples. The amusing part in all this was that Sara, being an Irishwoman,
had been born a Catholic, and had never ceased to be one.
All the nobility, even to the Court, went to see Sara, while she went
nowhere, for no one invited her. This kind of thing is a characteristic
of nobility all the world over.
Goudar told me all these particulars, and confessed that he only made his
living by gaming. Faro and biribi were the only pillars of his house; but
they must have been strong ones, for he lived in great style.
He asked me to join with him, and I did not care to refuse; my purse was
fast approaching total depletion, and if it were not for this resource I
could not continue living in the style to which I had been accustomed.
Having taken this resolution I declined returning to Rome with Betty and
Sir B---- M----, who wanted to repay me all I had spent on her account. I
was not in a position to be ostentatious, so I accepted his generous
offer.
Two months later I heard that l'Etoile had been liberated by the
influence of Cardinal Bernis, and had left Rome. Next year I heard at
Florence that Sir B---- M---- had returned to England, where no doubt he
married Betty as soon as he became a widower.
As for the famous Lord Baltimore he left Naples a few days after my
friends, and travelled about Italy in his usual way. Three years later he
paid for his British bravado with his life. He committed the wild
imprudence of traversing the Maremma in August, and was killed by the
poisonous exhalations.
I stopped at "Crocielles," as all the rich foreigners came to live there.
I was thus enabled to make their acquaintance, and put them in the way of
losing their money at Goudar's. I did not like my task, but circumstances
were too strong for me.
Five or six days after Betty had left I chanced to meet the Abby Gama,
who had aged a good deal, but was still as gay and active as ever. After
we had told each other our adventures he informed me that, as all the
differences between the Holy See and the Court of Naples had been
adjusted, he was going back to Rome.
Before he went, however, he said he should like to present me to a lady
whom he was sure I should be very glad to see again.
The first persons I thought of were Donna Leonilda, or Donna Lucrezia,
her mother; but what was my surprise to see Agatha, the dancer with whom
I had been in love at Turin after abandoning the Corticelli.
Our delight was mutual, and we proceeded to tell each other the incidents
of our lives since we had parted.
My tale only lasted a quarter of an hour, but Agatha's history was a long
one.
She had only danced a year at Naples. An advocate had fallen in love with
her, and she shewed me four pretty children she had given him. The
husband came in at supper-time, and as she had often talked to him about
me he rushed to embrace me as soon as he heard my name. He was an
intelligent man, like most of the pagletti of Naples. We supped together
like old friends, and the Abbe Gama going soon after supper I stayed with
them till midnight, promising to join them at dinner the next day.
Although Agatha was in the very flower of her beauty, the old fires were
not rekindled in me. I was ten years older. My coolness pleased me, for I
should not have liked to trouble the peace of a happy home.
After leaving Agatha I proceeded to Goudar's, in whose bank I took a
strong interest. I found a dozen gamesters round the table, but what was
my surprise to recognize in the holder of the bank Count Medini.
Three or four days before this Medini had been expelled from the house of
M. de Choiseul, the French ambassador; he had been caught cheating at
cards. I had also my reason to be incensed against him; and, as the
reader may remember, we had fought a duel.
On glancing at the bank I saw that it was at the last gasp. It ought to
have held six hundred ounces, and there were scarcely a hundred. I was
interested to the extent of a third.
On examining the face of the punter who had made these ravages I guessed
the game. It was the first time I had seen the rascal at Goudar's.
At the end of the deal Goudar told me that this punter was a rich
Frenchman who had been introduced by Medini. He told me I should not mind
his winning that evening, as he would be sure to lose it all and a good
deal more another time.
"I don't care who the punter is," said I, "it is not of the slightest
consequence to me, as I tell you plainly that as long as Medini is the
banker I will have nothing to do with it."
"I have told Medini about it and wanted to take a third away from the
bank, but he seemed offended and said he would make up any loss to you,
but that he could not have the bank touched."
"Very good, but if he does not bring me my money by to-morrow morning
there will be trouble. Indeed, the responsibility lies with you, for I
have told you that as long as Medini deals I will have nothing to do with
it."
"Of course you have a claim on me for two hundred ounces, but I hope you
will be reasonable; it would be rather hard for me to lose two-thirds."
Knowing Goudar to be a greater rascal than Medini, I did not believe a
word he said; and I waited impatiently for the end of the game.
At one o'clock it was all over. The lucky punter went off with his
pockets full of gold, and Medini, affecting high spirits, which were very
much out of place, swore his victory should cost him dear.
"Will you kindly give me my two hundred ounces," said I, "for, of course,
Gondar told you that I was out of it?"
"I confess myself indebted to you for that amount, as you absolutely
insist, but pray tell me why you refuse to be interested in the bank when
I am dealing."
"Because I have no confidence in your luck."
"You must see that your words are capable of a very unpleasant
interpretation."
"I can't prevent your interpreting my words as you please, but I have a
right to my own opinion. I want my two hundred ounces, and I am quite
willing to leave you any moneys you propose to make out of the conqueror
of to-night. You must make your arrangements with M. Goudar, and by noon
to-morrow, you, M. Goudar, will bring me that sum."
"I can't remit you the money till the count gives it me, for I haven't
got any money."
"I am sure you will have some money by twelve o'clock to-morrow morning.
Goodnight."
I would not listen to any of their swindling arguments, and went home
without the slightest doubt that they were trying to cheat me. I resolved
to wash my hands of the whole gang as soon as I had got my money back by
fair means or foul.
At nine the next morning I received a note from Medini, begging me to
call on him and settle the matter. I replied that he must make his
arrangements with Goudar, and I begged to be excused calling on him.
In the course of an hour he paid me a visit, and exerted all his
eloquence to persuade me to take a bill for two hundred ounces, payable
in a week. I gave him a sharp refusal, saying that my business was with
Goudar and Gondar only, and that unless I received the money by noon I
should proceed to extremities. Medini raised his voice, and told me that
my language was offensive; and forthwith I took up a pistol and placed it
against his cheek, ordering him to leave the room. He turned pale, and
went away without a word.
At noon I went to Gondar's without my sword, but with two good pistols in
my pocket. Medini was there, and began by reproaching me with attempting
to assassinate him in my own house.
I took no notice of this, but told Gondar to give me my two hundred
ounces.
Goudar asked Medini to give him the money.
There would undoubtedly have been a quarrel, if I had not been prudent
enough to leave the room, threatening Gondar with ruin if he did not send
on the money directly.
Just as I was leaving the house, the fair Sara put her head out of the
window, and begged me to come up by the back stairs and speak to her.
I begged to be excused, so she said she would come down, and in a moment
she stood beside me.
"You are in the right about your money," she said, "but just at present
my husband has not got any; you really must wait two or three days, I
will guarantee the payment."
"I am really sorry," I replied, "not to be able to oblige such a charming
woman, but the only thing that will pacify me is my money, and till I
have had it, you will see me no more in your house, against which I
declare war."
Thereupon she drew from her finger a diamond ring, worth at least four
hundred ounces, and begged me to accept it as a pledge.
I took it, and left her after making my bow. She was doubtless astonished
at my behaviour, for in her state of deshabille she could not have
counted on my displaying such firmness.
I was very well satisfied with my victory, and went to dine with the
advocate, Agatha's husband. I told him the story, begging him to find
someone who would give me two hundred ounces on the ring.
"I will do it myself," said he; and he gave me an acknowledgment and two
hundred ounces on the spot. He then wrote in my name a letter to Goudar,
informing him that he was the depositary of the ring.
This done, I recovered my good temper.
Before dinner Agatha took me into her boudoir and shewed me all the
splendid jewels I had given her when I was rich and in love.
"Now I am a rich woman," said she, "and my good fortune is all your
making; so take back what you gave me. Don't be offended; I am so
grateful to you, and my good husband and I agreed on this plan this
morning."
To take away any scruples I might have, she shewed me the diamonds her
husband had given her; they had belonged to his first wife and were worth
a considerable sum.
My gratitude was too great for words, I could only press her hand, and
let my eyes speak the feelings of my heart. Just then her husband came
in.
It had evidently been concerted between them, for the worthy man embraced
me, and begged me to accede to his wife's request.
We then joined the company which consisted of a dozen or so of their
friends, but the only person who attracted my attention was a very young
man, whom I set down at once as in love with Agatha. His name was Don
Pascal Latilla; and I could well believe that he would be successful in
love, for he was intelligent, handsome, and well-mannered. We became
friends in the course of the meal.
Amongst the ladies I was greatly pleased with one young girl. She was
only fourteen, but she looked eighteen. Agatha told me she was studying
singing, intending to go on the stage as she was so poor.
"So pretty, and yet poor?"
"Yes, for she will have all or nothing; and lovers of that kind are rare
in Naples."
"But she must have some lover?"
"If she has, no one has heard of him. You had better make her
acquaintance and go and see her. You will soon be friends."
"What's her name?"
"Callimena. The lady who is speaking to her is her aunt, and I expect
they are talking about you."
We sat down to the enjoyment of a delicate and abundant meal. Agatha, I
could see, was happy, and delighted to shew me how happy she was. The old
Abbe Gama congratulated himself on having presented me. Don Pascal
Latilla could not be jealous of the attentions paid me by his idol, for I
was a stranger, and they were my due; while her husband prided himself on
his freedom from those vulgar prejudices to which so many Neapolitans are
subject.
In the midst of all this gaiety I could not help stealing many a furtive
glance towards Callimena. I addressed her again and again, and she
answered me politely but so briefly as to give me no opportunity of
displaying my powers in the way of persiflage.
I asked if her name was her family name or a pseudonym.
"It is my baptismal name."
"It is Greek; but, of course, you know what it means?"
"No."
"Mad beauty, or fair moon."
"I am glad to say that I have nothing in common with my name."
"Have you any brothers or sisters?"
"I have only one married sister, with whom you may possibly be
acquainted."
"What is her name, and who is her husband?"
"Her husband is a Piedmontese, but she does not live with him."
"Is she the Madame Slopis who travels with Aston?"
"Exactly."
"I can give you good news of her."
After dinner I asked Agatha how she came to know Callimena.
"My husband is her godfather."
"What is her exact age?"
"Fourteen."
"She's a simple prodigy! What loveliness!"
"Her sister is still handsomer."
"I have never seen her."
A servant came in and said M. Goudar would like to have a little private
conversation with the advocate.
The advocate came back in a quarter of an hour, and informed me that
Goudar had given him the two hundred ounces, and that he had returned him
the ring.
"Then that's all settled, and I am very glad of it. I have certainly made
an eternal enemy of him, but that doesn't trouble me much."
We began playing, and Agatha made me play with Callimena, the freshness
and simplicity of whose character delighted me.
I told her all I knew about her sister, and promised I would write to
Turin to enquire whether she were still there. I told her that I loved
her, and that if she would allow me, I would come and see her. Her reply
was extremely satisfactory.
The next morning I went to wish her good day. She was taking a music
lesson from her master. Her talents were really of a moderate order, but
love made me pronounce her performance to be exquisite.
When the master had gone, I remained alone with her. The poor girl
overwhelmed me with apologies for her dress, her wretched furniture, and
for her inability to give me a proper breakfast.
"All that make you more desirable in my eyes, and I am only sorry that I
cannot offer you a fortune."
As I praised her beauty, she allowed me to kiss her ardently, but she
stopped my further progress by giving me a kiss as if to satisfy me.
I made an effort to restrain my ardour, and told her to tell me truly
whether she had a lover.
"Not one."
"And have you never had one?"
"Never."
"Not even a fancy for anyone?"
"No, never."
"What, with your beauty and sensibility, is there no man in Naples who
has succeeded in inspiring you with desire?"
"No one has ever tried to do so. No one has spoken to me as you have, and
that is the plain truth."
"I believe you, and I see that I must make haste to leave Naples, if I
would not be the most unhappy of men."
"What do you mean?"
"I should love you without the hope of possessing you, and thus I should
be most unhappy."
"Love me then, and stay. Try and make me love you. Only you must moderate
your ecstacies, for I cannot love a man who cannot exercise
self-restraint."
"As just now, for instance?"
"Yes. If you calm yourself I shall think you do so for my sake, and thus
love will tread close on the heels of gratitude."
This was as much as to tell me that though she did not love me yet I had
only to wait patiently, and I resolved to follow her advice. I had
reached an age which knows nothing of the impatient desires of youth.
I gave her a tender embrace, and as I was getting up to go I asked her if
she were in need of money.
This question male her blush, and she said I had better ask her aunt, who
was in the next room.
I went in, and was somewhat astonished to find the aunt seated between
two worthy Capuchins, who were talking small talk to her while she worked
at her needle. At a little distance three young girls sat sewing.
The aunt would have risen to welcome me, but I prevented her, asked her
how she did, and smilingly congratulated her on her company. She smiled
back, but the Capuchins sat as firm as two stocks, without honouring me
with as much as a glance.
I took a chair and sat down beside her.
She was near her fiftieth year, though some might have doubted whether
she would ever see it again; her manner was good and honest, and her
features bore the traces of the beauty that time had ruined.
Although I am not a prejudiced man, the presence of the two evil-smelling
monks annoyed me extremely. I thought the obstinate way in which they
stayed little less than an insult. True they were men like myself, in
spite of their goats' beards and dirty frocks, and consequently were
liable to the same desires as I; but for all that I found them wholly
intolerable. I could not shame them without shaming the lady, and they
knew it; monks are adepts at such calculations.
I have travelled all over Europe, but France is the only country in which
I saw a decent and respectable clergy.
At the end of a quarter of an hour I could contain myself no longer, and
told the aunt that I wished to say something to her in private. I thought
the two satyrs would have taken the hint, but I counted without my host.
The aunt arose, however, and took me into the next room.
I asked my question as delicately as possible, and she replied,--
"Alas! I have only too great a need of twenty ducats (about eighty
francs) to pay my rent."
I gave her the money on the spot, and I saw that she was very grateful,
but I left her before she could express her feelings.
Here I must tell my readers (if I ever have any) of an event which took
place on that same day.
As I was dining in my room by myself, I was told that a Venetian
gentleman who said he knew me wished to speak to me.
I ordered him to be shewn in, and though his face was not wholly unknown
to me I could not recollect who he was.
He was tall, thin and wretched, misery and hunger spewing plainly in his
every feature; his beard was long, his head shaven, his robe a dingy
brown, and bound about him with a coarse cord, whence hung a rosary and a
dirty handkerchief. In the left hand he bore a basket, and in the right a
long stick; his form is still before me, but I think of him not as a
humble penitent, but as a being in the last state of desperation; almost
an assassin.
"Who are you?" I said at length. "I think I have seen you before, and yet
. . ."
"I will soon tell you my name and the story of my woes; but first give me
something to eat, for I am dying of hunger. I have had nothing but bad
soup for the last few days."
"Certainly; go downstairs and have your dinner, and then come back to me;
you can't eat and speak at the same time."
My man went down to give him his meal, and I gave instructions that I was
not to be left alone with him as he terrified me.
I felt sure that I ought to know him, and longed to hear his story.
In three quarters of an hour he came up again, looking like some one in a
high fever.
"Sit down," said I, "and speak freely."
"My name is Albergoni."
"What!"
Albergoni was a gentleman of Padua, and one of my most intimate friends
twenty-five years before. He was provided with a small fortune, but an
abundance of wit, and had a great leaning towards pleasure and the
exercise of satire. He laughed at the police and the cheated husbands,
indulged in Venus and Bacchus to excess, sacrificed to the god of
pederasty, and gamed incessantly. He was now hideously ugly, but when I
knew him first he was a very Antinous.
He told me the following story:
"A club of young rakes, of whom I was one, had a casino at the Zuecca; we
passed many a pleasant hour there without hurting anyone. Some one
imagined that these meetings were the scenes of unlawful pleasures, the
engines of the law were secretly directed against us, and the casino was
shut up, and we were ordered to be arrested. All escaped except myself
and a man named Branzandi. We had to wait for our unjust sentence for two
years, but at last it appeared. My wretched fellow was condemned to lose
his head, and afterwards to be burnt, while I was sentenced to ten years'
imprisonment 'in carcere duro'. In 1765 I was set free, and went to Padua
hoping to live in peace, but my persecutors gave me no rest, and I was
accused of the same crime. I would not wait for the storm to burst, so I
fled to Rome, and two years afterwards the Council of Ten condemned me to
perpetual banishment.
"I might bear this if I had the wherewithal to live, but a brother-in-law
of mine has possessed himself of all I have, and the unjust Tribunal
winks at his misdeeds.
"A Roman attorney made me an offer of an annuity of two pawls a day on
the condition that I should renounce all claims on my estate. I refused
this iniquitous condition, and left Rome to come here and turn hermit. I
have followed this sorry trade for two years, and can bear it no more."
"Go back to Rome; you can live on two pawls a day."
"I would rather die."
I pitied him sincerely, and said that though I was not a rich man he was
welcome to dine every day at my expense while I remained in Naples, and I
gave him a sequin.
Two or three days later my man told me that the poor wretch had committed
suicide.
In his room were found five numbers, which he bequeathed to Medini and
myself out of gratitude for our kindness to him. These five numbers were
very profitable to the Lottery of Naples, for everyone, myself excepted,
rushed to get them. Not a single one proved a winning number, but the
popular belief that numbers given by a man before he commits suicide are
infallible is too deeply rooted among the Neapolitans to be destroyed by
such a misadventure.
I went to see the wretched man's body, and then entered a cafe. Someone
was talking of the case, and maintaining that death by strangulation must
be most luxurious as the victim always expires with a strong erection. It
might be so, but the erection might also be the result of an agony of
pain, and before anyone can speak dogmatically on the point he must first
have had a practical experience.
As I was leaving the cafe I had the good luck to catch a handkerchief
thief in the act; it was about the twentieth I had stolen from me in the
month I had spent at Naples. Such petty thieves abound there, and their
skill is something amazing.
As soon as he felt himself caught, he begged me not to make any noise,
swearing he would return all the handkerchiefs he had stolen from me,
which, as he confessed, amounted to seven or eight.
"You have stolen more than twenty from me."
"Not I, but some of my mates. If you come with me, perhaps we shall be
able to get them all back."
"Is it far off?"
"In the Largo del Castello. Let me go; people are looking at us."
The little rascal took me to an evil-looking tavern, and shewed me into a
room, where a man asked me if I wanted to buy any old things. As soon as
he heard I had come for my handkerchiefs, he opened a big cupboard full
of handkerchiefs, amongst which I found a dozen of mine, and bought them
back for a trifle.
A few days after I bought several others, though I knew they were stolen.
The worthy Neapolitan dealer seemed to think me trustworthy, and three or
four days before I left Naples he told me that he could sell me, for ten
or twelve thousand ducats, commodities which would fetch four times that
amount at Rome or elsewhere.
"What kind of commodities are they?"
"Watches, snuff-boxes, rings, and jewels, which I dare not sell here."
"Aren't you afraid of being discovered?"
"Not much, I don't tell everyone of my business."
I thanked him, but I would not look at his trinkets, as I was afraid the
temptation of making such a profit would be too great.
When I got back to my inn I found some guests had arrived, of whom a few
were known to me. Bartoldi had arrived from Dresden with two young
Saxons, whose tutor he was. These young noblemen were rich and handsome,
and looked fond of pleasure.
Bartoldi was an old friend of mine. He had played Harlequin at the King
of Poland's Italian Theatre. On the death of the monarch he had been
placed at the head of the opera-buffa by the dowager electress, who was
passionately fond of music.
Amongst the other strangers were Miss Chudleigh, now Duchess of Kingston,
with a nobleman and a knight whose names I have forgotten.
The duchess recognized me at once, and seemed pleased that I paid my
court to her. An hour afterwards Mr. Hamilton came to see her, and I was
delighted to make his acquaintance. We all dined together. Mr. Hamilton
was a genius, and yet he ended by marrying a mere girl, who was clever
enough to make him in love with her. Such a misfortune often comes to
clever men in their old age. Marriage is always a folly; but when a man
marries a young woman at a time of life when his physical strength is
running low, he is bound to pay dearly for his folly; and if his wife is
amorous of him she will kill him even years ago I had a narrow escape
myself from the same fate.
After dinner I presented the two Saxons to the duchess; they gave her
news of the dowager electress, of whom she was very fond. We then went to
the play together. As chance would have it, Madame Goudar occupied the
box next to ours, and Hamilton amused the duchess by telling the story of
the handsome Irishwoman, but her grace did not seem desirous of making
Sara's acquaintance.
After supper the duchess arranged a game of quinze with the two
Englishmen and the two Saxons. The stakes were small, and the Saxons
proved victorious. I had not taken any part in the game, but I resolved
to do so the next evening.
The following day we dined magnificently with the Prince of Francavilla,
and in the afternoon he took us to the bath by the seashore, where we saw
a wonderful sight. A priest stripped himself naked, leapt into the water,
and without making the slightest movement floated on the surface like a
piece of deal. There was no trick in it, and the marvel must be assigned
to some special quality in his organs of breathing. After this the prince
amused the duchess still more pleasantly. He made all his pages, lads of
fifteen to seventeen, go into the water, and their various evolutions
afforded us great pleasure. They were all the sweethearts of the prince,
who preferred Ganymede to Hebe.
The Englishmen asked him if if he would give us the same spectacle, only
substituting nymphs for the 'amoyini', and he promised to do so the next
day at his splendid house near Portici, where there was a marble basin in
the midst of the garden.
CHAPTER XIV
My Amours with Gallimena--Journey to Soyento--Medini--
Goudar--Miss Chudleigh--The Marquis Petina--Gaetano--Madame
Cornelis's Son--An Anecdote of Sara Goudar--The Florentines
Mocked by the King--My Journey to Salerno, Return to Naples,
and Arrival at Rome
The Prince of Francavilla was a rich Epicurean, whose motto was 'Fovet et
favet'.
He was in favour in Spain, but the king allowed him to live at Naples, as
he was afraid of his initiating the Prince of Asturias, his brothers, and
perhaps the whole Court, into his peculiar vices.
The next day he kept his promise, and we had the pleasure of seeing the
marble basin filled with ten or twelve beautiful girls who swam about in
the water.
Miss Chudleigh and the two other ladies pronounced this spectacle
tedious; they no doubt preferred that of the previous day.
In spite of this gay company I went to see Callimena twice a day; she
still made me sigh in vain.
Agatha was my confidante; she would gladly have helped me to attain my
ends, but her dignity would not allow of her giving me any overt
assistance. She promised to ask Callimena to accompany us on an excursion
to Sorento, hoping that I should succeed in my object during the night we
should have to spend there.
Before Agatha had made these arrangements, Hamilton had made similar ones
with the Duchess of Kingston, and I succeeded in getting an invitation. I
associated chiefly with the two Saxons and a charming Abbe Guliani, with
whom I afterwards made a more intimate acquaintance at Rome.
We left Naples at four o'clock in the morning, in a felucca with twelve
oars, and at nine we reached Sorrento.
We were fifteen in number, and all were delighted with this earthly
paradise.
Hamilton took us to a garden belonging to the Duke of Serra Capriola, who
chanced to be there with his beautiful Piedmontese wife, who loved her
husband passionately.
The duke had been sent there two months before for having appeared in
public in an equipage which was adjudged too magnificent. The minister
Tanucci called on the king to punish this infringement of the sumptuary
laws, and as the king had not yet learnt to resist his ministers, the
duke and his wife were exiled to this earthly paradise. But a paradise
which is a prison is no paradise at all; they were both dying of ennui,
and our arrival was balm in Gilead to them.
A certain Abbe Bettoni, whose acquaintance I had made nine years before
at the late Duke of Matalone's, had come to see them, and was delighted
to meet me again.
The abbe was a native of Brescia, but he had chosen Sorento as his
residence. He had three thousand crowns a year, and lived well, enjoying
all the gifts of Bacchus, Ceres, Comus, and Venus, the latter being his
favourite divinity. He had only to desire to attain, and no man could
desire greater pleasure than he enjoyed at Sorento. I was vexed to see
Count Medini with him; we were enemies, and gave each other the coldest
of greetings.
We were twenty-two at table and enjoyed delicious fare, for in that land
everything is good; the very bread is sweeter than elsewhere. We spent
the afternoon in inspecting the villages, which are surrounded by avenues
finer than the avenues leading to the grandest castles in Europe.
Abbe Bettoni treated us to lemon, coffee, and chocolate ices, and some
delicious cream cheese. Naples excels in these delicacies, and the abbe
had everything of the best. We were waited on by five or six country
girls of ravishing beauty, dressed with exquisite neatness. I asked him
whether that were his seraglio, and he replied that it might be so, but
that jealousy was unknown, as I should see for myself if I cared to spend
a week with him.
I envied this happy man, and yet I pitied him, for he was at least twelve
years older than I, and I was by no means young. His pleasures could not
last much longer.
In the evening we returned to the duke's, and sat down to a supper
composed of several kinds of fish.
The air of Sorento gives an untiring appetite, and the supper soon
disappeared.
After supper my lady proposed a game at faro, and Bettoni, knowing Medini
to be a professional gamester, asked him to hold the bank. He begged to
be excused, saying he had not enough money, so I consented to take his
place.
The cards were brought in, and I emptied my poor purse on the table. It
only held four hundred ounces, but that was all I possessed.
The game began; and on Medini asking me if I would allow him a share in
the bank, I begged him to excuse me on the score of inconvenience.
I went on dealing till midnight, and by that time I had only forty ounces
left. Everybody had won except Sir Rosebury, who had punted in English
bank notes, which I had put into my pocket without counting.
When I got to my room I thought I had better look at the bank notes, for
the depletion of my purse disquieted me. My delight may be imagined. I
found I had got four hundred and fifty pounds--more than double what I
had lost.
I went to sleep well pleased with my day's work, and resolved not to tell
anyone of my good luck.
The duchess had arranged for us to start at nine, and Madame de Serra
Capriola begged us to take coffee with her before going.
After breakfast Medini and Bettoni came in, and the former asked Hamilton
whether he would mind his returning with us. Of course, Hamilton could
not refuse, so he came on board, and at two o'clock I was back at my inn.
I was astonished to be greeted in my antechamber by a young lady, who
asked me sadly whether I remembered her. She was the eldest of the five
Hanoverians, the same that had fled with the Marquis dells Petina.
I told her to come in, and ordered dinner to be brought up.
"If you are alone," she said, "I should be glad to share your repast."
"Certainly; I will order dinner for two."
Her story was soon told. She had come to Naples with her husband, whom
her mother refused to recognize. The poor wretch had sold all he
possessed, and two or three months after he had been arrested on several
charges of forgery. His poor mate had supported him in prison for seven
years. She had heard that I was at Naples, and wanted me to help her, not
as the Marquis della Petina wished, by lending him money, but by
employing my influence with the Duchess of Kingston to make that lady
take her to England with her in her service.
"Are you married to the marquis?"
"No."
"Then how could you keep him for seven years?"
"Alas . . . . You can think of a hundred ways, and they would all be
true."
"I see."
"Can you procure me an interview with the duchess?"
"I will try, but I warn you that I shall tell her the simple truth."
"Very good."
"Come again to-morrow."
At six o'clock I went to ask Hamilton how I could exchange the English
notes I had won, and he gave me the money himself.
Before supper I spoke to the duchess about the poor Hanoverian. My lady
said she remembered seeing her, and that she would like to have a talk
with her before coming to any decision. I brought the poor creature to
her the next day, and left them alone. The result of the interview was
that the duchess took her into her service in the place of a Roman girl,
and the Hanoverian went to England with her. I never heard of her again,
but a few days after Petina sent to beg me to come and see him in prison,
and I could not refuse. I found him with a young man whom I recognized as
his brother, though he was very handsome and the marquis very ugly; but
the distinction between beauty and ugliness is often hard to point out.
This visit proved a very tedious one, for I had to listen to a long story
which did not interest me in the least.
As I was going out I was met by an official, who said another prisoner
wanted to speak to me.
"What's his name?"
"His name is Gaetano, and he says he is a relation of yours."
My relation and Gaetano! I thought it might be the abbe.
I went up to the first floor, and found a score of wretched prisoners
sitting on the ground roaring an obscene song in chorus.
Such gaiety is the last resource of men condemned to imprisonment on the
galleys; it is nature giving her children some relief.
One of the prisoners came up to me and greeted me as "gossip." He would
have embraced me, but I stepped back. He told me his name, and I
recognized in him that Gaetano who had married a pretty woman under my
auspices as her godfather. The reader may remember that I afterwards
helped her to escape from him.
"I am sorry to see you here, but what can I do for you?"
"You can pay me the hundred crowns you owe me, for the goods supplied to
you at Paris by me."
This was a lie, so I turned my back on him, saying I supposed
imprisonment had driven him mad.
As I went away I asked an official why he had been imprisoned, and was
told it was for forgery, and that he would have been hanged if it had not
been for a legal flaw. He was sentenced to imprisonment for life.
I dismissed him from my mind, but in the afternoon I had a visit from an
advocate who demanded a hundred crowns on Gaetano's behalf, supporting
his claim by the production of an immense ledger, where my name appeared
as debtor on several pages.
"Sir," said I, "the man is mad; I don't owe him anything, and the
evidence of this book is utterly worthless.
"You make a mistake, sir," he replied; "this ledger is good evidence, and
our laws deal very favorably with imprisoned creditors. I am retained for
them, and if you do not settle the matter by to-morrow I shall serve you
with a summons."
I restrained my indignation and asked him politely for his name and
address. He wrote it down directly, feeling quite certain that his affair
was as good as settled.
I called on Agatha, and her husband was much amused when I told my story.
He made me sign a power of attorney, empowering him to act for me, and he
then advised the other advocate that all communications in the case must
be made to him alone.
The 'paglietti' who abound in Naples only live by cheating, and
especially by imposing on strangers.
Sir Rosebury remained at Naples, and I found myself acquainted with all
the English visitors. They all lodged at "Crocielles," for the English
are like a flock of sheep; they follow each other about, always go to the
came place, and never care to shew any originality. We often arranged
little trips in which the two Saxons joined, and I found the time pass
very pleasantly. Nevertheless, I should have left Naples after the fair
if my love for Callimena had not restrained me. I saw her every day and
made her presents, but she only granted me the slightest of favours.
The fair was nearly over, and Agatha was making her preparations for
going to Sorento as had been arranged. She begged her husband to invite a
lady whom he had loved before marrying her while she invited Pascal
Latilla for herself, and Callimena for me.
There were thus three couples, and the three gentlemen were to defray all
expenses.
Agatha's husband took the direction of everything.
A few days before the party I saw, to my surprise, Joseph, son of Madame
Cornelis and brother of my dear Sophie.
"How did you come to Naples? Whom are you with?"
"I am by myself. I wanted to see Italy, and my mother gave me this
pleasure. I have seen Turin, Milan, Genoa, Florence, Venice, and Rome;
and after I have done Italy I shall see Switzerland and Germany, and then
return to England by way of Holland."
"How long is this expedition to take?"
"Six months."
"I suppose you will be able to give a full account of everything when you
go back to London?"
"I hope to convince my mother that the money she spent was not wasted."
"How much do you think it will cost you?"
"The five hundred guineas she gave me, no more."
"Do you mean to say you are only going to spend five hundred guineas in
six months? I can't believe it."
"Economy works wonders."
"I suppose so. How have you done as to letters of introduction in all
these countries of which you now know so much?"
"I have had no introductions. I carry an English passport, and let people
think that I am English."
"Aren't you afraid of getting into bad company?"
"I don't give myself the chance. I don't speak to anyone, and when people
address me I reply in monosyllables. I always strike a bargain before I
eat a meal or take a lodging. I only travel in public conveyances."
"Very good. Here you will be able to economize; I will pay all your
expenses, and give you an excellent cicerone, one who will cost you
nothing."
"I am much obliged, but I promised my mother not to accept anything from
anybody."
"I think you might make an exception in my case."
"No. I have relations in Venice, and I would not take so much as a single
dinner from them. When I promise, I perform."
Knowing his obstinacy, I did not insist. He was now a young man of
twenty-three, of a delicate order of prettiness, and might easily have
been taken for a girl in disguise if he had not allowed his whiskers to
grow.
Although his grand tour seemed an extravagant project, I could not help
admiring his courage and desire to be well informed.
I asked him about his mother and daughter, and he replied to my questions
without reserve.
He told me that Madame Cornelis was head over ears in debts, and spent
about half the year in prison. She would then get out by giving fresh
bills and making various arrangements with her creditors, who knew that
if they did not allow her to give her balls, they could not expect to get
their money.
My daughter, I heard, was a pretty girl of seventeen, very talented, and
patronized by the first ladies in London. She gave concerts, but had to
bear a good deal from her mother.
I asked him to whom she was to have been married, when she was taken from
the boarding school. He said he had never heard of anything of the kind.
"Are you in any business?"
"No. My mother is always talking of buying a cargo and sending me with it
to the Indies, but the day never seems to come, and I am afraid it never
will come. To buy a cargo one must have some money, and my mother has
none."
In spite of his promise, I induced him to accept the services of my man,
who shewed him all the curiosities of Naples in the course of a week.
I could not make him stay another week. He set out for Rome, and wrote to
me from there that he had left six shirts and a great coat behind him. He
begged me to send them on, but he forgot to give me his address.
He was a hare-brained fellow, and yet with the help of two or three sound
maxims he managed to traverse half Europe without coming to any grief.
I had an unexpected visit from Goudar, who knew the kind of company I
kept, and wanted me to ask his wife and himself to dinner to meet the two
Saxons and my English friends.
I promised to oblige him on the understanding that there was to be no
play at my house, as I did not want to be involved in any unpleasantness.
He was perfectly satisfied with this arrangement, as he felt sure his
wife would attract them to his house, where, as he said, one could play
without being afraid of anything.
As I was going to Sorento the next day, I made an appointment with him
for a day after my return.
This trip to Sorento was my last happy day.
The advocate took us to a house where we were lodged with all possible
comfort. We had four rooms; the first was occupied by Agatha and her
husband, the second by Callimena and the advocate's old sweetheart, the
third by Pascal Latilla, and the fourth by myself.
After supper we went early to bed, and rising with the sun we went our
several ways; the advocate with his old sweetheart, Agatha with Pascal,
and I with Callimena. At noon we met again to enjoy a delicious dinner,
and then the advocate took his siesta, while Pascal went for a walk with
Agatha and her husband's sweetheart, and I wandered with Callimena under
the shady alleys where the heat of the sun could not penetrate. Here it
was that Callimena consented to gratify my passion. She gave herself for
love's sake alone, and seemed sorry she had made me wait so long.
On the fourth day we returned to Naples in three carriages, as there was
a strong wind. Callimena persuaded me to tell her aunt what had passed
between us, that we might be able to meet without any restraint for the
future.
I approved of her idea, and, not fearing to meet with much severity from
the aunt, I took her apart and told her all that had passed, making her
reasonable offers.
She was a sensible woman, and heard what I had to say with great good
humour. She said that as I seemed inclined to do something for her niece,
she would let me know as soon as possible what she wanted most. I
remarked that as I should soon be leaving for Rome, I should like to sup
with her niece every evening. She thought this a very natural wish on my
part, and so we went to Callimena, who was delighted to hear the result
of our interview.
I lost no time, but supped and passed that night with her. I made her all
my own by the power of my love, and by buying her such things as she most
needed, such as linen, dresses, etc. It cost me about a hundred louis,
and in spite of the smallness of my means I thought I had made a good
bargain. Agatha, whom I told of my good luck, was delighted to have
helped me to procure it.
Two or three days after I gave a dinner to my English friends, the two
Saxons, Bartoldi their governor, and Goudar and his wife.
We were all ready, and only waiting for M. and Madame Goudar, when I saw
the fair Irishwoman come in with Count Medini. This piece of insolence
made all the blood in my body rush to my head. However, I restrained
myself till Goudar came in, and then I gave him a piece of my mind. It
had been agreed that his wife should come with him. The rascally fellow
prevaricated, and tried hard to induce me to believe that Medini had not
plotted the breaking of the bank, but his eloquence was in vain.
Our dinner was a most agreeable one, and Sara cut a brilliant figure, for
she possessed every pleasing quality that can make a woman attractive. In
good truth, this tavern girl would have filled a throne with any queen;
but Fortune is blind.
When the dinner was over, M. de Buturlin, a distinguished Russian, and a
great lover of pretty women, paid me a visit. He had been attracted by
the sweet voice of the fair Sara, who was singing a Neapolitan air to the
guitar. I shone only with a borrowed light, but I was far from being
offended. Buturlin fell in love with Sara on the spot, and a few months
after I left he got her for five hundred Louis, which Goudar required to
carry out the order he had received, namely, to leave Naples in three
days.
This stroke came from the queen, who found out that the king met Madame
Goudar secretly at Procida. She found her royal husband laughing heartily
at a letter which he would not shew her.
The queen's curiosity was excited, and at last the king gave in, and her
majesty read the following:
"Ti aspettero nel medesimo luogo, ed alla stessa ora, coll' impazienza
medesima che ha una vacca che desidera l'avicinamento del toro."
"Chi infamia!" cried the queen, and her majesty gave the cow's husband to
understand that in three days he would have to leave Naples, and look for
bulls in other countries.
If these events had not taken place, M. de Buturlin would not have made
so good a bargain.
After my dinner, Goudar asked all the company to sup with him the next
evening. The repast was a magnificent one, but when Medini sat down at
the end of a long table behind a heap of gold and a pack of cards, no
punters came forward. Madame Goudar tried in vain to make the gentlemen
take a hand. The Englishmen and the Saxons said politely that they should
be delighted to play if she or I would take the bank, but they feared the
count's extraordinary fortune.
Thereupon Goudar had the impudence to ask me to deal for a fourth share.
"I will not deal under a half share," I replied, "though I have no
confidence in my luck."
Goudar spoke to Medini, who got up, took away his share, and left me the
place.
I had only two hundred ounces in my purse. I placed them beside Goudar's
two hundred, and in two hours my bank was broken, and I went to console
myself with my Callimena.
Finding myself penniless I decided to yield to the pressure of Agatha's
husband, who continued to beg me to take back the jewelry I had given his
wife. I told Agatha I would never have consented if fortune had been
kinder to me. She told her husband, and the worthy man came out of his
closet and embraced me as if I had just made his fortune.
I told him I should like to have the value of the jewels, and the next
day I found myself once more in possession of fifteen thousand francs.
From that moment I decided to go to Rome, intending to stop there for
eight months; but before my departure the advocate said he must give me a
dinner at a casino which he had at Portici.
I had plenty of food for thought when I found myself in the house where I
had made a small fortune by my trick with the mercury five-and-twenty
years ago.
The king was then at Portici with his Court, and our curiosity attracting
us we were witnesses of a most singular spectacle.
The king was only nineteen and loved all kinds of frolics. He conceived a
desire to be tossed in a blanket! Probably few crowned heads have wished
to imitate Sancho Panza in this manner.
His majesty was tossed to his heart's content; but after his aerial
journeys he wished to laugh at those whom he had amused. He began by
proposing that the queen should take part in the game; on her replying by
shrieks of laughter, his majesty did not insist.
The old courtiers made their escape, greatly to my regret, for I should
have liked to see them cutting capers in the air, specially Prince Paul
Nicander, who had been the king's tutor, and had filled him with all his
own prejudices.
When the king saw that his old followers had fled, he was reduced to
asking the young nobles present to play their part.
I was not afraid for myself, as I was unknown, and not of sufficient rank
to merit such an honour.
After three or four young noblemen had been tossed, much to the amusement
of the queen and her ladies, the king cast his eyes on two young
Florentine nobles who had lately arrived at Naples. They were with their
tutor, and all three had been laughing heartily at the disport of the
king and his courtiers.
The monarch came up and accosted them very pleasantly, proposing that
they should take part in the game.
The wretched Tuscans had been baked in a bad oven; they were undersized,
ugly, and humpbacked.
His majesty's proposal seemed to put them on thorns. Everybody listened
for the effects of the king's eloquence; he was urging them to undress,
and saying that it would be unmannerly to refuse; there could be no
humiliation in it, he said, as he himself had been the first to submit.
The tutor felt that it would not do to give the king a refusal, and told
them that they must give in, and thereupon the two Florentines took off
their clothes.
When the company saw their figures and doleful expressions, the laughter
became general. The king took one of them by the hand, observing in an
encouraging manner that there would be no danger; and as a special honour
he held one of the corners of the blanket himself. But, for all that, big
tears rolled down the wretched young man's cheeks.
After three or four visits to the ceiling, and amusing everyone by the
display of his long thin legs, he was released, and the younger brother
went to the torture smilingly, for which he was rewarded by applause.
The governor, suspecting that his majesty destined him for the same fate,
had slipped out; and the king laughed merrily when he heard of his
departure.
Such was the extraordinary spectacle we enjoyed--a spectacle in every way
unique.
Don Pascal Latilla, who had been lucky enough to avoid his majesty's
notice, told us a number of pleasant anecdotes about the king; all shewed
him in the amiable light of a friend of mirth and an enemy to all pomp
and stateliness, by which kings are hedged in generally. He assured us
that no one could help liking him, because he always preferred to be
treated as a friend rather than a monarch.
"He is never more grieved," said Pascal, "than when his minister Tanucci
shews him that he must be severe, and his greatest joy is to grant a
favour."
Ferdinand had not the least tincture of letters, but as he was a man of
good sense he honoured lettered men most highly, indeed anyone of merit
was sure of his patronage. He revered the minister Marco, he had the
greatest respect for the memory of Lelio Caraffa, and of the Dukes of
Matalone, and he had provided handsomely for a nephew of the famous man
of letters Genovesi, in consideration of his uncle's merits.
Games of chance were forbidden; and one day he surprised a number of the
officers of his guard playing at faro. The young men were terrified at
the sight of the king, and would have hidden their cards and money.
"Don't put yourselves out," said the kindly monarch, "take care that
Tanucci doesn't catch you, but don't mind me."
His father was extremely fond of him up to the time when he was obliged
to resist the paternal orders in deference to State reasons.
Ferdinand knew that though he was the King of Spain's son, he was none
the less king of the two Sicilies, and his duties as king had the
prerogative over his duties as son.
Some months after the suppression of the Jesuits, he wrote his father a
letter, beginning:
"There are four things which astonish me very much. The first is that
though the Jesuits were said to be so rich, not a penny was found upon
them at the suppression; the second, that though the Scrivani of Naples
are supposed to take no fees, yet their wealth is immense; the third,
that while all the other young couples have children sooner or later, we
have none; and the fourth, that all men die at last, except Tanucci, who,
I believe, will live on in 'saecula saeculorum'."
The King of Spain shewed this letter to all the ministers and
ambassadors, that they might see that his son was a clever man, and he
was right; for a man who can write such a letter must be clever.
Two or three days later, the Chevalier de Morosini, the nephew of the
procurator, and sole heir of the illustrious house of Morosini, came to
Naples accompanied by his tutor Stratico, the professor of mathematics at
Padua, and the same that had given me a letter for his brother, the Pisan
professor. He stayed at the "Crocielles," and we were delighted to see
one another again.
Morosini, a young man of nineteen, was travelling to complete his
education. He had spent three years at Turin academy, and was now under
the superintendence of a man who could have introduced him to the whole
range of learning, but unhappily the will was wanting in the pupil. The
young Venetian loved women to excess, frequented the society of young
rakes, and yawned in good company. He was a sworn foe to study, and spent
his money in a lavish manner, less from generosity than from a desire to
be revenged on his uncle's economies. He complained of being still kept
in tutelage; he had calculated that he could spend eight hundred sequins
a month, and thought his allowance of two hundred sequins a month an
insult. With this notion, he set himself to sow debts broadcast, and only
laughed at his tutor when he mildly reproached him for his extravagance,
and pointed out that if he were saving for the present, he would be able
to be all the more magnificent on his return to Venice. His uncle had
made an excellent match for him; he was to marry a girl who was extremely
pretty, and also the heiress of the house of Grimani de Servi.
The only redeeming feature in the young man's character was that he had a
mortal hatred of all kinds of play.
Since my bank had been broken I had been at Goudar's, but I would not
listen to his proposal that I should join them again. Medini had become a
sworn foe of mine. As soon as I came, he would go away, but I pretended
not to notice him. He was at Goudar's when I introduced Morosini and his
mentor, and thinking the young man good game he became very intimate with
him. When he found out that Morosini would not hear of gaming, his hatred
of me increased, for he was certain that I had warned the rich Venetian
against him.
Morosini was much taken with Sara's charms, and only thought of how he
could possess her. He was still a young man, full of romantic notions,
and she would have become odious in his eyes if he could have guessed
that she would have to be bought with a heavy price.
He told me several times that if a woman proposed payment for her
favours, his disgust would expel his love in a moment. As he said, and
rightly, he was as good a man as Madame Goudar was a woman.
This was distinctly a good point in his character; no woman who gave her
favours in exchange for presents received could hope to dupe him. Sara's
maxims were diametrically opposed to his; she looked on her love as a
bill of exchange.
Stratico was delighted to see him engaged in this intrigue, for the chief
point in dealing with him was to keep him occupied. If he had no
distractions he took refuge in bad company or furious riding. He would
sometimes ride ten or twelve stages at full gallop, utterly ruining the
horses. He was only too glad to make his uncle pay for them, as he swore
he was an old miser.
After I had made up my mind to leave Naples, I had a visit from Don
Pascal Latilla, who brought with him the Abbe Galiani, whom I had known
at Paris.
It may be remembered that I had known his brother at St. Agatha's, where
I had stayed with him, and left him Donna Lucrezia Castelli.
I told him that I had intended to visit him, and asked if Lucrezia were
still with him.
"She lives at Salerno," said he, "with her daughter the Marchioness
C----."
I was delighted to hear the news; if it had not been for the abbe's
visit, I should never have heard what had become of these ladies.
I asked him if he knew the Marchioness C----.
"I only know the marquis," he replied, "he is old and very rich."
That was enough for me.
A couple of days afterwards Morosini invited Sara, Goudar, two young
gamesters, and Medini, to dinner. The latter had not yet given up hopes
of cheating the chevalier in one way or another.
Towards the end of dinner it happened that Medini differed in opinion
from me, and expressed his views in such a peremptory manner that I
remarked that a gentleman would be rather more choice in his expressions.
"Maybe," he replied, "but I am not going to learn manners from you."
I constrained myself, and said nothing, but I was getting tired of his
insolence; and as he might imagine that my resentment was caused by fear,
I determined on disabusing him.
As he was taking his coffee on the balcony overlooking the sea, I came up
to him with my cup in my hand, and said that I was tired of the rudeness
with which he treated me in company.
"You would find me ruder still," he replied, "if we could meet without
company."
"I think I could convince you of your mistake if we could have a private
meeting."
"I should very much like to see you do it."
"When you see me go out, follow me, and don't say a word to anyone."
"I will not fail."
I rejoined the company, and walked slowly towards Pausilippo. I looked
back and saw him following me; and as he was a brave fellow, and we both
had our swords, I felt sure the thing would soon be settled.
As soon as I found myself in the open country, where we should not be
interrupted, I stopped short.
As he drew near I attempted a parley, thinking that we might come to a
more amicable settlement; but the fellow rushed on me with his sword in
one hand and his hat in the other.
I lunged out at him, and instead of attempting to parry he replied in
quart. The result was that our blades were caught in each other's
sleeves; but I had slit his arm, while his point had only pierced the
stuff of my coat.
I put myself on guard again to go on, but I could see he was too weak to
defend himself, so I said if he liked I would give him quarter.
He made no reply, so I pressed on him, struck him to the ground, and
trampled on his body.
He foamed with rage, and told me that it was my turn this time, but that
he hoped I would give him his revenge.
"With pleasure, at Rome, and I hope the third lesson will be more
effectual than the two I have already given you."
He was losing a good deal of blood, so I sheathed his sword for him and
advised him to go to Goudar's house, which was close at hand, and have
his wound attended to.
I went back to "Crocielles" as if nothing had happened. The chevalier was
making love to Sara, and the rest were playing cards.
I left the company an hour afterwards without having said a word about my
duel, and for the last time I supped with Callimena. Six years later I
saw her at Venice, displaying her beauty and her talents on the boards of
St. Benedict's Theatre.
I spent a delicious night with her, and at eight o'clock the next day I
went off in a post-chaise without taking leave of anyone.
I arrived at Salerno at two o'clock in the afternoon, and as soon as I
had taken a room I wrote a note to Donna Lucrezia Castelli at the Marquis
C----'s.
I asked her if I could pay her a short visit, and begged her to send a
reply while I was taking my dinner.
I was sitting down to table when I had the pleasure of seeing Lucrezia
herself come in. She gave a cry of delight and rushed to my arms.
This excellent woman was exactly my own age, but she would have been
taken for fifteen years younger.
After I had told her how I had come to hear about her I asked for news of
our daughter.
"She is longing to see you, and her husband too; he is a worthy old man,
and will be so glad to know you."
"How does he know of my existence?"
"Leonilda has mentioned your name a thousand times during the five years
they have been married. He is aware that you gave her five thousand
ducats. We shall sup together."
"Let us go directly; I cannot rest till I have seen my Leonilda and the
good husband God has given her. Have they any children?"
"No, unluckily for her, as after his death the property passes to his
relations. But Leonilda will be a rich woman for all that; she will have
a hundred thousand ducats of her own."
"You have never married."
"No."
"You are as pretty as you were twenty-six years ago, and if it had not
been for the Abbe Galiani I should have left Naples without seeing you."
I found Leonilda had developed into a perfect beauty. She was at that
time twenty-three years old.
Her husband's presence was no constraint upon her; she received me with
open arms, and put me completely at my ease.
No doubt she was my daughter, but in spite of our relationship and my
advancing years I still felt within my breast the symptoms of the
tenderest passion for her.
She presented me to her husband, who suffered dreadfully from gout, and
could not stir from his arm-chair.
He received me with smiling face and open arms, saying,--
"My dear friend, embrace me."
I embraced him affectionately, and in our greeting I discovered that he
was a brother mason. The marquis had expected as much, but I had not; for
a nobleman of sixty who could boast that he had been enlightened was a
'rara avis' in the domains of his Sicilian majesty thirty years ago.
I sat down beside him and we embraced each other again, while the ladies
looked on amazed, wondering to see us so friendly to each other.
Donna Leonilda fancied that we must be old friends, and told her husband
how delighted she was. The old man burst out laughing, and Lucrezia
suspecting the truth bit her lips and said nothing. The fair marchioness
reserved her curiosity for another reason.
The marquis had seen the whole of Europe. He had only thought of marrying
on the death of his father, who had attained the age of ninety. Finding
himself in the enjoyment of thirty thousand ducats a year he imagined
that he might yet have children in spite of his advanced age. He saw
Leonilda, and in a few days he made her his wife, giving her a dowry of a
hundred thousand ducats. Donna Lucrezia went to live with her daughter.
Though the marquis lived magnificently, he found it difficult to spend
more than half his income.
He lodged all his relations in his immense palace; there were three
families in all, and each lived apart.
Although they were comfortably off they were awaiting with impatience the
death of the head of the family, as they would then share his riches. The
marquis had only married in the hope of having an heir; and these hopes
he could no longer entertain. However, he loved his wife none the less,
while she made him happy by her charming disposition.
The marquis was a man of liberal views like his wife, but this was a
great secret, as free thought was not appreciated at Salerno.
Consequently, any outsider would have taken the household for a truly
Christian one, and the marquis took care to adopt in appearance all the
prejudices of his fellow-countrymen.
Donna Lucrezia told me all this three hours after as we walked in a
beautiful garden, where her husband had sent us after a long conversation
on subjects which could not have been of any interest to the ladies.
Nevertheless, they did not leave us for a moment, so delighted were they
to find that the marquis had met a congenial spirit.
About six o'clock the marquis begged Donna Lucrezia to take me to the
garden and amuse me till the evening. His wife he asked to stay, as he
had something to say to her.
It was in the middle of August and the heat was great, but the room on
the ground floor which we occupied was cooled by a delicious breeze.
I looked out of the window and noticed that the leaves on the trees were
still, and that no wind was blowing; and I could not help saying to the
marquis that I was astonished to find his room as cool as spring in the
heats of summer.
"Your sweetheart will explain it to you," said he.
We went through several apartments, and at last reached a closet, in one
corner of which was a square opening.
From it rushed a cold and even violent wind. From the opening one could
go down a stone staircase of at least a hundred steps, and at the bottom
was a grotto where was the source of a stream of water as cold as ice.
Donna Lucrezia told me it would be a great risk to go down the steps
without excessively warm clothing.
I have never cared to run risks of this kind. Lord Baltimore, on the
other hand, would have laughed at the danger, and gone, maybe, to his
death. I told my old sweetheart that I could imagine the thing very well
from the description, and that I had no curiosity to see whether my
imagination were correct.
Lucrezia told me I was very prudent, and took me to the garden.
It was a large place, and separated from the garden common to the three
other families who inhabited the castle. Every flower that can be
imagined was there, fountains threw their glittering sprays, and grottoes
afforded a pleasing shade from the sun.
The alleys of this terrestrial paradise were formed of vines, and the
bunches of grapes seemed almost as numerous as the leaves.
Lucrezia enjoyed my surprise, and I told her that I was not astonished at
being more moved by this than by the vines of Tivoli and Frascati. The
immense rather dazzles the eyes than moves the heart.
She told me that her daughter was happy, and that the marquis was an
excellent man, and a strong man except for the gout. His great grief was
that he had no children. Amongst his dozen of nephews there was not one
worthy of succeeding to the title.
"They are all ugly, awkward lads, more like peasants than noblemen; all
their education has been given them by a pack of ignorant priests; and so
it is not to be wondered that the marquis does not care for them much."
"But is Leonilda really happy?"
"She is, though her husband cannot be quite so ardent as she would like
at her age."
"He doesn't seem to me to be a very jealous man."
"He is entirely free from jealousy, and if Leonilda would take a lover I
am sure he would be his best friend. And I feel certain he would be only
too glad to find the beautiful soil which he cannot fertile himself
fertilized by another."
"Is it positively certain that he is incapable of begetting a child?"
"No, when he is well he does his best; but there seems no likelihood of
his ardour having any happy results. There was some ground to hope in the
first six months of the marriage, but since he has had the gout so badly
there seems reason to fear lest his amorous ecstasies should have a fatal
termination. Sometimes he warts to approach her, but she dare not let
him, and this pains her very much."
I was struck with a lively sense of Lucrezia's merits, and was just
revealing to her the sentiments which she had re-awakened in my breast,
when the marchioness appeared in the garden, followed by a page and a
young lady.
I affected great reverence as she came up to us; and as if we had given
each other the word, she answered me in atone of ceremonious politeness.
"I have come on an affair of the highest importance," she said, "and if I
fail I shall for ever lose the reputation of a diplomatist?"
"Who is the other diplomatist with whom you are afraid of failing?"
"'Tis yourself."
"Then your battle is over, for I consent before I know what you ask. I
only make a reserve on one point."
"So much the worse, as that may turn out to be just what I want you to
do. Tell me what it is."
"I was going to Rome, when the Abbe Galiani told me that Donna Lucrezia
was here with you."
"And can a short delay interfere with your happiness? Are you not your
own master?"
"Smile on me once more; your desires are orders which must be obeyed. I
have always been my own master, but I cease to be so from this moment,
since I am your most humble servant."
"Very good. Then I command you to come and spend a few days with us at an
estate we have at a short distance. My husband will have himself
transported here. You will allow me to send to the inn for your luggage?"
"Here, sweet marchioness, is the key to my room. Happy the mortal whom
you deign to command."
Leonilda gave the key to the page, a pretty boy, and told him to see that
all my belongings were carefully taken to the castle.
Her lady-in-waiting was very fair. I said so to Leonilda in French, not
knowing that the young lady understood the language, but she smiled and
told her mistress that we were old acquaintances.
"When had I the pleasure of knowing you, mademoiselle?"
"Nine year ago. You have often spoken to me and teased me."
"Where, may I ask?"
"At the Duchess of Matalone's."
"That may be, and I think I do begin to remember, but I really cannot
recollect having teased you."
The marchioness and her mother were highly amused at this conversation,
and pressed the girl to say how I had teased her. She confined herself,
however, to saying that I had played tricks on her. I thought I
remembered having stolen a few kisses, but I left the ladies to think
what they liked.
I was a great student of the human heart, and felt that these reproaches
of Anastasia's (such was her name) were really advances, but unskillfully
made, for if she had wanted more of me, she should have held her peace
and bided her time.
"It strikes me," said I, "that you were much smaller in those days."
"Yes, I was only twelve or thirteen. You have changed also."
"Yes, I have aged."
We began talking about the late Duke of Matalone, and Anastasia left us.
We sat down in a charming grotto, and began styling each other papa and
daughter, and allowing ourselves liberties which threatened to lead to
danger.
The marchioness tried to calm my transports by talking of her good
husband.
Donna Lucrezia remarked our mutual emotion as I held Leonilda in my arms,
and warned us to be careful. She then left us to walk in a different part
of the garden.
Her words had the contrary effect to what was intended, for as soon as
she left us in so opportune a manner, although we had no intention of
committing the double crime, we approached too near to each other, and an
almost involuntary movement made, the act complete.
We remained motionless, looking into one another's eyes, in mute
astonishment, as we confessed afterwards, to find neither guilt nor
repentance in our breasts.
We rearranged our position, and the marchioness sitting close to me
called me her dear husband, while I called her my dear wife.
The new bond between us was confirmed by affectionate kisses. We were
absorbed and silent, and Lucrezia was delighted to find us so calm when
she returned.
We had no need to warn each other to observe secrecy. Donna Lucrezia was
devoid of prejudice, but there was no need to give her a piece of useless
information.
We felt certain that she had left us alone, so as not to be a witness of
what we were going to do.
After some further conversation we went back to the palace with
Anastasia, whom we found in the alley by herself.
The marquis received his wife with joy, congratulating her on the success
of her negotiations. He thanked me for my compliance, and assured me I
should have a comfortable apartment in his country house.
"I suppose you will not mind having our friend for a neighbor?" he said
to Lucrezia.
"No," said she; "but we will be discreet, for the flower of our lives has
withered."
"I shall believe as much of that as I please."
The worthy man dearly loved a joke.
The long table was laid for five, and as soon as dinner was served an old
priest came in and sat down. He spoke to nobody, and nobody spoke to him.
The pretty page stood behind the marchioness, and we were waited on by
ten or twelve servants.
I had only a little soup at dinner, so I ate like an ogre, for I was very
hungry, and the marquis's French cook was a thorough artist.
The marquis exclaimed with delight as I devoured one dish after another.
He told me that the only fault in his wife that she was a very poor eater
like her mother. At dessert the wine began to take effect, and our
conversation, which was conducted in French, became somewhat free. The
old priest took no notice, as he only understood Italian, and he finally
left us after saying the 'agimus'.
The marquis told me that this ecclesiastic had been a confessor to the
palace for the last twenty years, but had never confessed anybody. He
warned me to take care what I said before him if I spoke Italian, but he
did not know a word of French.
Mirth was the order of the day, and I kept the company at table till an
hour after midnight.
Before we parted for the night the marquis told me that we would start in
the afternoon, and that he should arrive an hour before us. He assured
his wife that he was quite well, and that he hoped to convince her that I
had made him ten years younger. Leonilda embraced him tenderly, begging
him to be careful of his health.
"Yes, yes," said he, "but get ready to receive me."
I wished them a good night, and a little marquis at nine months from
date.
"Draw the bill," said he to me, "and to-morrow I will accept it."
"I promise you," said Lucrezia, "to do my best to ensure your meeting
your obligations."
Donna Lucrezia took me to my room, where she handed me over to the charge
of an imposing-looking servant, and wished me a good night.
I slept for eight hours in a most comfortable bed, and when I was dressed
Lucrezia took me to breakfast with the marchioness, who was at her
toilette.
"Do you think I may draw my bill at nine months?" said I.
"It will very probably be met," said she.
"Really?"
"Yes, really; and it will be to you that my husband will owe the
happiness he has so long desired. He told me so when he left me an hour
ago.
"I shall be delighted to add to your mutual happiness."
She looked so fresh and happy that I longed to kiss her, but I was
obliged to restrain myself as she was surrounded by her pretty maids.
The better to throw any spies off the scent I began to make love to
Anastasia, and Leonilda pretended to encourage me.
I feigned a passionate desire, and I could see that I should not have
much trouble in gaining my suit. I saw I should have to be careful if I
did not want to be taken at my word; I could not bear such a surfeit of
pleasures.
We went to breakfast with the marquis, who was delighted to see us. He
was quite well, except the gout which prevented his walking.
After breakfast we heard mass, and I saw about twenty servants in the
chapel. After the service I kept the marquis company till dinner-time. He
said I was very good to sacrifice the company of the ladies for his sake.
After dinner we set out for his country house; I in a carriage with the
two ladies, and the marquis in a litter borne by two mules.
In an hour and a half we arrived at his fine and well-situated castle.
The first thing the marchioness did was to take me into the garden, where
my ardour returned and she once more abandoned herself to me.
We agreed that I should only go to her room to court Anastasia, as it was
necessary to avoid the slightest suspicion.
This fancy of mine for his wife's maid amused the marquis, for his wife
kept him well posted in the progress of our intrigue.
Donna Lucrezia approved of the arrangement as she did not want the
marquis to think that I had only come to Salerno for her sake. My
apartments were next to Leonilda's, but before I could get into her room
I should be obliged to pass through that occupied by Anastasia, who slept
with another maid still prettier than herself.
The marquis came an hour later, and he said he would get his people to
carry him in an arm-chair round the gardens, so that he might point out
their beauties to me. After supper he felt tired and went to bed, leaving
me to entertain the ladies.
After a few moments' conversation, I led the marchioness to her room, and
she said I had better go to my own apartment through the maids' room,
telling Anastasia to shew me the way.
Politeness obliged me to shew myself sensible of such a favour, and I
said I hoped she would not be so harsh as to lock her door upon me.
"I shall lock my door," said she, "because it is my duty to do so. This
room is my mistress's closet, and my companion would probably make some
remark if I left the door open contrary to my usual custom."
"Your reasons are too good for me to overcome, but will you not sit down
beside me for a few minutes and help me to recollect how I used to tease
you?"
"I don't want you to recollect anything about it; please let me go."
"You must please yourself," said I; and after embracing her and giving
her a kiss, I wished her good night.
My servant came in as she went out, and I told him that I would sleep by
myself for the future.
The next day the marchioness laughingly repeated the whole of my
conversation with Anastasia.
"I applauded her virtuous resistance, but I said she might safely assist
at your toilette every evening."
Leonilda gave the marquis a full account of my talk with Anastasia. The
old man thought I was really in love with her, and had her in to supper
for my sake, so I was in common decency bound to play the lover.
Anastasia was highly pleased at my preferring her to her charming
mistress, and at the latter's complaisance towards our love-making.
The marquis in his turn was equally pleased as he thought the intrigue
would make me stay longer at his house.
In the evening Anastasia accompanied me to my room with a candle, and
seeing that I had no valet she insisted combing my hair. She felt
flattered at my not presuming to go to bed in her presence, and kept me
company for an hour; and as I was not really amorous of her, I had no
difficulty in playing the part of the timid lover. When she wished me
good night she was delighted to find my kisses as affectionate but not so
daring as those of the night before.
The marchioness said, the next morning, that if the recital she had heard
were true, she was afraid Anastasia's company tired me, as she very well
knew that when I really loved I cast timidity to the winds.
"No, she doesn't tire me at all; she is pretty and amusing. But how can
you imagine that I really love her, when you know very well that the
whole affair is only designed to cast dust in everyone's eyes?"
"Anastasia fully believes that you adore her, and indeed I am not sorry
that you should give her a little taste for gallantry."
"If I can persuade her to leave her door open I can easily visit you, for
she will not imagine for a moment that after leaving her I go to your
room instead of my own."
"Take care how you set about it."
"I will see what I can do this evening."
The marquis and Lucrezia had not the slightest doubt that Anastasia spent
every night with me, and they were delighted at the idea.
The whole of the day I devoted to the worthy marquis, who said my company
made him happy. It was no sacrifice on my part, for I liked his
principles and his way of thinking.
On the occasion of my third supper with Anastasia I was more tender than
ever, and she was very much astonished to find that I had cooled down
when I got to my room.
"I am glad to see you so calm," said she, "you quite frightened me at
supper."
"The reason is that I know you think yourself in danger when you are
alone with me."
"Not at all; you are much more discreet than you were nine years ago."
"What folly did I commit then?"
"No folly, but you did not respect my childhood."
"I only gave you a few caresses, for which I am now sorry, as you are
frightened of me, and persist in locking your door."
"I don't mistrust you, but I have told you my reasons for locking the
door. I think that you must mistrust me, as you won't go to bed while I
am in the room."
"You must think me very presumptuous. I will go to bed, but you must not
leave me without giving me a kiss."
"I promise to do so."
I went to bed, and Anastasia spent half an hour beside me. I had a good
deal of difficulty in controlling myself, but I was afraid of her telling
the marchioness everything.
As she left me she gave me such a kind embrace that I could bear it no
longer, and guiding her hand I skewed her the power she exercised over
me. She then went away, and I shall not say whether my behaviour
irritated or pleased her.
The next day I was curious to know how much she had told the marchioness,
and on hearing nothing of the principal fact I felt certain she would not
lock her door that evening.
When the evening came I defied her to skew the same confidence in me as I
had shewn in her. She replied that she would do so with pleasure, if I
would blow out my candle and promise not to put my hand on her. I easily
gave her the required promise, for I meant to keep myself fresh for
Leonilda.
I undressed hastily, followed her with bare feet, and laid myself beside
her.
She took my hands and held them, to which I offered no resistance. We
were afraid of awakening her bedfellow, and kept perfect silence. Our
lips however gave themselves free course, and certain motions, natural
under the circumstances, must have made her believe that I was in
torments. The half hour I passed beside her seemed extremely long to me,
but it must have been delicious to her, as giving her the idea that she
could do what she liked with me.
When I left her after we had shared an ecstatic embrace, I returned to my
room, leaving the door open. As soon as I had reason to suppose that she
was asleep, I returned, and passed through her room to Leonilda's. She
was expecting me, but did not know of my presence till I notified it with
a kiss.
After I had given her a strong proof of my love, I told her of my
adventure with Anastasia, and then our amorous exploits began again, and
I did not leave her till I had spent two most delicious hours. We agreed
that they should not be the last, and I returned to my room on tiptoe as
I had come.
I did not get up till noon, and the marquis and his wife jested with me
at dinner on the subject of my late rising. At supper it was Anastasia's
turn, and she seemed to enjoy the situation. She told me in the evening
that she would not lock her door, but that I must not come into her room,
as it was dangerous. It would be much better, she said, for us to talk in
my room, where there would be no need of putting out the light. She added
that I had better go to bed, as then she would feel certain that she was
not tiring me in any way.
I could not say no, but I flattered myself that I would keep my strength
intact for Leonilda.
I reckoned without my host, as the proverb goes.
When I held Anastasia between my arms in bed, her lips glued to mine, I
told her, as in duty bound, that she did not trust in me enough to lie
beside me with her clothes off.
Thereupon she asked me if I would be very discreet.
If I had said no, I should have looked a fool. I made up my mind, and
told her yes, determined to satisfy the pretty girl's desires.
In a moment she was in my arms, not at all inclined to keep me to my
promise.
Appetite, it is said, comes in eating. Her ardour made me amorous, and I
rendered homage to her charms till I fell asleep with fatigue.
Anastasia left me while I was asleep, and when I awoke I found myself in
the somewhat ridiculous position of being obliged to make a full
confession to the marchioness as to why I had failed in my duties to her.
When I told Leonilda my tale, she began to laugh and agreed that further
visits were out of the question. We made up our minds, and for the
remainder of my visit our amorous meetings only took place in the
summerhouses in the garden.
I had to receive Anastasia every night, and when I left for Rome and did
not take her with me she considered me as a traitor.
The worthy marquis gave me a great surprise on the eve of my departure.
We were alone together, and he began by saying that the Duke of Matalone
had told him the reason which had prevented me marrying Leonilda, and
that he had always admired my generosity in making her a present of five
thousand ducats, though I was far from rich.
"These five thousand ducats," he added, "with seven thousand from the
duke, composed her dower, and I have added a hundred thousand, so that
she is sure of a comfortable living, even if I die without a successor.
"Now, I want you to take back the five thousand ducats you gave her; and
she herself is as desirous of your doing so as I am. She did not like to
ask you herself; she is too delicate."
"Well, I should have refused Leonilda if she had asked me, but I accept
this mark of your friendship. A refusal would have borne witness to
nothing but a foolish pride, as I am a poor man. I should like Leonilda
and her mother to be present when you give me the money."
"Embrace me; we will do our business after dinner."
Naples has always been a temple of fortune to me, but if I went there now
I should starve. Fortune flouts old age.
Leonilda and Lucrezia wept with joy when the good marquis gave me the
five thousand ducats in bank notes, and presented his mother-in-law with
an equal sum in witness of his gratitude to her for having introduced me
to him.
The marquis was discreet enough not to reveal his chief reason. Donna
Lucrezia did not know that the Duke of Matalone had told him that
Leonilda was my daughter.
An excess of gratitude lessened my high spirits for the rest of the day,
and Anastasia did not spend a very lively night with me.
I went off at eight o'clock the next morning. I was sad, and the whole
house was in tears.
I promised that I would write to the marquis from Rome, and I reached
Naples at eleven o'clock.
I went to see Agatha, who was astonished at my appearance as she had
thought I was at Rome. Her husband welcomed me in the most friendly
manner, although he was suffering a great deal.
I said I would dine with them and start directly afterwards, and I asked
the advocate to get me a bill on Rome for five thousand ducats, in
exchange for the bank notes I gave him.
Agatha saw that my mind was made up, and without endeavoring to persuade
me to stay went in search of Callimena.
She too had thought I was in Rome, and was in an ecstasy of delight to
see me again.
My sudden disappearance and my unexpected return were the mystery of the
day, but I did not satisfy anyone's curiosity.
I left them at three o'clock, and stopped at Montecasino, which I had
never seen. I congratulated myself on my idea, for I met there Prince
Xaver de Saxe, who was travelling under the name of Comte de Lusace with
Madame Spinucci, a lady of Fermo, with whom he had contracted a
semi-clandestine marriage. He had been waiting for three days to hear
from the Pope, for by St. Benedict's rule women are not allowed in
monasteries; and as Madame Spinucci was extremely curious on the subject,
her husband had been obliged to apply for a dispensation to the Holy
Father.
I slept at Montecasino after having seen the curiosities of the place,
and I went on to Rome, and put up with Roland's daughter in the Place
d'Espagne.
CHAPTER XV
Margarita--Madame Buondcorsi--The Duchess of Fiano--Cardinal
Bernis--The Princess Santa Croce--Menicuccio and His Sister
[Illustration: Chapter 15]
I had made up my mind to spend a quiet six months at Rome, and the day
after my arrival I took a pleasant suite of rooms opposite the Spanish
Ambassador, whose name was d'Aspura. It happened to be the same rooms as
were occupied twenty-seven years ago by the teacher of languages, to whom
I had gone for lessons while I was with Cardinal Acquaviva. The landlady
was the wife of a cook who only, slept with his better half once a week.
The woman had a daughter of sixteen or seventeen years old, who would
have been very pretty if the small-pox had not deprived her of one eye.
They had provided her with an ill-made artificial eye, of a wrong size
and a bad colour, which gave a very unpleasant expression to her face.
Margarita, as she was called, made no impression on me, but I made her a
present which she valued very highly. There was an English oculist named
Taylor in Rome at that time, and I got him to make her an eye of the
right size and colour. This made Margarita imagine that I had fallen in
love with her, and the mother, a devotee, was in some trouble as to
whether my intentions were strictly virtuous.
I made arrangements with the mother to supply me with a good dinner and
supper without any luxury. I had three thousand sequins, and I had made
up my mind to live in a quiet and respectable manner.
The next day I found letters for me in several post-offices, and the
banker Belloni, who had known me for several years, had been already
advised of my bill of exchange. My good friend Dandolo sent me two
letters of introduction, of which one was addressed to M. Erizzo, the
Venetian ambassador. He was the brother of the ambassador to Paris. This
letter pleased me greatly. The other was addressed to the Duchess of
Fiano, by her brother M. Zuliani.
I saw that I should be free of all the best houses, and I promised myself
the pleasure of an early visit to Cardinal Bernis.
I did not hire either a carriage or a servant. At Rome both these
articles are procurable at a moment's notice.
My first call was on the Duchess of Fiano. She was an ugly woman, and
though she was really very good-natured, she assumed the character of
being malicious so as to obtain some consideration.
Her husband, who bore the name of Ottoboni, had only married her to
obtain an heir, but the poor devil turned out to be what the Romans call
'babilano', and we impotent. The duchess told me as much on the occasion
of my third visit. She did not give me the information in a complaining
tone, or as if she was fain to be consoled, but merely to defy her
confessor, who had threatened her with excommunication if she went on
telling people about her husband's condition, or if she tried to cure him
of it.
The duchess gave a little supper every evening to her select circle of
friends. I was not admitted to these reunions for a week or ten days, by
which time I had made myself generally popular. The duke did not care for
company and supped apart.
The Prince of Santa Croce was the duchess's 'cavaliere servante', and the
princess was served by Cardinal Bernis. The princess was a daughter of
the Marquis Falconieri, and was young, pretty, lively, and intended by
nature for a life of pleasure. However, her pride at possessing the
cardinal was so great that she did not give any hope to other competitors
for her favour.
The prince was a fine man of distinguished manners and great capability,
which he employed in business speculations, being of opinion, and
rightly, that it was no shame for a nobleman to increase his fortune by
the exercise of his intelligence. He was a careful man, and had attached
himself to the duchess because she cost him nothing, and he ran no risk
of falling in love with her.
Two or three weeks after my arrival he heard me complaining of the
obstacles to research in the Roman libraries, and he offered to give me
an introduction to the Superior of the Jesuits. I accepted the offer, and
was made free of the library; I could not only go and read when I liked,
but I could, on writing my name down, take books away with me. The
keepers of the library always brought me candles when it grew dark, and
their politeness was so great that they gave me the key of a side door,
so that I could slip in and out as I pleased.
The Jesuits were always the most polite of the regular clergy, or,
indeed, I may say the only polite men amongst them; but during the crisis
in which they were then involved, they were simply cringing.
The King of Spain had called for the suppression of the order, and the
Pope had promised that it should be done; but the Jesuits did not think
that such a blow could ever be struck, and felt almost secure. They did
not think that the Pope's power was superhuman so far as they were
concerned. They even intimated to him by indirect channels that his
authority did not extend to the suppression of the order; but they were
mistaken. The sovereign pontiff delayed the signature of the bull, but
his hesitation proceeded from the fact that in signing it he feared lest
he should be signing his own sentence of death. Accordingly he put it off
till he found that his honour was threatened. The King of Spain, the most
obstinate tyrant in Europe, wrote to him with his own hand, telling him
that if he did not suppress the order he would publish in all the
languages of Europe the letters he had written when he was a cardinal,
promising to suppress the order when he became Pope. On the strength of
these letters Ganganelli had been elected.
Another man would have taken refuge in casuistry and told the king that
it was not for a pope to be bound to the cardinal's promises, in which
contention he would have been supported by the Jesuits. However, in his
heart Ganganelli had no liking for the Jesuits. He was a Franciscan, and
not a gentleman by birth. He had not a strong enough intellect to defy
the king and all his threats, or to bear the shame of being exhibited to
the whole world as an ambitious and unscrupulous man.
I am amused when people tell me that Ganganelli poisoned himself by
taking so many antidotes. It is true that having reason, and good reason,
to dread poison, he made use of antidotes which, with his ignorance of
science, might have injured his health; but I am morally certain that he
died of poison which was given by other hands than his own.
My reasons for this opinion are as follows:
In the year of which I am speaking, the third of the Pontificate of
Clement XIV., a woman of Viterbo was put in prison on the charge of
making predictions. She obscurely prophesied the suppression of the
Jesuits, without giving any indication of the time; but she said very
clearly that the company would be destroyed by a pope who would only
reign five years three months and three days--that is, as long as Sixtus
V., not a day more and not a day less.
Everybody treated the prediction with contempt, as the product of a
brain-sick woman. She was shut up and quite forgotten.
I ask my readers to give a dispassionate judgment, and to say whether
they have any doubt as to the poisoning of Ganganelli when they hear that
his death verified the prophecy.
In a case like this, moral certainty assumes the force of scientific
certainty. The spirit which inspired the Pythia of Viterbo took its
measures to inform the world that if the Jesuits were forced to submit to
being suppressed, they were not so weak as to forego a fearful vengeance.
The Jesuit who cut short Ganganelli's days might certainly have poisoned
him before the bull was signed, but the fact was that they could not
bring themselves to believe it till it took place. It is clear that if
the Pope had not suppressed the Jesuits, they would not have poisoned
him, and here again the prophecy could not be taxed with falsity. We may
note that Clement XIV., like Sixtus V., was a Franciscan, and both were
of low birth. It is also noteworthy that after the Pope's death the
prophetess was liberated, and, though her prophecy had been fulfilled to
the letter, all the authorities persisted in saying that His Holiness had
died from his excessive use of antidotes.
It seems to me that any impartial judge will scout the idea of Ganganelli
having killed himself to verify the woman of Viterbo's prediction. If you
say it was a mere coincidence, of course I cannot absolutely deny your
position, for it may have been chance; but my thoughts on the subject
will remain unchanged.
This poisoning was the last sign the Jesuits gave of their power. It was
a crime, because it was committed after the event, whereas, if it had
been done before the suppression of the order, it would have been a
stroke of policy, and might have been justified on politic grounds. The
true politician looks into the future, and takes swift and certain
measures to obtain the end he has in view.
The second time that the Prince of Santa Croce saw me at the Duchess of
Fiano's, he asked me 'ex abrupta' why I did not visit Cardinal Bernis.
"I think of paying my suit to him to-morrow," said I.
"Do so, for I have never heard his eminence speak of anyone with as much
consideration as he speaks of yourself."
"He has been very kind to me, and I shall always be grateful to him."
The cardinal received me the next day with every sign of delight at
seeing me. He praised the reserve with which I had spoken of him to the
prince, and said he need not remind me of the necessity for discretion as
to our old Venetian adventures.
"Your eminence," I said, "is a little stouter, otherwise you look as
fresh as ever and not at all changed."
"You make a mistake. I am very different from what I was then. I am
fifty-five now, and then I was thirty-six. Moreover, I am reduced to a
vegetable diet."
"Is that to keep down the lusts of the flesh?"
"I wish people would think so; but no one does, I am afraid."
He was glad to hear that I bore a letter to the Venetian ambassador,
which I had not yet presented. He said he would take care to give the
ambassador a prejudice in my favour, and that he would give me a good
reception.
"We will begin to break the ice to-morrow," added this charming cardinal.
"You shall dine with me, and his excellence shall hear of it."
He heard with pleasure that I was well provided for as far as money was
concerned, and that I had made up my mind to live simply and discreetly
so long as I remained in Rome.
"I shall write about you to M---- M----," he said. "I have always kept up
a correspondence with that delightful nun."
I then amused him by the talk of my adventure with the nun of Chamberi.
"You ought to ask the Prince of Santa Croce to introduce you to the
princess. We might pass some pleasant hours with her, though not in our
old Venetian style, for the princess is not at all like M---- M----.
"And yet she serves to amuse your eminence?"
"Well, I have to be content with what I can get."
The next day as I was getting up from dinner the cardinal told me that M.
Zuliani had written about me to the ambassador, who would be delighted to
make my acquaintance, and when I went I had an excellent reception from
him.
The Chevalier Erizzo, who is still alive, was a man of great
intelligence, common sense, and oratorical power. He complimented me on
my travels and on my being protected by the State Inquisitors instead of
being persecuted by them. He kept me to dinner, and asked me to dine with
him whenever I had no other engagement.
The same evening I met Prince Santa Croce at the duchess's, and asked him
to introduce me to his wife.
"I have been expecting that," he replied "even since the cardinal talked
to her about you for more than an hour. You can call any day at eleven in
the morning or two in the afternoon."
I called the next day at two o'clock. She was taking her siesta in bed,
but as I had the privileges allowed to a person of no consequence she let
me in directly. She was young, pretty, lively, curious, and talkative;
she had not enough patience to wait for my answer to her questions. She
struck me as a toy, well adapted to amuse a man of affairs, who felt the
need of some distraction. The cardinal saw her regularly three times a
day; the first thing in the morning he called to ask if she had had a
good night, at three o'clock in the afternoon he took coffee with her,
and in the evening he met her at the assembly. He always played at
piquet, and played with such talent that he invariably lost six Roman
sequins, no more and no less. These losses of the cardinal's made the
princess the richest young wife in Rome.
Although the marquis was somewhat inclined to be jealous, he could not
possibly object to his wife enjoying a revenue of eighteen hundred francs
a month, and that without the least scandal, for everything was done in
public, and the game was honestly conducted. Why should not fortune fall
in love with such a pretty woman?
The Prince of Santa Croce could not fail to appreciate the friendship of
the cardinal for his wife, who gave him a child every year, and sometimes
every nine months, in spite of the doctor's warnings to beware of
results. It was said that to make up for his enforced abstinence during
the last few days of his wife's pregnancy, the prince immediately set to
again when the child was being baptized.
The friendship of the cardinal for the prince's wife also gave him the
advantage of getting silks from Lyons without the Pope's treasurer being
able to say anything, as the packets were addressed to the French
ambassador. It must also be noted that the cardinal's patronage kept
other lovers from the house. The High Constable Colonna was very much
taken with her. The prince had surprised this gentleman talking to the
princess in a room of the palace and at an hour when she was certain that
the cardinal would not be in the way. Scarcely had the Colonna gone when
the prince told his wife that she would accompany him into the country
the next day. She protested, saying that this sudden order was only a
caprice and that her honour would not allow of her obeying him. The
prince, however, was very determined, and she would have been obliged to
go if the cardinal had not come in and heard the story from the mouth of
the innocent princess. He shewed the husband that it was to his own
interests to go into the country by himself, and to let his wife remain
in Rome. He spoke for her, assuring the prince that she would take more
care for the future and avoid such meetings, always unpleasant in a
house.
In less than a month I became the shadow of the three principal persons
in the play. I listened and admired and became as necessary to the
personages as a marker at billiards. When any of the parties were
afflicted I consoled them with tales or amusing comments, and, naturally,
they were grateful to me. The cardinal, the prince, and his fair wife
amused each other and offended no one.
The Duchess of Fiano was proud of being the possessor of the prince who
left his wife to the cardinal, but no one was deceived but herself. The
good lady wondered why no one acknowledged that the reason why the
princess never came to see her was mere jealousy. She spoke to me on the
subject with so much fire that I had to suppress my good sense to keep
her good graces.
I had to express my astonishment as to what the cardinal could see in the
princess, who, according to her, was skinny in person and silly in mind,
altogether a woman of no consequence. I agreed to all this, but I was far
from thinking so, for the princess was just the woman to amuse a
voluptuous and philosophic lover like the cardinal.
I could not help thinking now and again that the cardinal was happier in
the possession of this treasure of a woman than in his honours and
dignities.
I loved the princess, but as I did not hope for success I confined myself
strictly to the limits of my position.
I might, no doubt, have succeeded, but more probably I should have raised
her pride against me, and wounded the feelings of the cardinal, who was
no longer the same as when we shared M---- M---- in common. He had told me
that his affection for her was of a purely fatherly character, and I took
that as a hint not to trespass on his preserves.
I had reason to congratulate myself that she observed no more ceremony
with me than with her mail. I accordingly pretended to see nothing, while
she felt certain I saw all.
It is no easy matter to win the confidence of such a woman, especially if
she be served by a king or a cardinal.
My life at Rome was a tranquil and happy one. Margarita had contrived to
gain my interest by the assiduity of her attentions. I had no servant, so
she waited on me night and morning, and her false eye was such an
excellent match that I quite forgot its falsity. She was a clever, but a
vain girl, and though at first I had no designs upon her I flattered her
vanity by my conversation and the little presents I bestowed upon her,
which enabled her to cut a figure in church on Sundays. So before long I
had my eyes opened to two facts; the one that she was sure of my love,
and wondered why I did not declare it; the other, that if I chose I had
an easy conquest before me.
I guessed the latter circumstance one day when, after I had asked her to
tell me her adventures from the age of eleven to that of eighteen, she
proceeded to tell me tales, the telling of which necessitated her
throwing all modesty to the winds.
I took the utmost delight in these scandalous narrations, and whenever I
thought she had told the whole truth I gave her a few pieces of money;
while whenever I had reason to suppose that she had suppressed some
interesting circumstances I gave her nothing.
She confessed to me that she no longer possessed that which a maid can
lose but once, that a friend of hers named Buonacorsi was in the same
case, and finally she told me the name of the young man who had relieved
them both of their maidenheads.
We had for neighbor a young Piedmontese abbe named Ceruti, on whom
Margarita was obliged to wait when her mother was too busy. I jested with
her about him, but she swore there was no lovemaking between them.
This abbe was a fine man, learned and witty, but he was overwhelmed with
debt and in very bad odour at Rome on account of an extremely unpleasant
story of which he was the hero.
They said that he had told an Englishman, who was in love with Princess
Lanti, that she was in want of two hundred sequins, that the Englishman
had handed over the money to the abbe, and that the latter had
appropriated it.
This act of meanness had been brought to light by an explanation between
the lady and the Englishman. On his saying to the princess that he was
ready to do anything for her, and that the two hundred sequins he had
given her were as nothing in comparison with what he was ready to do, she
indignantly denied all knowledge of the transaction. Everything came out.
The Englishman begged pardon, and the abbe was excluded from the
princess's house and the Englishman's also.
This Abbe Ceruti was one of those journalists employed to write the
weekly news of Rome by Bianconi; he and I had in a manner become friends
since we were neighbours. I saw that he loved Margarita, and I was not in
the least jealous, but as he was a handsome young fellow I could not
believe that Margarita was cruel to him. Nevertheless, she assured me
that she detested him, and that she was very sorry that her mother made
her wait on him at all.
Ceruti had already laid himself under obligations to me. He had borrowed
a score of crowns from me, promising to repay them in a week, and three
weeks had gone by without my seeing the money. However, I did not ask for
it, and would have lent him as much more if he had requested me. But I
must tell the story as it happened.
Whenever I supped with the Duchess of Fiano I came in late, and Margarita
waited up for me. Her mother would go to bed. For the sake of amusement I
used to keep her for an hour or two without caring whether our
pleasantries disturbed the abbe, who could hear everything we said.
One evening I came home at midnight and was surprised to find the mother
waiting for me.
"Where is your daughter?" I enquired.
"She's asleep, and I really cannot allow you to pass the whole night with
her any longer."
"But she only stays with me till I get into bed. This new whim wounds my
feelings. I object to such unworthy suspicions. What has Margarita been
telling you? If she has made any complaints of me, she has lied, and I
shall leave your house to-morrow."
"You are wrong; Margarita has made no complaints; on the contrary she
says that you have done nothing to her."
"Very good. Do you think there is any harm in a little joking?"
"No, but you might be better employed."
"And these are your grounds for a suspicion of which you should be
ashamed, if you are a good Christian."
"God save me from thinking evil of my neighbour, but I have been informed
that your laughter and your jests are of such a nature as to be offensive
to people of morality."
"Then it is my neighbour the abbe who has been foolish enough to give you
this information?"
"I cannot tell you how I heard it, but I have heard it."
"Very good. To-morrow I shall seek another lodging, so as to afford your
tender conscience some relief."
"Can't I attend on you as well as my daughter?"
"No; your daughter makes me laugh, and laughing is beneficial to me,
whereas you would not make me laugh at all. You have insulted me, and I
leave your house to-morrow."
"I shall have to tell my husband the reason of your departure, and I do
not want to do that."
"You can do as you like; that's no business of mine. Go away; I want to
get into bed."
"Allow me to wait on you."
"Certainly not; if you want anybody to wait on me, send Margarita."
"She's asleep."
"Then wake her up."
The good woman went her way, and two minutes later, the girl came in with
little on but her chemise. She had not had time to put in her false eye,
and her expression was so amusing that I went off into a roar of
laughter.
"I was sleeping soundly," she began, "and my mother woke me up all of a
sudden, and told me to come and wait on you, or else you would leave, and
my father would think we had been in mischief."
"I will stay, if you will continue to wait on me."
"I should like to come very much, but we mustn't laugh any more, as the
abbe has complained of us."
"Oh! it is the abbe, is it?"
"Of course it is. Our jests and laughter irritate his passions."
"The rascal! We will punish him rarely. If we laughed last night, we will
laugh ten times louder tonight."
Thereupon we began a thousand tricks, accompanied by shouts and shrieks
of laughter, purposely calculated to drive the little priest desperate.
When the fun was at its height, the door opened and the mother came in.
I had Margarita's night-cap on my head, and Margarita's face was adorned
with two huge moustaches, which I had stuck on with ink. Her mother had
probably anticipated taking us in the fact, but when she came in she was
obliged to re-echo our shouts of mirth.
"Come now," said I, "do you think our amusements criminal?"
"Not a bit; but you see your innocent orgies keep your neighbour awake."
"Then he had better go and sleep somewhere else; I am not going to put
myself out for him. I will even say that you must choose between him and
me; if I consent to stay with you, you must send him away, and I will
take his room."
"I can't send him away before the end of the month, and I am afraid he
will say things to my husband which will disturb the peace of the house."
"I promise you he shall go to-morrow and say nothing at all. Leave him to
me; the abbe shall leave of his own free will, without giving you the
slightest trouble. In future be afraid for your daughter when she is
alone with a man and you don't hear laughing. When one does not laugh,
one does something serious."
After this the mother seemed satisfied and went off to bed. Margarita was
in such high spirits over the promised dismissal of the abbe that I could
not resist doing her justice. We passed an hour together without
laughing, and she left me very proud of the victory she had gained.
Early the next day I paid the abbe a visit, and after reproaching him for
his behaviour I gave him his choice between paying me the money he owed
me and leaving the house at once. He did his best to get out of the
dilemma, but seeing that I was pitiless he said he could not leave
without paying a few small sums he owed the landlord, and without the
wherewithal to obtain another lodging.
"Very good," said I, "I will present you with another twenty crowns; but
you must go to-day, and not say a word to anyone, unless you wish me to
become your implacable enemy."
I thus got rid of him and entered into possession of the two rooms.
Margarita was always at my disposal, and after a few days so was the fair
Buonacorsi, who was much the prettier of the two.
The two girls introduced me to the young man who had seduced them.
He was a lad of fifteen or sixteen, and very handsome though short.
Nature had endowed him with an enormous symbol of virility, and at
Lampsacus he would no doubt have had an altar erected to him beside that
of Priapus, with which divinity he might well have contended.
He was well-mannered and agreeable, and seemed much above a common
workman. He did not love Margarita or Mdlle. Bounacorsi; he had merely
satisfied their curiosity. They saw and admired, and wished to come to a
nearer acquaintance; he read their minds and offered to satisfy them.
Thereupon the two girls held a consultation, and pretending to submit out
of mere complaisance; the double deed was done. I liked this young man,
and gave him linen and clothes. So before long he had complete confidence
in me. He told me he was in love with a girl, but unhappily for him she
was in a convent, and not being able to win her he was becoming
desperate. The chief obstacle to the match lay in the fact that his
earnings only amounted to a paul a day, which was certainly an
insufficient sum to support a wife on.
He talked so much about her that I became curious, and expressed a desire
to see her. But before coming to this I must recite some other incidents
of my stay at Rome.
One day I went to the Capitol to see the prizes given to the art
students, and the first face I saw was the face of Mengs. He was with
Battoni and two or three other painters, all being occupied in adjudging
the merits of the various pictures.
I had not forgotten his treatment of me at Madrid, so I pretended not to
see him; but as soon as he saw me, he came up and addressed me as
follows:
"My dear Casanova, let us forget what happened at Madrid and be friends
once more."
"So be it, provided no allusion is made to the cause of our quarrel; for
I warn you that I cannot speak of it and keep my head cool."
"I dare say; but if you had understood my position at Madrid you would
never have obliged me to take a course which gave me great pain."
"I do not understand you."
"I dare say not. You must know, then, that I was strongly suspected of
being a Protestant; and if I had shewn myself indifferent to your
conduct, I might possibly have been ruined. But dine with me tomorrow; we
will make up a party of friends, and discuss our quarrel in a good bottle
of wine. I know that you do not receive your brother, so he shall not be
there. Indeed, I do not receive him myself, for if I did all honest
people would give me the cold shoulder."
I accepted his friendly invitation, and was punctual to the appointment.
My brother left Rome a short time afterwards with Prince Beloselski, the
Russian ambassador to Dresden, with whom he had come; but his visit was
unsuccessful, as Rezzonico proved inexorable. We only saw each other two
or three times at Rome.
Three or four days after he had gone I had the agreeable surprise of
seeing my brother the priest, in rags as usual. He had the impudence to
ask me to help him.
"Where do you come from?"
"From Venice; I had to leave the place, as I could no longer make a
living there."
"Then how do you think of making a living at Rome?"
"By saying masses and teaching French."
"You a teacher of languages! Why, you do not know your native tongue."
"I know Italian and French too, and I have already got two pupils."
"They will no doubt make wonderful progress under your fostering care.
Who are they?"
"The son and daughter of the inn-keeper, at whose house I am staying. But
that's not enough to keep me, and you must give me something while I am
starting."
"You have no right to count on me. Leave the room."
I would not listen to another word, and told Margarita to see that he did
not come in again.
The wretched fellow did his best to ruin me with all my friends,
including the Duchess of Fiano and the Abbe Gama. Everybody told me that
I should either give him some help, or get him out of Rome; I got
heartily sick of the sound of his name. At last the Abbe Ceruti came and
told me that if I did not want to see my brother begging his bread in the
streets I must give him some assistance.
"You can keep him out of Rome," he said, "and he is ready to go if you
will allow him three pauls a day." I consented, and Ceruti hit on a plan
which pleased me very much. He spoke to a priest who served a convent of
Franciscan nuns. This priest took my brother into his service, and gave
him three pauls for saying one mass every day. If he could preach well he
might earn more.
Thus the Abbe Casanova passed away, and I did not care whether he knew or
not where the three pauls had come from. As long as I stayed at Rome the
nine piastres a month came in regularly, but after my departure he
returned to Rome, went to another convent, and died there suddenly
thirteen or fourteen years ago.
Medini had also arrived in Rome, but we had not seen each other. He lived
in the street of the Ursulines at the house of one of the Pope's
light-cavalry men, and subsisted on the money he cheated strangers of.
The rascal had done well and had sent to Mantua for his mistress, who
came with her mother and a very pretty girl of twelve or thirteen.
Thinking it would be to his advantage to take handsome furnished
apartments he moved to the Place d'Espagne, and occupied a house four or
five doors from me, but I knew nothing of all this at the time.
Happening to dine one day with the Venetian ambassador, his excellency
told me that I should meet a certain Count. 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 knew him at Madrid, where he lived with Mocenigo our ambassador; he is
well mannered, polite, and a fine looking young man, and that's all I
know about him."
"Was he received at the Spanish Court?"
"I think so, but I cannot be positive."
"Well, I think he was not received; but I see that you won't tell me all
you know about him. It's of no consequence; I shall run no risk in
presenting him to the Pope. He says he is descended from Manucci, the
famous traveller of the thirteenth century, and from the celebrated
printers of the same name who did so much for literature. He shewed me
the Aldine anchor on his coat of arms which has sixteen quarters."
I was astonished beyond measure that this man who had plotted my
assassination should speak of me as an intimate friend, and I determined
to conceal my feelings and await events. I did not shew the least sign of
anger, and when after greeting the ambassador he came up to me with open
arms, I received him cordially and asked after Mocenigo.
Manucci talked a great deal at dinner, telling a score of lies, all in my
honour, about my reception at Madrid. I believe his object was to force
me to lie too, and to make me do the same for him another time.
I swallowed all these bitter pills, for I had no choice in the matter,
but I made up my mind I would have a thorough explanation the next day.
A Frenchman, the Chevalier de Neuville by name, who had come with
Manucci, interested me a great deal. He had come to Rome to endeavour to
obtain the annulment of marriage of a lady who was in a convent at
Mantua. He had a special recommendation to Cardinal Galli.
His conversation was particularly agreeable, and when we left the
ambassador's I accepted the offer to come into his carriage with Manucci,
and we drove about till the evening.
As we were returning at nightfall he told us that he was going to present
us to a pretty girl with whom we would sup and where we should have a
game of faro.
The carriage stopped at the Place d'Espagne, at a short distance from my
lodging, and we went up to a room on the second floor. When I went in I
was surprised to see Count Medini and his mistress, the lady whom the
chevalier had praised, and whom I found not at all to my taste. Medini
received me cordially, and thanked the Frenchman for having made me
forget the past, and having brought me to see him.
M. de Neuville looked astonished, and to avoid any unpleasant
explanations I turned the conversation.
When Medini thought a sufficient number of punters were present he sat
down at a large table, placed five or six hundred crowns in gold and
notes before him, and began to deal. Manucci lost all the gold he had
about him, Neuville swept away half the bank, and I was content with the
humble part of spectator.
After supper, Medini asked the chevalier to give him his revenge, and
Manucci asked me to lend him a hundred sequins. I did so, and in an hour
he had not one left. Neuville, on the other hand, brought down Medini's
bank to twenty or thirty sequins, and after that we retired to our
several homes.
Manucci lodged with my sister-in-law, Roland's daughter, and I had made
up my mind to give him an early call; but he did not leave me the
opportunity, as he called on me early in the morning.
After returning me the hundred sequins he embraced me affectionately,
and, shewing me a large letter of credit on Bettoni, said that I must
consider his purse as mine. In short, though he said nothing about the
past, he gave me to understand that he wished to initiate a mutual policy
of forget and forgive.
On this occasion my heart proved too strong for my brain; such has often
been the case with me. I agreed to the articles of peace he offered and
required.
Besides, I was no longer at that headstrong age which only knows one kind
of satisfaction, that of the sword. I remembered that if Manucci had been
wrong so had I, and I felt that my honour ran no danger of being
compromised.
The day after, I went to dinner with him. The Chevalier de Neuville came
in towards the close of the meal, and Medini a few moments later. The
latter called on us to hold a bank, each in his turn, and we agreed.
Manucci gained double what he had lost; Neuvilie lost four hundred
sequins, and I only lost a trifle. Medini who had only lost about fifty
sequins was desperate, and would have thrown himself out of the window.
A few days later Manucci set out for Naples, after giving a hundred louis
to Medini's mistress, who used to sup with him; but this windfall did not
save Medini from being imprisoned for debt, his liabilities amounting to
more than a thousand crowns.
The poor wretch wrote me doleful epistles, entreating me to come to his
assistance; but the sole effect of his letters was to make me look after
what he called his family, repaying myself with the enjoyment of his
mistress's young sister. I did not feel called upon to behave generously
to him for nothing.
About this time the Emperor of Germany came to Rome with his brother, the
Grand Duke of Tuscany.
One of the noblemen in their suite made the girl's acquaintance, and gave
Medini enough to satisfy his creditors. He left Rome soon after
recovering his liberty, and we shall meet him again in a few months.
I lived very happily amongst the friends I had made for myself. In the
evenings I visited the Duchess of Fiano, in the afternoons the Princess
of Santa Croce. The rest of my time I spent at home, where I had
Margarita, the fair Buonacorsi, and young Menicuccio, who told me so much
about his lady-love that I felt quite curious to see her.
The girl was in a kind of convent where she had been placed out of
charity. She could only leave it to get married, with the consent of the
cardinal who superintended the establishment. When a girl went out and
got married, she received a dower of two hundred Roman crowns.
Menicuccio had a sister in the same convent, and was allowed to visit her
on Sundays; she came to the grating, followed by her governess. Though
Menicuccio was her brother, she was not permitted to see him alone.
Five or six months before the date of which I am writing his sister had
been accompanied to the grating by another girl, whom he had never seen
before, and he immediately fell in love with her.
The poor young man had to work hard all the week, and could only visit
the convent on holidays; and even then he had rarely the good luck to see
his lady-love. In five or six months he had only seen her seven or eight
times.
His sister knew of his love, and would have done all in her power for
him, but the choice of a companion did not rest with her, and she was
afraid of asking for this particular girl for fear of exciting suspicion.
As I have said, I had made up my mind to pay the place a visit, and on
our way Menicuccio told me that the women of the convent were not nuns,
properly speaking, as they had never taken any vow and did not wear a
monastic dress. In spite of that they had few temptations to leave their
prison house, as they would only find themselves alone in the world with
the prospect of starvation or hard work before them. The young girls only
came out to get married, which was uncommon, or by flight, which was
extremely difficult.
We reached a vast ill-built house, near one of the town gates--a lonely
and deserted situation, as the gate led to no highway. When we went into
the parlour I was astonished to see the double grating with bars so thick
and close together that the hand of a girl of ten could scarce have got
through. The grating was so close that it was extremely difficult to make
out the features of the persons standing on the inner side, especially as
this was only lighted by the uncertain reflection from the outer room.
The sight of these arrangements made me shudder.
"How and where have you seen your mistress?" I asked Menicuccio; "for
there I see nothing but darkness."
"The first time the governess chanced to have a candle, but this
privilege is confined, under pain of excommunication, to relations."
"Then she will have a light to-day?"
"I expect not, as the portress will have sent up word that there was a
stranger with me."
"But how could you see your sweetheart, as you are not related to her?"
"By chance; the first time she came my sister's governess--a good
soul--said nothing about it. Ever since there has been no candle when she
has been present." Soon after, the forms of three or four women were
dimly to be seen; but there was no candle, and the governess would not
bring one on any consideration. She was afraid of being found out and
excommunicated.
I saw that I was depriving my young friend of a pleasure, and would have
gone, but he told me to stay. I passed an hour which interested me in
spite of its painfulness. The voice of Menicuccio's sister sent a thrill
through me, and I fancied that the blind must fall in love through their
sense of hearing. The governess was a woman under thirty. She told me
that when the girls attained their twenty-fifth year they were placed in
charge of the younger ones, and at thirty-five they were free to leave
the convent if they liked, but that few cared to take this step, for fear
of falling into misery.
"Then there are a good many old women here?"
"There are a hundred of us, and the number is only decreased by death and
by occasional marriages."
"But how do those who go out to get married succeed in inspiring the love
of their husbands?"
"I have been here for twenty years, and in that time only four have gone
out, and they did not know their husbands till they met at the altar. As
might be expected, the men who solicit the cardinal for our hands are
either madmen, or fellows of desperate fortunes who want the two hundred
piastres. However, the cardinal-superintendent refuses permission unless
the postulant can satisfy him that he is capable of supporting a wife."
"How does he choose his bride?"
"He tells the cardinal what age and disposition he would prefer, and the
cardinal informs the mother-superior."
"I suppose you keep a good table, and are comfortably lodged."
"Not at all. Three thousand crowns a year are not much to keep a hundred
persons. Those who do a little work and earn something are the best off."
"What manner of people put their daughters in such a prison?"
"Either poor people or bigots who are afraid of their children falling
into evil ways. We only receive pretty girls here."
"Who is the judge of their prettiness?"
"The parents, the priest, and on the last appeal the
cardinal-superintendent, who rejects plain girls without pity, observing
that ugly women have no reason to fear the seductions of vice. So you may
imagine that, wretched as we are, we curse those who pronounced us
pretty."
"I pity you, and I wonder why leave is not given to see you openly; you
might have some chance of getting married then."
"The cardinal says that it is not in his power to give permission, as
anyone transgressing the foundation is excommunicated."
"Then I should imagine that the founder of this house is now consumed by
the flames of hell."
"We all think so, and hope he may stay there. The Pope ought to take some
order with the house."
I gave her ten crowns, saying that as I could not see her I could not
promise a second visit, and then I went away with Menicuccio, who was
angry with himself for having procured me such a tedious hour.
"I suppose I shall never see your mistress or your sister," said I; "your
sister's voice went to my heart."
"I should think your ten paistres ought to work miracles."
"I suppose there is another parlour."
"Yes; but only priests are allowed to enter it under pain of
excommunication, unless you get leave from the Holy Father."
I could not imagine how such a monstrous establishment could be
tolerated, for it was almost impossible, under the circumstances, for the
poor girls to get a husband. I calculated that as two hundred piastres
were assigned to each as a dowry in case of marriage, the founder must
have calculated on two marriages a year at least, and it seemed probable
that these sums were made away with by some scoundrel.
I laid my ideas before Cardinal Bernis in the presence of the princess,
who seemed moved with compassion for these poor women, and said I must
write out a petition and get it signed by all of them, entreating the
Holy Father to allow them the privileges customary in all other convents.
The cardinal told me to draft the supplication, to obtain the signatures,
and to place it in the hands of the princess. In the meantime he would
get the ear of the Holy Father, and ascertain by whose hands it was most
proper for the petition to be presented.
I felt pretty sure of the signatures of the greater number of the
recluses, and after writing out the petition I left it in the hands of
the governess to whom I had spoken before. She was delighted with the
idea, and promised to give me back the paper when I came again, with the
signatures of all her companions in misfortune.
As soon as the Princess Santa Croce had the document she addressed
herself to the Cardinal-Superintendent Orsini, who promised to bring the
matter before the Pope. Cardinal Bernis had already spoken to His
Holiness.
The chaplain of the institute was ordered to warn the superior that for
the future visitors were to be allowed to see girls in the large parlour,
provided they were accompanied by a governess.
Menicuccio brought me this news, which the princess had not heard, and
which she was delighted to hear from my lips.
The worthy Pope did not stop there. He ordered a rigid scrutiny of the
accounts to be made, and reduced the number from a hundred to fifty,
doubling the dower. He also ordered that all girls who reached the age of
twenty-five without getting married should be sent away with their four
hundred crowns apiece; that twelve discreet matrons should have charge of
the younger girls, and that twelve servants should be paid to do the hard
work of the house.
CHAPTER XVI
I Sup at the Inn With Armelline and Emilie
[Illustration: Chapter 16]
These innovations were the work of some six months. The first reform was
the abolition of the prohibition on entering the large parlour and even
the interior of the convent; for as the inmates had taken no vows and
were not cloistered nuns, the superior should have been at liberty to act
according to her discretion. Menicuccio had learnt this from a note his
sister wrote him, and which he brought to me in high glee, asking me to
come with him to the convent, according to his sister's request, who said
my presence would be acceptable to her governess. I was to ask for the
governess.
I was only too glad to lend myself to this pleasant arrangement, and felt
curious to see the faces of the three recluses, as well as to hear what
they had to say on these great changes.
When we got into the large parlour I saw two grates, one occupied by the
Abbe Guasco, whom I had known in Paris in 1751, the other by a Russian
nobleman, Ivan Ivanovitch Schuvaloff, and by Father Jacquier, a friar
minim of the Trinita dei Monti, and a learned astronomer. Behind the
grate I saw three very pretty girls.
When our friends came down we began a very interesting conversation,
which had to be conducted in a low tone for fear of our being overheard.
We could not talk at our ease till the other visitors had taken their
leave. My young friend's mistress was a very pretty girl, but his sister
was a ravishing beauty. She had just entered on her sixteenth year, but
she was tall and her figure well developed; in short, she enchanted me. I
thought I had never seen a whiter skin or blacker hair and eyebrows and
eyes, but still more charming was the sweetness of her voice and
expression, and the naive simplicity of her expressions. Her governess
who was ten or twelve years older than she was, was a woman of an
extremely interesting expression; she was pale and melancholy looking, no
doubt from the fires which she had been forced to quench within her. She
delighted me by telling me of the confusion which the new regulations had
caused in the house.
"The mother-superior is well pleased," she said, "and all my young
companions are overjoyed; but the older ones whom circumstance has made
into bigots are scandalized at everything. The superior has already given
orders for windows to be made in the dark parlours, though the old women
say that she cannot go beyond the concessions she has already received.
To this the superior answered that as free communication had been
allowed, it would be absurd to retain the darkness. She has also given
orders for the alteration of the double grating, as there was only a
single one in the large parlour."
I thought the superior must be a woman of intelligence, and expressed a
desire to see her. Emilie obtained this pleasure for me the following
day.
Emilie was the friend of Armelline, Menicuccio's sister. This first visit
lasted two hours, and seemed all too short. Menicuccio spoke to his
well-beloved at the other grating.
I went away, after having given them ten Roman crowns as before. I kissed
Armelline's fair hands, and as she felt the contact of my lips her face
was suffused by a vivid blush. Never had the lips of man touched more
dainty hands before, and she looked quite astounded at the ardour with
which I kissed them.
I went home full of love for her, and without heeding the obstacles in my
path I gave reins to my passion, which seemed to me the most ardent I had
ever experienced.
My young friend was in an ocean of bliss. He had declared his love, and
the girl had said that she would gladly become his wife if he could get
the cardinal's consent. As this consent only depended on his ability to
keep himself, I promised to give him a hundred crowns and my patronage.
He had served his time as a tailor's apprentice, and was in a position to
open a shop of his own.
"I envy your lot," said I, "for your happiness is assured, while I,
though I love your sister, despair of possessing her."
"Are you married then?" he asked.
"Alas, yes! Keep my counsel, for I propose visiting her every day, and if
it were known that I was married, my visits would be received with
suspicion."
I was obliged to tell this lie to avoid the temptation of marrying her,
and to prevent Armelline thinking that I was courting her with that
intention.
I found the superioress a polite and clever woman, wholly free from
prejudices. After coming down to the grate to oblige me, she sometimes
came for her own pleasure. She knew that I was the author of the happy
reform in the institution, and she told me that she considered herself
under great obligations to me. In less than six weeks three of her girls
made excellent marriages, and six hundred crowns had been added to the
yearly income of the house.
She told me that she was ill pleased with one of their confessors. He was
a Dominican, and made it a rule that his penitents should approach the
holy table every Sunday and feast day; he kept them for hours in the
confessional, and imposed penances and fastings which were likely to
injure the health of young girls.
"All this," said she, "cannot improve them from a mortal point of view,
and takes up a lot of their time, so that they have none left for their
work, by the sale of which they procure some small comforts for
themselves.
"How many confessors have you?"
"Four."
"Are you satisfied with the other three?"
"Yes, they are sensible men, and do not ask too much of poor human
nature."
"I will carry your just complaint to the cardinal; will you write out
your petition?"
"Kindly give me a model."
I gave her a rough draft, which she copied out and signed, and I laid it
before his eminence. A few days after the Dominican was removed, and his
penitents divided amongst the three remaining confessors. The younger
members of the community owed me a great debt of gratitude on account of
this change.
Menicuccio went to see his sweetheart every holiday, while I, in my
amorous ardour, visited his sister every morning at nine o'clock. I
breakfasted with her and Emilie, and remained in the parlour till eleven.
As there was only one grating I could lock the door behind me, but we
could be seen from the interior of the convent, as the door was left open
to admit light, there being no window. This was a great annoyance for me;
recluses, young or old, were continually passing by, and none of them
failed to give a glance in the direction of the grate; thus my fair
Armelline could not stretch out her hand to receive my amorous kisses.
Towards the end of December the cold became intense, and I begged the
superior to allow me to place a screen in front of the door, as I feared
I should catch cold otherwise. The worthy woman granted my request
without any difficulty, and we were at our ease for the future, though
the desires with which Armelline inspired me had become dreadful torment.
On the 1st day of January, 1771, I presented each of them with a good
winter dress, and sent the superior a quantity of chocolate, sugar, and
coffee, all of which were extremely welcome.
Emilie often came by herself to the grating, as Armelline was not ready,
and in the same way Armelline would come by herself when her governess
happened to be busy. It was in these quarters of an hour that she
succeeded in captivating me, heart and soul.
Emilie and Armelline were great friends, but their prejudices on the
subject of sensual enjoyment were so strong that I could never get them
to listen to licentious talk, to allow certain small liberties which I
would gladly have taken, or to afford me those pleasures of the eyes that
we accept in default of better things.
One day they were petrified by my asking them whether they did not
sometimes sleep in the same bed, so as to give each other proofs of the
tenderness of their mutual affection.
How they blushed Emilie asked me with the most perfect innocence what
there was in common between affection and the inconvenience of sleeping
two in a narrow bed.
I took care not to explain myself, for I saw that I had frightened them.
No doubt they were of the same flesh and blood as I, but our educators
had differed widely. They had evidently never confided their little
secrets to one another, possibly not even to their confessor, either
through shame, or with the idea that the liberties they indulged in alone
were no sin.
I made them a present of some silk stockings, lined with plush to keep
out the cold, and vainly endeavoured to make them try the stockings on
before me. I might say as often as I pleased that there was no real
difference between a man's legs and a woman's, and that their confessor
would laugh at them if they confessed to shewing their legs. They only
answered that girls were not allowed to take such a liberty, as they wore
petticoats on purpose to conceal their legs.
The manner in which Emilie spoke, always with Armelline's approbation,
convinced me that their modesty was genuine. I penetrated her idea; she
thought that in acceding to my request she would be lowering herself in
my eyes, and that I should despise her ever after. Nevertheless Emilie
was a woman of twenty-seven, and by no means a devotee.
As for Armelline, I could see that she took Emilie for her model, and
would have been ashamed of appearing less precise than her friend. I
thought she loved me, and that, contrary to the general rule, she would
be more easily won by herself than in company with her friend.
I made the trial one morning when she appeared at the grating by herself,
telling me that her governess was busy. I said that I adored her and was
the most hapless of men, for being a married man I had no hope of ever
being able to clasp her to my arms and cover her with kisses.
"Can I continue to live, dear Armelline, with no other consolation than
that of kissing your fair hands?"
At these words, pronounced with so much passion, she fixed her gaze on
me, and after a few moments' reflection she began to kiss my hands as
ardently as I had kissed hers.
I begged her to put her mouth so that I might kiss it. She blushed and
looked down, and did nothing. I bewailed my fate bitterly, but in vain.
She was deaf and dumb till Emilie came and asked us why we were so dull.
About this time, the beginning of 1771, I was visited by Mariuccia, whom
I had married ten years before to a young hairdresser. My readers may
remember how I met her at Abbe Momolo's. During the three months I had
been in Rome I had enquired in vain as to what had become of her; so that
I was delighted when she made her appearance.
"I saw you at St. Peter's," said she, "at the midnight mass on Christmas
Eve, but not daring to approach you because of the people with whom I
was, I told a friend of mine to follow you and find out where you lived."
"How is it that I have tried to find you out in vain for the last three
months?"
"My husband set up at Frascati eight years ago, and we have lived there
very happily ever since."
"I am very glad to hear it. Have you any children?"
"Four; and the eldest, who is nine years old, is very like you."
"Do you love her?"
"I adore her, but I love the other three as well."
As I wanted to go to breakfast with Armelline I begged Margarita to keep
Mariuccia company till my return.
Mariuccia dined with me, and we spent a pleasant day together without
attempting to renew our more tender relationship. We had plenty to talk
about, and she told me that Costa, my old servant, had come back to Rome
in a splendid coach, three years after I had left, and that he had
married one of Momolo's daughters.
"He's a rascal; he robbed me."
"I guessed as much; his theft did him no good. He left his wife two years
after their marriage, and no one knows what has become of him."
"How about his wife?"
"She is living miserably in Rome. Her father is dead."
I did not care to go and see the poor woman, for I could not do anything
for her, and I could not have helped saying that if I caught her husband
I would do my best to have him hanged. Such was indeed my intention up to
the year 1785, when I found this runagate at Vienna. He was then Count
Erdich's man, and when we come to that period the reader shall hear what
I did.
I promised Mariuccia to come and see her in the course of Lent.
The Princess Santa Croce and the worthy Cardinal Bernis pitied me for my
hapless love; I often confided my sufferings to their sympathizing ears.
The cardinal told the princess that she could very well obtain permission
from Cardinal Orsini to take Armelline to the theatre, and that if I
cared to join the party I might find her less cruel.
"The cardinal will make no objection," said he, "as Armelline has taken
no vows; but as you must know our friend's mistress before making your
request, you have only to tell the cardinal that you would like to see
the interior of the house."
"Do you think he will give me leave?"
"Certainly; the inmates are not cloistered nuns. We will go with you."
"You will come too? that will be a delightful party indeed."
"Ask for leave, and we will arrange the day."
This plan seemed to me a delicious dream. I guessed that the gallant
cardinal was curious to see Armelline, but I was not afraid as I knew he
was a constant lover. Besides I felt sure that if he took an interest in
the fair recluse he would be certain to find her a husband.
In three or four days the princess summoned me to her box in the Alberti
Theatre, and shewed me Cardinal Orsini's note, allowing her and her
friends to see the interior of the house.
"To-morrow afternoon," said she, "we will fix the day and the hour for
the visit."
Next day I paid my usual visit to the recluses, and the superioress came
to tell me that the cardinal had told her that the Princess Santa Croce
was coming to visit the house with some friends.
"I know it," said I; "I am coming with her."
"When is she coming?"
"I don't know yet, but I will inform you later on."
"This novelty has turned the house upside down. The devotees scarcely
know whether they are awake or dreaming, for with the exception of a few
priests, the doctor, and the surgeon, no one has ever entered the house
since its foundation."
"All these restrictions are now removed, and you need not ask the
cardinal's permission to receive visits from your friends."
"I know that, but I don't like to go so far."
The time for the visit was fixed for the afternoon of the next day, and I
let the superioress know early the next morning. The Duchess of Fiano had
asked to join us; the cardinal came, of course, dressed as a simple
priest, with no indication of his exalted rank. He knew Armelline
directly from my description, and congratulated her on having made my
acquaintance.
The poor girl blushed to the roots of her hair; and I thought she would
have fainted when the princess, after telling her she was the prettiest
girl in the house, gave her two affectionate kisses, a mark of friendship
strictly forbidden by the rules.
After these caresses, the princess proceeded to compliment the
superioress. She said that I had done well to praise her parts, as she
could judge of them by the order and neatness which reigned everywhere.
"I shall mention your name to Cardinal Orsini," she added, "and you may
be sure I shall do you all the justice you deserve."
When we had seen all the rooms, which contained nothing worth seeing, I
presented Emilie to the princess, who received her with great cordiality.
"I have heard of your sadness," she said, "but I know the reason of it.
You are a good girl, and pretty too, and I shall get you a husband who
will cure you of your melancholy."
The superioress gave a smile of approbation, but I saw a dozen aged
devotees pulling wry faces.
Emilie dared not reply, but she took the princess's hand and kissed it,
as if to summon her to keep her promise.
As for me, I was delighted to see that though all the girls were really
pretty, my Armelline eclipsed them all, as the light of the sun obscures
the stars.
When we came down to the parlour, the princess told Armelline that she
meant to ask leave of the cardinal to take her two or three times to the
theatre before Lent began. This observation seemed to petrify everyone
except the superioress, who said that his eminence had now a perfect
right to relax any or all of the rules of the establishment.
Poor Armelline was so overwhelmed between joy and confusion that she
could not speak. She seemed unable to find words wherein to thank the
princess, who commended her and her friend Emilie to the superioress
before she left the house, and gave her a small present to buy
necessaries for them.
Not to be outdone, the Duchess of Fiano told the superioress that she
would make me the almoner of her bounty towards Armelline and Emilie. My
expressions of gratitude to the princess when we were back in the
carriage may be imagined.
I had no need to excuse Armelline, for the princess and the cardinal had
gauged her capacities. Her confusion had prevented her shewing her
cleverness, but her face shewed her to possess it. Besides, the influence
of the education she had received had to be taken into account. The
princess was impatient to take her to the theatre, and afterwards to
supper at an inn, according to the Roman custom.
She wrote the names of Armelline and Emilie upon her tablets, so as to
remember them on every occasion.
I did not forget the mistress of my poor friend Menicuccio, but the time
was not opportune for mentioning her name. The next day, however, I got
the cardinal's ear, and told him that I was anxious to do something for
the young man. The cardinal saw him, and Menicuccio pleased him so well
that the marriage took place before the end of the carnival, the bride
having a dowry of five hundred crowns. With this sum and the hundred
crowns I gave him, he was in a position to open a shop for himself.
The day after the princess's visit was a triumphant one for me. As soon
as I appeared at the grating the superioress was sent for, and we had an
interview.
The princess had given her fifty crowns, which she was going to lay out
on linen for Armelline and Emilie.
The recluses were stupefied when I told them that the fat priest was
Cardinal Bernis, as they had an idea that a cardinal can never doff the
purple.
The Duchess of Fiano had sent a cask of wine, which was an unknown
beverage there, and these presents made them hope for others. I was
looked upon as the bringer of all this good luck, and gratitude shewed
itself so plainly in every word and glance that I felt I might hope for
everything.
A few days later, the princess told Cardinal Orsini that she had taken a
peculiar interest in two of the young recluses, and desiring to provide
them with suitable establishments she wished to take them now and again
to the theatre so as to give them some knowledge of the world. She
undertook to take them and bring them back herself or only to confide
them to sure hands. The cardinal replied that the superioress should
receive instructions to oblige her in every particular.
As soon as I heard of this from the princess, I said that I would
ascertain what orders had been actually received at the convent.
The next day the superioress told me that his eminence had instructed her
to do what she thought best for the welfare of the young people committed
to her charge.
"I have also received orders," she added, "to send in the names of those
who have attained the age of thirty, and wish to leave the convent, that
they may receive a warrant for their two hundred crowns. I have not yet
published this command, but I haven't the slightest doubt that we shall
get rid of a score at least."
I told the princess of the cardinal's orders, and she agreed with me that
his behaviour was most generous.
Cardinal Bernis, who was by, advised her that the first time she took the
girls to the theatre she had better go in person, and tell the
superioress that she would always send her carriage and liveried servants
to fetch them.
The princess approved of this advice, and a few days later she called for
Emilie and Armelline, and brought them to her palace, where I awaited
them with the cardinal, the prince, and the Duchess of Fiano.
They were welcomed warmly, encouraged to reply, to laugh, and to say what
was in their minds, but all in vain; finding themselves for the first
time in a splendid apartment surrounded by brilliant company, they were
so confounded that they could not say a word. Emilie persisted in rising
from her seat whenever she was addressed, and Armelline shone only by her
beauty and the vivid blush which suffused her face whenever she was
addressed. The princess might kiss her as much as she pleased, but the
novice had not the courage to return her kisses.
At last Armelline mustered up courage to take the princess's hand and
kiss it, but when the lady kissed her on the lips the girl remained
inactive, seeming to be absolutely ignorant of such a natural and easy
matter as the returning of a kiss.
The cardinal and the prince laughed; the duchess said that so much
restraint was unnatural. As for me I was on thorns, such awkwardness
seemed to me near akin to stupidity, for Armelline had only to do to the
princess's lips what she had already done to her hand. No doubt she
fancied that to do to the princess what the princess had done to her
would shew too much familiarity.
The cardinal took me on one side and said he could not believe that I had
not initiated her in the course of two months' intimacy, but I pointed
out to him the immense force of long engrained prejudice.
Far this first tine the princess had made up her mind to take them to the
Torre di Nonna Theatre, as comic pieces were played there, and they could
not help but laugh.
After the play we went to sup at an inn, and at table the good cheer and
my exhortations began to take some effect on her. We persuaded them to
drink a little wine, and their spirits improved visibly. Emilie ceased to
be sad, and Armelline gave the princess some real kisses. We applauded
their efforts to be gay and our applause convinced them that they had
done nothing wrong.
Of course the princess charged me with the pleasant trust of taking the
two guests back to the convent. Now, I thought, my time has come; but
when we were in the carriage I saw that I had reckoned without my host.
When I would have kissed, heads were turned aside; when I would have
stretched forth an indiscreet hand, dresses were wrapped more tightly;
when I would have forced my way, I was resisted by force; when I
complained, I was told that I was in the wrong; when I got in a rage, I
was allowed to say on; and when I threatened to see them no more, they
did not believe me.
When we got to the convent a servant opened the side door, and noticing
that she did not shut it after the girls, I went in too, and went with
them to see the superioress, who was in bed, and did not seem at all
astonished to see me. I told her that I considered it my duty to bring
back her young charges in person. She thanked me, asked them if they had
had a pleasant evening, and bade me good night, begging me to make as
little noise as possible on my way downstairs.
I wished them all happy slumbers, and after giving a sequin to the
servant who opened the door, and another to the coachman, I had myself
set down at the door of my lodging. Margarita was asleep on a sofa and
welcomed me with abuse, but she soon found out by the ardour of my
caresses that I had not been guilty of infidelity.
I did not get up till noon, and at three o'clock I called on the princess
and found the cardinal already there.
They expected to hear the story of my triumph, but the tale I told and my
apparent indifference in the matter came as a surprise.
I may as well confess that my face was by no means the index of my mind.
However, I did my best to give the thing a comic turn, saying that I did
not care for Pamelas, and that I had made up my mind to give up the
adventure.
"My dear fellow," said the cardinal, "I shall take two or three days
before I congratulate you on your self-restraint."
His knowledge of the human heart was very extensive.
Armelline thought I must have slept till late as she did not see me in
the morning as usual; but when the second day went by without my coming
she sent her brother to ask if I were ill, for I had never let two days
pass without paying her a visit.
Menicuccio came accordingly, and was delighted to find me in perfect
health.
"Go and tell your sister," I said, "that I shall continue to interest the
princess on her behalf, but that I shall see her no more."
"Why not?"
"Because I wish to cure myself of an unhappy passion. Your sister does
not love me: I am sure of it. I am no longer a young man, and I don't
feel inclined to become a martyr to her virtue. Virtue goes rather too
far when it prevents a girl giving the man who adores her a single kiss."
"Indeed, I would not have believed that of her."
"Nevertheless it is the fact, and I must make an end of it. Your sister
cannot understand the danger she runs in treating a lover in this
fashion. Tell her all that, my dear Menicuccio, but don't give her any
advice of your own."
"You can't think how grieved I am to hear all this; perhaps it's Emilie's
presence that makes her so cold."
"No; I have often pressed her when we have been alone together, but all
in vain. I want to cure myself, for if she does not love me I do not wish
to obtain her either by seduction or by any feeling of gratitude on her
part. Tell me how your future bride treats you."
"Very well, ever since she has been sure of my marrying her."
I felt sorry then that I had given myself out as a married man, for in my
state of irritation I could even have given her a promise of marriage
without deliberately intending to deceive her.
Menicuccio went on his way distressed, and I went to the meeting of the
"Arcadians," at the Capitol, to hear the Marchioness d'Aout recite her
reception piece. This marchioness was a young Frenchwoman who had been at
Rome for the last six months with her husband, a man of many talents, but
inferior to her, for she was a genius. From this day I became her
intimate friend, but without the slightest idea of an intrigue, leaving
all that to a French priest who was hopelessly in love with her, and had
thrown up his chances of preferment for her sake.
Every day the Princess Santa Croce told me that I could have the key to
her box at the theatre whenever I liked to take Armelline and Emilie, but
when a week passed by without my giving any sign she began to believe
that I had really broken off the connection.
The cardinal, on the other hand, believed me to be still in love, and
praised my conduct. He told me that I should have a letter from the
superioress, and he was right; for at the end of the week she wrote me a
polite note begging me to call on her, which I was obliged to obey.
I called on her, and she began by asking me plainly why my visits had
ceased.
"Because I am in love with Armelline."
"If that reason brought you here every day, I do not see how it can have
suddenly operated in another direction."
"And yet it is all quite natural; for when one loves one desires, and
when one desires in vain one suffers, and continual suffering is great
unhappiness. And so you see that I am bound to act thus for my own sake."
"I pity you, and see the wisdom of your course; but allow me to tell you
that, esteeming Armelline, you have no right to lay her open to a
judgment being passed upon her which is very far from the truth."
"And what judgment is that?"
"That your love was only a whim, and that as soon as it was satisfied you
abandoned her."
"I am sorry indeed to hear of this, but what can I do? I must cure myself
of this unhappy passion. Do you know any other remedy than absence?
Kindly advise me."
"I don't know much about the affection called love, but it seems to me
that by slow degrees love becomes friendship, and peace is restored."
"True, but if it is to become friendship, love must be gently treated. If
the beloved object is not very tender, love grows desperate and turns to
indifference or contempt. I neither wish to grow desperate nor to despise
Armelline, who is a miracle of beauty and goodness. I shall do my utmost
for her, just as if she had made me happy, but I will see her no more."
"I am in complete darkness on the matter. They assure me that they have
never failed in their duty towards you, and that they cannot imagine why
you have ceased coming here."
"Whether by prudence, or timidity, or a delicate wish not to say anything
against me, they have told you a lie; but you deserve to know all, and my
honour requires that I should tell you the whole story."
"Please do so; you may count on my discretion."
I then told my tale, and I saw she was moved.
"I have always tried," she said, "never to believe evil except on
compulsion, nevertheless, knowing as I do the weakness of the human
heart, I could never have believed that throughout so long and intimate
an acquaintance you could have kept yourself so severely within bounds.
In my opinion there would be much less harm in a kiss than in all this
scandal."
"I am sure that Armelline does not care about it."
"She does nothing but weep."
"Her tears probably spring from vanity, or from the cause her companions
assign for my absence."
"No, I have told them all that you are ill."
"What does Emilie say?"
"She does not weep, but she looks sad, and says over and over again that
it is not her fault if you do not come, thereby hinting that it is
Armelline's fault. Come tomorrow to oblige me. They are dying to see the
opera at the Aliberti, and the comic opera at the Capronica."
"Very good, then I will breakfast with them to-morrow morning, and
to-morrow evening they shall see the opera."
"You are very good; I thank you. Shall I tell them the news?"
"Please tell Armelline that I am only coming after hearing all that you
have said to me."
The princess skipped for joy when she heard of my interview with the
superioress, and the cardinal said he had guessed as much. The princess
gave me the key of her box, and ordered that her carriage and servants
should be at my orders.
The next day when I went to the convent Emilie came down by herself to
reproach me on my cruel conduct. She told me that a man who really loved
would not have acted in such a manner, and that I had been wrong to tell
the superioress everything.
"I would not have said anything if I had had anything important to say."
"Armelline has become unhappy through knowing you."
"Because she does not want to fail in her duty, and she sees that you
only love her to turn her from it."
"But her unhappiness will cease when I cease troubling her."
"Do you mean you are not going to see her any more?"
"Exactly. Do you think that it costs me no pain? But I must make the
effort for the sake of my peace of mind."
"Then she will be sure that you do not love her."
"She must think what she pleases. In the meanwhile I feel sure that if
she loved me as I loved her, we should be of one mind."
"We have duties which seem to press lightly on you."
"Then be faithful to your duties, and permit a man of honour to respect
them by visiting you no more."
Armelline then appeared. I thought her changed.
"Why do you look so grave and pale?"
"Because you have grieved me."
"Come then, be gay once more, and allow me to cure myself of a passion,
the essence of which is to induce you to fail in your duty. I shall be
still your friend, and I shall come to see you once a week while I remain
in Rome."
"Once a week! You needn't have begun by coming once a day."
"You are right; it was your kind expression which deceived me, but I hope
you will allow me to become rational again. For this to happen, I must
try not to see you more than I can help. Think over it, and you will see
that I am doing all for the best."
"It's very hard that you can't love me as I love you."
"You mean calmly, and without desires."
"I don't say that; but holding your desires in check, if they are
contrary to the voice of duty."
"I'm too old to learn this method, and it does not seem to me an
attractive one. Kindly tell me whether the restraint of your desires
gives you much pain?"
"I don't repress my desires when I think of you, I cherish them; I wish
you were the Pope, I wish you were my father, that I might caress you in
all innocence; in my dreams I wish you could become a girl, so that we
might always live happily together."
At this true touch of native simplicity, I could not help smiling.
I told them that I should come in the evening to take them to the
Aliberti, and felt in a better humour after my visit, for I could see
that there was no art or coquetry in what Armelline said. I saw that she
loved me, but would not come to a parley with her love, hence her
repugnance to granting me her favours; if she once did so, her eyes would
be opened. All this was pure nature, for experience had not yet taught
her that she ought either to avoid me or to succumb to my affection.
In the evening I called for the two friends to take them to the opera,
and I had not long to wait. I was by myself in the carriage, but they
evinced no surprise. Emilie conveyed to me the compliments of the
superioress, who would be obliged by my calling on her the following day.
At the opera I let them gaze at the spectacle which they saw for the
first time, and answered whatever questions they put to me. As they were
Romans, they ought to have known what a castrato was, nevertheless,
Armelline took the wretched individual who sang the prima donna's part
for a woman, and pointed to his breast, which was really a fine one.
"Would you dare to sleep in the same bed with him?" I asked.
"No; an honest girl ought always to sleep by herself."
Such was the severity of the education they had received. Everything
connected with love was made a mystery of, and treated with a kind of
superstitious awe. Thus Armelline had only let me kiss her hands after a
long contest, and neither she nor Emilie would allow me to see whether
the stockings I had given them fitted well or not. The severe prohibition
that was laid on sleeping with another girl must have made them think
that to shew their nakedness to a companion would be a great sin, and let
a man see their beauties a hideous crime. The very idea of such a thing
must have given them a shudder.
Whenever I had attempted to indulge in conversation which was a little
free, I had found them deaf and dumb.
Although Emilie was a handsome girl in spite of her pallor, I did not
take sufficient interest in her to try to dissipate her melancholy; but
loving Armelline to desperation I was cut to the quick to see her look
grave when I asked her if she had any idea of the difference between the
physical conformation of men and women.
As we were leaving Armelline said she was hungry, as she had scarcely
eaten anything for the last week on account of the grief I had given her.
"If I had foreseen that," I answered, "I would have ordered a good
supper, whereas I have now only potluck to offer you."
"Never mind. How many shall we be?"
"We three."
"So much the better; we shall be more at liberty."
"Then you don't like the princess?"
"I beg your pardon, but she wants me to kiss her in a way I don't like."
"Nevertheless, you kissed her ardently enough."
"I was afraid she would take me for a simpleton if I did not do so."
"Then do you think you committed a sin in kissing her like that?"
"Certainly not, for it was very unpleasant for me."
"Then why won't you make the same effort on my behalf?"
She said nothing, and when we got to the inn I ordered them to light a
fire and to get a good supper ready.
The waiter asked me if I would like some oysters, and noticing the
curiosity of my guests on the subject I asked him how much they were.
"They are from the arsenal at Venice," he replied, "and we can't sell
them under fifty pains a hundred."
"Very good, I will take a hundred, but you must open them here."
Armelline was horrified to think that I was going to pay five crowns for
her whim, and begged me to revoke the order; but she said nothing when I
told her that no pleasure of hers could be bought too dearly by me.
At this she took my hand and would have carried it to her lips, but I
took it away rather roughly, greatly to her mortification.
I was sitting in front of the fire between them, and I was sorry at
having grieved her.
"I beg pardon, Armelline," I said, "I only took my hand away because it
was not worthy of being carried to your fair lips."
In spite of this excuse she could not help two big tears coursing down
her blushing cheeks. I was greatly pained.
Armelline was a tender dove, not made to be roughly treated. If I did not
want her to hate me I felt that I must either not see her at all or treat
her more gently for the future.
Her tears convinced me that I had wounded her feelings terribly, and I
got up and went out to order some champagne.
When I came back I found that she had been weeping bitterly. I did not
know what to do; I begged her again and again to forgive me, and to be
gay once more, unless she wished to subject me to the severest of all
punishments.
Emilie backed me up, and on taking her hand and covering it with kisses,
I had the pleasure of seeing her smile once more.
The oysters were opened in our presence, and the astonishment depicted on
the girls' countenances would have amused me if my heart had been more at
ease. But I was desperate with love, and Armelline begged me vainly to be
as I was when we first met.
We sat down, and I taught my guests how to suck up the oysters, which
swam in their own liquid, and were very good.
Armelline swallowed half a dozen, and then observed to her friend that so
delicate a morsel must be a sin.
"Not on account of its delicacy," said Emilie, "but because at every
mouthful we swallow half a Paul."
"Half a Paul!" said Armelline, "and the Holy Father does not forbid such
a luxury? If this is not the sin of gluttony, I don't know what is. These
oysters are delightful; but I shall speak about the matter to my
director."
These simplicities of hers afforded me great mental pleasure, but I
wanted bodily pleasure as well.
We ate fifty oysters, and drank two bottles of sparkling champagne, which
made my two guests eruct and blush and laugh at the same time.
I would fain have laughed too and devoured Armelline with my kisses, but
I could only devour her with by eyes.
I kept the remainder of the oysters for dessert, and ordered the supper
to be served. It was an excellent meal, and the two heroines enjoyed it;
even Emilie became quite lively.
I ordered up lemons and a bottle of rum, and after having the fifty
remaining oysters opened I sent the waiter away. I then made a bowl of
punch, pouring in a bottle of champagne as a finishing touch.
After they had swallowed a few oysters and drank one or two glasses of
punch, which they liked amazingly, I begged Emilie to give me an oyster
with her lips.
"I am sure you are too sensible to find anything wrong in that," I added.
Emilie was astonished at the proposition, and thought it over. Armelline
gazed at her anxiously, as if curious as to how she would answer me.
"Why don't you ask Armelline?" she said at length.
"Do you give him one first," said Armelline, "and if you have the courage
I will try to do the same."
"What courage do you want? It's a child's game; there's no harm in it."
After this reply, I was sure of victory. I placed the shell on the edge
of her lips, and after a good deal of laughing she sucked in the oyster,
which she held between her lips. I instantly recovered it by placing my
lips on hers.
Armelline clapped her hands, telling Emilie that she would never have
thought her so brave; she then imitated her example, and was delighted
with my delicacy in sucking away the oyster, scarcely touching her lips
with mine. My agreeable surprise may be imagined when I heard her say
that it was my turn to hold the oysters. It is needless to say that I
acquitted myself of the duty with much delight.
After these pleasant interludes we went to drinking punch and swallowing
oysters.
We all sat in a row with our backs to the fire, and our brains began to
whirl, but never was there such a sweet intoxication. However, the punch
was not finished and we were getting very hot. I took off my coat, and
they were obliged to unlace their dresses, the bodices of which were
lined with fur. Guessing at necessities which they did not dare to
mention, I pointed out a closet where they could make themselves
comfortable, and they went in hand-in-hand. When they came out they were
no longer timid recluses, they were shrieking with laughter, and reeling
from side to side.
I was their screen as we sat in front of the fire, and I gazed freely on
charms which they could no longer conceal. I told them that we must not
think of going till the punch was finished, and they agreed, saying, in
high glee, that it would be a great sin to leave so good a thing behind.
I then presumed so far as to tell them that they had beautiful legs, and
that I should be puzzled to assign the prize between them. This made them
gayer than ever, for they had not noticed that their unlaced bodices and
short petticoats let me see almost everything.
After drinking our punch to the dregs, we remained talking for half an
hour, while I congratulated myself on my self-restraint. Just as we were
going I asked them if they had any grounds of complaint against me.
Armelline replied that if I would adopt her as my daughter she was ready
to follow me to the end of the world. "Then you are not afraid of my
turning you from the path of duty?"
"No, I feel quite safe with you."
"And what do you say, dear Emilie?"
"I shall love you too, when you do for me what the superioress will tell
you to-morrow."
"I will do anything, but I shan't come to speak to her till the evening,
for it is three o'clock now."
They laughed all the louder, exclaiming,--
"What will the mother say?"
I paid the bill, gave something to the waiter, and took them back to the
convent, where the porteress seemed well enough pleased with the new
rules when she saw two sequins in her palm.
It was too late to see the superioress, so I drove home after rewarding
the coachman and the lackey.
Margarita was ready to scratch my eyes out if I could not prove my
fidelity, but I satisfied her by quenching on her the fires Armelline and
the punch had kindled. I told her I had been kept by a gaming party, and
she asked no more questions.
The next day I amused the princess and the cardinal by a circumstantial
account of what had happened.
"You missed your opportunity," said the princess.
"I don't think so," said the cardinal, "I believe, on the contrary, that
he has made his victory more sure for another time."
In the evening, I went to the convent where the superioress gave me her
warmest welcome. She complimented me on having amused myself with the two
girls till three o'clock in the morning without doing anything wrong.
They had told her how we had eaten the oysters, and she said it was an
amusing idea. I admired her candour, simplicity, or philosophy, whichever
you like to call it.
After these preliminaries, she told me that I could make Emilie happy by
obtaining, through the influence of the princess, a dispensation to marry
without the publication of banns a merchant of Civita Vecchia, who would
have married her long ago only that there was a woman who pretended to
have claims upon him. If banns were published this woman would institute
a suit which might go on forever.
"If you do this," she concluded, "you will have the merit of making
Emilie happy."
I took down the man's name, and promised to do my best with the princess.
"Are you still determined to cure yourself of your love for Armelline?"
"Yes, but I shall not begin the cure till Lent."
"I congratulate you; the carnival is unusually long this year."
The next day I spoke of the matter to the princess. The first requisite
was a certificate from the Bishop of Civita Vecchia, stating that the man
was free to marry. The cardinal said that the man must come to Rome, and
that the affair could be managed if he could bring forward two good
witnesses who would swear that he was unmarried.
I told the superioress what the cardinal said, and she wrote to the
merchant, and a few days after I saw him talking to the superioress and
Emilie through the grating.
He commended himself to my protection, and said that before he married he
wanted to be sure of having six hundred crowns.
The convent would give him four hundred crowns, so we should have to
obtain a grant of two hundred more.
I succeeded in getting the grant, but I first contrived to have another
supper with Armelline, who asked me every morning when I was going to
take her to the comic opera. I said I was afraid of turning her astray
from the path of duty, but she replied that experience had taught her to
dread me no longer.
CHAPTER XVII
The Florentine--Marriage of Emilie--Scholastica--Armelline
at the Ball
Before the supper I had loved Armelline to such an extent that I had
determined to see her no more, but after it I felt that I must obtain her
or die. I saw that she had only consented to my small liberties because
she regarded them as mere jokes, of no account, and I resolved to take
advantage of this way of looking at it to go as far as I could. I begin
to play the part of indifferent to the best of my ability, only visiting
her every other day, and looking at her with an expression of polite
interest. I often pretended to forget to kiss her hand, while I kissed
Emilie's and told her that if I felt certain of receiving positive marks
of her affection I should stay at Civita Vecchia for some weeks after she
was married. I would not see Armelline's horror, who could not bear me to
take a fancy to Emilie.
Emilie said that she would be more at liberty when she was married, while
Armelline, vexed at her giving me any hopes, told her sharply that a
married woman had stricter duties to perform than a girl.
I agreed with her in my heart, but as it would not have suited my purpose
to say so openly I insinuated the false doctrine that a married woman's
chief duty is to keep her husband's descent intact, and that everything
else is of trifling importance.
With the idea of driving Emilie to an extremity I told Emilie that if she
wanted me to exert myself to my utmost for her she must give me good
hopes of obtaining her favours not only after but before marriage.
"I will give you no other favours." she replied, "than those which
Armelline may give you. You ought to try to get her married also."
In spite of her grief at these proposals, gentle Armelline replied,----
"You are the only man I have ever seen; and as I have no hopes of getting
married I will give you no pledges at all, though I do not know what you
mean by the word."
Though I saw how pure and angelic she was, I had the cruelty to go away,
leaving her to her distress.
It was hard for me to torment her thus, but I thought it was the only way
to overcome her prejudices.
Calling on the Venetian ambassador's steward I saw some peculiarly fine
oysters, and I got him to let me have a hundred. I then took a box at the
Capronica Theatre, and ordered a good supper at the inn where we had
supped before.
"I want a room with a bed," I said to the waiter.
"That's not allowed in Rome, signor," he replied, "but on the third floor
we have two rooms with large sofas which might do instead, without the
Holy Office being able to say anything."
I looked at the rooms and took them, and ordered the man to get the best
supper that Rome could offer.
As I was entering the boa with the two girls I saw the Marchioness d'Aout
was my near neighbour. She accosted me, and congratulated herself on her
vicinity to me. She was accompanied by her French abbe, her husband, and
a fine-looking young man, whom I had never seen before. She asked who my
companions were, and I told her they were in the Venetian ambassador's
household. She praised their beauty and began to talk to Armelline, who
answered well enough till the curtain went up. The young man also
complimented her, and after having asked my permission he gave her a
large packet of bonbons, telling her to share them with her neighbour. I
had guessed him to be a Florentine from his accent, and asked him if the
sweets came from the banks of the Arno; he told me they were from Naples,
whence he had just arrived.
At the end of the first act I was surprised to hear him say that he had a
letter of introduction for me from the Marchioness of C----.
"I have just heard your name," he said, "and tomorrow I shall have the
honour of delivering the letter in person, if you will kindly give me
your address."
After these polite preliminaries I felt that I must comply with his
request.
I asked after the marquis, his mother-in-law, and Anastasia, saying that
I was delighted to hear from the marchioness from whom I had been
expecting an answer for the last month.
"The charming marchioness has deigned to entrust me with the answer you
speak of."
"I long to read it."
"Then I may give you the letter now, though I shall still claim the
privilege of calling on you to-morrow. I will bring it to you in your
box, if you will allow me."
"Pray do so."
He might easily have given it to me from the box where he was, but this
would not have suited his plans. He came in, and politeness obliged me to
give him my place next to Armelline. He took out an elaborate
pocket-book, and gave me the letter. I opened it, but finding that it
covered four pages, I said I would read it when I got home, as the box
was dark. "I shall stay in Rome till Easter," he said, "as I want to see
all the sights; though indeed I cannot hope to see anything more
beautiful than the vision now before me."
Armelline, who was gazing fixedly at him, blushed deeply. I felt that his
compliment, though polite, was entirely out of place, and in some sort an
insult to myself. However, I said nothing, but decided mentally that the
Florentine Adonis must be a fop of the first water.
Finding his compliment created a silence, he saw he had made himself
offensive, and after a few disconnected remarks withdrew from the box. In
spite of myself the man annoyed me, and I congratulated Armelline on the
rapidity of her conquest, asking her what she thought of him. "He is a
fine man, but his compliments shews he has no taste. Tell me, is it the
custom for people of fashion to make a young girl blush the first time
they see her?"
"No, dear Armelline, it is neither customary nor polite; and anyone who
wishes to mix in good society would never do such a thing."
I lapsed into silence, as though I wanted to listen to the music; but as
a matter of fact my heart was a prey to cruel jealousy. I thought the
matter over, and came to the conclusion that the Florentine had treated
me rudely. He might have guessed that I was in love with Armelline, and
to make such an open declaration of love to my very face was nothing more
nor less than an insult to me.
After I had kept this unusual silence for a quarter of an hour the simple
Armelline made me worse by saying that I must calm myself, as I might be
sure that the young man's compliment had not given her the slightest
pleasure. She did not see that by saying this she made me feel that the
compliment had had the directly opposite effect.
I said that I had hoped he had pleased her.
To finish the matter up, she said by way of soothing me that the young
man did not mean to vex me, as he doubtless took me for her father.
What could I reply to this observation, as cruel as it was reasonable?
Nothing; I could only take refuge in silence and a fit of childish
ill-humour.
At last I could bear it no longer, and begged the two girls to come away
with me.
The second act was just over, and if I had been in my right senses I
should never have made them such an unreasonable request; but the
crassness of my proceedings did not strike me till the following day.
In spite of the strangeness of my request they merely exchanged glances
and got ready to go. Not knowing what better excuse to give I told them I
did not want the princess's carriage to be noticed as everyone left the
theatre, and that I would bring them again to the theatre the following
day.
I would not let Armelline put her head inside the Marchioness d'Aout's
box, and so we went out. I found the man who accompanied the carriage
talking to one of his mates at the door of the theatre, and this made me
think that the princess had come to the opera.
We got down at the inn, and I whispered to the man to take his horses
home and to call for us at three o'clock; for the cold was intense, and
both horses and men had to be considered.
We began by sitting down in front of a roaring fire, and for half an hour
we did nothing but eat oysters, which were opened in our presence by a
clever waiter, who took care not to lose a drop of the fluid. As quick as
he opened we ate, and the laughter of the girls, who talked of how we had
eaten them before, caused my anger to gradually disappear.
In Armelline's gentleness I saw the goodness of her heart, and I was
angry with myself for my absurd jealousy of a man who was much more
calculated to please a young girl than I.
Armelline drank champagne, and stole occasional glances in my direction
as if to entreat me to join them in their mirth.
Emilie spoke of her marriage, and without saying anything about my
projected visit to Civita Vecchia I promised that her future husband
should have his plenary dispensation before very long. While I spoke I
kissed Armelline's fair hands, and she looked at me as if thankful for
the return of my affection.
The oysters and champagne had their natural effect, and we had a
delightful supper. We had sturgeon and some delicious truffles, which I
enjoyed not so much for my own sake as for the pleasure with which my
companions devoured them.
A man in love is provided with a kind of instinct which tells him that
the surest way to success is to provide the beloved object with pleasures
that are new to her.
When Armelline saw me become gay and ardent once more she recognized her
handiwork, and was doubtless proud of the power she exercised over me.
She took my hand of her own accord, and continued gazing into my eyes.
Emilie was occupied in the enjoyment of the meal, and did not trouble
herself about our behaviour. Armelline was so tender and loving that I
made sure of victory after we had had some more oysters and a bowl of
punch.
When the dessert, the fifty oysters, and all the materials for making the
punch were on the table, the waiter left the room, saying that the ladies
would find every requisite in the neighbouring apartment.
The room was small, and the fire very hot, and I bade the two friends
arrange their dress more comfortably.
Their dresses fitted their figures, and were trimmed with fur and
stiffened with whalebones, so they went into the next room, and came back
in white bodices and short dimity petticoats, laughing at the slightness
of their attire.
I had sufficient strength of mind to conceal my emotion, and even not to
look at their breasts when they complained of having no neckerchiefs or
breast-bands to their chemises. I knew how inexperienced they were, and
felt certain that when they saw the indifference with which I took their
slight attire they themselves would think it was of no consequence.
Armelline and Emilie had both beautiful breasts, and knew it; they were
therefore astonished at my indifference, perhaps thought that I had never
seen a fine breast. As a matter of fact a fine figure is much more scarce
at Rome than a pretty face.
Thus, in spite of their modesty, their vanity impelled them to shew me
that my indifference was ill-placed, but it was my part to put them at
their ease, and to make them fling shame to the winds.
They were enchanted when I told them to try their hands at a bowl of
punch, and they simply danced for joy when I pronounced it better than my
own brew.
Then came the oyster-game, and I scolded Armelline for having swallowed
the liquid as I was taking the oyster from her lips. I agreed that it was
very hard to avoid doing so, but I offered to shew them how it could be
done by placing the tongue in the way. This gave me an opportunity of
teaching them the game of tongues, which I shall not explain because it
is well known to all true lovers. Armelline played her part with such
evident relish that I could see she enjoyed it as well as I, though she
agreed it was a very innocent amusement.
It so chanced that a fine oyster slipped from its shell as I was placing
it between Emilie's lips. It fell on to her breast, and she would have
recovered it with her fingers; but I claimed the right of regaining it
myself, and she had to unlace her bodice to let me do so. I got hold of
the oyster with my lips, but did so in such a manner as to prevent her
suspecting that I had taken any extraordinary pleasure in the act.
Armelline looked on without laughing; she was evidently surprised at the
little interest I had taken in what was before my eye. Emilie laughed and
relaced her bodice.
The opportunity was too good to be lost, so taking Armelline on my knee I
gave her an oyster and let it slip as Emilie's had slipped, much to the
delight of the elder, who wanted to see how her young companion would go
through the ordeal.
Armelline was really as much delighted herself, though she tried to
conceal her pleasure.
"I want my oyster," said I.
"Take it, then."
There was no need to tell me twice. I unlaced her corset in such a way as
to make it fall still lower, bewailing the necessity of having to search
for it with my hands.
What a martyrdom for an amorous man to have to conceal his bliss at such
a moment!
I did not let Armelline have any occasion to accuse me of taking too much
licence, for I only touched her alabaster spheres so much as was
absolutely necessary.
When I had got the oyster again I could restrain myself no more, and
affixing my lips to one of the blossoms of her breast I sucked it with a
voluptuous pleasure which is beyond all description.
She was astonished, but evidently moved, and I did not leave her till my
enjoyment was complete.
When she marked my dreamy langourous gaze, she asked me it it had given
me much pleasure to play the part of an infant.
"Yes, dearest," I replied, "but it's only an innocent jest."
"I don't think so; and I hope you will say nothing about it to the
superioress. It may be innocent for you, but it is not for me, as I
experienced sensations which must partake of the nature of sin. We will
pick up no more oysters."
"These are mere trifles," said Emilie, "the stain of which will easily be
wiped out with a little holy water. At all events we can swear that there
has been no kissing between us."
They went into the next room for a moment, I did the same, and we then
sat on the sofa before the fire. As I sat between them I observed that
our legs were perfectly alike, and that I could not imagine why women
stuck so obstinately to their petticoats.
While I talked I touched their legs, saying it was just as if I were to
touch my own.
They did not interrupt this examination which I carried up to the knee,
and I told Emilie that all the reward I would ask for my services was
that I might see her thighs, to compare them with Armelline's.
"She will be bigger than I," said Armelline, "though I am the taller."
"Well, there would be no harm in letting me see."
"I think there would."
"Well, I will feel with my hands."
"No, you would look at the same time."
"I swear I will not."
"Let me bandage your eyes."
"Certainly; but I will: bandage yours too."
"Yes; we will play, at blindman's buff."
Before the bandaging began I took care to make them swallow a good dose
of punch, and, then we proceeded to play. The two girls let me span their
thighs several times, laughing and falling over me whenever my hands went
too high.
I lifted the bandage and saw everything, but they pretended not to
suspect anything.
They treated me in the same way, no doubt to see what it was that they
felt when they fell upon me.
This delightful game went on; till exhausted, nature would not allow me
to play it any more. I put myself in a state of decency, and then told
them to take off their bandages.
They did so and sat beside me, thinking, perhaps, that they would be able
to, disavow everything on the score of the bandage.
It seemed to me that Emilie had had a lover, though I took good care not
to tell her so; but Armelline was a pure virgin. She was meeker than her
friend, and her great eyes shone as voluptuously but more modestly.
I would have snatched a kiss from her pretty mouth, but she turned away
her head, though she squeezed my hands tenderly. I was astonished at this
refusal after the liberties I had taken with her.
We had talked about balls, and they were both extremely anxious to see
one.
The public ball was the rage with all the young Romans. For ten long
years the Pope Rezzonico had deprived them of this pleasure. Although
Rezzonico forbade dancing, he allowed gaming of every description.
Ganganelli, his successor, had other views, and forbade gaming but
allowed dancing.
So much for papal infallibility; what one condemns the other approves.
Ganganelli thought it better to let his subjects skip than to give them
the opportunity of ruining themselves, of committing suicide, or of
becoming brigands; but Rezzonico did not see the matter in that light. I
promised the girls I would take them to the ball as soon as I could
discover one where I was not likely to be recognized.
Three o'clock struck, and I took them back to the convent, well enough
pleased with the progress I had made, though I had only increased my
passion. I was surer than ever that Armelline was born to exercise an
irresistible sway over every man who owed fealty to beauty.
I was amongst her liegemen, and am so still, but the incense is all gone
and the censer of no value.
I could not help reflecting on the sort of glamour which made me fall in
love with one who seemed all new to me, while I loved her in exactly the
same manner as I had loved her predecessor. But in reality there was no
real novelty; the piece was the same, though the title might be altered.
But when I had won what I coveted, did I realize that I was going over
old ground? Did I complain? Did I think myself deceived?
Not one whit; and doubtless for this reason, that whilst I enjoyed the
piece I kept my eyes fixed on the title which had so taken my fancy. If
this be so, of what use is title at all? The title of a book, the name of
a dish, the name of a town--of what consequence are all these when what
one wants is to read the book, to eat the dish, and to see the town.
The comparison is a sophism. Man becomes amorous through the senses,
which, touch excepted, all reside in the head. In love a beautiful face
is a matter of the greatest moment.
A beautiful female body might well excite a man to carnal indulgence,
even though the head were covered, but never to real love. If at the
moment of physical delight the covering were taken away, and a face of
hideous, revolting ugliness disclosed, one would fly in horror, in spite
of the beauties of the woman's body.
But the contrary does not hold good. If a man has fallen in love with a
sweet, enchanting face, and succeeds in lifting the veil of the sanctuary
only to find deformities there, still the face wins the day, atones for
all, and the sacrifice is consummated.
The face is thus paramount, and hence it has come to be agreed that
women's bodies shall be covered and their faces disclosed; while men's
clothes are arranged in such a way that women can easily guess at what
they cannot see.
This arrangement is undoubtedly to the advantage of women; art can
conceal the imperfections of the face, and even make it appear beautiful,
but no cosmetic can dissemble an ugly breast, stomach, or any other part
of the man body.
In spite of this, I confess that the phenomerides of Sparta were in the
right, like all women who, though they possess a fine figure, have a
repulsive face; in spite of the beauty of the piece, the title drives
spectators away. Still an interesting face is an inseparable accident of
love.
Thrice happy are they who, like Armelline, have beauty both in the face
and body.
When I got home I was so fortunate as to find Margarita in a deep sleep.
I took care not to awake her, and went to bed with as little noise as
possible. I was in want of rest, for I no longer enjoyed the vigour of
youth, and I slept till twelve.
When I awoke, Margarita told me that a handsome young man had called on
me at ten o'clock, and that she had amused him till eleven, not daring to
awake me.
"I made him some coffee," said she, "and he was pleased to pronounce it
excellent. He would not tell me his name, but he will come again
tomorrow. He gave me a piece of money, but I hope you will not mind. I
don't know how much it is worth."
I guessed that it was the Florentine. The piece was of two ounces. I only
laughed, for not loving Margarita I was not jealous of her. I told her
she had done quite right to amuse him and to accept the piece, which was
worth forty-eight pauls.
She kissed me affectionately, and thanks to this incident I heard nothing
about my having come home so late.
I felt curious to learn more about this generous Tuscan, so I proceeded
to read Leonilda's letter.
His name, it appeared, was M----. He was a rich merchant established in
London, and had been commended to her husband by a Knight of Malta.
Leonilda said he was generous, good-hearted, and polished, and assured me
that I should like him.
After telling me the family news, Leonilda concluded by saying that she
was in a fair way to become a mother, and that she would be perfectly
happy if she gave birth to a son. She begged me to congratulate the
marquis.
Whether from a natural instinct or the effects of prejudice, this news
made me shudder. I answered her letter in a few days, enclosing it in a
letter to the marquis, in which I told him that the grace of God was
never too late, and that I had never been so much pleased by any news as
at hearing he was likely to have an heir.
In the following May Leonilda gave birth to a son, whom I saw at Prague,
on the occasion of the coronation of Leopold. He called himself Marquis
C----, like his father, or perhaps we had better say like his mother's
husband, who attained the age of eighty.
Though the young marquis did not know my name, I got introduced to him,
and had the pleasure of meeting him a second time at the theatre. He was
accompanied by a priest, who was called his governor, but such an office
was a superfluity for him, who was wiser at twenty than most men are at
sixty.
I was delighted to see that the young man was the living image of the old
marquis. I shed tears of joy as I thought how this likeness must have
pleased the old man and his wife, and I admired this chance which seemed
to have abetted nature in her deceit.
I wrote to my dear Leonilda, placing the letter in the hands of her son.
She did not get it till the Carnival of 1792, when the young marquis
returned to Naples; and a short time after I received an answer inviting
me to her son's marriage and begging me to spend the remainder of my days
with her.
"Who knows? I may eventually do so."
I called on the Princess Santa Croce at three o'clock, and found her in
bed, with the cardinal reading to her.
The first question she asked was, why I had left the opera at the end of
the second act.
"Princess, I can tell you an interesting history of my six hours of
adventure, but you must give me a free hand, for some of the episodes
must be told strictly after nature."
"Is it anything in the style of Sister M---- M----?" asked the cardinal.
"Yes, my lord, something of the kind."
"Princess, will you be deaf?" said his eminence,
"Of course I will," she replied.
I then told my tale almost as I have written it. The slipping oysters and
the game of blind man's buff made the princess burst with laughing, in
spite of her deafness. She agreed with the cardinal that I had acted with
great discretion, and told me that I should be sure to succeed on the
next attempt.
"In three or four days," said the cardinal, "you will have the
dispensation, and then Emilie can marry whom she likes."
The next morning the Florentine came to see me at nine o'clock, and I
found him to answer to the marchioness's description; but I had a bone to
pick with him, and I was none the better pleased when he began asking me
about the young person in my box at the theatre; he wanted to know
whether she were married or engaged, if she had father, mother, or any
other relations.
I smiled sardonically, and begged to be excused giving him the required
information, as the young lady was masked when he saw her.
He blushed, and begged my pardon.
I thanked him for doing Margarita the honour of accepting a cup of coffee
from her hands, and begged him to take one with me, saying I would
breakfast with him next morning. He lived with Roland, opposite St.
Charles, where Madame Gabrieli, the famous singer, nicknamed la Coghetta,
lived.
As soon as the Florentine was gone, I went to St. Paul's in hot haste,
for I longed to see what reception I should have from the two vestals I
had initiated so well.
When they appeared I noticed a great change. Emilie had become gay, while
Armelline looked sad.
I told the former that she should have her dispensation in three days,
and her warrant for four hundred crowns in a week.
"At the same time," I added, "you shall have your grant of two hundred
crowns."
At this happy tidings she ran to tell the superioress of her good
fortune.
As soon as I was alone with Armelline I took her hands and covered them
with kisses, begging her to resume her wonted gaiety.
"What shall I do," said she, "without Emilie? What shall I do when you
are gone? I am unhappy. I love myself no longer."
She shed tears which pierced me to the heart. I swore I would not leave
Rome till I had seen her married with a dowry of a thousand crowns.
"I don't want a thousand crowns, but I hope you will see me married as
you say; if you do not keep your promise it will kill me."
"I would die rather than deceive you; but you on your side must forgive
my love, which, perhaps, made me go too far the other evening."
"I forgive you everything if you will remain my friend."
"I will; and now let me kiss your beautiful lips."
After this first kiss, which I took as a pledge of certain victory, she
wiped away her tears; and soon after Emilie reappeared, accompanied by
the superioress, who treated me with great cordiality.
"I want you to do as much for Armelline's new friend as you have done for
Emilie," said she.
"I will do everything in my power," I replied; "and in return I hope you
will allow me to take these young ladies to the theatre this evening."
"You will find them ready; how could I refuse you anything?"
When I was alone with the two friends I apologised for having disposed of
them without their consent.
"Our consent!" said Emilie: "we should be ungrateful indeed if we refused
you anything after all you have done for us."
"And you, Armelline, will you withstand my love?"
"No; so long as it keeps within due bounds. No more blind man's buff!"
"And it is such a nice game! You really grieve me."
"Well, invent another game," said Emilie.
Emilie was becoming ardent, somewhat to my annoyance, for I was afraid
Armelline would get jealous. I must not be charged with foppishness on
this account. I knew the human heart.
When I left them I went to the Tordinona Theatre and took a box, and then
ordered a good supper at the same inn, not forgetting the oysters, though
I felt sure I should not require their aid.
I then called on a musician, whom I requested to get me three tickets for
a ball, where no one would be likely to know me.
I went home with the idea of dining by myself, but I found a note from
the Marchioness d'Aout, reproaching me in a friendly manner for not
having broken bread with her, and inviting me to dinner. I resolved to
accept the invitation, and when I got to the house I found the young
Florentine already there.
It was at this dinner that I found out many of his good qualities, and I
saw that Donna Leonilda had not said too much in his favour.
Towards the end of the meal the marchioness asked why I had not stayed
till the end of the opera.
"Because the young ladies were getting tired."
"I have found out that they do not belong to the Venetian ambassador's
household.
"You are right, and I hope you will pardon my small fiction."
"It was an impromptu effort to avoid telling me who they are, but they
are known."
"Then I congratulate the curious."
"The one I addressed deserves to excite general curiosity; but if I were
in your place I should make her use a little powder."
"I have not the authority to do so, and if I had, I would not trouble her
for the world."
I was pleased with the Florentine, who listened to all this without
saying a word. I got him to talk of England and of his business. He told
me that he was going to Florence to take possession of his inheritance,
and to get a wife to take back with him to London. As I left, I told him
that I could not have the pleasure of calling on him till the day after
next, as I was prevented by important business. He told me I must come at
dinnertime, and I promised to do so.
Full of love and hope, I went for my two friends, who enjoyed the whole
play without any interruption.
When we alighted at the inn I told the coachman to call for me at two,
and we then went up to the third floor, where we sat before the fire
while the oysters were being opened. They did not interest us as they had
done before.
Emilie had an important air; she was about to make a good marriage.
Armelline was meek, smiling, and affectionate, and reminded me of the
promise I had given her. I replied by ardent kisses which reassured her,
while they warned her that I would fain increase the responsibility I had
already contracted towards her. However, she seemed resigned, and I sat
down to table in a happy frame of mind.
As Emilie was on the eve of her wedding, she no doubt put down my neglect
of her to my respect for the sacrament of matrimony.
When supper was over I got on the sofa with Armelline, and spent three
hours which might have been delicious if I had not obstinately
endeavoured to obtain the utmost favour. She would not give in; all my
supplications and entreaties could not move her; she was sweet, but firm.
She lay between my arms, but would not grant what I wanted, though she
gave me no harsh or positive refusal.
It seems a puzzle, but in reality it is quite simple.
She left my arms a virgin, sorry, perhaps, that her sense of duty had not
allowed her to make me completely happy.
At last nature bade me cease, in spite of my love, and I begged her to
forgive me. My instinct told me that this was the only way by which I
might obtain her consent another time.
Half merry and half sad, we awoke Emilie who was in a deep sleep, and
then we started. I went home and got into bed, not troubling myself about
the storm of abuse with which Margarita greeted me.
The Florentine gave me a delicious dinner, overwhelmed me with
protestations of friendship, and offered me his purse if I needed it.
He had seen Armelline, and had been pleased with her. I had answered him
sharply when he questioned me about her, and ever since he had never
mentioned her name.
I felt grateful to him, and as if I must make him some return.
I asked him to dinner, and had Margarita to dine with us. Not caring for
her I should have been glad if he had fallen in love with her; there
would have been no difficulty, I believe, on her part, and certainly not
on mine; but nothing came of it. She admired a trinket which hung from
his watch-chain, and he begged my permission to give it her. I told him
to do so by all means, and that should have been enough; but the affair
went no farther.
In a week all the arrangements for Emilie's marriage had been made. I
gave her her grant, and the same day she was married and went away with
her husband to Civita Vecchia. Menicuccio, whose name I have not
mentioned for some time, was well pleased with my relations with his
sister, foreseeing advantages for himself, and still better pleased with
the turn his own affairs were taking, for three days after Emilie's
wedding he married his mistress, and set up in a satisfactory manner.
When Emilie was gone the superioress gave Armelline a new companion. She
was only a few years older than my sweetheart, and very pretty; but she
did not arouse a strong interest in my breast. When violently in love no
other woman has ever had much power over me.
The superioress told me that her name was Scholastica, and that she was
well worthy of my esteem, being, as she said, as good as Emilie. She
expressed a hope that I would do my best to help Scholastica to marry a
man whom she knew and who was in a good position.
This man was the son of a cousin of Scholastica's. She called him her
nephew, though he was older than she. The dispensation could easily be
got for money, but if it was to be had for nothing I should have to make
interest with the Holy Father. I promised I would do my best in the
matter.
The carnival was drawing to a close, and Scholastica had never seen an
opera or a play. Armelline wanted to see a ball, and I had at last
succeeded in finding one where it seemed unlikely that I should be
recognized. However, it would have to be carefully managed, as serious
consequences might ensue; so I asked the two friends if they would wear
men's clothes, to which they agreed very heartily.
I had taken a box at the Aliberti Theatre for the day after the ball, so
I told the two girls to obtain the necessary permission from the
superioress.
Though Armelline's resistance and the presence of her new friend
discouraged me, I procured everything requisite to transform them into
two handsome lads.
As Armelline got into the carriage she gave me the bad news that
Scholastica knew nothing about our relations, and that we must be careful
what we did before her. I had no time to reply, for Scholastica got in,
and we drove off to the inn. When we were seated in front of a good fire,
I told them that if they liked I would go into the next room in spite of
the cold.
So saying, I shewed them their disguises, and Armelline said it would do
if I turned my back, appealing to Scholastics to confirm her.
"I will do as you like," said she, "but I am very sorry to be in the way.
You are in love with each other, and here am I preventing you from giving
one another marks of your affection. Why don't you treat me with
confidence? I am not a child, and I am your friend."
These remarks shewed that she had plenty of common sense, and I breathed
again.
"You are right, fair Scholastics," I said, "I do love Armelline, but she
does not love me, and refuses to make me happy on one pretence or
another."
With these words I left the room, and after shutting the door behind me
proceeded to make up a fire in the second apartment.
In a quarter of an hour Armelline knocked at the door, and begged me to
open it. She was in her breeches, and said they needed my assistance as
their shoes were so small they could not get them on.
I was in rather a sulky humour, so she threw her arms round my neck and
covered my face with kisses which soon restored me to myself.
While I was explaining the reason of my ill temper, and kissing whatever
I could see, Scholastica burst out laughing.
"I was sure that I was in the way," said she; "and if you do not trust
me, I warn you that I will not go with you to the opera to-morrow."
"Well, then, embrace him," said Armelline.
"With all my heart."
I did not much care for Armelline's generosity, but I embraced
Scholastica as warmly as she deserved. Indeed I would have done so if she
had been less pretty, for such kindly consideration deserved a reward. I
even kissed her more ardently than I need have done, with the idea of
punishing Armelline, but I made a mistake. She was delighted, and kissed
her friend affectionately as if in gratitude.
I made them sit down, and tried to pull on their shoes, but I soon found
that they were much too small, and that we must get some more.
I called the waiter who attended to us, and told him to go and fetch a
bootmaker with an assortment of shoes.
In the meanwhile I would not be contented with merely kissing Armelline.
She neither dared to grant nor to refuse; and as if to relieve herself of
any responsibility, made Scholastica submit to all the caresses I
lavished on her. The latter seconded my efforts with an ardour that would
have pleased me exceedingly if I had been in love with her.
She was exceedingly beautiful, and her features were as perfectly
chiselled as Armelline's, but Armelline was possessed of a delicate and
subtle charm of feature peculiar to herself.
I liked the amusement well enough, but there was a drop of bitterness in
all my enjoyment. I thought it was plain that Armelline did not love me,
and that Scholastica only encouraged me to encourage her friend.
At last I came to the conclusion that I should do well to attach myself
to the one who seemed likely to give me the completest satisfaction.
As soon as I conceived this idea I felt curious to see whether Armelline
would discover any jealousy if I shewed myself really in love with
Scholastica, and if the latter pronounced me to be too daring, for
hitherto my hands had not crossed the Rubicon of their waistbands. I was
just going to work when the shoemaker arrived, and in a few minutes the
girls were well fitted.
They put on their coats, and I saw two handsome young men before me,
while their figures hinted their sex sufficiently to make a third person
jealous of my good fortune.
I gave orders for supper to be ready at midnight, and we went to the
ball. I would have wagered a hundred to one that no one would recognize
me there, as the man who got the tickets had assured me that it was a
gathering of small tradesmen. But who can trust to fate or chance?
We went into the hall, and the first person I saw was the Marchioness
d'Aout, with her husband and her inseparable abbe.
No doubt I turned a thousand colours, but it was no good going back, for
the marchioness had recognized me, so I composed myself and went up to
her. We exchanged the usual compliments of polite society, to which she
added some good-natured though ironical remarks on my two young friends.
Not being accustomed to company, they remained confused and speechless.
But the worst of all was to come. A tall young lady who had just finished
a minuet came up to Armelline, dropped a curtsy, and asked her to dance.
In this young lady I recognized the Florentine who had disguised himself
as a girl, and looked a very beautiful one.
Armelline thought she would not appear a dupe, and said she recognized
him.
"You are making a mistake," said he, calmly. "I have a brother who is
very like me, just as you have a sister who is your living portrait. My
brother had the pleasure of exchanging a few words with her at the
Capronica." The Florentine's cleverness made the marchioness laugh, and I
had to join in her mirth, though I felt little inclination to do so.
Armelline begged to be excused dancing, so the marchioness made her sit
between the handsome Florentine and herself. The marquis took possession
of Scholastica, and I had to be attentive to the marchioness without
seeming to be aware of the existence of Armelline, to whom the Florentine
was talking earnestly.
I felt as jealous as a tiger; and having to conceal my rage under an air
of perfect satisfaction, the reader may imagine how well I enjoyed the
ball.
However, there was more anxiety in store for me; for presently I noticed
Scholastica leave the marquis, and go apart with a middle-aged man, with
whom she conversed in an intimate manner.
The minuets over, the square dances began, and I thought I was dreaming
when I saw Armelline and the Florentine taking their places.
I came up to congratulate them, and asked Armelline, gently, if she was
sure of the steps.
"This gentleman says I have only to imitate him, and that I cannot
possibly make any mistakes."
I had nothing to say to this, so I went towards Scholastica, feeling very
curious to know who was her companion.
As soon as she saw me she introduced me to him, saying timidly that this
was the nephew of whom she had spoken, the same that wished to marry her.
I was surprised, but I did not let it appear. I told him that the
superioress had spoken of him to me, and that I was thinking over the
ways and means of obtaining a dispensation without any costs.
He was an honest-looking man, and thanked me heartily, commending himself
to my good offices, as he said he was far from rich.
I left them together, and on turning to view the dance I was astonished
to see that Armelline was dancing admirably, and executing all the
figures. The Florentine seemed a finished dancer, and they both looked
very happy.
I was far from pleased, but I congratulated them both on their
performance. The Florentine had disguised himself so admirably that no
one would have taken him for a man. It was the Marchioness d'Aout who had
been his dresser.
As I was too jealous to leave Armelline to her own devices, I refused to
dance, preferring to watch her.
I was not at all uneasy about Scholastica, who was with her betrothed.
About half-past eleven the Marchioness d'Aout, who was delighted with
Armelline, and possibly had her protege's happiness in view, asked me, in
a tone that amounted to a command, to sup with her in company with my two
companions.
"I cannot have the honour," I replied, "and my two companions know the
reason."
"That is as much as to say," said the marchioness, "that he will do as
you please," turning to Armelline as she spoke.
I addressed myself to Armelline, and observed smilingly that she knew
perfectly well that she must be home by half-past twelve at latest.
"True," she replied, "but you can do as you please."
I replied somewhat sadly that I did not feel myself at liberty to break
my word, but that she could make me do even that if she chose.
Thereupon the marchioness, her husband, the abbe, and the Florentine,
urged her to use her power to make me break my supposed word, and
Armelline actually began to presume to do so.
I was bursting with rage; but making up my mind to do anything rather
than appear jealous, I said simply that I would gladly consent if her
friend would consent also.
"Very well," said she, with a pleased air that cut me to the quick, "go
and ask her."
That was enough for me. I went to Scholastica and told her the
circumstances in the presence of her lover, begging her to refuse without
compromising me.
Her lover said I was perfectly right, but Scholastica required no
persuasion, telling me that she had quite made up her mind not to sup
with anyone.
She came with me, and I told her to speak to Armelline apart before
saying anything to the others.
I led Scholastica before the marchioness, bewailing my want of success.
Scholastica told Armelline that she wanted to say a few words to her
aside, and after a short conversation they came back looking sorry, and
Armelline told the marchioness that she found it would be impossible for
them to come. The lady did not press us any longer, so we went away.
I told Scholastica's intended to keep what had passed to himself, and
asked him to dine with me on the day after Ash Wednesday.
The night was dark, and we walked to the place where I had ordered the
carriage to be in waiting.
To me it was as if I had come out of hell, and on the way to the inn I
did not speak a word, not even answering the questions which the
too-simple Armelline addressed to me in a voice that would have softened
a heart of stone. Scholastica avenged me by reproaching her for having
obliged me to appear either rude or jealous, or a breaker of my word.
When we got to the inn Armelline changed my jealous rage into pity; her
eyes swam with tears, which Scholastica's home truths had drawn forth.
The supper was ready, so they had no time to change their dress. I was
sad enough, but I could not bear to see Armelline sad also. I resolved to
do my best to drive away her melancholy, even though I suspected that it
arose from love of the Florentine.
The supper was excellent, and Scholastica did honour to it, while
Armelline, contrary to her wont, scarcely touched a thing. Scholastica
was charming. She embraced her friend, and told her to be merry with her,
as I had become the friend of her betrothed, and she was sure I would do
as much for her as I had done for Emilie. She blessed the ball and the
chance which had brought him there. In short, she did her best to shew
Armelline that with my love she had no reason to be sad.
Armelline dared not disclose the true cause of her sadness. The fact was,
that she wanted to get married, and the handsome Florentine was the man
to her liking.
Our supper came to an end, and still Armelline was gloomy. She only drank
one glass of punch, and as she had eaten so little I would not try and
make her drink more for fear lest it should do her harm. Scholastica, on
the other hand, took such a fancy to this agreeable fluid, which she
tasted for the first time, that she drank deeply, and was amazed to find
it mounting to her head instead of descending to her stomach. In this
pleasant state, she felt it was her duty to reconcile Armelline and
myself, and to assure us that we might be as tender as we liked without
minding her presence.
Getting up from table and standing with some difficulty, she carried her
friend to the sofa, and caressed her in such a way that Armelline could
not help laughing, despite her sadness. Then she called me and placed her
in my arms. I caressed her, and Armelline, though she did not repulse me,
did not respond as Scholastica had hoped. I was not disappointed; I did
not think it likely she would grant now what she had refused to grant
when I had held her in my arms for those hours whilst Emilie was fast
asleep.
However, Scholastica began to reproach me with my coldness, though I
deserved no blame at all on this score.
I told them to take off their men's clothes, and to dress themselves as
women.
I helped Scholastica to take off her coat and waistcoat, and then aided
Armelline in a similar manner.
When I brought them their chemises, Armelline told me to go and stand by
the fire, and I did so.
Before long a noise of kissing made me turn round, and I saw Scholastica,
on whom the punch had taken effect, devouring Armelline's breast with
kisses. At last this treatment had the desired result; Armelline became
gay, and gave as good as she got.
At this sight the blood boiled in my veins, and running to them I found
Scholastic was not ill pleased that I should do justice to her beautiful
spheres, while for the nonce I transformed her into a nurse.
Armelline was ashamed to appear less generous than her friend, and
Scholastica was triumphant when she saw the peculiar use to which (for
the first time) I put Armelline's hands.
Armelline called to her friend to help, and she was not backward; but in
spite of her twenty years her astonishment at the catastrophe was great.
After it was over I put on their chemises and took off their breeches
with all the decency imaginable, and after spending a few minutes in the
next room they came and sat down on my knee of their own accord.
Scholastica, instead of being annoyed at my giving the preference to the
hidden charms of Armelline, seemed delighted, watching what I did, and
how Armelline took it, with the closest attention. She no doubt longed to
see me perform the magnum opus, but the gentle Armelline would not allow
me to go so far.
After I had finished with Armelline I recollected I had duties towards
Scholastica, and I proceeded to inspect her charms.
It was difficult to decide which of the two deserved to carry off the
apple. Scholastica, perhaps, was strictly speaking the more beautiful of
the two, but I loved Armelline, and love casts a glamour over the beloved
object. Scholastica appeared to me to be as pure a virgin as Armelline,
and I saw that I might do what I liked with her. But I would not abuse my
liberty, not caring to confess how powerful an ally the punch had been.
However, I did all in my power to give her pleasure without giving her
the greatest pleasure of all. Scholastica, was glutted with voluptuous
enjoyment, and was certain that I had only eluded her desires from
motives of delicacy.
I took them back to the convent, assuring them that I would take them to
the opera on the following evening.
I went to bed, doubtful whether I had gained a victory or sustained a
defeat; and it was not till I awoke that I was in a position to give a
decided opinion.
[There is here a considerable hiatus in the author's manuscript.]
EPISODE 29 -- FLORENCE TO TRIESTE
CHAPTER XVIII
Madame Denis--Dedini--Zanovitch--Zen--I Am Obliged to Leave--
I Arrive at Bologna--General Albergati
Without speaking at any length I asked the young grand duke to give me an
asylum in his dominions for as long as I might care to stay. I
anticipated any questions he might have asked by telling him the reasons
which had made me an exile from my native land.
"As to my necessities," I added, "I shall ask for help of no one; I have
sufficient funds to ensure my independence. I think of devoting the whole
of my time to study."
"So long as your conduct is good," he replied, "the laws guarantee your
freedom; but I am glad you have applied to me. Whom do you know in
Florence?"
"Ten years ago, my lord, I had some distinguished acquaintances here; but
now I propose to live in retirement, and do not intend renewing any old
friendships."
Such was my conversation with the young sovereign, and after his
assurances I concluded that no one would molest me.
My adventures in Tuscany the years before were in all probability
forgotten, or almost forgotten, as the new Government had nothing in
common with the old.
After my interview with the grand duke I went to a bookseller's shop and
ordered some books. A gentleman in the shop, hearing me making enquiries
about Greek works, accosted me, and we got on well together. I told him I
was working at a translation of the "Iliad," and in return he informed me
that he was making a collection of Greek epigrams, which he wished to
publish in Greek and Italian. I told him I should like to see this work,
whereupon he asked me where I lived. I told him, learnt his name and
address, and called on him the next day. He returned the visit, and we
became fast friends, though we never either walked or ate together.
This worthy Florentine was named (or is named, if he be still alive)
Everard de Medici.
I was very comfortable with Allegranti; I had the quiet so necessary to
literary labours, but nevertheless I made up my mind to change my
lodging. Magdalena, my landlord's niece, was so clever and charming,
though but a child, that she continually disturbed my studies. She came
into my room, wished me good day, asked me what kind of a night I had
spent, if I wanted anything, and the sight of her grace and beauty and
the sound of her voice so ravished me, that I determined to seek safety
in flight.
A few years later Magdalena became a famous musician.
After leaving Allegranti I took rooms in a tradesman's house; his wife
was ugly, and he had no pretty daughters or seductive nieces. There I
lived for three weeks like Lafontaine's rat, very discreetly.
About the same time, Count Stratico arrived at Florence with his pupil,
the Chevalier Morosini, who was then eighteen. I could not avoid calling
on Stratico. He had broken his leg some time before and was still unable
to go out with his pupil, who had all the vices and none of the virtues
of youth. Consequently, Stratico was always afraid of something happening
to him, and he begged me to make myself his companion, and even to share
his pleasures, so that he might not go into bad company and dangerous
houses alone and undefended.
Thus my days of calm study vanished away. I had to partake in the
debauchery of a young rake, and all out of pure sensibility.
The Chevalier Morosini was a thorough-paced profligate. He hated
literature, good society, and the company of sensible people. His daily
pleasures were furious riding, hard drinking, and hard dissipation with
prostitutes, whom he sometimes almost killed.
This young nobleman paid a man for the sole service of getting him a
woman or a girl every day.
During the two months which he passed in Florence I saved his life a
score of times. I got very tired of my duty, but I felt bound to
persevere.
He was liberal to the verge of recklessness, and would never allow me to
pay for anything. Even here, however, disputes often arose between us; as
he paid, he wanted me to eat, drink, and dissipate in the same measures
as himself. However, I had my own way on most occasions, only giving in
when it suited me to do so.
We went to see the opera at Lucca, and drought two of the dancers home to
supper. As the chevalier was drunk as usual, he treated the woman he had
chosen--a superb creature--very indifferently. The other was pretty
enough, but I had done nothing serious with her, so I proceeded to avenge
the beauty. She took me for the chevalier's father, and advised me to
give him a better education.
After the chevalier was gone I betook myself to my studies again, but I
supped every night with Madame Denis, who had formerly been a dancer in
the King of Prussia's service, and had retired to Florence.
She was about my age, and therefore not young, but still she had
sufficient remains of her beauty to inspire a tender passion; she did not
look more than thirty. She was as fresh as a young girl, had excellent
manners, and was extremely intelligent. Besides all these advantages, she
had a comfortable apartment on the first floor of one of the largest
cafes in Florence. In front of her room was a balcony where it was
delicious to sit and enjoy the cool of the evening.
The reader may remember how I had become her friend at Berlin in 1764,
and when we met again at Florence our old flames were rekindled.
The chief boarder in the house where she lived was Madame Brigonzi, whom
I had met at Memel. This lady, who pretended that she had been my
mistress twenty-five years before, often came into Madame Denis's rooms
with an old lover of hers named Marquis Capponi.
He was an agreeable and well-educated man; and noticing that he seemed to
enjoy my conversation I called on him, and he called on me, leaving his
card as I was not at home.
I returned the visit, and he introduced me to his family and invited me
to dinner. For the first time since I had come to Florence I dressed
myself with elegance and wore my jewels.
At the Marquis Capponi's I made the acquaintance of Corilla's lover, the
Marquis Gennori, who took me to a house where I met my fate. I fell in
love with Madame a young widow, who had been spending a few months in
Paris. This visit had added to her other attractions the charm of a good
manner, which always counts for so much.
This unhappy love made the three months longer which I spent in Florence
painful to me.
It was at the beginning of October, and about that time Count Medini
arrived at Florence without a penny in his pocket, and without being able
to pay his vetturino, who had arrested him.
The wretched man, who seemed to follow me wherever I went, had taken up
his abode in the house of a poor Irishman.
I do not know how Medini found out that I was at Florence, but he wrote
me a letter begging me to come and deliver him from the police, who
besieged his room and talked of taking him to prison. He said he only
wanted me to go bail for him, and protested that I should not run any
risk, as he was sure of being able to pay in a few days.
My readers will be aware that I had good reason for not liking Medini,
but in spite of our quarrel I could not despise his entreaty. I even felt
inclined to become his surety, if he could prove his capability of paying
the sum for which he had been arrested. I imagined that the sum must be a
small one, and could not understand why the landlord did not answer for
him. My surprise ceased, however, when I entered his room.
As soon as I appeared he ran to embrace me, begging me to forget the
past, and to extract him from the painful position in which he found
himself.
I cast a rapid glance over the room, and saw three trunks almost empty,
their contents being scattered about the floor. There was his mistress,
whom I knew, and who had her reasons for not liking me; her young sister,
who wept; and her mother, who swore, and called Medini a rogue, saying
that she would complain of him to the magistrate, and that she was not
going to allow her dresses and her daughter's dresses to be seized for
his debts.
I asked the landlord why he did not go bail, as he had these persons and
their effects as security.
"The whole lot," he answered, "won't pay the vetturino, and the sooner
they are out of my house the better I shall be pleased."
I was astonished, and could not understand how the bill could amount to
more than the value of all the clothes I saw on the floor, so I asked the
vetturino to tell me the extent of the debt.
He gave me a paper with Medini's signature; the amount was two hundred
and forty crowns.
"How in the world," I exclaimed, "could he contract this enormous debt?"
I wondered no longer when the vetturino told me that he had served them
for the last six weeks, having conducted the count and the three women
from Rome to Leghorn, and from Leghorn to Pisa, and from Pisa to
Florence, paying for their board all the way.
"The vetturino will never take me as bail for such an amount," I said to
Medini, "and even if he would I should never be so foolish as to contract
such a debt."
"Let me have a word with you in the next room," said he; "I will put the
matter clearly before you."
"Certainly."
Two of the police would have prevented his going into the next room, on
the plea that he might escape through the window, but I said I would be
answerable for him.
Just then the poor vetturino came in and kissed my hand, saying that if I
would go bail for the count he would let me have three months wherein to
find the money.
As it happened it was the same man who had taken me to Rome with the
Englishwoman who had been seduced by the actor l'Etoile. I told him to
wait a moment.
Medini who was a great talker and a dreadful liar thought to persuade me
by shewing me a number of open letters, commending him in pompous terms
to the best houses in Florence. I read the letters, but I found no
mention of money in them, and I told him as much.
"I know," said he, "but there is play going on in these houses, and I am
sure of gaining immense sums."
"You may be aware that I have no confidence in your good luck."
"Then I have another resource."
"What is that?"
He shewed me a bundle of manuscript, which I found to be an excellent
translation of Voltaire's "Henriade" into Italian verse. Tasso himself
could not have done it better. He said he hoped to finish the poem at
Florence, and to present it to the grand duke, who would be sure to make
him a magnificent present, and to constitute him his favourite.
I would not undeceive him, but I laughed to myself, knowing that the
grand duke only made a pretence of loving literature. A certain Abbe
Fontaine, a clever man, amused him with a little natural history, the
only science in which he took any interest. He preferred the worst prose
to the best verse, not having sufficient intellect to enjoy the subtle
charms of poetry. In reality he had only two passions--women and money.
After spending two wearisome hours with Medini, whose wit was great and
his judgment small, after heartily repenting of having yielded to my
curiosity and having paid him a visit, I said shortly that I could do
nothing for him. Despair drives men crazy; as I was making for the door,
he seized me by the collar.
He did not reflect in his dire extremity that he had no arms, that I was
stronger than he, that I had twice drawn his blood, and that the police,
the landlord, the vetturirco, and the servants, were in the next room. I
was not coward enough to call for help; I caught hold of his neck with
both hands and squeezed him till he was nearly choked. He had to let go
at last, and then I took hold of his collar and asked him if he had gone
mad.
I sent him against the wall, and opened the door and the police came in.
I told the vetturino that I would on no account be Medini's surety, or be
answerable for him in any way.
Just as I was going out, he leapt forward crying that I must not abandon
him.
I had opened the door, and the police, fearing he would escape, ran
forward to get hold of him. Then began an interesting battle. Medini, who
had no arms, and was only in his dressing-gown, proceeded to distribute
kicks, cuffs, and blows amongst the four cowards, who had their swords at
their sides, whilst I held the door to prevent the Irishman going out and
calling for assistance.
Medini, whose nose was bleeding and his dress all torn, persisted in
fighting till the four policemen let him alone. I liked his courage, and
pitied him.
There was a moment's silence, and I asked his two liveried servants who
were standing by me why they had not helped their master. One said he
owed him six months' wages, and the other said he wanted to arrest him on
his own account.
As Medini was endeavouring to staunch the blood in a basin of water, the
vetturino told him that as I refused to be his surety he must go to
prison.
I was moved by the scene that I had witnessed, and said to the vetturino,
"Give him a fortnight's respite, and if he escapes before the expiration
of that term I will pay you."
He thought it over for a few moments, and then said,--
"Very good, sir, but I am not going to pay any legal expenses."
I enquired how much the costs amounted to, and paid them, laughing at the
policemen's claim of damages for blows they had received.
Then the two rascally servants said that if I would not be surety in the
same manner on their account, they would have Medini arrested. However,
Medini called out to me to pay no attention to them whatever.
When I had given the vetturino his acknowledgment and paid the four or
five crowns charged by the police, Medini told me that he had more to say
to me; but I turned my back on him, and went home to dinner.
Two hours later one of his servants came to me and promised if I would
give him six sequins to warn me if his master made any preparations for
flight.
I told him drily that his zeal was useless to me, as I was quite sure
that the count would pay all his debts within the term; and the next
morning I wrote to Medini informing him of the step his servant had
taken. He replied with a long letter full of thanks, in which he exerted
all his eloquence to persuade me to repair his fortunes. I did not
answer.
However, his good genius, who still protected him, brought a person to
Florence who drew him out of the difficulty. This person was Premislas
Zanovitch, who afterwards became as famous as his brother who cheated the
Amsterdam merchants, and adopted the style of Prince Scanderbeck. I shall
speak of him later on. Both these finished cheats came to a bad end.
Premislas Zanovitch was then at the happy age of twenty-five; he was the
son of a gentleman of Budua, a town on the borders of Albania and
Dalmatia, formerly subject to the Venetian Republic and now to the Grand
Turk. In classic times it was known as Epirus.
Premislas was a young man of great intelligence, and after having studied
at Venice, and contracted a Venetian taste for pleasures and enjoyments
of all sorts, he could not make up his mind to return to Budua, where his
only associates would be dull Sclavs--uneducated, unintellectual, coarse,
and brutish. Consequently, when Premislas and his still more talented
brother Stephen were ordered by the Council of Ten to enjoy the vast sums
they had gained at play in their own country, they resolved to become
adventurers. One took the north and the other the south of Europe, and
both cheated and duped whenever the opportunity for doing so presented
itself.
I had seen Premislas when he was a child, and had already heard reports
of a notable achievement of his. At Naples he had cheated the Chevalier
de Morosini by persuading him to become his surety to the extent of six
thousand ducats, and now he arrived in Florence in a handsome carriage,
bringing his mistress with him, and having two tall lackeys and a valet
in his service.
He took good apartments, hired a carriage, rented a box at the opera, had
a skilled cook, and gave his mistress a lady-in-waiting. He then shewed
himself at the best club, richly dressed, and covered with jewellery. He
introduced himself under the name of Count Premislas Zanovitch.
There is a club in Florence devoted to the use of the nobility. Any
stranger can go there without being introduced, but so much the worse for
him if his appearance fails to indicate his right to be present. The
Florentines are ice towards him, leave him alone, and behave in such a
manner that the visit is seldom repeated. The club is at once decent and
licentious, the papers are to be read there, games of all kinds are
played, food and drink may be had, and even love is available, for ladies
frequent the club.
Zanovitch did not wait to be spoken to, but made himself agreeable to
everyone, and congratulated himself on mixing in such distinguished
company, talked about Naples which he had just left, brought in his own
name with great adroitness, played high, lost merrily, paid after
pretending to forget all about his debts, and in short pleased everyone.
I heard all this the next day from the Marquis Capponi, who said that
someone had asked him if he knew me, whereat he answered that when I left
Venice he was at college, but that he had often heard his father speak of
me in very high terms. He knew both the Chevalier Morosini and Count
Medini, and had a good deal to say in praise of the latter. The marquis
asked me if I knew him, and I replied in the affirmative, without feeling
it my duty to disclose certain circumstances which might not have been
advantageous to him; and as Madame Denis seemed curious to make his
acquaintance the Chevalier Puzzi promised to bring him to see her, which
he did in the course of a few days.
I happened to be with Madame Denis when Puzzi presented Zanovitch, and I
saw before me a fine-looking young men, who seemed by his confident
manner to be sure of success in all his undertakings. He was not exactly
handsome, but he had a perfect manner and an air of gaiety which seemed
infectious, with a thorough knowledge of the laws of good society. He was
by no means an egotist, and seemed never at a loss for something to talk
about. I led the conversation to the subject of his country, and he gave
me an amusing description of it, talking of his fief-part of which was
within the domains of the sultan-as a place where gaiety was unknown, and
where the most determined misanthrope would die of melancholy.
As soon as he heard my name he began speaking to me in a tone of the most
delicate flattery. I saw the makings of a great adventurer in him, but I
thought his luxury would prove the weak point in his cuirass. I thought
him something like what I had been fifteen years ago, but as it seemed
unlikely that he had my resources I could not help pitying him.
Zanovitch paid me a visit, and told me that Medini's position had excited
his pity, and that he had therefore paid his debts.
I applauded his generosity, but I formed the conclusion that they had
laid some plot between them, and that I should soon hear of the results
of this new alliance.
I returned Zanovitch's call the next day. He was at table with his
mistress, whom I should not have recognized if she had not pronounced my
name directly she saw me.
As she had addressed me as Don Giacomo, I called her Donna Ippolita, but
in a voice which indicated that I was not certain of her identity. She
told me I was quite right.
I had supped with her at Naples in company with Lord Baltimore, and she
was very pretty then.
Zanovitch asked me to dine with him the following day, and I should have
thanked him and begged to be excused if Donna Ippolita had not pressed me
to come. She assured me that I should find good company there, and that
the cook would excel himself.
I felt rather curious to see the company, and with the idea of shewing
Zanovitch that I was not likely to become a charge on his purse, I
dressed myself magnificently once more.
As I had expected, I found Medini and his mistress there, with two
foreign ladies and their attendant cavaliers, and a fine-looking and
well-dressed Venetian, between thirty-five and forty, whom I would not
have recognized if Zanovitch had not told me his name, Alois Zen.
"Zen was a patrician name, and I felt obliged to ask what titles I ought
to give him.
"Such titles as one old friend gives another, though it is very possible
you do not recollect me, as I was only ten years old when we saw each
other last."
Zen then told me he was the son of the captain I had known when I was
under arrest at St. Andrews.
"That's twenty-eight years ago; but I remember you, though you had not
had the small-pox in those days."
I saw that he was annoyed by this remark, but it was his fault, as he had
no business to say where he had known me, or who his father was.
He was the son of a noble Venetian--a good-for-nothing in every sense of
the word.
When I met him at Florence he had just come from Madrid, where he had
made a lot of money by holding a bank at faro in the house of the
Venetian ambassador, Marco Zen.
I was glad to meet him, but I found out before the dinner was over that
he was completely devoid of education and the manners of a gentleman; but
he was well content with the one talent he possessed, namely, that of
correcting the freaks of fortune at games of chance. I did not wait to
see the onslaught of the cheats on the dupes, but took my leave while the
table was being made ready.
Such was my life during the seven months which I spent at Florence.
After this dinner I never saw Zen, or Medini, or Zanovitch, except by
chance in the public places.
Here I must recount some incidents which took place towards the middle of
December.
Lord Lincoln, a young man of eighteen, fell in love with a Venetian
dancer named Lamberti, who was a universal favourite. On every night when
the opera was given the young Englishman might be seen going to her
camerino, and everyone wondered why he did not visit her at her own
house, where he would be certain of a good welcome, for he was English,
and therefore rich, young, and handsome. I believe he was the only son of
the Duke of Newcastle.
Zanovitch marked him down, and in a short time had become an intimate
friend of the fair Lamberti. He then made up to Lord Lincoln, and took
him to the lady's house, as a polite man takes a friend to see his
mistress.
Madame Lamberti, who was in collusion with the rascal, was not niggardly
of her favours with the young Englishman. She received him every night to
supper with Zanovitch and Zen, who had been presented by the Sclav,
either because of his capital, or because Zanovitch was not so
accomplished a cheat.
For the first few nights they took care to let the young nobleman win. As
they played after supper, and Lord Lincoln followed the noble English
custom of drinking till he did not know his right hand from his left, he
was quite astonished on waking the next morning to find that luck had
been as kind to him as love. The trap was baited, the young lord nibbled,
and, as may be expected, was finally caught.
Zen won twelve thousand pounds of him, and Zanovitch lent him the money
by installments of three and four hundred louis at a time, as the
Englishman had promised his tutor not to play, on his word of honour.
Zanovitch won from Zen what Zen won from the lord, and so the game was
kept up till the young pigeon had lost the enormous sum of twelve
thousand guineas.
Lord Lincoln promised to pay three thousand guineas the next day, and
signed three bills of exchange for three thousand guineas each, payable
in six months, and drawn on his London banker.
I heard all about this from Lord Lincoln himself when we met at Bologna
three months later.
The next morning the little gaming party was the talk of Florence. Sasso
Sassi, the banker, had already paid Zanovitch six thousand sequins by my
lord's orders.
Medini came to see me, furious at not having been asked to join the
party, while I congratulated myself on my absence. My surprise may be
imagined, when, a few days after, a person came up to my room, and
ordered me to leave Florence in three days and Tuscany in a week.
I was petrified, and called to my landlord to witness the unrighteous
order I had received.
It was December 28th. On the same date, three years before, I had
received orders to leave Barcelona in three days.
I dressed hastily and went to the magistrate to enquire the reason for my
exile, and on entering the room I found it was the same man who had
ordered me to leave Florence eleven years before.
I asked him to give me his reasons, and he replied coldly that such was
the will of his highness.
"But as his highness must have his reasons, it seems to me that I am
within my rights in enquiring what they are."
"If you think so you had better betake yourself to the prince; I know
nothing about it. He left yesterday for Pisa, where he will stay three
days; you can go there."
"Will he pay for my journey?"
"I should doubt it, but you can see for yourself."
"I shall not go to Pisa, but I will write to his highness if you will
promise to send on the letter."
"I will do so immediately, for it is my duty."
"Very good; you shall have the letter before noon tomorrow, and before
day-break I shall be in the States of the Church."
"There's no need for you to hurry yourself."
"There is a very great hurry. I cannot breathe the air of a country where
liberty is unknown and the sovereign breaks his word; that is what I am
going to write to your master."
As I was going out I met Medini, who had come on the same business as
myself.
I laughed, and informed him of the results of my interview, and how I had
been told to go to Pisa.
"What! have you been expelled, too?"
"Yes."
"What have you done?"
"Nothing."
"Nor I. Let us go to Pisa."
"You can go if you like, but I shall leave Florence tonight."
When I got home I told my landlord to get me a carriage and to order four
post-horses for nightfall, and I then wrote the following letter to the
grand duke:
"My Lord; The thunder which Jove has placed in your hands is only for the
guilty; in launching it at me you have done wrong. Seven months ago you
promised that I should remain unmolested so long as I obeyed the laws. I
have done so scrupulously, and your lordship has therefore broken your
word. I am merely writing to you to let you know that I forgive you, and
that I shall never give utterance to a word of complaint. Indeed I would
willingly forget the injury you have done me, if it were not necessary
that I should remember never to set foot in your realms again. The
magistrate tells me that I can go and see you at Pisa, but I fear such a
step would seem a hardy one to a prince, who should hear what a man has
to say before he condemns him, and not afterwards.
"I am, etc."
When I had finished the letter I sent it to the magistrate, and then I
began my packing.
I was sitting down to dinner when Medini came in cursing Zen and
Zanovitch, whom he accused of being the authors of his misfortune, and of
refusing to give him a hundred sequins, without which he could not
possibly go.
"We are all going to Pisa," said he, "and cannot imagine why you do not
come, too."
"Very good," I said, laughingly, "but please to leave me now as I have to
do my packing."
As I expected, he wanted me to lend him some money, but on my giving him
a direct refusal he went away.
After dinner I took leave of M. Medici and Madame Dennis, the latter of
whom had heard the story already. She cursed the grand duke, saying she
could not imagine how he could confound the innocent with the guilty. She
informed me that Madame Lamberti had received orders to quit, as also a
hunchbacked Venetian priest, who used to go and see the dancer but had
never supped with her. In fact, there was a clean sweep of all the
Venetians in Florence.
As I was returning home I met Lord Lincoln's governor; whom I had known
at Lausanne eleven years before. I told him of what had happened to me
through his hopeful pupil getting himself fleeced. He laughed, and told
me that the grand duke had advised Lord Lincoln not to pay the money he
had lost, to which the young man replied that if he were not to pay he
should be dishonoured since the money he had lost had been lent to him.
In leaving Florence I was cured of an unhappy love which would doubtless
have had fatal consequences if I had stayed on. I have spared my readers
the painful story because I cannot recall it to my mind even now without
being cut to the heart. The widow whom I loved, and to whom I was so weak
as to disclose my feelings, only attached me to her triumphal car to
humiliate me, for she disdained my love and myself. I persisted in my
courtship, and nothing but my enforced absence would have cured me.
As yet I have not learnt the truth of the maxim that old age, especially
when devoid of fortune, is not likely to prove attractive to youth.
I left Florence poorer by a hundred sequins than when I came there. I had
lived with the most careful economy throughout the whole of my stay.
I stopped at the first stage within the Pope's dominions, and by the last
day but one of the year I was settled at Bologna, at "St. Mark's Hotel."
My first visit was paid to Count Marulli, the Florentine charge
d'affaires. I begged him to write and tell his master, that, out of
gratitude for my banishment, I should never cease to sing his praises.
As the count had received a letter containing an account of the whole
affair, he could not quite believe that I meant what I said.
"You may think what you like," I observed, "but if you knew all you would
see that his highness has done me a very great service though quite
unintentionally."
He promised to let his master know how I spoke of him.
On January 1st, 1772, I presented myself to Cardinal Braneaforte, the
Pope's legate, whom I had known twenty years before at Paris, when he had
been sent by Benedict XVI. with the holy swaddling clothes for the
newly-born Duke of Burgundy. We had met at the Lodge of Freemasons, for
the members of the sacred college were by no means afraid of their own
anathemas. We had also some very pleasant little suppers with pretty
sinners in company with Don Francesco Sensate and Count Ranucci. In
short, the cardinal was a man of wit, and what is called a bon vivant.
"Oh, here you are!" cried he, when he saw me; "I was expecting you."
"How could you, my lord? Why should I have come to Bologna rather than to
any other place?"
"For two reasons. In the first place because Bologna is better than many
other places, and besides I flatter myself you thought of me. But you
needn't say anything here about the life we led together when we were
young men."
"It has always been a pleasant recollection to me."
"No doubt. Count Marulli told me yesterday that you spoke very highly of
the grand duke, and you are quite right. You can talk to me in
confidence; the walls of this room have no ears. How much did you get of
the twelve thousand guineas?"
I told him the whole story, and shewed him a copy of the letter which I
had written to the grand duke. He laughed, and said he was sorry I had
been punished for nothing.
When he heard I thought of staying some months at Bologna he told me that
I might reckon on perfect freedom, and that as soon as the matter ceased
to become common talk he would give me open proof of his friendship.
After seeing the cardinal I resolved to continue at Bologna the kind of
life that I had been leading at Florence. Bologna is the freest town in
all Italy; commodities are cheap and good, and all the pleasures of life
may be had there at a low price. The town is a fine one, and the streets
are lined with arcades--a great comfort in so hot a place.
As to society, I did not trouble myself about it. I knew the Bolognese;
the nobles are proud, rude, and violent; the lowest orders, known as the
birichini, are worse than the lazzaroni of Naples, while the tradesmen
and the middle classes are generally speaking worthy and respectable
people. At Bologna, as at Naples, the two extremes of society are
corrupt, while the middle classes are respectable, and the depository of
virtue, talents, and learning.
However, my intention was to leave society alone, to pass my time in
study, and to make the acquaintance of a few men of letters, who are
easily accessible everywhere.
At Florence ignorance is the rule and learning the exception, while at
Bologna the tincture of letters is almost universal. The university has
thrice the usual number of professors; but they are all ill paid, and
have to get their living out of the students, who are numerous. Printing
is cheaper at Bologna than anywhere else, and though the Inquisition is
established there the press is almost entirely free.
All the exiles from Florence reached Bologna four or five days after
myself. Madame Lamberti only passed through on her way to Venice.
Zanovitch and Zen stayed five or six days; but they were no longer in
partnership, having quarreled over the sharing of the booty.
Zanovitch had refused to make one of Lord Lincoln's bills of exchange
payable to Zen, because he did not wish to make himself liable in case
the Englishman refused to pay. He wanted to go to England, and told Zen
he was at liberty to do the same.
They went to Milan without having patched up their quarrel, but the
Milanese Government ordered them to leave Lombardy, and I never heard
what arrangements they finally came to. Later on I was informed that the
Englishman's bills had all been settled to the uttermost farthing.
Medini, penniless as usual, had taken up his abode in the hotel where I
was staying, bringing with him his mistress, her sister, and her mother,
but with only one servant. He informed me that the grand duke had refused
to listen to any of them at Pisa, where he had received a second order to
leave Tuscany, and so had been obliged to sell everything. Of course he
wanted me to help him, but I turned a deaf ear to his entreaties.
I have never seen this adventurer without his being in a desperate state
of impecuniosity, but he would never learn to abate his luxurious habits,
and always managed to find some way or other out of his difficulties. He
was lucky enough to fall in with a Franciscan monk named De Dominis at
Bologna, the said monk being on his way to Rome to solicit a brief of
'laicisation' from the Pope. He fell in love with Medini's mistress, who
naturally made him pay dearly for her charms.
Medini left at the end of three weeks. He went to Germany, where he
printed his version of the "Henriade," having discovered a Maecenas in
the person of the Elector Palatin. After that he wandered about Europe
for twelve years, and died in a London prison in 1788.
I had always warned him to give England a wide berth, as I felt certain
that if he once went there he would not escape English bolts and bars,
and that if he got on the wrong side of the prison doors he would never
come out alive. He despised my advice, and if he did so with the idea of
proving me a liar, he made a mistake, for he proved me to be a prophet.
Medini had the advantage of high birth, a good education, and
intelligence; but as he was a poor man with luxurious tastes he either
corrected fortune at play or went into debt, and was consequently obliged
to be always on the wing to avoid imprisonment.
He lived in this way for seventy years, and he might possibly be alive
now if he had followed my advice.
Eight years ago Count Torio told me that he had seen Medini in a London
prison, and that the silly fellow confessed he had only come to London
with the hope of proving me to be a liar.
Medini's fate shall never prevent me from giving good advice to a poor
wretch on the brink of the precipice. Twenty years ago I told Cagliostro
(who called himself Count Pellegrini in those days) not to set his foot
in Rome, and if he had followed this counsel he would not have died
miserably in a Roman prison.
Thirty years ago a wise man advised me to beware visiting Spain. I went,
but, as the reader knows, I had no reason to congratulate myself on my
visit.
A week after my arrival at Bologna, happening to be in the shop of
Tartuffi, the bookseller, I made the acquaintance of a cross-eyed priest,
who struck me, after a quarter of an hour's talk as a man of learning and
talent. He presented me with two works which had recently been issued by
two of the young professors at the university He told me that I should
find them amusing reading, and he was right.
The first treatise contended that women's faults should be forgiven them,
since they were really the work of the matrix, which influenced them in
spite of themselves. The second treatise was a criticism of the first.
The author allowed that the uterus was an animal, but he denied the
alleged influence, as no anatomist had succeeded in discovering any
communication between it and the brain.
I determined to write a reply to the two pamphlets, and I did so in the
course of three days. When my reply was finished I sent it to M. Dandolo,
instructing him to have five hundred copies printed. When they arrived I
gave a bookseller the agency, and in a fortnight I had made a hundred
sequins.
The first pamphlet was called "Lutero Pensante," the second was in French
and bore the title "La Force Vitale," while I called my reply "Lana
Caprina." I treated the matter in an easy vein, not without some hints of
deep learning, and made fun of the lucubrations of the two physicians. My
preface was in French, but full of Parisian idioms which rendered it
unintelligible to all who had not visited the gay capital, and this
circumstance gained me a good many friends amongst the younger
generation.
The squinting priest, whose name was Zacchierdi, introduced me to the
Abbe Severini, who became my intimate friend in the course of ten or
twelve days.
This abbe made me leave the inn, and got me two pleasant rooms in the
house of a retired artiste, the widow of the tenor Carlani. He also made
arrangements with a pastrycook to send me my dinner and supper. All this,
plus a servant, only cost me ten sequins a month.
Severini was the agreeable cause of my losing temporarily my taste for
study. I put by my "Iliad," feeling sure that I should be able to finish
it again.
Severini introduced me to his family, and before long I became very
intimate with him. I also became the favourite of his sister, a lady
rather plain than pretty, thirty years old, but full of intelligence.
In the course of Lent the abbe introduced me to all the best dancers and
operatic singers in Bologna, which is the nursery of the heroines of the
stage. They may be had cheaply enough on their native soil.
Every week the good abbe introduced me to a fresh one, and like a true
friend he watched carefully over my finances. He was a poor man himself,
and could not afford to contribute anything towards the expenses of our
little parties; but as they would have cost me double without his help,
the arrangement was a convenient one for both of us.
About this time there was a good deal of talk about a Bolognese nobleman,
Marquis Albergati Capacelli. He had made a present of his private theatre
to the public, and was himself an excellent actor. He had made himself
notorious by obtaining a divorce from his wife, whom he did not like, so
as to enable him to marry a dancer, by whom he had two children. The
amusing point in this divorce was that he obtained it on the plea that he
was impotent, and sustained his plea by submitting to an examination,
which was conducted as follows:
Four skilled and impartial judges had the marquis stripped before them,
and did all in their power to produce an erection; but somehow or other
he succeeded in maintaining his composure, and the marriage was
pronounced null and void on the ground of relative impotence, for it was
well known that he had had children by another woman.
If reason and not prejudice had been consulted, the procedure would have
been very different; for if relative impotence was considered a
sufficient ground for divorce, of what use was the examination?
The marquis should have sworn that he could do nothing with his wife, and
if the lady had traversed this statement the marquis might have
challenged her to put him into the required condition.
But the destruction of old customs and old prejudices is often the work
of long ages.
I felt curious to know this character, and wrote to M. Dandolo to get me
a letter of introduction to the marquis.
In a week my good old friend sent me the desired letter. It was written
by another Venetian, M. de Zaguri, an intimate friend of the marquis.
The letter was not sealed, so I read it. I was delighted; no one could
have commended a person unknown to himself but the friend of a friend in
a more delicate manner.
I thought myself bound to write a letter of thanks to M. Zaguri. I said
that I desired to obtain my pardon more than ever after reading his
letter, which made me long to go to Venice, and make the acquaintance of
such a worthy nobleman.
I did not expect an answer, but I got one. M. Zaguri said that my desire
was such a flattering one to himself, that he meant to do his best to
obtain my recall.
The reader will see that he was successful, but not till after two years
of continuous effort.
Albergati was away from Bologna at the time, but when he returned
Severini let me know, and I called at the palace. The porter told me that
his excellence (all the nobles are excellences at Bologna) had gone to
his country house, where he meant to pass the whole of the spring.
In two or three days I drove out to his villa. I arrived at a charming
mansion, and finding no one at the door I went upstairs, and entered a
large room where a gentleman and an exceedingly pretty woman were just
sitting down to dinner. The dishes had been brought in, and there were
only two places laid.
I made a polite bow, and asked the gentleman if I had the honour of
addressing the Marquis Albergati. He replied in the affirmative,
whereupon I gave him my letter of introduction. He took it, read the
superscription, and put it in his pocket, telling me I was very kind to
have taken so much trouble, and that he would be sure to read it.
"It has been no trouble at all," I replied, "but I hope you will read the
letter. It is written by M. de Zaguri, whom I asked to do me this
service, as I have long desired to make your lordship's acquaintance."
His lordship smiled and said very pleasantly that he would read it after
dinner, and would see what he could do for his friend Zaguri.
Our dialogue was over in a few seconds. Thinking him extremely rude I
turned my back and went downstairs, arriving just in time to prevent the
postillion taking out the horses. I promised him a double gratuity if he
would take me to some village at hand, where he could bait his horses
while I breakfasted.
Just as the postillion had got on horseback a servant came running up. He
told me very politely that his excellence begged me to step upstairs.
I put my hand in my pocket and gave the man my card with my name and
address, and telling him that that was what his master wanted, I ordered
the postillion to drive off at a full gallop.
When we had gone half a league we stopped at a good inn, and then
proceeded on our way back to Bologna.
The same day I wrote to M. de Zaguri, and described the welcome I had
received at the hands of the marquis. I enclosed the letter in another to
M. Dandolo, begging him to read it, and to send it on. I begged the noble
Venetian to write to the marquis that having offended me grievously he
must prepare to give me due satisfaction.
I laughed with all my heart next day when my landlady gave me a visiting
card with the inscription, General the Marquis of Albeygati. She told me
the marquis had called on me himself, and on hearing I was out had left
his card.
I began to look upon the whole of his proceedings as pure gasconnade,
only lacking the wit of the true Gascon. I determined to await M.
Zaguri's reply before making up my mind as to the kind of satisfaction I
should demand.
While I was inspecting the card, and wondering what right the marquis had
to the title of general, Severini came in, and informed me that the
marquis had been made a Knight of the Order of St. Stanislas by the King
of Poland, who had also given him the style of royal chamberlain.
"Is he a general in the Polish service as well?" I asked.
"I really don't know."
"I understand it all," I said to myself. "In Poland a chamberlain has the
rank of adjutant-general, and the marquis calls himself general. But
general what? The adjective without a substantive is a mere cheat."
I saw my opportunity, and wrote a comic dialogue, which I had printed the
next day. I made a present of the work to a bookseller, and in three or
four days he sold out the whole edition at a bajocco apiece.
CHAPTER XIX
Farinello and the Electress Dowager of Saxony--Madame
Slopitz--Nina--The Midwife--Madame Soavi--Abbe Bolini--
Madame Viscioletta--The Seamstress--The Sorry Pleasure of
Revenge--Severini Goes to Naples--My Departure--Marquis
Mosca
Anyone who attacks a proud person in a comic vein is almost sure of
success; the laugh is generally on his side.
I asked in my dialogue whether it was lawful for a provost-marshal to
call himself simply marshal, and whether a lieutenant-colonel had a right
to the title of colonel. I also asked whether the man who preferred
titles of honour, for which he had paid in hard cash, to his ancient and
legitimate rank, could pass for a sage.
Of course the marquis had to laugh at my dialogue, but he was called the
general ever after. He had placed the royal arms of Poland over the gate
of his palace, much to the amusement of Count Mischinski, the Polish
ambassador to Berlin, who happened to be passing through Bologna at that
time.
I told the Pole of my dispute with the mad marquis, and persuaded him to
pay Albergati a visit, leaving his card. The ambassador did so, and the
call was returned, but Albergati's cards no longer bore the title of
general.
The Dowager Electress of Saxony having come to Bologna, I hastened to pay
my respects to her. She had only come to see the famous castrato
Farinello, who had left Madrid, and now lived at Bologna in great
comfort. He placed a magnificent collation before the Electress, and sang
a song of his own composition, accompanying himself on the piano. The
Electress, who was an enthusiastic musician, embraced Farinello,
exclaiming,--
"Now I can die happy."
Farinello, who was also known as the Chevalier Borschi had reigned, as it
were, in Spain till the Parmese wife of Philip V. had laid plots which
obliged him to leave the Court after the disgrace of Enunada. The
Electress noticed a portrait of the queen, and spoke very highly of her,
mentioning some circumstances which must have taken place in the reign of
Ferdinand VI.
The famous musician burst into tears, and said that Queen Barbara was as
good as Elizabeth of Parma was wicked.
Borschi might have been seventy when I saw him at Bologna. He was very
rich and in the enjoyment of good health, and yet he was unhappy,
continually shedding tears at the thought of Spain.
Ambition is a more powerful passion than avarice. Besides, Farinello had
another reason for unhappiness.
He had a nephew who was the heir to all his wealth, whom he married to a
noble Tuscan lady, hoping to found a titled family, though in an indirect
kind of way. But this marriage was a torment to him, for in his impotent
old age he was so unfortunate as to fall in love with his niece, and to
become jealous of his nephew. Worse than all the lady grew to hate him,
and Farinello had sent his nephew abroad, while he never allowed the wife
to go out of his sight.
Lord Lincoln arrived in Bologna with an introduction for the cardinal
legate, who asked him to dinner, and did me the honour of giving me an
invitation to meet him. The cardinal was thus convinced that Lord Lincoln
and I had never met, and that the grand duke of Tuscany had committed a
great injustice in banishing me. It was on that occasion that the young
nobleman told me how they had spread the snare, though he denied that he
had been cheated; he was far too proud to acknowledge such a thing. He
died of debauchery in London three or four years after.
I also saw at Bologna the Englishman Aston with Madame Slopitz, sister of
the Charming Cailimena. Madame Slopitz was much handsomer than her
sister. She had presented Aston with two babes as beautiful as Raphael's
cherubs.
I spoke of her sister to her, and from the way in which I sang her
praises she guessed that I had loved her. She told me she would be in
Florence during the Carnival of 1773, but I did not see her again till
the year 1776, when I was at Venice.
The dreadful Nina Bergonci, who had made a madman of Count Ricla, and was
the source of all my woes at Barcelona, had come to Bologna at the
beginning of Lent, occupying a pleasant house which she had taken. She
had carte blanche with a banker, and kept up a great state, affirming
herself to be with child by the Viceroy of Catalonia, and demanding the
honours which would be given to a queen who had graciously chosen Bologna
as the place of her confinement. She had a special recommendation to the
legate, who often visited her, but in the greatest secrecy.
The time of her confinement approached, and the insane Ricla sent over a
confidential man, Don Martino, who was empowered to have the child
baptized, and to recognize it as Ricla's natural offspring.
Nina made a show of her condition, appearing at the theatre and in the
public places with an enormous belly. The greatest noble of Bologna paid
court to her, and Nina told them that they might do so, but that she
could not guarantee their safety from the jealous dagger of Ricla. She
was impudent enough to tell them what happened to me at Barcelona, not
knowing that I was at Bologna.
She was extremely surprised to hear from Count Zini, who knew me, that I
inhabited the same town as herself.
When the count met me he asked me if the Barcelona story was true. I did
not care to take him into my confidence, so I replied that I did not know
Nina, and that the story had doubtless been made up by her to see whether
he would encounter danger for her sake.
When I met the cardinal I told him the whole story, and his eminence was
astonished when I gave him some insight into Nina's character, and
informed him that she was the daughter of her sister and her grandfather.
"I could stake my life," said I, "that Nina is no more with child than
you are."
"Oh, come!" said he, laughing, "that is really too strong; why shouldn't
she have a child? It is a very simple matter, it seems to me. Possibly it
may not be Ricla's child but there can be no doubt that she is with
somebody's child. What object could she have for feigning pregnancy?"
"To make herself famous by defiling the Count de Ricla, who was a model
of justice and virtue before knowing this Messalina. If your eminence
knew the hideous character of Nina you would not wonder at anything she
did."
"Well, we shall see."
"Yes."
About a week later I heard a great noise in the street, and on putting my
head out of the window I saw a woman stripped to the waist, and mounted
on an ass, being scourged by the hangman, and hooted by a mob of all the
biricchini in Bologna. Severini came up at the same moment and informed
me that the woman was the chief midwife in Bologna, and that her
punishment had been ordered by the cardinal archbishop.
"It must be for some great crime," I observed.
"No doubt. It is the woman who was with Nina the day before yesterday."
"What! has Nina been brought to bed?"
"Yes; but of a still-born child."
"I see it all."
Next day the story was all over the town.
A poor woman had come before the archbishop, and had complained bitterly
that the midwife Teresa had seduced her, promising to give her twenty
sequins if she would give her a fine boy to whom she had given birth a
fortnight ago. She was not given the sum agreed upon, and in her despair
at hearing of the death of her child she begged for justice, declaring
herself able to prove that the dead child said to be Nina's was in
reality her own.
The archbishop ordered his chancellor to enquire into the affair with the
utmost secrecy, and then proceed to instant and summary execution.
A week after this scandal Don Martino returned to Barcelona; but Nina
remained as impudent as ever, doubled the size of the red cockades which
she made her servants wear, and swore that Spain would avenge her on the
insolent archbishop. She remained at Bologna six weeks longer, pretending
to be still suffering from the effects of her confinement. The cardinal
legate, who was ashamed of having had anything to do with such an
abandoned prostitute, did his best to have her ordered to leave.
Count Ricla, a dupe to the last, gave her a considerable yearly income on
the condition that she should never come to Barcelona again; but in a
year the count died.
Nina did not survive him for more than a year, and died miserably from
her fearful debauchery. I met her mother and sister at Venice, and she
told me the story of the last two years of her daughter's life; but it is
so sad and so disgusting a tale that I feel obliged to omit it.
As for the infamous midwife, she found powerful friends.
A pamphlet appeared in which the anonymous author declared that the
archbishop had committed a great wrong in punishing a citizen in so
shameful a manner without any of the proper formalities of justice. The
writer maintained that even if she were guilty she had been unjustly
punished, and should appeal to Rome.
The prelate, feeling the force of these animadversions, circulated a
pamphlet in which it appeared that the midwife had made three prior
appearances before the judge, and that she would have been sent to the
gallows long ago if the archbishop had not hesitated to shame three of
the noblest families in Bologna, whose names appeared in documents in the
custody of his chancellor.
Her crimes were procuring abortion and killing erring mothers,
substituting the living for the dead, and in one case a boy for a girl,
thus giving him the enjoyment of property which did not belong to him.
This pamphlet of the prelate reduced the patrons of the infamous midwife
to silence, for several young noblemen whose mothers had been attended by
her did not relish the idea of their family secrets being brought to
light.
At Bologna I saw Madame Marucci, who had been expelled from Spain for the
same reason as Madame Pelliccia. The latter had retired to Rome, while
Madame Marucci was on her way to Lucca, her native country.
Madame Soavi, a Bolognese dancer whom I had known at Parma and Paris,
came to Bologna with her daughter by M. de Marigni. The girl, whose name
was Adelaide, was very beautiful, and her natural abilities had been
fostered by a careful education.
When Madame Soavi got to Bologna she met her husband whom she had not
seen for fifteen years.
"Here is a treasure for you," said she, shewing him her daughter.
"She's certainly very pretty, but what am I to do with her? She does not
belong to me."
"Yes she does, as I have given her to you. You must know that she has six
thousand francs a year, and that I shall be her cashier till I get her
married to a good dancer. I want her to learn character dancing, and to
make her appearance on the boards. You must take her out on holidays."
"What shall I say if people ask me who she is?"
"Say she is your daughter, and that you are certain, because your wife
gave her to you."
"I can't see that."
"Ah, you have always stayed at home, and consequently your wits are
homely."
I heard this curious dialogue which made me laugh then, and makes me
laugh now as I write it. I offered to help in Adelaide's education, but
Madame Soavi laughed, and said,--
"Fox, you have deceived so many tender pullets, that I don't like to
trust you with this one, for fear of your making her too precocious."
"I did not think of that, but you are right."
Adelaide became the wonder of Bologna.
A year after I left the Comte du Barri, brother-in-law of the famous
mistress of Louis XV., visited Bologna, and became so amorous of Adelaide
that her mother sent her away, fearing he would carry her off.
Du Barri offered her a hundred thousand francs for the girl, but she
refused the offer.
I saw Adelaide five years later on the boards of a Venetian theatre. When
I went to congratulate her, she said,--
"My mother brought me into the world, and I think she will send me out of
it; this dancing is killing me."
In point of fact this delicate flower faded and died after seven years of
the severe life to which her mother had exposed her.
Madame Soavi who had not taken the precaution to settle the six thousand
francs on herself, lost all in losing Adelaide, and died miserably after
having rolled in riches. But, alas! I am not the man to reproach anyone
on the score of imprudence.
At Bologna I met the famous Afflisio, who had been discharged from the
imperial service and had turned manager. He went from bad to worse, and
five or six years later committed forgery, was sent to the galleys, and
there died.
I was also impressed by the example of a man of a good family, who had
once been rich. This was Count Filomarino. He was living in great misery,
deprived of the use of all his limbs by a succession of venereal
complaints. I often went to see him to give him a few pieces of money,
and to listen to his malevolent talk, for his tongue was the only member
that continued active. He was a scoundrel and a slanderer, and writhed
under the thought that he could not go to Naples and torment his
relations, who were in reality respectable people, but monsters according
to his shewing.
Madame Sabatini, the dancer, had returned to Bologna, having made enough
money to rest upon her laurels. She married a professor of anatomy, and
brought all her wealth to him as a dower. She had with her her sister,
who was not rich and had no talents, but was at the same time very
agreeable.
At the house I met an abbe, a fine young man of modest appearance. The
sister seemed to be deeply in love with him, while he appeared to be
grateful and nothing more.
I made some remark to the modest Adonis, and he gave me a very sensible
answer. We walked away together, and after telling each other what
brought us to Bologna we parted, agreeing to meet again.
The abbe, who was twenty-four or twenty-five years old, was not in
orders, and was the only son of a noble family of Novara, which was
unfortunately poor as well as noble.
He had a very scanty revenue, and was able to live more cheaply at
Bologna than Novara, where everything is dear. Besides, he did not care
for his relations; he had no friends, and everybody there was more or
less ignorant.
The Abbe de Bolini, as he was called, was a man of tranquil mind, living
a peaceful and quiet life above all things. He liked lettered men more
than letters, and did not trouble to gain the reputation of a wit. He
knew he was not a fool, and when he mixed with learned men he was quite
clever enough to be a good listener.
Both temperament and his purse made him temperate in all things, and he
had received a sound Christian education. He never talked about religion,
but nothing scandalized him. He seldom praised and never blamed.
He was almost entirely indifferent to women, flying from ugly women and
blue stockings, and gratifying the passion of pretty ones more out of
kindliness than love, for in his heart he considered women as more likely
to make a man miserable than happy. I was especially interested in this
last characteristic.
We had been friends for three weeks when I took the liberty of asking him
how he reconciled his theories with his attachment to Brigida Sabatini.
He supped with her every evening, and she breakfasted with him every
morning. When I went to see him, she was either there already or came in
before my call was over. She breathed forth love in every glance, while
the abbe was kind, but, in spite of his politeness, evidently bored.
Brigida looked well enough, but she was at least ten years older than the
abbe. She was very polite to me and did her best to convince me that the
abbe was happy in the possession of her heart, and that they both enjoyed
the delights of mutual love.
But when I asked him over a bottle of good wine about his affection for
Brigida, he sighed, smiled, blushed, looked down, and finally confessed
that this connection was the misfortune of his life.
"Misfortune? Does she make you sigh in vain? If so you should leave her,
and thus regain your happiness."
"How can I sigh? I am not in love with her. She is in love with me, and
tries to make me her slave."
"How do you mean?"
"She wants me to marry her, and I promised to do so, partly from
weakness, and partly from pity; and now she is in a hurry."
"I daresay; all these elderly girls are in a hurry."
"Every evening she treats me to tears, supplications, and despair. She
summons me to keep my promise, and accuses me of deceiving her, so you
may imagine that my situation is an unhappy one."
"Have you any obligations towards her?"
"None whatever. She has violated me, so to speak, for all the advances
came from her. She has only what her sister gives her from day to day,
and if she got married she would not get that."
"Have you got her with child?"
"I have taken good care not to do so, and that's what has irritated her;
she calls all my little stratagems detestable treason."
"Nevertheless, you have made up your mind to marry her sooner or later?"
"I'd as soon hang myself. If I got married to her I should be four times
as poor as I am now, and all my relations at Novara would laugh at me for
bringing home a wife of her age. Besides, she is neither rich nor well
born, and at Novara they demand the one or the other."
"Then as a man of honour and as a man of sense, you ought to break with
her, and the sooner the better."
"I know, but lacking normal strength what am I to do? If I did not go and
sup with her to-night, she would infallibly come after me to see what had
happened. I can't lock my door in her face, and I can't tell her to go
away."
"No, but neither can go on in this miserable way.
"You must make up your mind, and cut the Gordian knot, like Alexander."
"I haven't his sword."
"I will lend it you."
"What do you mean?"
"Listen to me. You must go and live in another town. She will hardly go
after you there, I suppose."
"That is a very good plan, but flight is a difficult matter."
"Difficult? Not at all. Do you promise to do what I tell you, and I will
arrange everything quite comfortably. Your mistress will not know
anything about it till she misses you at supper."
"I will do whatever you tell me, and I shall never forget your kindness;
but Brigida will go mad with grief."
"Well my first order to you is not to give her grief a single thought.
You have only to leave everything to me. Would you like to start
to-morrow?"
"To-morrow?"
"Yes. Have you any debts?"
"No."
"Do you want any money?"
"I have sufficient. But the idea of leaving tomorrow has taken my breath
away. I must have three days delay."
"Why so?"
"I expect some letters the day after to-morrow, and I must write to my
relations to tell them where I am going."
"I will take charge of your letters and send them on to you."
"Where shall I be?"
"I will tell you at the moment of your departure; trust in me. I will
send you at once where you will be comfortable. All you have to do is to
leave your trunk in the hands of your landlord, with orders not to give
it up to anyone but myself."
"Very good. I am to go without my trunk, then."
"Yes. You must dine with me every day till you go, and mind not to tell
anyone whatsoever that you intend leaving Bologna."
"I will take care not to do so."
The worthy young fellow looked quite radiant. I embraced him and thanked
him for putting so much trust in me.
I felt proud at the good work I was about to perform, and smiled at the
thought of Brigida's anger when she found that her lover had escaped. I
wrote to my good friend Dandolo that in five or six days a young abbe
would present himself before him bearing a letter from myself. I begged
Dandolo to get him a comfortable and cheap lodging, as my friend was so
unfortunate as to be indifferently provided with money, though an
excellent man. I then wrote the letter of which the abbe was to be the
bearer.
Next day Bolini told me that Brigida was far from suspecting his flight,
as owing to his gaiety at the thought of freedom he had contented her so
well during the night she had passed with him that she thought him as
much in love as she was.
"She has all my linen," he added, "but I hope to get a good part of it
back under one pretext or another, and she is welcome to the rest."
On the day appointed he called on me as we had arranged the night before,
carrying a huge carpet bag containing necessaries. I took him to Modena
in a post chaise, and there we dined; afterward I gave him a letter for
M. Dandolo, promising to send on his trunk the next day.
He was delighted to hear that Venice was his destination, as he had long
wished to go there, and I promised him that M. Dandolo should see that he
lived as comfortably and cheaply as he had done at Bologna.
I saw him off, and returned to Bologna. The trunk I dispatched after him
the following day.
As I had expected, the poor victim appeared before me all in tears the
next day. I felt it my duty to pity her; it would have been cruel to
pretend I did not know the reason for her despair. I gave her a long but
kindly sermon, endeavouring to persuade her that I had acted for the best
in preventing the abbe marrying her, as such a step would have plunged
them both into misery.
The poor woman threw herself weeping at my feet, begging me to bring her
abbe back, and swearing by all the saints that she would never mention
the word "marriage" again. By way of calming her, I said I would do my
best to win him over.
She asked where he was, and I said at Venice; but of course she did not
believe me. There are circumstances when a clever man deceives by telling
the truth, and such a lie as this must be approved by the most rigorous
moralists.
Twenty-seven months later I met Bolini at Venice. I shall describe the
meeting in its proper place.
A few days after he had gone, I made the acquaintance of the fair
Viscioletta, and fell so ardently in love with her that I had to make up
my mind to buy her with hard cash. The time when I could make women fall
in love with me was no more, and I had to make up my mind either to do
without them or to buy them.
I cannot help laughing when people ask me for advice, as I feel so
certain that my advice will not be taken. Man is an animal that has to
learn his lesson by hard experience in battling with the storms of life.
Thus the world is always in disorder and always ignorant, for those who
know are always in an infinitesimal proportion to the whole.
Madame Viscioletta, whom I went to see every day, treated me as the
Florentine widow had done, though the widow required forms and ceremonies
which I could dispense with in the presence of the fair Viscioletta, who
was nothing else than a professional courtezan, though she called herself
a virtuosa.
I had besieged her for three weeks without any success, and when I made
any attempts she repulsed me laughingly.
Monsignor Buoncompagni, the vice-legate, was her lover in secret, though
all the town knew it, but this sort of conventional secrecy is common
enough in Italy. As as ecclesiastic he could not court her openly, but
the hussy made no mystery whatever of his visits.
Being in need of money, and preferring to get rid of my carriage than of
anything else, I announced it for sale at the price of three hundred and
fifty Roman crowns. It was a comfortable and handsome carriage, and was
well worth the price. I was told that the vice-legate offered three
hundred crowns, and I felt a real pleasure in contradicting my favoured
rival's desires. I told the man that I had stated my price and meant to
adhere to it, as I was not accustomed to bargaining.
I went to see my carriage at noon one day to make sure that it was in
good condition, and met the vice-legate who knew me from meeting me at
the legate's, and must have been aware that I was poaching on his
preserves. He told me rudely that the carriage was not worth more than
three hundred crowns, and that I ought to be glad of the opportunity of
getting rid of it, as it was much too good for me.
I had the strength of mind to despise his violence, and telling him dryly
that I did not chaffer I turned my back on him and went my way.
Next day the fair Viscioletta wrote me a note to the effect that she
would be very much obliged if I would let the vice-legate have the
carriage at his own price, as she felt sure he would give it to her. I
replied that I would call on her in the afternoon, and that my answer
would depend on my welcome, I went in due course, and after a lively
discussion, she gave way, and I signified my willingness to sell the
carriage for the sum offered by the vice-legate.
The next day she had her carriage, and I had my three hundred crowns, and
I let the proud prelate understand that I had avenged myself for his
rudeness.
About this time Severini succeeded in obtaining a position as tutor in an
illustrious Neapolitan family, and as soon as he received his
journey-money he left Bologna. I also had thoughts of leaving the town.
I had kept up an interesting correspondence with M. Zaguri, who had made
up his mind to obtain my recall in concert with Dandolo, who desired
nothing better. Zaguri told me that if I wanted to obtain my pardon I
must come and live as near as possible to the Venetian borders, so that
the State Inquisitors might satisfy themselves of my good conduct. M.
Zuliani, brother to the Duchess of Fiano, gave me the same advice, and
promised to use all his interest in my behalf.
With the idea of following this counsel I decided to set up my abode at
Trieste, where M. Zaguri told me he had an intimate friend to whom he
would give me a letter of introduction. As I could not go by land without
passing through the States of Venice I resolved to go to Ancona, whence
boats sail to Trieste every day. As I should pass through Pesaro I asked
my patron to give me a letter for the Marquis Mosca, a distinguished man
of letters whom I had long wished to know. Just then he was a good deal
talked about on account of a treatise on alms which he had recently
published, and which the Roman curia had placed on the "Index."
The marquis was a devotee as well as a man of learning, and was imbued
with the doctrine of St. Augustine, which becomes Jansenism if pushed to
an extreme point.
I was sorry to leave Bologna, for I had spent eight pleasant months
there. In two days I arrived at Pesaro in perfect health and well
provided for in every way.
I left my letter with the marquis, and he came to see me the same day. He
said his house would always be open to me, and that he would leave me in
his wife's hands to be introduced to everybody and everything in the
place. He ended by asking me to dine with him the following day, adding
that if I cared to examine his library he could give me an excellent cup
of chocolate.
I went, and saw an enormous collection of comments on the Latin poets
from Ennius to the poets of the twelfth century of our era. He had had
them all printed at his own expense and at his private press, in four
tall folios, very accurately printed but without elegance. I told him my
opinion, and he agreed that I was right.
The want of elegance which had spared him an outlay of a hundred thousand
francs had deprived him of a profit of three hundred thousand.
He presented me with a copy, which he sent to my inn, with an immense
folio volume entitled "Marmora Pisaurentia," which I had no time to
examine.
I was much pleased with the marchioness, who had three daughters and two
sons, all good-looking and well bred.
The marchioness was a woman of the world, while her husband's interests
were confined to his books. This difference in disposition sometimes gave
rise to a slight element of discord, but a stranger would never have
noticed it if he had not been told.
Fifty years ago a wise man said to me: "Every family is troubled by some
small tragedy, which should be kept private with the greatest care. In
fine, people should learn to wash their dirty linen in private."
The marchioness paid me great attention during the five days I spent at
Pesaro. In the day she drove me from one country house to another, and at
night she introduced me to all the nobility of the town.
The marquis might have been fifty then. He was cold by temperament, had
no other passion but that of study, and his morals were pure. He had
founded an academy of which he was the president. Its design was a fly,
in allusion to his name Mosca, with the words 'de me ce', that is to say,
take away 'c' from 'musca' and you have 'musa'.
His only failing was that which the monks regard as his finest quality,
he was religious to excess, and this excess of religion went beyond the
bounds where 'nequit consistere rectum'.
But which is the better, to go beyond these bounds, or not to come up to
them? I cannot venture to decide the question. Horace says,--
"Nulla est mihi religio!"
and it is the beginning of an ode in which he condemns philosophy for
estranging him from religion.
Excess of every kind is bad.
I left Pesaro delighted with the good company I had met, and only sorry I
had not seen the marquis's brother who was praised by everyone.
CHAPTER XX
A Jew Named Mardocheus Becomes My Travelling Companion--
He Persuades Me to Lodge in His House--I Fall in Love With His
Daughter Leah--After a Stay of Six Weeks I Go to Trieste
Some time elapsed before I had time to examine the Marquis of Mosca's
collection of Latin poets, amongst which the 'Priapeia' found no place.
No doubt this work bore witness to his love for literature but not to his
learning, for there was nothing of his own in it. All he had done was to
classify each fragment in chronological order. I should have liked to see
notes, comments, explanations, and such like; but there was nothing of
the kind. Besides, the type was not elegant, the margins were poor, the
paper common, and misprints not infrequent. All these are bad faults,
especially in a work which should have become a classic. Consequently,
the book was not a profitable one; and as the marquis was not a rich man
he was occasionally reproached by his wife for the money he had expended.
I read his treatise on almsgiving and his apology for it, and understood
a good deal of the marquis's way of thinking. I could easily imagine that
his writings must have given great offence at Rome, and that with sounder
judgment he would have avoided this danger. Of course the marquis was
really in the right, but in theology one is only in the right when Rome
says yes.
The marquis was a rigorist, and though he had a tincture of Jansenism he
often differed from St. Augustine.
He denied, for instance, that almsgiving could annul the penalty attached
to sin, and according to him the only sort of almsgiving which had any
merit was that prescribed in the Gospel: "Let not thy right hand know
what thy left hand doeth."
He even maintained that he who gave alms sinned unless it was done with
the greatest secrecy, for alms given in public are sure to be accompanied
by vanity.
It might have been objected that the merit of alms lies in the intention
with which they are given. It is quite possible for a good man to slip a
piece of money into the palm of some miserable being standing in a public
place, and yet this may be done solely with the idea of relieving
distress without a thought of the onlookers.
As I wanted to go to Trieste, I might have crossed the gulf by a small
boat from Pesaro; a good wind was blowing, and I should have got to
Trieste in twelve hours. This was my proper way, for I had nothing to do
at Ancona, and it was a hundred miles longer; but I had said I would go
by Ancona, and I felt obliged to do so.
I had always a strong tincture of superstition, which has exercised
considerable influence on my strange career.
Like Socrates I, too, had a demon to whom I referred my doubtful
counsels, doing his will, and obeying blindly when I felt a voice within
me telling me to forbear.
A hundred times have I thus followed my genius, and occasionally I have
felt inclined to complain that it did not impel me to act against my
reason more frequently. Whenever I did so I found that impulse was right
and reason wrong, and for all that I have still continued reasoning.
When I arrived at Senegallia, at three stages from Ancona, my vetturino
asked me, just as I was going to bed, whether I would allow him to
accommodate a Jew who was going to Ancona in the chaise.
My first impulse made me answer sharply that I wanted no one in my
chaise, much less a Jew.
The vetturino went out, but a voice said within me, "You must take this'
poor Israelite;" and in spite of my repugnance I called back the man and
signified my assent.
"Then you must make up your mind to start at an earlier hour, for it is
Friday to-morrow, and you know the Jews are not allowed to travel after
sunset."
"I shall not start a moment earlier than I intended, but you can make
your horses travel as quickly as you like."
He gave me no answer, and went out. The next morning I found my Jew, an
honest-looking fellow, in the carriage. The first thing he asked me was
why I did not like Jews.
"Because your religion teaches you to hate men of all other religions,
especially Christians, and you think you have done a meritorious action
when you have deceived us. You do not look upon us as brothers. You are
usurious, unmerciful, our enemies, and so I do not like you."
"You are mistaken, sir. Come with me to our synagogue this evening, and
you will hear us pray for all Christians, beginning with our Lord the
Pope."
I could not help bursting into a roar of laughter.
"True," I replied, "but the prayer comes from the mouth only, and not
from the heart. If you do not immediately confess that the Jews would not
pray for the Christians if they were the masters, I will fling you out of
the chaise."
Of course I did not carry out this threat, but I completed his confusion
by quoting in Hebrew the passages in the Old Testament, where the Jews
are bidden to do all possible harm to the Gentiles, whom they were to
curse every day.
After this the poor man said no more. When we were going to take our
dinner I asked him to sit beside me, but he said his religion would not
allow him to do so, and that he would only eat eggs, fruit, and some
foiegras sausage he had in his pocket. He only drank water because he was
not sure that the wine was unadulterated.
"You stupid fellow," I exclaimed, "how can you ever be certain of the
purity of wine unless you have made it yourself?"
When we were on our way again he said that if I liked to come and stay
with him, and to content myself with such dishes as God had not
forbidden, he would make me more comfortable than if I went to the inn,
and at a cheaper rate.
"Then you let lodgings to Christians?"
"I don't let lodgings to anybody, but I will make an exception in your
case to disabuse you of some of your mistaken notions. I will only ask
you six pauls a day, and give you two good meals without wine."
"Then you must give me fish and wine, I paying for them as extras."
"Certainly; I have a Christian cook, and my wife pays a good deal of
attention to the cooking."
"You can give me the foie gras every day, if you will eat it with me."
"I know what you think, but you shall be satisfied."
I got down at the Jew's house, wondering at myself as I did so. However,
I knew that if I did not like my accommodation I could leave the next
day.
His wife and children were waiting for him, and gave him a joyful welcome
in honour of the Sabbath. All servile work was forbidden on this day holy
to the Lord; and all over the house, and in the face of all the family, I
observed a kind of festal air.
I was welcomed like a brother, and I replied as best I could; but a word
from Mardocheus (so he was called) changed their politeness of feeling
into a politeness of interest.
Mardocheus shewed me two rooms for me to choose the one which suited me,
but liking them both I said I would take the two for another paul a day,
with which arrangement he was well enough pleased.
Mardocheus told his wife what we had settled, and she instructed the
Christian servant to cook my supper for me.
I had my effects taken upstairs, and then went with Mardocheus to the
synagogue.
During the short service the Jews paid no attention to me or to several
other Christians who were present. The Jews go to the synagogue to pray,
and in this respect I think their conduct worthy of imitation by the
Christians.
On leaving the synagogue I went by myself to the Exchange, thinking over
the happy time which would never return.
It was in Ancona that I had begun to enjoy life; and when I thought it
over, it was quite a shock to find that this was thirty years ago, for
thirty years is a long period in a man's life. And yet I felt quite
happy, in spite of the tenth lustrum so near at hand for me.
What a difference I found between my youth and my middle age! I could
scarcely recognize myself. I was then happy, but now unhappy; then all
the world was before me, and the future seemed a gorgeous dream, and now
I was obliged to confess that my life had been all in vain. I might live
twenty years more, but I felt that the happy time was passed away, and
the future seemed all dreary.
I reckoned up my forty-seven years, and saw fortune fly away. This in
itself was enough to sadden me, for without the favours of the fickle
goddess life was not worth living, for me at all events.
My object, then, was to return to my country; it was as if I struggled to
undo all that I had done. All I could hope for was to soften the
hardships of the slow but certain passage to the grave.
These are the thoughts of declining years and not of youth. The young man
looks only to the present, believes that the sky will always smile upon
him, and laughs at philosophy as it vainly preaches of old age, misery,
repentance, and, worst of all, abhorred death.
Such were my thoughts twenty-six years ago; what must they be now, when I
am all alone, poor, despised, and impotent. They would kill me if I did
not resolutely subdue them, for whether for good or ill my heart is still
young. Of what use are desires when one can no longer satisfy them? I
write to kill ennui, and I take a pleasure in writing. Whether I write
sense or nonsense, what matters? I am amused, and that is enough.
'Malo scriptor delirus, inersque videri,
Dum mea delectent mala me vel denique fallunt,
Quam sapere.'
When I came back I found Mardocheus at supper with his numerous family,
composed of eleven or twelve individuals, and including his mother--an
old woman of ninety, who looked very well. I noticed another Jew of
middle age; he was the husband of his eldest daughter, who did not strike
me as pretty; but the younger daughter, who was destined for a Jew of
Pesaro, whom she had never seen, engaged all my attention. I remarked to
her that if she had not seen her future husband she could not be in love
with him, whereupon she replied in a serious voice that it was not
necessary to be in love before one married. The old woman praised the
girl for this sentiment, and said she had not been in love with her
husband till the first child was born.
I shall call the pretty Jewess Leah, as I have good reasons for not using
her real name.
While they were enjoying their meal I sat down beside her and tried to
make myself as agreeable as possible, but she would not even look at me.
My supper was excellent, and my bed very comfortable.
The next day my landlord told me that I could give my linen to the maid,
and that Leah could get it up for me.
I told him I had relished my supper, but that I should like the foie gras
every day as I had a dispensation.
"You shall have some to-morrow, but Leah is the only one of us who eats
it."
"Then Leah must take it with me, and you can tell her that I shall give
her some Cyprus wine which is perfectly pure."
I had no wine, but I went for it the same morning to the Venetian consul,
giving him M. Dandolo's letter.
The consul was a Venetian of the old leaven. He had heard my name, and
seemed delighted to make my acquaintance. He was a kind of clown without
the paint, fond of a joke, a regular gourmand, and a man of great
experience. He sold me some Scopolo and old Cyprus Muscat, but he began
to exclaim when he heard where I was lodging, and how I had come there.
"He is rich," he said, "but he is also a great usurer, and if you borrow
money of him he will make you repent it."
After informing the consul that I should not leave till the end of the
month, I went home to dinner, which proved excellent.
The next day I gave out my linen to the maid, and Leah came to ask me how
I liked my lace got up.
If Leah had examined me more closely she would have seen that the sight
of her magnificent breast, unprotected by any kerchief, had had a
remarkable effect on me.
I told her that I left it all to her, and that she could do what she
liked with the linen.
"Then it will all come under my hands if you are in no hurry to go."
"You can make me stay as long as you like," said I; but she seemed not to
hear this declaration.
"Everything is quite right," I continued, "except the chocolate; I like
it well frothed."
"Then I will make it for you myself."
"Then I will give out a double quantity, and we will take it together."
"I don't like chocolate."
"I am sorry to hear that; but you like foie gras?"
"Yes, I do; and from what father tells me I am going to take some with
you to-day."
"I shall be delighted."
"I suppose you are afraid of being poisoned?"
"Not at all; I only wish we could die together."
She pretended not to understand, and left me burning with desire. I felt
that I must either obtain possession of her or tell her father not to
send her into my room any more.
The Turin Jewess had given me some valuable hints as to the conduct of
amours with Jewish girls.
My theory was that Leah would be more easily won than she, for at Ancona
there was much more liberty than at Turin.
This was a rake's reasoning, but even rakes are mistaken sometimes.
The dinner that was served to me was very good, though cooked in the
Jewish style, and Leah brought in the foie gras and sat down opposite to
me with a muslin kerchief over her breast.
The foie gras was excellent, and we washed it down with copious libations
of Scopolo, which Leah found very much to her taste.
When the foie gras was finished she got up, but I stopped her, for the
dinner was only half over.
"I will stay then," said she, "but I am afraid my father will object."
"Very good. Call your master," I said to the maid who came in at that
moment, "I have a word to speak to him."
"My dear Mardocheus," I said when he came, "your daughter's appetite
doubles mine, and I shall be much obliged if you will allow her to keep
me company whenever we have foie gras."
"It isn't to my profit to double your appetite, but if you like to pay
double I shall have no objection."
"Very good, that arrangement will suit me."
In evidence of my satisfaction I gave him a bottle of Scopolo, which Leah
guaranteed pure.
We dined together, and seeing that the wine was making her mirthful I
told her that her eyes were inflaming me and that she must let me kiss
them.
"My duty obliges me to say nay. No kissing and no touching; we have only
got to eat and drink together, and I shall like it as much as you."
"You are cruel."
"I am wholly dependent on my father."
"Shall I ask your father to give you leave to be kind?"
"I don't think that would be proper, and my father might be offended and
not allow me to see you any more."
"And supposing he told you not to be scrupulous about trifles?"
"Then I should despise him and continue to do my duty."
So clear a declaration shewed me that if I persevered in this intrigue I
might go on for ever without success. I also bethought me that I ran a
risk of neglecting my chief business, which would not allow me to stay
long in Ancona.
I said nothing more to Leah just then, and when the dessert came in I
gave her some Cyprus wine, which she declared was the most delicious
nectar she had ever tasted.
I saw that the wine was heating her, and it seemed incredible to me that
Bacchus should reign without Venus; but she had a hard head, her blood
was hot and her brain cool.
However, I tried to seize her hand and kiss it, but she drew it away,
saying pleasantly,--
"It's too much for honour and too little for love."
This witty remark amused me, and it also let me know that she was not
exactly a neophyte.
I determined to postpone matters till the next day, and told her not to
get me any supper as I was supping with the Venetian consul.
The consul had told me that he did not dine, but that he would always be
delighted to see me at supper.
It was midnight when I came home, and everyone was asleep except the maid
who let me in. I gave her such a gratuity that she must have wished me to
keep late hours for the rest of my stay.
I proceeded to sound her about Leah, but she told me nothing but good. If
she was to be believed, Leah was a good girl, always at work, loved by
all, and fancy free. The maid could not have praised her better if she
had been paid to do so.
In the morning Leah brought the chocolate and sat down on my bed, saying
that we should have some fine foie gras, and that she should have all the
better appetite for dinner as she had not taken any supper.
"Why didn't you take any supper?"
"I suppose it was because of your excellent Cyprus wine, to which my
father has taken a great liking."
"Ah! he like it? We will give him some."
Leah was in a state of undress as before, and the sight of her
half-covered spheres drove me to distraction.
"Are you not aware that you have a beautiful breast?" said I.
"I thought all young girls were just the same."
"Have you no suspicion that the sight is a very pleasant one for me?"
"If that be so, I am very glad, for I have nothing to be ashamed of, for
a girl has no call to hide her throat any more than her face, unless she
is in grand company."
As she was speaking, Leah looked at a golden heart transfixed with an
arrow and set with small diamonds which served me as a shirt stud.
"Do you like the little heart?" said I.
"Very much. Is it pure gold?"
"Certainly, and that being so I think I may offer it to you."
So saying I took it off, but she thanked me politely, and said that a
girl who gave nothing must take nothing.
"Take it; I will never ask any favour of you."
"But I should be indebted to you, and that's the reason why I never take
anything."
I saw that there was nothing to be done, or rather that it would be
necessary to do too much to do anything, and that in any case the best
plan would be to give her up.
I put aside all thoughts of violence, which would only anger her or make
her laugh at me. I should either have been degraded, or rendered more
amorous, and all for nothing. If she had taken offense she would not have
come to see me any more, and I should have had nought to complain of. In
fine I made up my mind to restrain myself, and indulge no more in amorous
talk.
We dined very pleasantly together. The servant brought in some
shell-fish, which are forbidden by the Mosaic Law. While the maid was in
the room I asked Leah to take some, and she refused indignantly; but
directly the girl was gone she took some of her own accord and ate them
eagerly, assuring me that it was the first time she had had the pleasure
of tasting shellfish.
"This girl," I said to myself, "who breaks the law of her religion with
such levity, who likes pleasure and does not conceal it, this is the girl
who wants to make me believe that she is insensible to the pleasures of
love; that's impossible, though she may not love me. She must have some
secret means of satisfying her passions, which in my opinion are very
violent. We will see what can be done this evening with the help of a
bottle of good Muscat."
However, when the evening came, she said she could not drink or eat
anything, as a meal always prevented her sleeping.
The next day she brought me my chocolate, but her beautiful breast was
covered with a white kerchief. She sat down on the bed as usual, and I
observed in a melancholy manner that she had only covered her breast
because I had said I took a pleasure in seeing it.
She replied that she had not thought of anything, and had only put on her
kerchief because she had had no time to fasten her stays.
"You are whole right," I said, smilingly, "for if I were to see the whole
breast I might not think it beautiful."
She gave no answer, and I finished my chocolate.
I recollected my collection of obscene pictures, and I begged Leah to
give me the box, telling her that I would shew her some of the most
beautiful breasts in the world.
"I shan't care to see them," said she; but she gave me the box, and sat
down on my bed as before.
I took out a picture of a naked woman lying on her back and abusing
herself, and covering up the lower part of it I shewed it to Leah.
"But her breast is like any other," said Leah.
"Take away your handkerchief."
"Take it back; it's disgusting. It's well enough done," she added, with a
burst of laughter, "but it's no novelty for me."
"No novelty for you?"
"Of course not; every girl does like that before she gets married."
"Then you do it, too?"
"Whenever I want to."
"Do it now."
"A well-bred girl always does it in private."
"And what do you do after?"
"If I am in bed I go to sleep."
"My dear Leah, your sincerity is too much for me. Either be kind or visit
me no more."
"You are very weak, I think."
"Yes, because I am strong."
"Then henceforth we shall only meet at dinner. But chew me some more
miniatures."
"I have some pictures which you will not like."
"Let me see them."
I gave her Arentin's figures, and was astonished to see how coolly she
examined them, passing from one to the other in the most commonplace way.
"Do you think them interesting?" I said.
"Yes, very; they are so natural. But a good girl should not look at such
pictures; anyone must be aware that these voluptuous attitudes excite
one's emotions."
"I believe you, Leah, and I feel it as much as you. Look here!"
She smiled and took the book away to the window, turning her back towards
me without taking any notice of my appeal.
I had to cool down and dress myself, and when the hairdresser arrived
Leah went away, saying she would return me my book at dinner.
I was delighted, thinking I was sure of victory either that day or the
next, but I was out of my reckoning.
We dined well and drank better. At dessert Leah took the book out of her
pocket and set me all on fire by asking me to explain some of the
pictures but forbidding all practical demonstration.
I went out impatiently, determined to wait till next morning.
When the cruel Jewess came in the morning she told me that she wanted
explanations, but that I must use the pictures and nothing more as a
demonstration of my remarks.
"Certainly," I replied, "but you must answer all my questions as to your
sex."
"I promise to do so, if they arise naturally from the pictures."
The lesson lasted two hours, and a hundred times did I curse Aretin and
my folly in shewing her his designs, for whenever I made the slightest
attempt the pitiless woman threatened to leave me. But the information
she gave me about her own sex was a perfect torment to me. She told me
the most lascivious details, and explained with the utmost minuteness the
different external and internal movements which would be developed in the
copulations pictured by Aretin. I thought it quite impossible that she
could be reasoning from theory alone. She was not troubled by the
slightest tincture of modesty, but philosophized on coition as coolly and
much more learnedly than Hedvig. I would willingly have given her all I
possessed to crown her science by the performance of the great work. She
swore it was all pure theory with her, and I thought she must be speaking
the truth when she said she wanted to get married to see if her notions
were right or wrong. She looked pensive when I told her that the husband
destined for her might be unable to discharge his connubial duties more
than once a week.
"Do you mean to say," said she, "that one man is not as good as another?"
"How do you mean?"
"Are not all men able to make love every day, and every hour, just as
they eat, drink and sleep every day?"
"No, dear Leah, they that can make love every day are very scarce."
In my state of chronic irritation I felt much annoyed that there was no
decent place at Ancona where a man might appease his passions for his
money. I trembled to think that I was in danger of falling really in love
with Leah, and I told the consul every day that I was in no hurry to go.
I was as foolish as a boy in his calf-love. I pictured Leah as the purest
of women, for with strong passions she refused to gratify them. I saw in
her a model of virtue; she was all self-restraint and purity, resisting
temptation in spite of the fire that consumed her.
Before long the reader will discover how very virtuous Leah was.
After nine or ten days I had recourse to violence, not in deeds but in
words. She confessed I was in the right, and said my best plan would be
to forbid her to come and see me in the morning. At dinner, according to
her, there would be no risk.
I made up my mind to ask her to continue her visits, but to cover her
breast and avoid all amorous conversation.
"With all my heart," she replied, laughing; "but be sure I shall not be
the first to break the conditions."
I felt no inclination to break them either, for three days later I felt
weary of the situation, and told the consul I would start on the first
opportunity. My passion for Leah was spoiling my appetite, and I thus saw
myself deprived of my secondary pleasure without any prospect of gaining
my primary enjoyment.
After what I had said to the consul I felt I should be bound to go, and I
went to bed calmly enough. But about two o'clock in the morning I had,
contrary to my usual habit, to get up and offer sacrifice to Cloacina. I
left my room without any candle, as I knew my way well enough about the
house.
The temple of the goddess was on the ground floor, but as I had put on my
soft slippers, and walked very softly, my footsteps did not make the
least noise.
On my way upstairs I saw a light shining through a chink in the door of a
room which I knew to be unoccupied. I crept softly up, not dreaming for a
moment that Leah could be there at such an hour. But on putting my eye to
the chink I found I could see a bed, and on it were Leah and a young man,
both stark naked, and occupied in working out Aretin's postures to the
best of their ability. They were whispering to one another, and every
four or five minutes I had the pleasure of seeing a new posture. These
changes of position gave me a view of all the beauties of Leah, and this
pleasure was something to set against my rage in having taken such a
profligate creature for a virtuous woman.
Every time they approached the completion of the great work they stopped
short, and completed what they were doing with their hands.
When they were doing the Straight Tree, to my mind the most lascivious of
them all, Leah behaved like a true Lesbian; for while the young man
excited her amorous fury she got hold of his instrument and took it
between her lips till the work was complete. I could not doubt that she
had swallowed the vital fluid of my fortunate rival.
The Adonis then shewed her the feeble instrument, and Leah seemed to
regret what she had done. Before long she began to excite him again; but
the fellow looked at his watch, pushed her away, and began to put on his
shirt.
Leah seemed angry, and I could see that she reproached him for some time
before she began to dress.
When they were nearly clothed I softly returned to my room and looked out
of a window commanding the house-door. I had not to wait long before I
saw the fortunate lover going out.
I went to bed indignant with Leah; I felt myself degraded. She was no
longer virtuous, but a villainous prostitute in my eyes; and I fell to
sleep with the firm resolve of driving her from my room the next morning,
after shaming her with the story of the scene I had witnessed. But, alas,
hasty and angry resolves can seldom withstand a few hours' sleep. As soon
as I saw Leah coming in with my chocolate, smiling and gay as usual, I
told her quite coolly all the exploits I had seen her executing, laying
particular stress on the Straight Tree, and the curious liquid she had
swallowed. I ended by saying that I hoped she would give me the next
night, both to crown my love and insure my secrecy.
She answered with perfect calm that I had nothing to expect from her as
she did not love me, and as for keeping the secret she defied me to
disclose it.
"I am sure you would not be guilty of such a disgraceful action," said
she.
With these words she turned her back on me and went out.
I could not help confessing to myself that she was in the right; I could
not bring myself to commit such a baseness. She had made me reasonable in
a few words:
"I don't love you." There was no reply to this, and I felt I had no claim
on her.
Rather it was she who might complain of me; what right had I to spy over
her? I could not accuse her of deceiving me; she was free to do what she
liked with herself. My best course was clearly to be silent.
I dressed myself hastily, and went to the Exchange, where I heard that a
vessel was sailing for Fiume the same day.
Fiume is just opposite Ancona on the other side of the gulf. From Fiume
to Trieste the distance is forty miles, and I decided to go by that
route.
I went aboard the ship and took the best place, said good-bye to the
consul, paid Mardocheus, and packed my trunks.
Leah heard that I was going the same day, and came and told me that she
could not give me back my lace and my silk stockings that day, but that I
could have them by the next day.
"Your father," I replied coolly, "will hand them all over to the Venetian
consul, who will send them to me at Trieste."
Just as I was sitting down to dinner, the captain of the boat came for my
luggage with a sailor. I told him he could have my trunk, and that I
would bring the rest aboard whenever he liked to go.
"I intend setting out an hour before dusk."
"I shall be ready."
When Mardocheus heard where I was going he begged me to take charge of a
small box and a letter he wanted to send to a friend.
"I shall be delighted to do you this small service."
At dinner Leah sat down with me and chattered as usual, without troubling
herself about my monosyllabic answers.
I supposed she wished me to credit her with calm confidence and
philosophy, while I looked upon it all as brazen impudence.
I hated and despised her. She had inflamed my passions, told me to my
face she did not love me, and seemed to claim my respect through it all.
Possibly she expected me to be grateful for her remark that she believed
me incapable of betraying her to her father.
As she drank my Scopolo she said there were several bottles left, as well
as some Muscat.
"I make you a present of it all," I replied, "it will prime you up for
your nocturnal orgies."
She smiled and said I had had a gratuitous sight of a spectacle which was
worth money, and that if I were not going so suddenly she would gladly
have given me another opportunity.
This piece of impudence made me want to break the wine bottle on her
head. She must have known what I was going to do from the way I took it
up, but she did not waver for a moment. This coolness of hers prevented
my committing a crime.
I contented myself with saying that she was the most impudent slut I had
ever met, and I poured the wine into my glass with a shaking hand, as if
that were the purpose for which I had taken up the bottle.
After this scene I got up and went into the next room; nevertheless, in
half an hour she came to take coffee with me.
This persistence of hers disgusted me, but I calmed myself by the
reflection that her conduct must be dictated by vengeance.
"I should like to help you to pack," said she.
"And I should like to be left alone," I replied; and taking her by the
arm I led her out of the room and locked the door after her.
We were both of us in the right. Leah had deceived and humiliated me, and
I had reason to detest her, while I had discovered her for a monster of
hypocrisy and immodesty, and this was good cause for her to dislike me.
Towards evening two sailors came after the rest of the luggage, and
thanking my hostess I told Leah to put up my linen, and to give it to her
father, who had taken the box of which I was to be the bearer down to the
vessel.
We set sail with a fair wind, and I thought never to set face on Leah
again. But fate had ordered otherwise.
We had gone twenty miles with a good wind in our quarter, by which we
were borne gently from wave to wave, when all of a sudden there fell a
dead calm.
These rapid changes are common enough in the Adriatic, especially in the
part we were in.
The calm lasted but a short time, and a stiff wind from the
west-north-west began to blow, with the result that the sea became very
rough, and I was very ill.
At midnight the storm had become dangerous. The captain told me that if
we persisted in going in the wind's eye we should be wrecked, and that
the only thing to be done was to return to Ancona.
In less than three hours we made the harbour, and the officer of the
guard having recognized me kindly allowed me to land.
While I was talking to the officer the sailors took my trunks, and
carried them to my old lodgings without waiting to ask my leave.
I was vexed. I wanted to avoid Leah, and I had intended to sleep at the
nearest inn. However, there was no help for it. When I arrived the Jew
got up, and said he was delighted to see me again.
It was past three o'clock in the morning, and I felt very ill, so I said
I would not get up till late, and that I would dine in my bed without any
foie gras. I slept ten hours, and when I awoke I felt hungry and rang my
bell.
The maid answered and said that she would have the honour of waiting on
me, as Leah had a violent headache.
I made no answer, thanking Providence for delivering me from this
impudent and dangerous woman.
Having found my dinner rather spare I told the cook to get me a good
supper.
The weather was dreadful. The Venetian consul had heard of my return, and
not having seen me concluded I was ill, and paid me a two hours' visit.
He assured me the storm would last for a week at least. I was very sorry
to hear it; in the first place, because I did not want to see any more of
Leah, and in the second, because I had not got any money. Luckily I had
got valuable effects, so this second consideration did not trouble me
much.
As I did not see Leah at supper-time I imagined that she was feigning
illness to avoid meeting me, and I felt very much obliged to her on this
account. As it appeared, however, I was entirely mistaken in my
conjectures.
The next day she came to ask for chocolate in her usual way, but she no
longer bore upon her features her old tranquillity of expression.
"I will take coffee, mademoiselle," I observed; "and as I do not want
foie gras any longer, I will take dinner by myself. Consequently, you may
tell your father that I shall only pay seven pauls a day. In future I
shall only drink Orvieto wine."
"You have still four bottles of Scopolo and Cyprus."
"I never take back a present; the wine belongs to you. I shall be obliged
by your leaving me alone as much as possible, as your conduct is enough
to irritate Socrates, and I am not Socrates. Besides, the very sight of
you is disagreeable to me. Your body may be beautiful, but knowing that
the soul within is a monster it charms me no longer. You may be very sure
that the sailors brought my luggage here without my orders, or else you
would never have seen me here again, where I dread being poisoned every
day."
Leah went out without giving me any answer, and I felt certain that after
my plain-spoken discourse she would take care not to trouble me again.
Experience had taught me that girls like Leah are not uncommon. I had
known specimens at Spa, Genoa, London, and at Venice, but this Jewess was
the worst I had ever met.
It was Saturday. When Mardocheus came back from the synagogue he asked me
gaily why I had mortified his daughter, as she had declared she had done
nothing to offend me.
"I have not mortified her, my dear Mardocheus, or at all events, such was
not my intention; but as I have put myself on diet, I shall be eating no
more foie gras, and consequently I shall dine by myself, and save three
pauls a day."
"Leah is quite ready to pay me out of her private purse, and she wants to
dine with you to assure you against being poisoned, as she informs me
that you have expressed that fear."
"That was only a jest; I am perfectly aware that I am in the house of an
honest man. I don't want your daughter to pay for herself, and to prove
that I am not actuated by feelings of economy, you shall dine with me
too. To offer to pay for me is an impertinence on her part. In fine, I
will either dine by myself and pay you seven pawls a day, or I will pay
you thirteen, and have both father and daughter to dine with me."
The worthy Mardocheus went away, saying that he really could not allow me
to dine by myself.
At dinner-time I talked only to Mardocheus, without glancing at Leah or
paying any attention to the witty sallies she uttered to attract me. I
only drank Orvieto.
At dessert Leah filled my glass with Scopolo, saying that if I did not
drink it neither would she.
I replied, without looking at her, that I advised her only to drink water
for the future, and that I wanted nothing at her hands.
Mardocheus, who liked wine, laughed and said I was right, and drank for
three.
The weather continued bad, and I spent the rest of the day in writing,
and after supper I retired and went to sleep.
Suddenly I was aroused by a slight noise.
"Who is there?" said I.
I heard Leah's voice, whispering in reply,
"'Tis I; I have not come to disturb you, but to justify myself."
So saying she lay down on the bed, but on the outside of the coverlet.
I was pleased with this extraordinary visit, for my sole desire was for
vengeance, and I felt certain of being able to resist all her arts. I
therefore told her politely enough that I considered her as already
justified and that I should be obliged by her leaving me as I wanted to
go to sleep.
"Not before you have heard what I have to say."
"Go on; I am listening to you."
Thereupon she began a discourse which I did not interrupt, and which
lasted for a good hour.
She spoke very artfully, and after confessing she had done wrong she said
that at my age I should have been ready to overlook the follies of a
young and passionate girl. According to her it was all weakness, and
pardonable at such an age.
"I swear I love you," said she, "and I would have given you good proof
before now if I had not been so unfortunate as to love the young
Christian you saw with me, while he does not care for me in the least;
indeed I have to pay him.
"In spite of my passion," she continued, "I have never given him what a
girl can give but once. I had not seen him for six months, and it was
your fault that I sent for him, for you inflamed me with your pictures
and strong wines."
The end of it all was that I ought to forget everything, and treat her
kindly during the few days I was to remain there.
When she finished I did not allow myself to make any objection. I
pretended to be convinced, assuring her that I felt I had been in the
wrong in letting her see Aretin's figures, and that I would no longer
evince any resentment towards her.
As her explanation did not seem likely to end in the way she wished, she
went on talking about the weakness of the flesh, the strength of
self-love which often hushes the voice of passion, etc., etc.; her aim
being to persuade me that she loved me, and that her refusals had all
been given with the idea of making my love the stronger.
No doubt I might have given her a great many answers, but I said nothing.
I made up my mind to await the assault that I saw was impending, and then
by refusing all her advances I reckoned on abasing her to the uttermost.
Nevertheless, she made no motion; her hands were at rest, and she kept
her face at a due distance from mine.
At last, tired out with the struggle, she left me pretending to be
perfectly satisfied with what she had done.
As soon as she had gone, I congratulated myself on the fact that she had
confined herself to verbal persuasion; for if she had gone further she
would probably have achieved a complete victory, though we were in the
dark.
I must mention that before she left me I had to promise to allow her to
make my chocolate as usual.
Early the next morning she came for the stick of chocolate. She was in a
complete state of negligee, and came in on tiptoe, though if she chose to
look towards the bed she might have seen that I was wide awake.
I marked her artifices and her cunning, and resolved to be equal to all
her wiles. When she brought the chocolate I noticed that there were two
cups on the tray, and I said,--
"Then it is not true that you don't like chocolate?"
"I feel obliged to relieve you of all fear of being poisoned."
I noticed that she was now dressed with the utmost decency, while half an
hour before she had only her chemise and petticoat her neck being
perfectly bare. The more resolved she seemed to gain the victory, the
more firmly I was determined to humiliate her, as it appeared to me the
only other alternative would have been my shame and dishonour; and this
turned me to stone.
In spite of my resolves, Leah renewed the attack at dinner, for, contrary
to my orders, she served a magnificent foie gras, telling me that it was
for herself, and that if she were poisoned she would die of pleasure;
Mardocheus said he should like to die too, and began regaling himself on
it with evident relish.
I could not help laughing, and announced my wish to taste the deadly
food, and so we all of us were eating it.
"Your resolves are not strong enough to withstand seduction," said Leah.
This remark piqued me, and I answered that she was imprudent to disclose
her designs in such a manner, and that she would find my resolves strong
enough when the time came.
A faint smile played about her lips.
"Try if you like," I said, "to persuade me to drink some Scopolo or
Muscat. I meant to have taken some, but your taunt has turned me to
steel. I mean to prove that when I make up my mind I never alter it."
"The strong-minded man never gives way," said Leah, "but the good-hearted
man often lets himself be overpersuaded."
"Quite so, and the good-hearted girl refrains from taunting a man for his
weakness for her."
I called the maid and told her to go to the Venetian consul's and get me
some more Scopolo and Muscat. Leah piqued me once more by saying
enthusiastically,--
"I am sure you are the most good-hearted of men as well as the firmest."
Mardocheus, who could not make out what we meant, ate, drank, and
laughed, and seemed pleased with everything.
In the afternoon I went out to a cafe in spite of the dreadful weather. I
thought over Leah and her designs, feeling certain that she would pay me
another nocturnal visit and renew the assault in force. I resolved to
weaken myself with some common woman, if I could find one at all
supportable.
A Greek who had taken me to a disgusting place a few days before,
conducted me to another where he introduced me to a painted horror of a
woman from whose very sight I fled in terror.
I felt angry that in a town like Ancona a man of some delicacy could not
get his money's worth for his money, and went home, supped by myself, and
locked the door after me.
The precaution, however, was useless.
A few minutes after I had shut the door, Leah knocked on the pretext that
I had forgotten to give her the chocolate.
I opened the door and gave it her, and she begged me not to lock myself
in, as she wanted to have an important and final interview.
"You can tell me now what you want to say."
"No, it will take some time, and I should not like to come till everyone
is asleep. You have nothing to be afraid of; you are lord of yourself.
You can go to bed in peace."
"I have certainly nothing to be afraid of, and to prove it to you I will
leave the door open."
I felt more than ever certain of victory, and resolved not to blow out
the candles, as my doing so might be interpreted into a confession of
fear. Besides, the light would render my triumph and her humiliation more
complete. With these thoughts I went to bed.
At eleven o'clock a slight noise told me that my hour had come. I saw
Leah enter my room in her chemise and a light petticoat. She locked my
door softly, and when I cried, "Well; what do you want with me?" she let
her chemise and petticoat drop, and lay down beside me in a state of
nature.
I was too much astonished to repulse her.
Leah was sure of victory, and without a word she threw herself upon me,
pressing her lips to mine, and depriving me of all my faculties except
one.
I utilised a short moment of reflection by concluding that I was a
presumptuous fool, and that Leah was a woman with a most extensive
knowledge of human nature.
In a second my caress became as ardent as hers, and after kissing her
spheres of rose and alabaster I penetrated to the sanctuary of love,
which, much to my astonishment, I found to be a virgin citadel.
There was a short silence, and then I said,--
"Dearest Leah, you oblige me to adore you; why did you first inspire me
with hate? Are you not come here merely to humiliate me, to obtain an
empty victory? If so, I forgive you; but you are in the wrong, for,
believe me, enjoyment is sweeter far than vengeance."
"Nay, I have not come to achieve a shameful victory, but to give myself
to you without reserve, to render you my conqueror and my king. Prove
your love by making me happy, break down the barrier which I kept intact,
despite its fragility and my ardour, and if this sacrifice does not
convince you of my affection you must be the worst of men."
I had never heard more energetic opinions, and I had never seen a more
voluptuous sight. I began the work, and while Leah aided me to the best
of her ability, I forced the gate, and on Leah's face I read the most
acute pain and pleasure mingled. In the first ecstasy of delight I felt
her tremble in every limb.
As for me, my enjoyment was quite new; I was twenty again, but I had the
self-restraint of my age, and treated Leah with delicacy, holding her in
my arms till three o'clock in the morning. When I left her she was
inundated and exhausted with pleasure, while I could do no more.
She left me full of gratitude, carrying the soaking linen away with her.
I slept on till twelve o'clock.
When I awoke and saw her standing by my bedside with the gentle love of
the day after the wedding, the idea of my approaching departure saddened
me. I told her so, and she begged me to stay on as long as I could. I
repeated that we would arrange everything when we met again at night.
We had a delicious dinner, for Mardocheus was bent on convincing me that
he was no miser.
I spent the afternoon with the consul, and arranged that I should go on a
Neapolitan man-of-war which was in quarantine at the time, and was to
sail for Trieste.
As I should be obliged to pass another month at Ancona, I blessed the
storm that had driven me back.
I gave the consul the gold snuff-box with which the Elector of Cologne
had presented me, keeping the portrait as a memento. Three days later he
handed me forty gold sequins, which was ample for my needs.
My stay in Ancona was costing me dear; but when I told Mardocheus that I
should not be going for another month he declared he would no longer feed
at my expense. Of course I did not insist. Leah still dined with me.
It has always been my opinion, though perhaps I may be mistaken, that the
Jew was perfectly well aware of my relations with his daughter. Jews are
usually very liberal on this article, possibly because they count on the
child being an Israelite.
I took care that my dear Leah should have no reason to repent of our
connection. How grateful and affectionate she was when I told her that I
meant to stay another month! How she blessed the bad weather which had
driven me back. We slept together every night, not excepting those nights
forbidden by the laws of Moses.
I gave her the little gold heart, which might be worth ten sequins, but
that would be no reward for the care she had taken of my linen. She also
made me accept some splendid Indian handkerchiefs. Six years later I met
her again at Pesaro.
I left Ancona on November 14th, and on the 15th I was at Trieste.
CHAPTER XXI
Pittoni--Zaguri--The Procurator Morosini--The Venetian
Consul--Gorice--The French Consul--Madame Leo--My Devotion
to The State Inquisitors--Strasoldo--Madame Cragnoline--
General Burghausen
The landlord asked me my name, we made our agreement, and I found myself
very comfortably lodged. Next day I went to the post-office and found
several letters which had been awaiting me for the last month. I opened
one from M. Dandolo, and found an open enclosure from the patrician Marco
Dona, addressed to Baron Pittoni, Chief of Police. On reading it, I found
I was very warmly commended to the baron. I hastened to call on him, and
gave him the letter, which he took but did not read. He told me that M.
Donna had written to him about me, and that he would be delighted to do
anything in his power for me.
I then took Mardocheus's letter to his friend Moses Levi. I had not the
slightest idea that the letter had any reference to myself, so I gave it
to the first clerk that I saw in the office.
Levi was an honest and an agreeable man, and the next day he called on me
and offered me his services in the most cordial manner. He shewed me the
letter I had delivered, and I was delighted to find that it referred to
myself. The worthy Mardocheus begged him to give me a hundred sequins in
case I needed any money, adding that any politeness shewn to me would be
as if shewn to himself.
This behaviour on the part of Mardocheus filled me with gratitude, and
reconciled me, so to speak, with the whole Jewish nation. I wrote him a
letter of thanks, offering to serve him at Venice in any way I could.
I could not help comparing the cordiality of Levi's welcome with the
formal and ceremonious reception of Baron Pittoni. The baron was ten or
twelve years younger than I. He was a man of parts, and quite devoid of
prejudice. A sworn foe of 'meum and tuum', and wholly incapable of
economy, he left the whole care of his house to his valet, who robbed
him, but the baron knew it and made no objection. He was a determined
bachelor, a gallant, and the friend and patron of libertines. His chief
defect was his forgetfulness and absence of mind, which made him
mismanage important business.
He was reputed, though wrongly, to be a liar. A liar is a person who
tells falsehoods intentionally, while if Pittoni told lies it was because
he had forgotten the truth. We became good friends in the course of a
month, and we have remained friends to this day.
I wrote to my friends at Venice, announcing my arrival at Trieste, and
for the next ten days I kept my room, busied in putting together the
notes I had made on Polish events since the death of Elizabeth Petrovna.
I meant to write a history of the troubles of unhappy Poland up to its
dismemberment, which was taking place at the epoch in which I was
writing.
I had foreseen all this when the Polish Diet recognized the dying czarina
as Empress of all the Russians, and the Elector of Brandenburg as King of
Prussia, and I proceeded with my history; but only the first three
volumes were published, owing to the printers breaking the agreement.
The four last volumes will be found in manuscript after my death, and
anyone who likes may publish them. But I have become indifferent to all
this as to many other matters since I have seen Folly crowned king of the
earth.
To-day there is no such country as Poland, but it might still be in
existence if it had not been for the ambition of the Czartoryski family,
whose pride had been humiliated by Count Bruhl, the prime minister. To
gain vengeance Prince Augustus Czartoryski ruined his country. He was so
blinded by passion that he forgot that all actions have their inevitable
results.
Czartoryski had determined not only to exclude the House of Saxony from
the succession, but to dethrone the member of that family who was
reigning. To do this the help of the Czarina and of the Elector of
Brandenburg was necessary, so he made the Polish Diet acknowledge the one
as Empress of all the Russians, and the other as King of Prussia. The two
sovereigns would not treat with the Polish Commonwealth till this claim
had been satisfied; but the Commonwealth should never have granted these
titles, for Poland itself possessed most of the Russias, and was the true
sovereign of Prussia, the Elector of Brandenburg being only Duke of
Prussia in reality.
Prince Czartoryski, blinded by the desire of vengeance, persuaded the
Diet that to give the two sovereigns these titles would be merely a form,
and that they would never become anything more than honorary. This might
be so, but if Poland had possessed far-seeing statesmen they would have
guessed that an honorary title would end in the usurpation of the whole
country.
The Russian palatin had the pleasure of seeing his nephew Stanislas
Poniatowski on the throne.
I myself told him that these titles gave a right, and that the promise
not to make any use of them was a mere delusion. I added jokingly--for I
was obliged to adopt a humorous tone--that before long Europe would take
pity on Poland, which had to bear the heavy weight of all the Russias and
the kingdom of Prussia as well, and the Commonwealth would find itself
relieved of all these charges.
My prophecy has been fulfilled. The two princes whose titles were allowed
have torn Poland limb from limb; it is now absorbed in Russia and
Prussia.
The second great mistake made by Poland was in not remembering the
apologue of the man and the horse when the question of protection
presented itself.
The Republic of Rome became mistress of the world by protecting other
nations.
Thus Poland came to ruin through ambition, vengeance, and folly--but
folly most of all.
The same reason lay at the root of the French Revolution. Louis XVI. paid
the penalty of his folly with his life. If he had been a wise ruler he
would still be on the throne, and France would have escaped the fury of
the Revolutionists. France is sick; in any other country this sickness
might be remedied, but I would not wonder if it proved incurable in
France.
Certain emotional persons are moved to pity by the emigrant French
nobles, but for my part I think them only worthy of contempt. Instead of
parading their pride and their disgrace before the eyes of foreign
nations, they should have rallied round their king, and either have saved
the throne or died under its ruins. What will become of France? It was
hard to say; but it is certain that a body without a head cannot live
very long, for reason is situate in the head.
On December 1st Baron Pittoni begged me to call on him as some one had
come from Venice on purpose to see me.
I dressed myself hastily, and went to the baron's, where I saw a
fine-looking man of thirty-five or forty, elegantly dressed. He looked at
me with the liveliest interest.
"My heart tells me," I began, "that your excellence's name is Zaguri?"
"Exactly so, my dear Casanova. As soon as my friend Dandolo told me of
your arrival here, I determined to come and congratulate you on your
approaching recall, which will take place either this year or the next,
as I hope to see two friends of mine made Inquisitors. You may judge of
my friendship for you when I tell you that I am an 'avogador', and that
there is a law forbidding such to leave Venice. We will spend to-day and
to-morrow together."
I replied in a manner to convince him that I was sensible of the honour
he had done me; and I heard Baron Pittoni begging me to excuse him for
not having come to see me. He said he had forgotten all about it, and a
handsome old man begged his excellence to ask me to dine with him, though
he had not the pleasure of knowing me.
"What!" said Zaguri. "Casanova has been here for the last ten days, and
does not know the Venetian consul?"
I hastened to speak.
"It's my own fault," I observed, "I did not like calling on this
gentleman, for fear he might think me contraband."
The consul answered wittily that I was not contraband but in quarantine,
pending my return to my native land; and that in the meanwhile his house
would always be open to me, as had been the house of the Venetian consul
at Ancona.
In this manner he let me know that he knew something about me, and I was
not at all sorry for it.
Marco Monti, such was the consul's name, was a man of parts and much
experience; a pleasant companion and a great conversationalist, fond of
telling amusing stories with a grave face--in fact, most excellent
company.
I was something of a 'conteur' myself, and we soon became friendly rivals
in telling anecdotes. In spite of his thirty additional years I was a
tolerable match for him, and when we were in a room there was no question
of gaining to kill the time.
We became fast friends, and I benefited a good deal by his offices during
the two years I spent in Trieste, and I have always thought that he had a
considerable share in obtaining my recall. That was my great object in
those days; I was a victim to nostalgia, or home sickness.
With the Swiss and the Sclavs it is really a fatal disease, which carries
them off if they are not sent home immediately. Germans are subject to
this weakness also; whilst the French suffer very little, and Italians
not much more from the complaint.
No rule, however, lacks its exception, and I was one. I daresay I should
have got over my nostalgia if I had treated it with contempt, and then I
should not have wasted ten years of my life in the bosom of my cruel
stepmother Venice.
I dined with M. Zaguri at the consul's, and I was invited to dine with
the governor, Count Auersperg, the next day.
The visit from a Venetian 'avogador' made me a person of great
consideration. I was no longer looked upon as an exile, but as one who
had successfully escaped from illegal confinement.
The day after I accompanied M. Zaguri to Gorice, where he stayed three
days to enjoy the hospitality of the nobility. I was included in all
their invitations, and I saw that a stranger could live very pleasantly
at Gorice.
I met there a certain Count Cobenzl, who may be alive now--a man of
wisdom, generosity, and the vastest learning, and yet without any kind of
pretention. He gave a State dinner to M. Zaguri, and I had the pleasure
of meeting there three or four most charming ladies. I also met Count
Tomes, a Spaniard whose father was in in the Austrian service. He had
married at sixty, and had five children all as ugly as himself. His
daughter was a charming girl in spite of her plainness; she evidently got
her character from the mother's side. The eldest son, who was ugly and
squinted, was a kind of pleasant madman, but he was also a liar, a
profligate, a boaster, and totally devoid of discretion. In spite of
these defects he was much sought after in society as he told a good tale
and made people laugh. If he had been a student, he would have been a
distinguished scholar, as his memory was prodigious. He it was who vainly
guaranteed the agreement I made with Valerio Valeri for printing my
"History of Poland." I also met at Gorice a Count Coronini, who was known
in learned circles as the author of some Latin treatises on diplomacy.
Nobody read his books, but everybody agreed that he was a very learned
man.
I also met a young man named Morelli, who had written a history of the
place and was on the point of publishing the first volume. He gave me his
MS. begging me to make any corrections that struck me as desirable. I
succeeded in pleasing him, as I gave him back his work without a single
note or alteration of any kind, and thus he became my friend.
I became a great friend of Count Francis Charles Coronini, who was a man
of talents. He had married a Belgian lady, but not being able to agree
they had separated and he passed his time in trifling intrigues, hunting,
and reading the papers, literary and political. He laughed at those sages
who declared that there was not one really happy person in the world, and
he supported his denial by the unanswerable dictum:
"I myself am perfectly happy."
However, as he died of a tumor in the head at the age of thirty-five, he
probably acknowledged his mistake in the agonies of death.
There is no such thing as a perfectly happy or perfectly unhappy man in
the world. One has more happiness in his life and another more
unhappiness, and the same circumstance may produce widely different
effects on individuals of different temperaments.
It is not a fact that virtue ensures happiness for the exercise of some
virtues implies suffering, and suffering is incompatible with happiness.
My readers may be aware that I am not inclined to make mental pleasure
pre-eminent and all sufficing. It may be a fine thing to have a clear
conscience, but I cannot see that it would at all relieve the pangs of
hunger.
Baron Pittoni and myself escorted Zaguri to the Venetian border, and we
then returned to Trieste together.
In three or four days Pittoni took me everywhere, including the club
where none but persons of distinction were admitted. This club was held
at the inn where I was staying.
Amongst the ladies, the most noteworthy was the wife of the merchant,
David Riguelin, who was a Swabian by birth.
Pittoni was in love with her and continued so till her death. His suit
lasted for twelve years, and like Petrarch, he still sighed, still hoped,
but never succeeded. Her name was Zanetta, and besides her beauty she had
the charm of being an exquisite singer and a polished hostess. Still more
noteworthy, however, was the unvarying sweetness and equability of her
disposition.
I did not want to know her long before recognizing that she was
absolutely impregnable. I told Pittoni so, but all in vain; he still fed
on empty hope.
Zanetta had very poor health, though no one would have judged so from her
appearance, but it was well known to be the case. She died at an early
age.
A few days after M. Zaguri's departure, I had a note from the consul
informing me that the Procurator Morosini was stopping in my inn, and
advising me to call on him if I knew him.
I was infinitely obliged for this advice, for M. Morosini was a personage
of the greatest importance. He had known me from childhood, and the
reader may remember that he had presented me to Marshal Richelieu, at
Fontainebleau, in 1750.
I dressed myself as if I had been about to speak to a monarch, and sent
in a note to his room.
I had not long to wait; he came out and welcomed me most graciously,
telling me how delighted he was to see me again.
When he heard the reason of my being at Trieste, and how I desired to
return to my country, he assured me he would do all in his power to
obtain me my wish. He thanked me for the care I had taken of his nephew
at Florence, and kept me all the day while I told him my principal
adventures.
He was glad to hear that M. Zaguri was working for me, and said that they
must concert the mater together. He commended me warmly to the consul,
who was delighted to be able to inform the Tribunal of the consideration
with which M. Morosini treated me.
After the procurator had gone I began to enjoy life at Trieste, but in
strict moderation and with due regard for economy, for I had only fifteen
sequins a month. I abjured play altogether.
Every day I dined with one of the circle of my friends, who were the
Venetian consul, the French consul (an eccentric but worthy man who kept
a good cook), Pittoni, who kept an excellent table, thanks to his man who
knew what was to his own interests, and several others.
As for the pleasures of love I enjoyed them in moderation, taking care of
my purse and of my health.
Towards the end of the carnival I went to a masked ball at the theatre,
and in the course of the evening a harlequin came up and presented his
columbine to me. They both began to play tricks on me. I was pleased with
the columbine, and felt a strong desire to be acquainted with her. After
some vain researches the French consul, M. de St. Sauveur, told me that
the harlequin was a young lady of rank, and that the columbine was a
handsome young man.
"If you like," he added, "I will introduce you to the harlequin's family,
and I am sure you will appreciate her charms when you see her as a girl."
As they persisted in their jokes I was able, without wounding decency
overmuch, to convince myself that the consul was right on the question of
sex; and when the ball was over I said I should be obliged by his
introducing me as he had promised. He promised to do so the day after Ash
Wednesday.
Thus I made the acquaintance of Madame Leo, who was still pretty and
agreeable, though she had lived very freely in her younger days. There
was her husband, a son, and six daughters, all handsome, but especially
the harlequin with whom I was much taken. Naturally I fell in love with
her, but as I was her senior by thirty years, and had begun my addresses
in a tone of fatherly affection, a feeling of shame prevented my
disclosing to her the real state of my heart. Four years later she told
me herself that she had guessed my real feelings, and had been amused by
my foolish restraint.
A young girl learns deeper lessons from nature than we men can acquire
with all our experience.
At the Easter of 1773 Count Auersperg, the Governor of Trieste, was
recalled to Vienna, and Count Wagensberg took his place. His eldest
daughter, the Countess Lantieri, who was a great beauty, inspired me with
a passion which would have made me unhappy if I had not succeeded in
hiding it under a veil of the profoundest respect.
I celebrated the accession of the new governor by some verses which I had
printed, and in which, while lauding the father, I paid conspicuous
homage to the charms of the daughter.
My tribute pleased them, and I became an intimate friend of the count's.
He placed confidence in me with the idea of my using it to my own
advantage, for though he did not say so openly I divined his intention.
The Venetian consul had told me that he had been vainly endeavouring for
the last four years to get the Government of Trieste to arrange for the
weekly diligence from Trieste to Mestre to pass by Udine, the capital of
the Venetian Friuli.
"This alteration," he had said, "would greatly benefit the commerce of
the two states; but the Municipal Council of Trieste opposes it for a
plausible but ridiculous reason."
These councillors, in the depth of their wisdom, said that if the
Venetian Republic desired the alteration it would evidently be to their
advantage, and consequently to the disadvantage of Trieste.
The consul assured me that if I could in any way obtain the concession it
would weigh strongly in my favour with the State Inquisitors, and even in
the event of my non-success he would represent my exertions in the most
favourable light.
I promised I would think the matter over.
Finding myself high in the governor's favour, I took the opportunity of
addressing myself to him on the subject. He had heard about the matter,
and thought the objection of the Town Council absurd and even monstrous;
but he professed his inability to do anything himself.
"Councillor Rizzi," said he, "is the most obstinate of them all, and has
led astray the rest with his sophisms. But do you send me in a memorandum
shewing that the alteration will have a much better effect on the large
commerce of Trieste than on the comparatively trifling trade of Udine. I
shall send it into the Council without disclosing the authorship, but
backing it with my authority, and challenging the opposition to refute
your arguments. Finally, if they do not decide reasonably I shall
proclaim before them all my intention to send the memoir to Vienna with
my opinion on it."
I felt confident of success, and wrote out a memoir full of
incontrovertible reasons in favour of the proposed change.
My arguments gained the victory; the Council were persuaded, and Count
Wagensberg handed me the decree, which I immediately laid before the
Venetian consul. Following his advice, I wrote to the secretary of the
Tribunal to the effect that I was happy to have given the Government a
proof of my zeal, and an earnest of my desire to be useful to my country
and to be worthy of being recalled.
Out of regard for me the count delayed the promulgation of the decree for
a week, so that the people of Udine heard the news from Venice before it
had reached Trieste, and everybody thought that the Venetian Government
had achieved its ends by bribery. The secretary of the Tribunal did not
answer my letter, but he wrote to the consul ordering him to give me a
hundred ducats, and to inform me that this present was to encourage me to
serve the Republic. He added that I might hope great things from the
mercy of the Inquisitors if I succeeded in negotiating the Armenian
difficulty.
The consul gave me the requisite information, and my impression was that
my efforts would be in vain; however, I resolved to make the attempt.
Four Armenian monks had left the Convent of St. Lazarus at Venice, having
found the abbot's tyranny unbearable. They had wealthy relations at
Constantinople, and laughed the excommunication of their late tyrant to
scorn. They sought asylum at Vienna, promising to make themselves useful
to the State by establishing an Armenian press to furnish all the
Armenian convents with books. They engaged to sink a capital of a million
florins if they were allowed to settle in Austria, to found their press,
and to buy or build a convent, where they proposed to live in community
but without any abbot.
As might be expected the Austrian Government did not hesitate to grant
their request; it did more, it gave them special privileges.
The effect of this arrangement would be to deprive Venice of a lucrative
trade, and to place it in the emperor's dominions. Consequently the
Viennese Court sent them to Trieste with a strong recommendation to the
governor, and they had been there for the past six months.
The Venetian Government, of course, wished to entice them back to Venice.
They had vainly induced their late abbot to make handsome offers to them,
and they then proceeded by indirect means, endeavoring to stir up
obstacles in their way, and to disgust them with Trieste.
The consul told me plainly that he had not touched the matter, thinking
success to be out of the question; and he predicted that if I attempted
it I should find myself in the dilemma of having to solve the insoluble.
I felt the force of the consul's remark when I reflected that I could not
rely on the governor's assistance, or even speak to him on the subject. I
saw that I must not let him suspect my design, for besides his duty to
his Government he was a devoted friend to the interests of Trieste, and
for this reason a great patron of the monks.
In spite of these obstacles my nostalgia made me make acquaintance with
these monks under pretence of inspecting their Armenian types, which they
were already casting. In a week or ten days I became quite intimate with
them. One day I said that they were bound in honour to return to the
obedience of their abbot, if only to annul his sentence of
excommunication.
The most obstinate of them told me that the abbot had behaved more like a
despot than a father, and had thus absolved them from their obedience.
"Besides," he said, "no rascally priest has any right to cut off good
Christians from communion with the Saviour, and we are sure that our
patriarch will give us absolution and send us some more monks."
I could make no objection to these arguments; however, I asked on another
occasion on what conditions they would return to Venice.
The most sensible of them said that in the first place the abbot must
withdraw the four hundred thousand ducats which he had entrusted to the
Marquis Serpos at four per cent.
This sum was the capital from which the income of the Convent of St.
Lazarus was derived. The abbot had no right whatever to dispose of it,
even with the consent of a majority among the monks. If the marquis
became bankrupt the convent would be utterly destitute. The marquis was
an Armenian diamond merchant, and a great friend of the abbot's.
I then asked the monks what were the other conditions, and they replied
that these were some matters of discipline which might easily be settled;
they would give me a written statement of their grievances as soon as I
could assure them that the Marquis Serpos was no longer in possession of
their funds.
I embodied my negotiations in writing, and sent the document to the
Inquisitors by the consul. In six weeks I received an answer to the
effect that the abbot saw his way to arranging the money difficulty, but
that he must see a statement of the reforms demanded before doing so.
This decided me to have nothing to do with the affair, but a few words
from Count Wagensberg made me throw it up without further delay. He gave
me to understand that he knew of my attempts to reconcile the four monks
with their abbot, and he told me that he had been sorry to hear the
report, as my success would do harm to a country where I lived and where
I was treated as a friend.
I immediately told him the whole story, assuring him that I would never
have begun the negotiation if I had not been certain of failure, for I
heard on undoubted authority that Serpos could not possibly restore the
four hundred thousand ducats.
This explanation thoroughly dissipated any cloud that might have arisen
between us.
The Armenians bought Councillor Rizzi's house for thirty thousand
florins. Here they established themselves, and I visited them from time
to time without saying anything more about Venice.
Count Wagensberg gave me another proof of his friendship. Unhappily for
me he died during the autumn of the same year, at the age of fifty.
One morning he summoned me, and I found him perusing a document he had
just received from Vienna. He told me he was sorry I did not read German,
but that he would tell me the contents of the paper.
"Here," he continued, "you will be able to serve your country without in
any way injuring Austria.
"I am going to confide in you a State secret (it being understood of
course that my name is never to be mentioned) which ought to be greatly
to your advantage, whether you succeed or fail; at all hazards your
patriotism, your prompt action, and your cleverness in obtaining such
information will be made manifest. Remember you must never divulge your
sources of information; only tell your Government that you are perfectly
sure of the authenticity of the statement you make.
"You must know," he continued, "that all the commodities we export to
Lombardy pass through Venice where they have to pay duty. Such has long
been the custom, and it may still be so if the Venetian Government will
consent to reduce the duty of four per cent to two per cent.
"A plan has been brought before the notice of the Austrian Court, and it
has been eagerly accepted. I have received certain orders on the matter,
which I shall put into execution without giving any warning to the
Venetian Government.
"In future all goods for Lombardy will be embarked here and disembarked
at Mezzola without troubling the Republic. Mezzola is in the territories
of the Duke of Modem; a ship can cross the gulf in the night, and our
goods will be placed in storehouses, which will be erected.
"In this way we shall shorten the journey and decrease the freights, and
the Modenese Government will be satisfied with a trifling sum, barely
equivalent to a fourth of what we pay to Venice.
"In spite of all this, I feel sure that if the Venetian Government wrote
to the Austrian Council of Commerce expressing their willingness to take
two per cent henceforth, the proposal would be accepted, for we Austrians
dislike novelties.
"I shall not lay the matter before the Town Council for four or five
days, as there is no hurry for us; but you had better make haste, that
you may be the first to inform your Government of the matter.
"If everything goes as I should wish I hope to receive an order from
Vienna suspending the decree just as I am about to make it public."
Next morning the governor was delighted to hear that everything had been
finished before midnight. He assured me that the consul should not have
official information before Saturday. In the meanwhile the consul's
uneasy state of mind was quite a trouble to me, for I could not do
anything to set his mind at ease.
Saturday came and Councillor Rizzi told me the news at the club. He
seemed in high spirits over it, and said that the loss of Venice was the
gain of Trieste. The consul came in just then, and said that the loss
would be a mere trifle for Venice, while the first-shipwreck would cost
more to Trieste than ten years' duty. The consul seemed to enjoy the
whole thing, but that was the part he had to play. In all small trading
towns like Trieste, people make a great account of trifles.
I went to dine with the consul, who privately confessed his doubts and
fears on the matter.
I asked him how the Venetians would parry the blow, and he replied,--
"They will have a number of very learned consultations, and then they
will do nothing at all, and the Austrians will send their goods wherever
they please."
"But the Government is such a wise one."
"Or rather has the reputation of wisdom."
"Then you think it lives on its reputation?"
"Yes; like all your mouldy institutions, they continue to be simply
because they have been. Old Governments are like those ancient dykes
which are rotten at the base, and only stay in position by their weight
and bulk."
The consul was in the right. He wrote to his chief the same day, and in
the course of the next week he heard that their excellencies had received
information of the matter some time ago by extraordinary channels.
For the present his duties would be confined to sending in any additional
information on the same subject.
"I told you so," said the consul; "now, what do you think of the wisdom
of our sages?"
"I think Bedlam of Charenton were their best lodging."
In three weeks the consul received orders to give me another grant of a
hundred ducats, and to allow me ten sequins a month, to encourage me to
deserve well of the State.
From that time I felt sure I should be allowed to return in the course of
the year, but I was mistaken, for I had to wait till the year following.
This new present, and the monthly payment of ten sequins put me at my
ease, for I had expensive tastes of which I could not cure myself. I felt
pleased at the thought that I was now in the pay of the Tribunal which
had punished me, and which I had defied. It seemed to me a triumph, and I
determined to do all in my power for the Republic.
Here I must relate an amusing incident, which delighted everyone in
Trieste.
It was in the beginning of summer. I had been eating sardines by the
sea-shore, and when I came home at ten o'clock at night I was astonished
to be greeted by a girl whom I recognized as Count Strasoldo's maid.
The count was a handsome young man, but poor like most of that name; he
was fond of expensive pleasures, and was consequently heavily in debt. He
had a small appointment which brought him in an income of six hundred
florins, and he had not the slightest difficulty in spending a year's pay
in three months. He had agreeable manners and a generous disposition, and
I had supped with him in company with Baron Pittoni several times. He had
a girl in his service who was exquisitely pretty, but none of the count's
friends attempted her as he was very jealous. Like the rest, I had seen
and admired her, I had congratulated the count on the possession of such
a treasure in her presence, but I had never addressed a word to her.
Strasoldo had just been summoned to Vienna by Count Auersperg who liked
him, and had promised to do what he could for him. He had got an
employment in Poland, his furniture had been sold, he had taken leave of
everyone, and nobody doubted that he would take his pretty maid with him.
I thought so too, for I had been to wish him a pleasant journey that
morning, and my astonishment at finding the girl in my room may be
imagined.
"What do you want, my dear?" I asked.
"Forgive me, sir, but I don't want to go with Strasoldo, and I thought
you would protect me. Nobody will be able to guess where I am, and
Strasoldo will be obliged to go by himself. You will not be so cruel as
to drive me away?"
"No, dearest."
"I promise you I will go away to-morrow, for Strasoldo is going to leave
at day-break."
"My lovely Leuzica (this was her name), no one would refuse you an
asylum, I least of all. You are safe here, and nobody shall come in
without your leave. I am only too happy that you came to me, but if it is
true that the count is your lover you may be sure he will not go so
easily. He will stay the whole of to-morrow at least, in the hope of
finding you again."
"No doubt he will look for me everywhere but here. Will you promise not
to make me go with him even if he guesses that I am with you?"
"I swear I will not."
"Then I am satisfied."
"But you will have to share my bed."
"If I shall not inconvenience you, I agree with all my heart."
"You shall see whether you inconvenience me or not. Undress, quick! But
where are your things?"
"All that I have is in a small trunk behind the count's carriage, but I
don't trouble myself about it."
"The poor count must be raging at this very moment."
"No, for he will not come home till midnight. He is supping with Madame
Bissolotti, who is in love with him."
In the meantime Leuzica had undressed and got into bed. In a moment I was
beside her, and after the severe regimen of the last eight months I spent
a delicious night in her arms, for of late my pleasures had been few.
Leuzica was a perfect beauty, and worthy to be a king's mistress; and if
I had been rich I would have set up a household that I might retain her
in my service.
We did not awake till seven o'clock. She got up, and on looking out of
the window saw Strasoldo's carriage waiting at the door.
I confronted her by saying that as long as she liked to stay with me no
one could force her away.
I was vexed that I had no closet in my room, as I could not hide her from
the waiter who would bring us coffee. We accordingly dispensed with
breakfast, but I had to find out some way of feeding her. I thought I had
plenty of time before me, but I was wrong.
At ten o'clock I saw Strasoldo and his friend Pittoni coming into the
inn. They spoke to the landlord, and seemed to be searching the whole
place, passing from one room to another.
I laughed, and told Leuzica that they were looking for her, and that our
turn would doubtless come before long.
"Remember your promise," said she.
"You may be sure of that."
The tone in which this remark was delivered comforted her, and she
exclaimed,--
"Well; well, let them come; they will get nothing by it."
I heard footsteps approaching, and went out, closing the door behind me,
and begging them to excuse my not asking them in, as there was a
contraband commodity in my room.
"Only tell me that it is not my maid," said Strasoldo, in a pitiable
voice. "We are sure she is here, as the sentinel at the gate saw her come
in at ten o'clock."
"You are right, the fair Leuzica is at this moment in my room. I have
given her my word of honour that no violence shall be used, and you may
be sure I shall keep my word."
"I shall certainly not attempt any violence, but I am sure she would come
of her own free will if I could speak to her."
"I will ask her if she wishes to see you. Wait a moment."
Leuzica had been listening to our conversation, and when I opened the
door she told me that I could let them in.
As soon as Strasoldo appeared she asked him proudly if she was under any
obligations to him, if she had stolen anything from him, and if she was
not perfectly free to leave him when she liked.
The poor count replied mildly that on the contrary it was he who owed her
a year's wages and had her box in his possession, but that she should not
have left him without giving any reason.
"The only reason is that I don't want to go to Vienna," she replied. "I
told you so a week ago. If you are an honest man you will leave me my
trunk, and as to my wages you can send them to me at my aunt's at Laibach
if you haven't got any money now."
I pitied Strasoldo from the bottom of my heart; he prayed and entreated,
and finally wept like a child. However, Pittoni roused my choler by
saying that I ought to drive the slut out of my room.
"You are not the man to tell me what I ought and what I ought not to do,"
I replied, "and after I have received her in my apartments you ought to
moderate your expressions."
Seeing that I stood on my dignity he laughed, and asked me if I had
fallen in love with her in so short a time.
Strasoldo here broke in by saying he was sure she had not slept with me.
"That's where you are mistaken," said she, "for there's only one bed, and
I did not sleep on the floor."
They found prayers and reproaches alike useless and left us at noon.
Leuzica was profuse in her expressions of gratitude to me.
There was no longer any mystery, so I boldly ordered dinner for two, and
promised that she should remain with me till the count had left Trieste.
At three o'clock the Venetian consul came, saying that Count Strasoldo
had begged him to use his good offices with me to persuade me to deliver
up the fair Leuzica.
"You must speak to the girl herself," I replied; "she came here and stays
here of her own free will."
When the worthy man had heard the girl's story he went away, saying that
we had the right on our side.
In the evening a porter brought her trunk, and at this she seemed touched
but not repentant.
Leuzica supped with me and again shared my couch. The count left Trieste
at day-break.
As soon as I was sure that he was gone, I took a carriage and escorted
the fair Leuzica two stages on her way to Laibach. We dined together, and
I left her in the care of a friend of hers.
Everybody said I had acted properly, and even Pittoni confessed that in
my place he would have done the same.
Poor Strasoldo came to a bad end. He got into debt, committed peculation,
and had to escape into Turkey and embrace Islam to avoid the penalty of
death.
About this time the Venetian general, Palmanova, accompanied by the
procurator Erizzo, came to Trieste to visit the governor, Count
Wagensberg. In the afternoon the count presented me to the patricians who
seemed astonished to see me at Trieste.
The procurator asked me if I amused myself as well as I had done at Paris
sixteen years ago, and I told him that sixteen years more, and a hundred
thousand francs less, forced me to live in a different fashion. While we
were talking, the consul came in to announce that the felucca was ready.
Madame de Lantieri as well as her father pressed me to join the party.
I gave a bow, which might mean either no or yes, and asked the consul
what the party was. He told me that they were going to see a Venetian
man-of-war at anchor in the harbor; his excellence there being the
captain I immediately turned to the countess and smilingly professed my
regret that I was unable to set foot on Venetian soil.
Everybody exclaimed at me,--
"You have nothing to fear. You are with honest people. Your suspicion is
quite offensive."
"That is all very fine, ladies and gentlemen, and I will come with all my
heart, if your excellences will assure me that my joining this little
party will not be known to the State Inquisitors possibly by to-morrow."
This was enough. Everybody looked at me in silence, and no objections
could be found to my argument.
The captain of the vessel, who did not know me, spoke a few whispered
words to the others, and then they left.
The next day the consul told me that the captain had praised my prudence
in declining to go on board, as if anyone had chanced to tell him my name
and my case whilst I was on his ship, it would have been his duty to
detain me.
When I told the governor of this remark he replied gravely that he should
not have allowed the ship to leave the harbour.
I saw the procurator Erizzo the same evening, and he congratulated me on
my discretion, telling me he would take care to let the Tribunal know how
I respected its decisions.
About this time I had the pleasure of seeing a beautiful Venetian, who
visited Trieste with several of her admirers. She was of the noble family
of Bon, and had married Count Romili de Bergamo, who left her free to do
whatever she liked. She drew behind her triumphal chariot an old general,
Count Bourghausen, a famous rake who had deserted Mars for the past ten
years in order to devote his remaining days to the service of Venus. He
was a delightful man, and we became friends. Ten years later he was of
service to me, as my readers will find in the next volume, which may
perhaps be the last.
CHAPTER XXII
Some Adventures at Trieste--I Am of Service to the Venetian
Government--My Expedition to Gorice and My Return to
Trieste--I Find Irene as an Actress and Expert Gamester
Some of the ladies of Trieste thought they would like to act a French
play, and I was made stage manager. I had not only to choose the pieces,
but to distribute the parts, the latter being a duty of infinite
irksomeness.
All the actresses were new to the boards, and I had immense trouble in
hearing them repeat their parts, which they seemed unable to learn by
heart. It is a well-known fact that the revolution which is really wanted
in Italy is in female education. The very best families with few
exceptions are satisfied with shutting up their daughters in a convent
for several years till the time comes for them to marry some man whom
they never see till the eve or the day of their marriage. As a
consequence we have the 'cicisbeo', and in Italy as in France the idea
that our nobles are the sons of their nominal fathers is a purely
conventional one.
What do girls learn in convents, especially in Italian convents? A few
mechanical acts of devotion and outward forms, very little real religion,
a good deal of deceit, often profligate habits, a little reading and
writing, many useless accomplishments, small music and less drawing, no
history, no geography or mythology, hardly any mathematics, and nothing
to make a girl a good wife and a good mother.
As for foreign languages, they are unheard of; our own Italian is so soft
that any other tongue is hard to acquire, and the 'dolce far niente'
habit is an obstacle to all assiduous study.
I write down these truths in spite of my patriotism. I know that if any
of my fellow-countrywomen come to read me they will be very angry; but I
shall be beyond the reach of all anger.
To return to our theatricals. As I could not make my actresses get their
parts letter perfect, I became their prompter, and found out by
experience all the ungratefulness of the position.
The actors never acknowledged their debt to the prompter, and put down to
his account all the mistakes they make.
A Spanish doctor is almost as badly off; if his patient recovers, the
cure is set down to the credit of one saint or another; but if he dies,
the physician is blamed for his unskilful treatment.
A handsome negress, who served the prettiest of my actresses to whom I
shewed great attentions, said to me one day,--
"I can't make out how you can be so much in love with my mistress, who is
as white as the devil."
"Have you never loved a white man?" I asked.
"Yes," said she, "but only because I had no negro, to whom I should
certainly have given the preference."
Soon after the negress became mine, and I found out the falsity of the
axiom, 'Sublata lucerna nullum discrimen inter feminas', for even in the
darkness a man would know a black woman from a white one.
I feel quite sure myself that the negroes are a distinct species from
ourselves. There is one essential difference, leaving the colour out of
account--namely, that an African woman can either conceive or not, and
can conceive a boy or a girl. No doubt my readers will disbelieve this
assertion, but their incredulity would cease if I instructed them in the
mysterious science of the negresses.
Count Rosenberg, grand chamberlain of the emperor, came on a visit to
Trieste in company with an Abbe Casti, whose acquaintance I wished to
make on account of some extremely blasphemous poems he had written.
However, I was disappointed; and instead of a man of parts, I found the
abbe to be an impudent worthless fellow, whose only merit was a knack of
versification.
Count Rosenberg took the abbe with him, because he was useful in the
capacities of a fool and a pimp-occupations well suited to his morals,
though by no means agreeable to his ecclesiastical status. In those days
syphilis had not completely destroyed his uvula.
I heard that this shameless profligate, this paltry poetaster, had been
named poet to the emperor. What a dishonour to the memory of the great
Metastasio, a man free from all vices, adorned with all virtues, and of
the most singular ability.
Casti had neither a fine style, nor a knowledge of dramatic requirements,
as appears from two or three comic operas composed by him, in which the
reader will find nothing but foolish buffooneries badly put together. In
one of these comic operas he makes use of slander against King Theodore
and the Venetian Republic, which he turns into ridicule by means of
pitiful lies.
In another piece called The Cave of Trophonius, Casti made himself the
laughing-stock of the literary world by making a display of useless
learning which contributes nothing towards the plot.
Among the persons of quality who came to Gorice, I met a certain Count
Torriano, who persuaded me to spend the autumn with him at a country
house of his six miles from Gorice.
If I had listened to the voice of my good genius I should certainly never
have gone.
The count was under thirty, and was not married. He could not exactly be
called ugly in spite of his hangdog countenance, in which I saw the
outward signs of cruelty, disloyalty, treason, pride, brutal sensuality,
hatred, and jealousy. The mixture of bad qualities was such an appalling
one that I thought his physiognomy was at fault, and the goods better
than the sign. He asked me to come and see him so graciously that I
concluded that the man gave the lie to his face.
I asked about him before accepting the invitation, and I heard nothing
but good. People certainly said he was fond of the fair sex, and was a
fierce avenger of any wrong done to him, but not thinking either of these
characteristics unworthy of a gentleman I accepted his invitation. He
told me that he would expect me to meet him at Gorice on the first day of
September, and that the next day we would leave for his estate.
In consequence of Torriano's invitation I took leave of everybody,
especially of Count Wagensberg, who had a serious attack of that malady
which yields so easily to mercury when it is administered by a skilled
hand, but which kills the unfortunate who falls amongst quacks. Such was
the fate of the poor count; he died a month after I had left Trieste.
I left Trieste in the morning, dined at Proseco, and reached Gorice in
good time. I called at Count Louis Torriano's mansion, but was told he
was out. However, they allowed me to deposit what little luggage I had
when I informed them that the count had invited me. I then went to see
Count Torres, and stayed with him till supper-time.
When I got back to the count's I was told he was in the country, and
would not be back till the next day, and that in the meantime my trunks
had been taken to the inn where a room and supper had been ordered.
I was extremely astonished, and went to the inn, where I was served with
a bad supper in an uncomfortable room; however, I supposed that the count
had been unable to accommodate me in his house, and I excused him though
I wished he had forewarned me. I could not understand how a gentleman who
has a house and invites a friend can be without a room wherein to lodge
him.
Next morning Count Torriano came to see me, thanked me for my
punctuality, congratulated himself on the pleasure he expected to derive
from my society, and told me he was very sorry we could not start for two
days, as a suit was to be heard the next day between himself and a
rascally old farmer who was trying to cheat him.
"Well, well," said I, "I will go and hear the pleadings; it will be an
amusement for me."
Soon after he took his leave, without asking me where I intended dining,
or apologizing for not having accommodated me himself.
I could not make him out; I thought he might have taken offence at my
descending at his doors without having given him any warning.
"Come, come, Casanova," I said to myself, "you may be all abroad.
Knowledge of character is an unfathomable gulf. We thought we had studied
it deeply, but there is still more to learn; we shall see. He may have
said nothing out of delicacy. I should be sorry to be found wanting in
politeness, though indeed I am puzzled to know what I have done amiss."
I dined by myself, made calls in the afternoon, and supped with Count
Tomes. I told him that I promised myself the pleasure of hearing the
eloquence of the bar of Gorice the next day.
"I shall be there, too," said he, "as I am curious to see what sort of a
face Torriano will put on it, if the countryman wins. I know something
about the case," he continued, "and Torriano is sure of victory, unless
the documents attesting the farmer's indebtedness happen to be forgeries.
On the other hand, the farmer ought to win unless it can be shewn that
the receipts signed by Torriano are forgeries. The farmer has lost in the
first court and in the second court, but he has paid the costs and
appealed from both, though he is a poor man. If he loses to-morrow he
will not only be a ruined man, but be sentenced to penal servitude, while
if he wins, Torriano should be sent to the galleys, together with his
counsel, who has deserved this fate many times before."
I knew Count Tomes passed for somewhat of a scandal-monger, so his
remarks made little impression on me beyond whetting my curiosity. The
next day I was one of the first to appear in the court, where I found the
bench, plaintiff and defendant, and the barristers, already assembled.
The farmer's counsel was an old man who looked honest, while the count's
had all the impudence of a practised knave. The count sat beside him,
smiling disdainfully, as if he was lowering himself to strive with a
miserable peasant whom he had already twice vanquished.
The farmer sat by his wife, his son, and two daughters, and had that air
of modest assurance which indicates resignation and a good conscience.
I wondered how such honest people could have lost in two courts; I was
sure their cause must be a just one.
They were all poorly clad, and from their downcast eyes and their humble
looks I guessed them to be the victims of oppression.
Each barrister could speak for two hours.
The farmer's advocate spoke for thirty minutes, which he occupied by
putting in the various receipts bearing the count's signature up to the
time when he had dismissed the farmer, because he would not prostitute
his daughters to him. He then continued, speaking with calm precision, to
point out the anachronisms and contradictions in the count's books (which
made his client a debtor), and stated that his client was in a position
to prosecute the two forgers who had been employed to compass the ruin of
an honest family, whose only crime was poverty. He ended his speech by an
appeal for costs in all the suits, and for compensation for loss of time
and defamation of character.
The harangue of the count's advocate would have lasted more than two
hours if the court had not silenced him. He indulged in a torrent of
abuse against the other barrister, the experts in hand-writing, and the
peasant, whom he threatened with a speedy consignment to the galleys.
The pleadings would have wearied me if I had been a blind man, but as it
was I amused myself by a scrutiny of the various physiognomies before me.
My host's face remained smiling and impudent through it all.
The pleadings over, the court was cleared, and we awaited the sentence in
the adjoining room.
The peasant and his family sat in a corner apart, sad, sorry, and
comfortless, with no friend to speak a consoling word, while the count
was surrounded by a courtly throng, who assured him that with such a case
he could not possibly lose; but that if the judges did deliver judgment
against him he should pay the peasant, and force him to prove the alleged
forgery.
I listened in profound silence, sympathising with the countryman rather
than my host, whom I believed to be a thorough-paced scoundrel, though I
took care not to say so.
Count Torres, who was a deadly foe to all prudence and discretion, asked
me my opinion of the case, and I whispered that I thought the count
should lose, even if he were in the right, on account of the infamous
apostrophes of his counsel, who deserved to have his ears cut off or to
stand in the pillory for six months.
"And the client too," said Tomes aloud; but nobody had heard what I had
said.
After we had waited for an hour the clerk of the court came in with two
papers, one of which he gave to the peasant's counsel and the other to
Torriano's. Torriano read it to himself, burst into a loud laugh, and
then read it aloud.
The court condemned the count to recognize the peasant as his creditor,
to pay all costs, and to give him a year's wages as damages; the
peasant's right to appeal ad minimum on account of any other complaints
he might have being reserved.
The advocate looked downcast, but Torriano consoled him by a fee of six
sequins, and everybody went away.
I remained with the defendant, and asked him if he meant to appeal to
Vienna.
"I shall appeal in another sort," said he; but I did not ask him what he
meant.
We left Gorice the next morning.
My landlord gave me the bill, and told me he had received instructions
not to insist on my paying it if I made any difficulty, as in that case
the count would pay himself.
This struck me as somewhat eccentric, but I only laughed. However, the
specimens I had seen of his character made me imagine that I was going to
spend six weeks with a dangerous original.
In two hours we were at Spessa, and alighted at a large house, with
nothing distinguished about it from an architectural point of view. We
went up to the count's room, which was tolerably furnished, and after
shewing me over the house he took me to my own room. It was on the ground
floor, stuffy, dark, and ill furnished.
"Ah!" said he, "this is the room my poor old father used to love to sit
in; like you, he was very fond of study. You may be sure of enjoying
perfect liberty here, for you will see no one."
We dined late, and consequently no supper was served. The eating and the
wine were tolerable, and so was the company of a priest, who held the
position of the count's steward; but I was disgusted at hearing the
count, who ate ravenously, reproach me with eating too slowly.
When we rose from table he told me he had a lot to do, and that we should
see each other the next day.
I went to my room to put things in order, and to get out my papers. I was
then working at the second volume of the Polish troubles.
In the evening I asked for a light as it was growing dark, and presently
a servant came with one candle. I was indignant; they ought to have given
me wax lights or a lamp at least. However, I made no complaint, merely
asking one of the servants if I was to rely on the services of any
amongst them.
"Our master has given us no instructions on the subject, but of course we
will wait on you whenever you call us."
This would have been a troublesome task, as there was no bell, and I
should have been obliged to wander all over the house, to search the
courtyard, and perhaps the road, whenever I wanted a servant.
"And who will do my room?" I asked.
"The maid."
"Then she has a key of her own?"
"There is no need for a key, as your door has no lock, but you can bolt
yourself in at night."
I could only laugh, whether from ill humour or amusement I really cannot
say. However, I made no remark to the man.
I began my task, but in half an hour I was so unfortunate as to put out
the candle whilst snuffing it. I could not roam about the house in the
dark searching for a light, as I did not know my way, so I went to bed in
the dark more inclined to swear than to laugh.
Fortunately the bed was a good one, and as I had expected it to be
uncomfortable I went to sleep in a more tranquil humour.
In the morning nobody came to attend on me, so I got up, and after
putting away my papers I went to say good morning to my host in
dressing-gown and nightcap. I found him under the hand of one of his men
who served him as a valet. I told him I had slept well, and had come to
breakfast with him; but he said he never took breakfast, and asked me,
politely enough, not to trouble to come and see him in the morning as he
was always engaged with his tenants, who were a pack of thieves. He then
added that as I took breakfast he would give orders to the cook to send
me up coffee whenever I liked.
"You will also be kind enough to tell your man to give me a touch with
his comb after he has done with you."
"I wonder you did not bring a servant."
"If I had guessed that I should be troubling you, I should certainly have
brought one."
"It will not trouble me but you, for you will be kept waiting."
"Not at all. Another thing I want is a lock to my door, for I have
important papers for which I am responsible, and I cannot lock them up in
my trunk whenever I leave my room."
"Everything is safe in my house."
"Of course, but you see how absurd it would be for you to be answerable
in case any of my papers were missing. I might be in the greatest
distress, and yet I should never tell you of it."
He remained silent for some time, and then ordered his man to tell the
priest to put a lock on my door and give me the key.
While he was thinking, I noticed a taper and a book on the table beside
his bed. I went up to it, and asked politely if I might see what kind of
reading had beguiled him to sleep. He replied as politely, requesting me
not to touch it. I withdrew immediately, telling him with a smile that I
felt sure that it was a book of prayers, but that I would never reveal
his secret.
"You have guessed what it is," he said, laughing.
I left him with a courteous bow, begging him to send me his man and a cup
of coffee, chocolate, or broth, it mattered not which.
I went back to my room meditating seriously on his strange behaviour, and
especially on the wretched tallow candle which was given me, while he had
a wax taper. My first idea was to leave the house immediately, for though
I had only fifty ducats in my possession my spirit was as high as when I
was a rich man; but on second thoughts I determined not to put myself in
the wrong by affronting him in such a signal manner.
The tallow candle was the most grievous wrong, so I resolved to ask the
man whether he had not been told to give me wax lights. This was
important, as it might be only a piece of knavery or stupidity on the
part of the servant.
The man came in an hour with a cup of coffee, sugared according to his
taste or that of the cook. This disgusted me, so I let it stay on the
table, telling him, with a burst of laughter (if I had not laughed I must
have thrown the coffee in his face), that that was not the way to serve
breakfast. I then got ready to have my hair done.
I asked him why he had brought me a wretched tallow candle instead of two
wax lights.
"Sir," the worthy man replied, humbly, "I could only give you what the
priest gave me; I received a wax taper for my master and a candle for
you."
I was sorry to have vexed the poor fellow, and said no more, thinking the
priest might have taken a fancy to economise for the count's profit or
his own. I determined to question him on the subject.
As soon as I was dressed I went out to walk off my bad humour. I met the
priest-steward, who had been to the locksmith. He told me that the man
had no ready-made locks, but he was going to fit my door with a padlock,
of which I should have the key.
"Provided I can lock my door," I said, "I care not how it's done."
I returned to the house to see the padlock fitted, and while the
locksmith was hammering away I asked the priest why he had given a tallow
candle instead of one or two wax tapers.
"I should never dare to give you tapers, sir, without express orders from
the count."
"I should have thought such a thing would go without saying."
"Yes, in other houses, but here nothing goes without saying. I have to
buy the tapers and he pays me, and every time he has one it is noted
down."
"Then you can give me a pound of wax lights if I pay you for them?"
"Of course, but I think I must tell the count, for you know . . . ."
"Yes, I know all about it, but I don't care:"
I gave him the price of a pound of wax lights, and went for a walk, as he
told me dinner was at one. I was somewhat astonished on coming back to
the house at half-past twelve to be told that the count had been half an
hour at table.
I did not know what to make of all these acts of rudeness; however, I
moderated my passion once more, and came in remarking that the abbe had
told me dinner was at one.
"It is usually," replied the count, "but to-day I wanted to pay some
calls and take you with me, so I decided on dining at noon. You will have
plenty of time."
He then gave orders for all the dishes that had been taken away to be
brought back.
I made no answer, and sat down to table, and feigning good humour ate
what was on the table, refusing to touch those dishes which had been
taken away. He vainly asked me to try the soup, the beef, the entrees; I
told him that I always punished myself thus when I came in late for a
nobleman's dinner.
Still dissembling my ill humour, I got into his carriage to accompany him
on his round of visits. He took me to Baron del Mestre, who spent the
whole of the year in the country with his family, keeping up a good
establishment.
The count spent the whole of the day with the baron, putting off the
other visits to a future time. In the evening we returned to Spessa. Soon
after we arrived the priest returned the money I had given him for the
candles, telling me that the count had forgotten to inform him that I was
to be treated as himself.
I took this acknowledgement for what it was worth.
Supper was served, and I ate with the appetite of four, while the count
hardly ate at all.
The servant who escorted me to my room asked me at what time I should
like breakfast. I told him, and he was punctual; and this time the coffee
was brought in the coffee-pot and the sugar in the sugar basin.
The valet did my hair, and the maid did my room, everything was changed,
and I imagined that I had given the count a little lesson, and that I
should have no more trouble with him. Here, however, I was mistaken, as
the reader will discover.
Three or four days later the priest came to me one morning, to ask when I
would like dinner, as I was to dine in my room.
"Why so?" I asked.
"Because the count left yesterday for Gorice, telling me he did not know
when he should come back. He ordered me to give you your meals in your
room."
"Very good. I will dine at one."
No one could be more in favour of liberty and independence than myself,
but I could not help feeling that my rough host should have told me he
was going to Gorice. He stayed a week, and I should have died of
weariness if it had not been for my daily visits to the Baron del Mestre.
Otherwise there was no company, the priest was an uneducated man, and
there were no pretty country girls. I felt as if I could not bear another
four weeks of such a doleful exile.
When the count came back, I spoke to him plainly.
"I came to Spessa," I said, "to keep you company and to amuse myself; but
I see that I am in the way, so I hope you will take me back to Gorice and
leave me there. You must know that I like society as much as you do, and
I do not feel inclined to die of solitary weariness in your house."
He assured me that it should not happen again, that he had gone to Gorice
to meet an actress, who had come there purposely to see him, and that he
had also profited by the opportunity to sign a contract of marriage with
a Venetian lady.
These excuses and the apparently polite tone in which they were uttered
induced me to prolong my stay with the extraordinary count.
He drew the whole of his income from vineyards, which produced an
excellent white wine and a revenue of a thousand sequins a year. However,
as the count did his best to spend double that amount, he was rapidly
ruining himself. He had a fixed impression that all the tenants robbed
him, so whenever he found a bunch of grapes in a cottage he proceeded to
beat the occupants unless they could prove that the grapes did not come
from his vineyards. The peasants might kneel down and beg pardon, but
they were thrashed all the same.
I had been an unwilling witness of several of these arbitrary and cruel
actions, when one day I had the pleasure of seeing the count soundly
beaten by two peasants. He had struck the first blow himself, but when he
found that he was getting the worst of it he prudently took to his heels.
He was much offended with me for remaining a mere spectator of the fray;
but I told him very coolly that, being the aggressor, he was in the
wrong, and in the second place I was not going to expose myself to be
beaten to a jelly by two lusty peasants in another man's quarrel.
These arguments did not satisfy him, and in his rage he dared to tell me
that I was a scurvy coward not to know that it was my duty to defend a
friend to the death.
In spite of these offensive remarks I merely replied with a glance of
contempt, which he doubtless understood.
Before long the whole village had heard what had happened, and the joy
was universal, for the count had the singular privilege of being feared
by all and loved by none. The two rebellious peasants had taken to their
heels. But when it became known that his lordship had announced his
resolution to carry pistols with him in all future visits, everybody was
alarmed, and two spokesmen were sent to the count informing him that all
his tenants would quit the estate in a week's time unless he gave them a
promise to leave them in peace in their humble abodes.
The rude eloquence of the two peasants struck me as sublime, but the
count pronounced them to be impertinent and ridiculous.
"We have as good a right to taste the vines which we have watered with
the sweat of our brow," said they, "as your cook has to taste the dishes
before they are served on your table."
The threat of deserting just at the vintage season frightened the count,
and he had to give in, and the embassy went its way in high glee at its
success.
Next Sunday we went to the chapel to hear mass, and when we came in the
priest was at the altar finishing the Credo. The count looked furious,
and after mass he took me with him to the sacristy, and begun to abuse
and beat the poor priest, in spite of the surplice which he was still
wearing. It was really a shocking sight.
The priest spat in his face and cried help, that being the only revenge
in his power.
Several persons ran in, so we left the sacristy. I was scandalised, and I
told the count that the priest would be certain to go to Udine, and that
it might turn out a very awkward business.
"Try to prevent his doing so," I added, "even by violence, but in the
first place endeavour to pacify him."
No doubt the count was afraid, for he called out to his servants and
ordered them to fetch the priest, whether he could come or no. His order
was executed, and the priest was led in, foaming with rage, cursing the
count, calling him excommunicated wretch, whose very breath was
poisonous; swearing that never another mass should be sung in the chapel
that had been polluted with sacrilege, and finally promising that the
archbishop should avenge him.
The count let him say on, and then forced him into a chair, and the
unworthy ecclesiastic not only ate but got drunk. Thus peace was
concluded, and the abbe forgot all his wrongs.
A few days later two Capuchins came to visit him at noon. They did not
go, and as he did not care to dismiss them, dinner was served without any
place being laid for the friars. Thereupon the bolder of the two informed
the count that he had had no dinner. Without replying, the count had him
accommodated with a plateful of rice. The Capuchin refused it, saying that
he was worthy to sit, not only at his table, but at a monarch's. The
count, who happened to be in a good humour, replied that they called
themselves "unworthy brethren," and that they were consequently not
worthy of any of this world's good things.
The Capuchin made but a poor answer, and as I thought the count to be in
the right I proceeded to back him up, telling the friar he ought to be
ashamed at having committed the sin of pride, so strictly condemned by
the rules of his order.
The Capuchin answered me with a torrent of abuse, so the count ordered a
pair of scissors to be brought, that the beards of the filthy rogues
might be cut off. At this awful threat the two friars made their escape,
and we laughed heartily over the incident.
If all the count's eccentricities had been of this comparatively harmless
and amusing nature, I should not have minded, but such was far from being
the case.
Instead of chyle his organs must have distilled some virulent poison; he
was always at his worst in his after dinner hours. His appetite was
furious; he ate more like a tiger than a man. One day we happened to be
eating woodcock, and I could not help praising the dish in the style of
the true gourmand. He immediately took up his bird, tore it limb from
limb, and gravely bade me not to praise the dishes I liked as it
irritated him. I felt an inclination to laugh and also an inclination to
throw the bottle at his head, which I should probably have indulged in
had I been twenty years younger. However, I did neither, feeling that I
should either leave him or accommodate myself to his humours.
Three months later Madame Costa, the actress whom he had gone to see at
Gorice, told me that she would never have believed in the possibility of
such a creature existing if she had not known Count Torriano.
"Though he is a vigorous lover," she continued, "it is a matter of great
difficulty with him to obtain the crisis; and the wretched woman in his
arms is in imminent danger of being strangled to death if she cannot
conceal her amorous ecstacy. He cannot bear to see another's pleasure. I
pity his wife most heartily."
I will now relate the incident which put an end to my relations with this
venomous creature.
Amidst the idleness and weariness of Spessa I happened to meet a very
pretty and very agreeable young widow. I made her some small presents,
and finally persuaded her to pass the night in my room. She came at
midnight to avoid observation, and left at day-break by a small door
which opened on to the road.
We had amused ourselves in this pleasant manner for about a week, when
one morning my sweetheart awoke me that I might close the door after her
as usual. I had scarcely done so when I heard cries for help. I quickly
opened it again, and I saw the scoundrelly Torriano holding the widow
with one hand while he beat her furiously with a stick he held in the
other. I rushed upon him, and we fell together, while the poor woman made
her escape.
I had only my dressing-gown on, and here I was at a disadvantage; for
civilized man is a poor creature without his clothes. However, I held the
stick with one hand, while I squeezed his throat with the other. On his
side he clung to the stick with his right hand, and pulled my hair with
the left. At last his tongue started out and he had to let go.
I was on my feet again in an instant, and seizing the stick I aimed a
sturdy blow at his head, which, luckily for him, he partially parried.
I did not strike again, so he got up, ran a little way, and began to pick
up stones. However, I did not wait to be pelted, but shut myself in my
room and lay down on the bed, only sorry that I had not choked the
villain outright.
As soon as I had rested I looked to my pistols, dressed myself, and went
out with the intention of looking for some kind of conveyance to take me
back to Gorice. Without knowing it I took a road that led me to the
cottage of the poor widow, whom I found looking calm though sad. She told
me she had received most of the blows on her shoulders, and was not much
hurt. What vexed her was that the affair would become public, as two
peasants had seen the count beating her, and our subsequent combat.
I gave her two sequins, begging her to come and see me at Gorice, and to
tell me where I could find a conveyance.
Her sister offered to shew me the way to a farm, where I could get what I
wanted. On the way she told me that Torriano had been her sister's enemy
before the death of her husband because she rejected all his proposals.
I found a good conveyance at the farm, and the man promised to drive me
in to Gorice by dinner-time.
I gave him half-a-crown as an earnest, and went away, telling him to come
for me.
I returned to the count's and had scarcely finished getting ready when
the conveyance drove up.
I was about to put my luggage in it, when a servant came from the count
asking me to give him a moment's conversation.
I wrote a note in French, saying that after what had passed we ought not
to meet again under his roof.
A minute later he came into my room, and shut the door, saying,--
"As you won't speak to me, I have come to speak to you."
"What have you got to say?"
"If you leave my house in this fashion you will dishonour me, and I will
not allow it."
"Excuse me, but I should very much like to see how you are going to
prevent me from leaving your house."
"I will not allow you to go by yourself; we must go together."
"Certainly; I understand you perfectly. Get your sword or your pistols,
and we will start directly. There is room for two in the carriage."
"That won't do. You must dine with me, and then we can go in my
carriage."
"You make a mistake. I should be a fool if I dined with you when our
miserable dispute is all over the village; to-morrow it will have reached
Gorice."
"If you won't dine with me, I will dine with you, and people may say what
they like. We will go after dinner, so send away that conveyance."
I had to give in to him. The wretched count stayed with me till noon,
endeavouring to persuade me that he had a perfect right to beat a
country-woman in the road, and that I was altogether in the wrong.
I laughed, and said I wondered how he derived his right to beat a free
woman anywhere, and that his pretence that I being her lover had no right
to protect her was a monstrous one.
"She had just left my arms," I continued, "was I not therefore her
natural protector? Only a coward or a monster like yourself would have
remained indifferent, though, indeed, I believe that even you would have
done the same."
A few minutes before we sat down to dinner he said that neither of us
would profit by the adventure, as he meant the duel to be to the death.
"I don't agree with you as far as I am concerned," I replied; "and as to
the duel, you can fight or not fight, as you please; for my part I have
had satisfaction. If we come to a duel I hope to leave you in the land of
the living, though I shall do my best to lay you up for a considerable
time, so that you may have leisure to reflect on your folly. On the other
hand, if fortune favours you, you may act as you please."
"We will go into the wood by ourselves, and my coachman shall have orders
to drive you wherever you like if you come out of the wood by yourself."
"Very good indeed; and which would you prefer--swords or pistols?"
"Swords, I think."
"Then I promise to unload my pistols as soon as we get into the
carriage."
I was astonished to find the usually brutal count become quite polite at
the prospect of a duel. I felt perfectly confident myself, as I was sure
of flooring him at the first stroke by a peculiar lunge. Then I could
escape through Venetian territory where I was not known.
But I had good reasons for supposing that the duel would end in smoke as
so many other duels when one of the parties is a coward, and a coward I
believed the count to be.
We started after an excellent dinner; the count having no luggage, and
mine being strapped behind the carriage.
I took care to draw the charges of my pistols before the count.
I had heard him tell the coachman to drive towards Gorice, but every
moment I expected to hear him order the man to drive up this or that
turning that we might settle our differences.
I asked no questions, feeling that the initiative lay with him; but we
drove on till we were at the gates of Gorice, and I burst out laughing
when I heard the count order the coachman to drive to the posting inn.
As soon as we got there he said,--
"You were in the right; we must remain friends. Promise me not to tell
anyone of what has happened."
I gave him the promise; we shook hands, and everything was over.
The next day I took up my abode in one of the quietest streets to finish
my second volume on the Polish troubles, but I still managed to enjoy
myself during my stay at Gorice. At last I resolved on returning to
Trieste, where I had more chances of serving and pleasing the State
Inquisitors.
I stayed at Gorice till the end of the year 1773, and passed an extremely
pleasant six weeks.
My adventure at Spessa had become public property. At first everybody
addressed me on the subject, but as I laughed and treated the whole thing
as a joke it would soon be forgotten. Torriano took care to be most
polite whenever we met; but I had stamped him as a dangerous character,
and whenever he asked me to dinner or supper I had other engagements.
During the carnival he married the young lady of whom he had spoken to
me, and as long as he lived her life was misery. Fortunately he died a
madman thirteen or fourteen years after.
Whilst I was at Gorice Count Charles Coronini contributed greatly to my
enjoyment. He died four years later, and a month before his death he sent
me his will in ostosyllabic Italian verses--a specimen of philosophic
mirth which I still preserve. It is full of jest and wit, though I
believe if he had guessed the near approach of death he would not have
been so cheerful, for the prospect of imminent destruction can only
enliven the heart of a maniac.
During my stay at Gorice a certain M. Richard Lorrain came there. He was
a bachelor of forty, who had done good financial service under the
Viennese Government, and had now retired with a comfortable pension. He
was a fine man, and his agreeable manners and excellent education
procured him admission into the best company in the town.
I met him at the house of Count Torres, and soon after he was married to
the young countess.
In October the new Council of Ten and the new Inquisitors took office,
and my protectors wrote to me that if they could not obtain my pardon in
the course of the next twelve months they would be inclined to despair.
The first of the Inquisitors was Sagredo, and intimate friend of the
Procurator Morosini's; the second, Grimani, the friend of my good
Dandolo; and M. Zaguri wrote to me that he would answer for the third,
who, according to law, was one of the six councillors who assist the
Council of Ten.
It may not be generally known that the Council of Ten is really a council
of seventeen, as the Doge has always a right to be present.
I returned to Trieste determined to do my best for the Tribunal, for I
longed to return to Venice after nineteen years' wanderings.
I was then forty-nine, and I expected no more of Fortune's gifts, for the
deity despises those of ripe age. I thought, however, that I might live
comfortably and independently at Venice.
I had talents and experience, I hoped to make use of them, and I thought
the Inquisitors would feel bound to give me some sufficient employment.
I was writing the history of the Polish troubles, the first volume was
printed, the second was in preparation, and I thought of concluding the
work in seven volumes. Afterwards I had a translation of the "Iliad" in
view, and other literary projects would no doubt present themselves.
In fine, I thought myself sure of living in Venice, where many persons
who would be beggars elsewhere continue to live at their ease.
I left Gorice on the last day of December, 1773, and on January 1st I
took up my abode at Trieste.
I could not have received a warmer welcome. Baron Pittoni, the Venetian
consul, all the town councillors, and the members of the club, seemed
delighted to see me again. My carnival was a pleasant one, and in the
beginning of Lent I published the second volume of my work on Poland.
The chief object of interest to me at Trieste was an actress in a company
that was playing there. She was no other than the daughter of the
so-called Count Rinaldi, and my readers may remember her under the name
of Irene. I had loved her at Milan, and neglected her at Genoa on account
of her father's misdeeds, and at Avignon I had rescued her at Marcoline's
request. Eleven years had passed by since I had heard of her.
I was astonished to see her, and I think more sorry than glad, for she
was still beautiful, and I might fall in love again; and being no longer
in a position to give her assistance, the issue might be unfortunate for
me. However, I called on her the next day, and was greeted with a shriek
of delight. She told me she had seen me at the theatre, and felt sure I
would come and see her.
She introduced me to her husband, who played parts like Scapin, and to
her nine-year-old daughter, who had a talent for dancing.
She gave me an abridged account of her life since we had met. In the year
I had seen her at Avignon she had gone to Turin with her father. At Turin
she fell in love with her present husband, and left her parents to join
her lot to his.
"Since that," she said, "I have heard of my father's death, but I do not
know what has become of my mother."
After some further conversation she told me she was a faithful wife,
though she did not push fidelity so far as to drive a rich lover to
despair.
"I have no lovers here," she added, "but I give little suppers to a few
friends. I don't mind the expense, as I win some money at faro."
She was the banker, and she begged me to join the party now and then.
"I will come after the play to-night," I replied, "but you must not
expect any high play of me."
I kept the appointment and supped with a number of silly young tradesmen,
who were all in love with her.
After supper she held a bank, and I was greatly astonished when I saw her
cheating with great dexterity. It made me want to laugh; however, I lost
my florins with a good grace and left. However, I did not mean to let
Irene think she was duping me, and I went to see her next morning at
rehearsal, and complimented her on her dealing. She pretended not to
understand what I meant, and on my explaining myself she had the
impudence to tell me that I was mistaken.
In my anger I turned my back on her saying, "You will be sorry for this
some day."
At this she began to laugh, and said, "Well, well, I confess! and if you
tell me how much you lost you shall have it back, and if you like you
shall be a partner in the game."
"No, thank you, Irene, I will not be present at any more of your suppers.
But I warn you to be cautious; games of chance are strictly forbidden."
"I know that, but all the young men have promised strict secrecy."
"Come and breakfast with me whenever you like."
A few days later she came, bringing her daughter with her. The girl was
pretty, and allowed me to caress her.
One day Baron Pittoni met them at my lodgings, and as he liked young
girls as well as I he begged Irene to make her daughter include him in
her list of favoured lovers.
I advised her not to reject the offer, and the baron fell in love with
her, which was a piece of luck for Irene, as she was accused of playing
unlawful games, and would have been severely treated if the baron had not
given her warning. When the police pounced on her, they found no gaming
and no gamesters, and nothing could be done.
Irene left Trieste at the beginning of Lent with the company to which she
belonged. Three years later I saw her again at Padua. Her daughter had
become a charming girl, and our acquaintance was renewed in the tenderest
manner.
[Thus abruptly end the Memoirs of Giacome Casanova,
Chevalier de Seingalt, Knight of the Golden Spur,
Prothonotary Apostolic, and Scoundrel Cosmopolitic.]
EPISODE 30 -- OLD AGE AND DEATH OF CASANOVA
APPENDIX AND SUPPLEMENT
Whether the author died before the work was complete, whether the
concluding volumes were destroyed by himself or his literary executors,
or whether the MS. fell into bad hands, seems a matter of uncertainty,
and the materials available towards a continuation of the Memoirs are
extremely fragmentary. We know, however, that Casanova at last succeeded
in obtaining his pardon from the authorities of the Republic, and he
returned to Venice, where he exercised the honourable office of secret
agent of the State Inquisitors--in plain language, he became a spy. It
seems that the Knight of the Golden Spur made a rather indifferent
"agent;" not surely, as a French writer suggests, because the dirty work
was too dirty for his fingers, but probably because he was getting old
and stupid and out-of-date, and failed to keep in touch with new forms of
turpitude. He left Venice again and paid a visit to Vienna, saw beloved
Paris once more, and there met Count Wallenstein, or Waldstein. The
conversation turned on magic and the occult sciences, in, which Casanova
was an adept, as the reader of the Memoirs will remember, and the count
took a fancy to the charlatan. In short Casanova became librarian at the
count's Castle of Dux, near Teplitz, and there he spent the fourteen
remaining years of his life.
As the Prince de Ligne (from whose Memoirs we learn these particulars)
remarks, Casanova's life had been a stormy and adventurous one, and it
might have been expected that he would have found his patron's library a
pleasant refuge after so many toils and travels. But the man carried
rough weather and storm in his own heart, and found daily opportunities
of mortification and resentment. The coffee was ill made, the maccaroni
not cooked in the true Italian style, the dogs had bayed during the
night, he had been made to dine at a small table, the parish priest had
tried to convert him, the soup had been served too hot on purpose to
annoy him, he had not been introduced to a distinguished guest, the count
had lent a book without telling him, a groom had not taken off his hat;
such were his complaints. The fact is Casanova felt his dependent
position and his utter poverty, and was all the more determined to stand
to his dignity as a man who had talked with all the crowned heads of
Europe, and had fought a duel with the Polish general. And he had another
reason for finding life bitter--he had lived beyond his time. Louis XV.
was dead, and Louis XVI. had been guillotined; the Revolution had come;
and Casanova, his dress, and his manners, appeared as odd and antique as
some "blood of the Regency" would appear to us of these days. Sixty years
before, Marcel, the famous dancing-master, had taught young Casanova how
to enter a room with a lowly and ceremonious bow; and still, though the
eighteenth century is drawing to a close, old Casanova enters the rooms
of Dux with the same stately bow, but now everyone laughs. Old Casanova
treads the grave measures of the minuet; they applauded his dancing once,
but now everyone laughs. Young Casanova was always dressed in the height
of the fashion; but the age of powder, wigs, velvets, and silks has
departed, and old Casanova's attempts at elegance ("Strass" diamonds have
replaced the genuine stones with him) are likewise greeted with laughter.
No wonder the old adventurer denounces the whole house of Jacobins and
canaille; the world, he feels, is permanently out of joint for him;
everything is cross, and everyone is in a conspiracy to drive the iron
into his soul.
At last these persecutions, real or imaginary, drive him away from Dux;
he considers his genius bids him go, and, as before, he obeys. Casanova
has but little pleasure or profit out of this his last journey; he has to
dance attendance in ante-chambers; no one will give him any office,
whether as tutor, librarian, or chamberlain. In one quarter only is he
well received--namely, by the famous Duke of Weimar; but in a few days he
becomes madly jealous of the duke's more famous proteges, Goethe and
Wieland, and goes off declaiming against them and German literature
generally--with which literature he was wholly unacquainted. From Weimar
to Berlin; where there are Jews to whom he has introductions. Casanova
thinks them ignorant, superstitious, and knavish; but they lend him
money, and he gives bills on Count Wallenstein, which are paid. In six
weeks the wanderer returns to Dux, and is welcomed with open arms; his
journeys are over at last.
But not his troubles. A week after his return there are strawberries at
dessert; everyone is served before himself, and when the plate comes
round to him it is empty. Worse still: his portrait is missing from his
room, and is discovered 'salement placarde a la porte des lieux
d'aisance'!
Five more years of life remained to him. They were passed in such petty
mortifications as we have narrated, in grieving over his 'afreuse
vieillesse', and in laments over the conquest of his native land Venice,
once so splendid and powerful. His appetite began to fail, and with it
failed his last source of pleasure, so death came to him somewhat as a
release. He received the sacraments with devotion, exclaimed,--
"Grand Dieu, et vous tous temoins de ma mort, j'ai vecu en philosophe, et
je meurs en Chretien," and so died.
It was a quiet ending to a wonderfully brilliant and entirely useless
career. It has been suggested that if the age in which Casanova lived had
been less corrupt, he himself might have used his all but universal
talents to some advantage, but to our mind Casanova would always have
remained Casanova. He came of a family of adventurers, and the reader of
his Memoirs will remark how he continually ruined his prospects by his
ineradicable love for disreputable company. His "Bohemianism" was in his
blood, and in his old age he regrets--not his past follies, but his
inability to commit folly any longer. Now and again we are inclined to
pronounce Casanova to be an amiable man; and if to his generosity and
good nature he had added some elementary knowledge of the distinction
between right and wrong, he might certainly have laid some claim to the
character. The Prince de Ligne draws the following portrait of him under
the name of Aventuros:
"He would be a handsome man if he were not ugly; he is tall and strongly
built, but his dark complexion and his glittering eyes give him a fierce
expression. He is easier to annoy than amuse; he laughs little but makes
others laugh by the peculiar turn he gives to his conversation. He knows
everything except those matters on the knowledge of which he chiefly
prides himself, namely, dancing, the French language, good taste, and
knowledge of the world. Everything about him is comic, except his
comedies; and all his writings are philosophical, saving those which
treat of philosophy. He is a perfect well of knowledge, but he quotes
Homer and Horace ad nauseam."
SUPPLEMENT
TO
THE MEMOIRS OF
JACQUES CASANOVA
DE SEINGALT
Containing an Outline of Casanova's career from the
year 1774, when his own Memoirs abruptly
end, until his death in 1798
PART THE FIRST -- VENICE 1774-1782
I -- CASANOVA'S RETURN TO VENICE
Thus Casanova ended his Memoirs, concluding his narrative with his
sojourn at Trieste, in January 1774, where he had remained, except for a
few excursions, since the 15th November 1772. He was forty-nine years of
age. Since his unfortunate experiences in England, the loss of his
fortune and the failure of his efforts to obtain congenial and
remunerative employment in Germany or Russia, he had come to concentrate
his efforts on a return to his native city.
Of his faithful friends, the nobles Bragadin, Barbaro and Dandolo, the
first had died in 1767, having gone into debt "that I might have enough,"
sending Casanova, from his death-bed, a last gift of a thousand crowns.
Barbaro who had died also, in 1771, left Casanova a life-income of six
sequins a month. The survivor, Dandolo, was poor, but until his death, he
also gave Casanova a monthly provision of six sequins. However, Casanova
was not without influential friends who might not only obtain a pardon
from the State Inquisitors but also assist him to employment; and, in
fact, it was through such influence as that wielded by the Avogador
Zaguri and the Procurator Morosini, that Casanova received his pardon,
and later, a position as "Confidant," or Secret Agent, to the Inquisitors
at Venice.
Casanova re-entered Venice the 14th September 1774 and, presenting
himself, on the 18th, to Marc-Antoine Businello, Secretary of the
Tribunal of the Inquisitors of State, was advised that mercy had been
accorded him by reason of his refutation of the History of the Venetian
Government by Amelot de la Houssaie which he had written during his
forty-two day imprisonment at Barcelona in 1768. The three Inquisitors,
Francesco Grimani, Francesco Sagredo and Paolo Bembo, invited him to
dinner to hear his story of his escape from The Leads.
In 1772, Bandiera, the Republic's resident at Ancona, drew this portrait
of Casanova:
"One sees everywhere this unhappy rebel against the justice of the August
Council, presenting himself boldly, his head carried high, and well
equipped. He is received in many houses and announces his intention of
going to Trieste and, from there, of returning to Germany. He is a man of
forty years or more," [in reality, forty-seven] "of high stature and
excellent appearance, vigorous, of a very brown color, the eye bright,
the wig short and chestnut-brown. He is said to be haughty and
disdainful; he speaks at length, with spirit and erudition." [Letter of
information to the Very Illustrious Giovanni Zon, Secretary of the August
Council of Ten at Venice. 2 October 1772.]
Returning to Venice after an absence of eighteen years, Casanova renewed
his acquaintance with many old friends, among whom were:
The Christine of the Memoirs. Charles, who married Christine, the
marriage being arranged by Casanova while in Venice in 1747, was of
financial assistance to Casanova, who "found him a true friend." Charles
died "a few months before my last departure from Venice," in 1783.
Mlle. X---- C---- V----, really Giustina de Wynne, widow of the Count
Rosenberg, Austrian Ambassador at Venice. "Fifteen years afterwards, I
saw her again and she was a widow, happy enough, apparently, and enjoying
a great reputation on account of her rank, wit and social qualities, but
our connection was never renewed."
Callimena, who was kind to him "for love's sake alone" at Sorrento in
1770.
Marcoline, the girl he took away from his younger brother, the Abby
Casanova, at Geneva in 1763.
Father Balbi, the companion of his flight from The Leads.
Doctor Gozzi, his former teacher at Padua, now become Arch-Priest of St.
George of the Valley, and his sister Betting. "When I went to pay him a
visit . . . she breathed her last in my arms, in 1776, twenty-four hours
after my arrival. I will speak of her death in due time."
Angela Toselli, his first passion. In 1758 this girl married the advocate
Francesco Barnaba Rizzotti, and in the following year she gave birth to a
daughter, Maria Rizzotti (later married to a M. Kaiser) who lived at
Vienna and whose letters to Casanova were preserved at Dux.
C---- C----, the young girl whose love affair with Casanova became
involved with that of the nun M---- M---- Casanova found her in Venice "a
widow and poorly off."
The dancing girl Binetti, who assisted Casanova in his flight from
Stuttgart in 1760, whom he met again in London in 1763, and who was the
cause of his duel with Count Branicki at Warsaw in 1766. She danced
frequently at Venice between 1769 and 1780.
The good and indulgent Mme. Manzoni, "of whom I shall have to speak very
often."
The patricians Andrea Memmo and his brother Bernardo who, with P. Zaguri
were personages of considerable standing in the Republic and who remained
his constant friends. Andrea Memmo was the cause of the embarrassment in
which Mlle. X---- C---- V---- found herself in Paris and which Casanova
vainly endeavored to remove by applications of his astonishing specific,
the 'aroph of Paracelsus'.
It was at the house of these friends that Casanova became acquainted with
the poet, Lorenzo Da Ponte. "I made his acquaintance," says the latter,
in his own Memoirs, "at the house of Zaguri and the house of Memmo, who
both sought after his always interesting conversation, accepting from
this man all he had of good, and closing their eyes, on account of his
genius, upon the perverse parts of his nature."
Lorenzo Da Ponte, known above all as Mozart's librettist, and whose youth
much resembled that of Casanova, was accused of having eaten ham on
Friday and was obliged to flee from Venice in 1777, to escape the
punishment of the Tribunal of Blasphemies. In his Memoirs, he speaks
unsparingly of his compatriot and yet, as M. Rava notes, in the numerous
letters he wrote Casanova, and which were preserved at Dux, he proclaims
his friendship and admiration.
Irene Rinaldi, whom he met again at Padua in 1777, with her daughter who
"had become a charming girl; and our acquaintance was renewed in the
tenderest manner."
The ballet-girl Adelaide, daughter of Mme. Soavi, who was also a dancer,
and of a M. de Marigny.
Barbara, who attracted Casanova's attention at Trieste, in 1773, while he
was frequenting a family named Leo, but toward whom he had maintained an
attitude of respect. This girl, on meeting him again in 1777, declared
that "she had guessed my real feelings and had been amused by my foolish
restraint."
At Pesaro, the Jewess Leah, with whom he had the most singular
experiences at Ancona in 1772.
II -- RELATIONS WITH THE INQUISITORS
Soon after reaching Venice, Casanova learned that the Landgrave of Hesse
Cassel, following the example of other German princes, wished a Venetian
correspondent for his private affairs. Through some influence he believed
he might obtain this small employment; but before applying for the
position he applied to the Secretary of the Tribunal for permission.
Apparently nothing came of this, and Casanova obtained no definite
employment until 1776.
Early in 1776, Casanova entered the service of the Tribunal of
Inquisitors as an "occasional Confidant," under the fictitious name of
Antonio Pratiloni, giving his address as "at the Casino of S. E. Marco
Dandolo."
In October 1780, his appointment was more definitely established and he
was given a salary of fifteen ducats a month. This, with the six sequins
of life-income left by Barbaro and the six given by Dandolo, gave him a
monthly income of three hundred and eighty-four lires--about seventy-four
U. S. dollars--from 1780 until his break with the Tribunal at the end of
1781.
In the Archives of Venice are preserved forty-eight letters from
Casanova, including the Reports he wrote as a "Confidant," all in the
same handwriting as the manuscript of the Memoirs. The Reports may be
divided into two classes: those referring to commercial or industrial
matters, and those referring to the public morals.
Among those of the first class, we find:
A Report relating to Casanova's success in having a change made in the
route of the weekly diligence running from Trieste to Mestre, for which
service, rendered during Casanova's residence at Trieste in 1773, he
received encouragement and the sum of one hundred ducats from the
Tribunal.
A Report, the 8th September 1776, with information concerning the rumored
project of the future Emperor of Austria to invade Dalmatia after the
death of Maria Theresa. Casanova stated he had received this information
from a Frenchman, M. Salz de Chalabre, whom he had known in Paris twenty
years before. This M. Chalabre [printed Calabre] was the pretended nephew
of Mme. Amelin. "This young man was as like her as two drops of water,
but she did not find that a sufficient reason for avowing herself his
mother." The boy was, in fact, the son of Mme. Amelin and of M. de
Chalabre, who had lived together for a long time.
A Report, the 12th of December 1776, of a secret mission to Trieste, in
regard to a project of the court of Vienna for making Fiume a French
port; the object being to facilitate communications between this port and
the interior of Hungary. For this inquiry, Casanova received sixteen
hundred lires, his expenditures amounting to seven hundred and sixty-six
lires.
A Report, May-July 1779, of an excursion in the market of Ancona for
information concerning the commercial relations of the Pontifical States
with the Republic of Venice. At Forli, in the course of this excursion,
Casanova visited the dancing-girl Binetti. For this mission Casanova
received forty-eight sequins.
A Report, January 1780, remarking a clandestine recruiting carried out by
a certain Marrazzani for the [Prussian] regiment of Zarembal.
A Report, the 11th October 1781, regarding a so-called Baldassare
Rossetti, a Venetian subject living at Trieste, whose activities and
projects were of a nature to prejudice the commerce and industry of the
Republic.
Among the Reports relating to public morals may be noted:
December 1776. A Report on the seditious character of a ballet called
"Coriolanus." The back of this report is inscribed: "The impressario of
S. Benedetto, Mickel de l'Agata, shall be summoned immediately; it has
been ordered that he cease, under penalty of his life, from giving the
ballet Coriolanus at the theater. Further, he is to collect and deposit
all the printed programmes of this ballet."
December 1780. A Report calling to the attention of the Tribunal the
scandalous disorders produced in the theaters when the lights were
extinguished.
3rd May 1781. A Report remarking that the Abbe Carlo Grimani believed
himself exempt, in his position as a priest, from the interdiction laid
on patricians against frequenting foreign ministers and their suites. On
the back of this Report is written: "Ser Jean Carlo, Abbe Grimani, to be
gently reminded, by the Secretary, of the injunction to abstain from all
commerce with foreign ministers and their adherents."
Venetian nobles were forbidden under penalty of death from holding any
communication with foreign ambassadors or their households. This was
intended as a precaution to preserve the secrets of the Senate.
26th November 1781. A Report concerning a painting academy where nude
studies were made, from models of both sexes, while scholars only twelve
or thirteen years of age were admitted, and where dilettantes who were
neither painters nor designers, attended the sessions.
22nd December 1781. By order, Casanova reported to the Tribunal a list of
the principal licentious or antireligious books to be found in the
libraries and private collections at Venice: la Pucelle; la Philosophie
de l'Histoire; L'Esprit d'Helvetius; la Sainte Chandelle d'Arras; les
Bijoux indiscrets; le Portier des Chartreux; les Posies de Baffo; Ode a
Priape; de Piron; etc., etc.
In considering this Report, which has been the subject of violent
criticism, we should bear in mind three points:
first--the Inquisitors required this information; second--no one in their
employ could have been in a better position to give it than Casanova;
third--Casanova was morally and economically bound, as an employee of the
Tribunal, to furnish the information ordered, whatever his personal
distaste for the undertaking may have been. We may even assume that he
permitted himself to express his feelings in some indiscreet way, and his
break with the Tribunal followed, for, at the end of 1781, his commission
was withdrawn. Certainly, Casanova's almost absolute dependence on his
salary, influenced the letter he wrote the Inquisitors at this time.
"To the Illustrious and Most Excellent Lords, the Inquisitors of State:
"Filled with confusion, overwhelmed with sorrow and repentance,
recognizing myself absolutely unworthy of addressing my vile letter to
Your Excellencies confessing that I have failed in my duty in the
opportunities which presented themselves, I, Jacques Casanova, invoke, on
my knees, the mercy of the Prince; I beg that, in compassion and grace,
there may be accorded me that which, in all justice and on reflection,
may be refused me.
"I ask the Sovereign Munificence to come to my aid, so that, with the
means of subsistence, I may apply myself vigorously, in the future, to
the service to which I have been privileged.
"After this respectful supplication, the wisdom of Your Excellencies may
judge the disposition of my spirit and of my intentions."
The Inquisitors decided to award Casanova one month's pay, but specified
that thereafter he would receive salary only when he rendered important
services.
In 1782 Casanova made a few more Reports to the Tribunal, for one of
which, regarding the failure of an insurance and commercial house at
Trieste, he received six sequins. But the part of a guardian of the
public morals, even through necessity, was undoubtedly unpleasant to him;
and, in spite of the financial loss, it may be that his release was a
relief.
III -- FRANCESCA BUSCHINI
Intimately connected with Casanova's life at this period was a girl named
Francesca Buschini. This name does not appear in any of the literary,
artistic or theatrical records of the period, and, of the girl, nothing
is known other than that which she herself tells us in her letters to
Casanova. From these very human letters, however, we may obtain, not only
certain facts, but also, a very excellent idea of her character.
Thirty-two of her letters, dated between July 1779 and October 1787,
written in the Venetian dialect, were preserved in the library at Dux.
She was a seamstress, although often without work, and had a brother, a
younger sister and also a mother living with her. The probabilities are
that she was a girl of the most usual sort, but greatly attached to
Casanova who, even in his poverty, must have dazzled her as a being from
another world. She was his last Venetian love, and remained a faithful
correspondent until 1787; and it is chiefly from her letters, in which
she comments on news contained in Casanova's letters to her, that light
is thrown on the Vienna-Paris period, particularly, of Casanova's life.
For this, Francesca has placed us greatly in her debt.
With this girl, at least between 1779 and 1782, Casanova rented a small
house at Barbaria delle Tole, near S. Giustina, from the noble Pesaro at
S. Stae. Casanova, always in demand for his wit and learning, often took
dinner in the city. He knew that a place always awaited him at the house
of Memmo and at that of Zaguri and that, at the table of these
patricians, who were distinguished by their intellectual superiority, he
would meet men notable in science and letters. Being so long and so
closely connected with theatrical circles, he was often seen at the
theater, with Francesca. Thus, the 9th August 1786, the poor girl, in an
excess of chagrin writes: "Where are all the pleasures which formerly you
procured me? Where are the theatres, the comedies which we once saw
together?"
On the 28th July 1779, Francesca wrote:
"Dearest and best beloved,
" . . . In the way of novelties, I find nothing except that S. E. Pietro
Zaguri has arrived at Venice; his servant has been twice to ask for you,
and I have said you were still at the Baths of Abano . . ."
The Casanova-Buschini establishment kept up relations, more or less
frequent and intimate, with a few persons, most of whom are mentioned in
Francesca's letters; the Signora Anzoletta Rizzotti; the Signora
Elisabeth Catrolli, an ancient comedienne; the Signora Bepa Pezzana; the
Signora Zenobia de Monti, possibly the mother of that Carlo de Monti,
Venetian Consul at Trieste, who was a friend to Casanova and certainly
contributed toward obtaining his pardon from the Inquisitors; a M. Lunel,
master of languages, and his wife.
IV -- PUBLICATIONS
Casanova's principal writings during this period were:
His translation of the Iliad, the first volume of which was issued in
1775, the second in 1777 and the third in 1778.
During his stay at Abano in 1778, he wrote the Scrutinio del libro,
eulogies of M. de Voltaire "by various hands." In the dedication of this
book, to the Doge Renier, he wrote, "This little book has recently come
from my inexperienced pen, in the hours of leisure which are frequent at
Abano for those who do not come only for the baths."
From January until July 1780, he published, anonymously, a series of
miscellaneous small works, seven pamphlets of about one hundred pages
each, distributed at irregular intervals to subscribers.
From the 7th October to the end of December, 1780, on the occasions of
the representations given by a troupe of French comedians at the San
Angelo theater, Casanova wrote a little paper called The Messenger of
Thalia. In one of the numbers, he wrote:
"French is not my tongue; I make no pretentions and, wrong or astray, I
place on the paper what heaven sends from my pen. I give birth to phrases
turned to Italian, either to see what they look like or to produce a
style, and often, also, to draw, into a purist's snare, some critical
doctor who does not know my humor or how my offense amuses me."
The "little romance" referred to in the following letter to "Mlle.
X---- C---- V----," appeared in 1782, with the title; 'Di anecdoti vinizani
militari a amorosi del secolo decimo quarto sotto i dogati di Giovanni
Gradenigoe di Giovanni Dolfin'. Venezia, 1782.
V -- MLLE. X . . . C . . . V. . .
In 1782, a letter written by this lady, Giustina de Wynne, referring to a
visit to Venice of Paul I, Grand Duke, afterward Emperor of Russia, and
his wife, was published under the title of Du sejour des Comptes du Nord
a Venise en janvier mdcclxxxii. If he had not previously done so,
Casanova took this occasion to recall himself to the memory of this lady
to whom he had once been of such great service. And two very polite
letters were exchanged:
"Madam,
"The fine epistle which V. E. has allowed to be printed upon the sojourn
of C. and of the C. du Nord in this city, exposes you, in the position of
an author, to endure the compliments of all those who trouble themselves
to write. But I flatter myself, Madam, that V. E. will not disdain mine.
"The little romance, Madam, a translation from my dull and rigid pen, is
not a gift but a very paltry offering which I dare make to the
superiority of your merit.
"I have found, Madam, in your letter, the simple, flowing style of
gentility, the one which alone a woman of condition who writes to her
friend may use with dignity. Your digressions and your thoughts are
flowers which . . . (forgive an author who pilfers from you the delicious
nonchalance of an amiable writer) or . . . a will-o'-the-wisp which, from
time to time, issues from the work, in spite of the author, and burns the
paper.
"I aspire, Madam, to render myself favorable to the deity to which reason
advises me to make homage. Accept then the offering and render happy he
who makes it with your indulgence.
"I have the honor to sign myself, if you will kindly permit me, with very
profound respect.
"Giacomo Casanova."
"Monsieur
"I am very sensible, Monsieur, of the distinction which comes to me from
your approbation of my little pamphlet. The interest of the moment, its
references and the exaltation of spirits have gained for it the tolerance
and favorable welcome of the good Venetians. It is to your politeness in
particular, Monsieur, that I believe is due the marked success which my
work has had with you. I thank you for the book which you sent me and I
will risk thanking you in advance for the pleasure it will give me. Be
persuaded of my esteem for yourself and for your talents. And I have the
honor to be, Monsieur.
"Your very humble servant de Wynne de Rosemberg."
Among Casanova's papers at Dux was a page headed "Souvenir," dated the
2nd September 1791, and beginning: "While descending the staircase, the
Prince de Rosemberg told me that Madame de Rosemberg was dead . . . .
This Prince de Rosemberg was the nephew of Giustina."
Giustina died, after a long illness, at Padua, the 21st August 1791, at
the age of fifty-four years and seven months.
VI -- LAST DAYS AT VENICE
Toward the end of 1782, doubtless convinced that he could expect nothing
more from the Tribunal, Casanova entered the service of the Marquis
Spinola as a secretary. Some years before, a certain Carletti, an officer
in the service of the court of Turin, had won from the Marquis a wager of
two hundred and fifty sequins. The existence of this debt seemed to have
completely disappeared from the memory of the loser. By means of the firm
promise of a pecuniary recompense, Casanova intervened to obtain from his
patron a written acknowledgment of the debt owing to Carletti. His effort
was successful; but instead of clinking cash, Carletti contented himself
with remitting to the negotiator an assignment on the amount of the
credit. Casanova's anger caused a violent dispute, in the course of which
Carlo Grimani, at whose house the scene took place, placed him in the
wrong and imposed silence.
The irascible Giacomo conceived a quick resentment. To discharge his
bile, he found nothing less than to publish in the course of the month of
August, under the title of: 'Ne amori ne donne ovvero la Stalla d'Angia
repulita', a libel in which Jean Carlo Grimani, Carletti, and other
notable persons were outraged under transparent mythological pseudonyms.
This writing embroiled the author with the entire body of the Venetian
nobility.
To allow the indignation against him to quiet down, Casanova went to pass
some days at Trieste, then returned to Venice to put his affairs in
order. The idea of recommencing his wandering life alarmed him. "I have
lived fifty-eight years," he wrote, "I could not go on foot with winter
at hand, and when I think of starting on the road to resume my
adventurous life, I laugh at myself in the mirror."
PART THE SECOND -- VIENNA-PARIS
I -- 1783-1785
TRAVELS IN 1783
Casanova left Venice in January 1783, and went to Vienna.
On the 16th April Elisabeth Catrolli wrote to him at Vienna:
"Dearest of friends,
"Your letter has given me great pleasure. Be assured, I infinitely regret
your departure. I have but two sincere friends, yourself and Camerani. I
do not hope for more. I could be happy if I could have at least one of
you near me to whom I could confide my cruel anxieties.
"To-day, I received from Camerani a letter informing me that, in a former
one, he had sent me a bill of exchange: I did not receive it, and I fear
it has been lost.
"Dear friend, when you reach Paris, clasp him to your heart for me . . .
In regard to Chechina [Francesca Buschini] I would say that I have not
seen her since the day I took her your letter. Her mother is the ruin of
that poor girl; let that suffice; I will say no more . . . . "
After leaving Venice, Casanova apparently took an opportunity to pay his
last disrespects to the Tribunal. At least, in May 1783, M. Schlick,
French Secretary at Venice, wrote to Count Vergennes: "Last week there
reached the State Inquisitors an anonymous letter stating that, on the
25th of this month, an earthquake, more terrible than that of Messina,
would raze Venice to the ground. This letter has caused a panic here.
Many patricians have left the capital and others will follow their
example. The author of the anonymous letter . . . is a certain Casanova,
who wrote from Vienna and found means to slip it into the Ambassador's
own mails."
In about four months, Casanova was again on the way to Italy. He paused
for a week at Udine and arrived at Venice on the 16th June. Without
leaving his barge, he paused at his house just long enough to salute
Francesca. He left Mestre on Tuesday the 24th June and on the same day
dined at the house of F. Zanuzzi at Bassano. On the 25th he left Bassano
by post and arrived in the evening at Borgo di Valsugano.
On the 29th, he wrote to Francesca from the Augsbourg. He had stopped at
Innsbruck to attend the theater and was in perfect health. He had reached
Frankfort in forty-eight hours, traveling eighteen posts without
stopping.
From Aix-la-Chapelle, on the 16th July, he wrote Francesca that he had
met, in that city, Cattina, the wife of Pocchini. Pocchini was sick and
in deep misery. Casanova, recalling all the abominable tricks this rogue
had played on him refused Cattina the assistance she begged for in tears,
laughed in her face, and said: "Farewell, I wish you a pleasant death."
At Mayence, Casanova embarked on the Rhine in company with the Marquis
Durazzo, former Austrian Ambassador at Venice. The voyage was excellent
and in two days he arrived at Cologne, in rugged health, sleeping well
and eating like a wolf.
On the 30th July he wrote to Francesca from Spa and in this letter
enclosed a good coin. Everything was dear at Spa; his room cost eight
lires a day with everything else in proportion.
On the 6th September he wrote from Antwerp to one of his good friends,
the Abbe Eusebio della Lena, telling him that at Spa an English woman who
had a passion for speaking Latin wished to submit him to trials which he
judged it unnecessary to state precisely. He refused all her proposals,
saying, however, that he would not reveal them to anyone; but that he did
not feel he should refuse also "an order on her banker for twenty-five
guineas."
On the 9th he wrote to Francesca from Brussels, and on the 12th he sent
her a bill of exchange on the banker Corrado for one hundred and fifty
lires. He said he had been intoxicated "because his reputation had
required it." "This greatly astonishes me," Francesca responded, "for I
have never seen you intoxicated nor even illuminated . . . . I am very
happy that the wine drove away the inflammation in your teeth."
Practically all information of Casanova's movements in 1783 and 1784 is
obtained from Francesca's letters which were in the library at Dux.
In her letters of the 27th June and 11th July, Francesca wrote Casanova
that she had directed the Jew Abraham to sell Casanova's satin habit and
velvet breeches, but could not hope for more than fifty lires because
they were patched. Abraham had observed that at one time the habit had
been placed in pledge with him by Casanova for three sequins.
On the 6th September, she wrote:
"With great pleasure, I reply to the three dear letters which you wrote
me from Spa: the first of the 6th August, from which I learned that your
departure had been delayed for some days to wait for someone who was to
arrive in that city. I was happy that your appetite had returned, because
good cheer is your greatest pleasure . . . .
"In your second letter which you wrote me from Spa on the 16th August, I
noted with sorrow that your affairs were not going as you wished. But
console yourself, dear friend, for happiness will come after trouble; at
least, I wish it so, also, for you yourself can imagine in what need I
find myself, I and all my family . . . . I have no work, because I have
not the courage to ask it of anyone. My mother has not earned even enough
to pay for the gold thread with the little cross which you know I love.
Necessity made me sell it.
"I received your last letter of the 20th August from Spa with another
letter for S. E. the Procurator Morosini. You directed me to take it to
him myself, and on Sunday the last day of August, I did not fail to go
there exactly at three o'clock. At once on my arrival, I spoke to a
servant who admitted me without delay; but, my dear friend, I regret
having to send you an unpleasant message. As soon as I handed him the
letter, and before he even opened it, he said to me, 'I always know
Casanova's affairs which trouble me.' After having read hardly more than
a page, he said: 'I know not what to do!' I told him that, on the 6th of
this month, I was to write you at Paris and that, if he would do me the
honor of giving me his reply, I would put it in my letter. Imagine what
answer he gave me! I was much surprised! He told me that I should wish
you happiness but that he would not write to you again. He said no more.
I kissed his hands and left. He did not give me even a sou. That is all
he said to me . . . .
"S. E. Pietro Zaguri sent to me to ask if I knew where you were, because
he had written two letters to Spa and had received no reply . . . ."
II -- PARIS
On the night of the 18th or 19th September 1783, Casanova arrived at
Paris.
On the 30th he wrote Francesca that he had been well received by his
sister-in-law and by his brother, Francesco Casanova, the painter. Nearly
all his friends had departed for the other world, and he would now have
to make new ones, which would be difficult as he was no longer pleasing
to the women.
On the 14th October he wrote again, saying that he was in good health and
that Paris was a paradise which made him feel twenty years old. Four
letters followed; in the first, dated from Paris on S. Martin's Day, he
told Francesco not to reply for he did not know whether he would prolong
his visit nor where he might go. Finding no fortune in Paris, he said he
would go and search elsewhere. On the 23rd, he sent one hundred and fifty
lires; "a true blessing," to the poor girl who was always short of money.
Between times, Casanova passed eight days at Fontainebleau, where he met
"a charming young man of twenty-five," the son of "the young and lovely
O'Morphi" who indirectly owed to him her position, in 1752, as the
mistress of Louis XV. "I wrote my name on his tablets and begged him to
present my compliments to his mother."
He also met, in the same place, his own son by Mme. Dubois, his former
housekeeper at Soleure who had married the good M. Lebel. "We shall hear
of the young gentleman in twenty-one years at Fontainebleau."
"When I paid my third visit to Paris, with the intention of ending my
days in that capital, I reckoned on the friendship of M. d'Alembert, but
he died, like, Fontenelle, a fortnight after my arrival, toward the end
of 1783."
It is interesting to know that, at this time, Casanova met his famous
contemporary, Benjamin Franklin. "A few days after the death of the
illustrious d'Alembert," Casanova assisted, at the old Louvre, in a
session of the Academie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres. "Seated
beside the learned Franklin, I was a little surprised to hear Condorcet
ask him if he believed that one could give various directions to an air
balloon. This was the response: 'The matter is still in its infancy, so
we must wait.' I was surprised. It is not believable that the great
philosopher could ignore the fact that it would be impossible to give the
machine any other direction than that governed by the air which fills it,
but these people 'nil tam verentur, quam ne dubitare aliqua de re
videantur."
On the 13th November, Casanova left Paris in company with his brother,
Francesco, whose wife did not accompany him. "His new wife drove him away
from Paris."
"Now [1797 or 1798] I feel that I have seen Paris and France for the last
time. That popular effervescence [the French Revolution] has disgusted me
and I am too old to hope to see the end of it."
III -- VIENNA
On the 29th November, Casanova wrote from Frankfort that a drunken
postilion had upset him and in the fall he had dislocated his left
shoulder, but that a good bone-setter had restored it to place. On the
1st December he wrote that he was healed, having taken medicine and
having been blooded. He promised to send Francesca eight sequins to pay
her rent. He reached Vienna about the 7th of December and on the 15th
sent Francesco a bill of exchange for eight sequins and two lires.
On the last day of 1783, Francesca wrote to him at Vienna:
"I see by your good letter that you will go to Dresden and then to Berlin
and that you will return to Vienna the 10th January . . . . I am
astonished, my dear friend, at the great journeys you make in this cold
weather, but, still, you are a great man, big-hearted, full of spirit and
courage; you travel in this terrible cold as though it were
nothing . . . . "
On the 9th January, Casanova wrote from Dessau to his brother Giovanni,
proposing to make peace with him, but without results. On the 27th, he
was at Prague. By the 16th February, he was again in Vienna, after a trip
lasting sixty-two days. His health was perfect, and he had gained flesh
due, as he wrote Francesca, to his contented mind which was no longer
tormented.
In February, he entered the service of M. Foscarini, Venetian Ambassador,
"to write dispatches."
On the 10th March, Francesca wrote:
"Dearest of Friends, I reply at once to your good letter of the 28th
February which I received Sunday . . . . I thank you for your kindness
which makes you say that you love me and that when you have money you
will send me some . . . but that at the moment you are dry as a
salamander. I do not know what sort of animal that is. But as for me I am
certainly dry of money and I am consumed with the hope of having some
. . . . I see that you were amused at the Carnival and that you were four
times at the masked ball, where there were two hundred women, and that
you danced minuets and quadrilles to the great astonishment of the
ambassador Foscarini who told everyone that you were sixty years old,
although in reality you have not yet reached your sixtieth year. You
might well laugh at that and say that he must be blind to have such an
idea.
"I see that you assisted, with your brother, at a grand dinner at the
Ambassador's . . . .
"You say that you have read my letters to your brother and that he
salutes me. Make him my best compliments and thank him. You ask me to
advise you whether, if he should happen to return to Venice with you, he
could lodge with you in your house. Tell him yes, because the chickens
are always in the loft and make no dirt; and, as for the dogs, one
watches to see that they do not make dirt. The furniture of the apartment
is already in place; it lacks only a wardrobe and the little bed which
you bought for your nephew and the mirror; as for the rest, everything is
as you left it. . . ."
It is possible that, at the "grand dinner," Casanova was presented to
Count Waldstein, without whose kindness to Casanova the Memoirs probably
would never have been written. The Lord of Dux, Joseph Charles Emmanuel
Waldstein-Wartenberg, Chamberlain to Her Imperial Majesty, descendant of
the great Wallenstein, was the elder of the eleven children of Emmanuel
Philibert, Count Waldstein, and Maria Theresa, Princess Liechtenstein.
Very egotistic and willful in his youth, careless of his affairs, and an
imprudent gambler, at thirty years of age he had not yet settled down.
His mother was disconsolated that her son could not separate himself from
occupations "so little suited to his spirit and his birth:"
On the 13th March 1784, Count Lamberg wrote Casanova: "I know M. le C. de
Waldstein through having heard him praised by judges worthy of
appreciating the transcendent qualities of more than one kind peculiar to
the Count. I congratulate you on having such a Maecenas, and I
congratulate him in his turn on having chosen such a man as yourself."
Which last remark certainly foreshadows the library at Dux.
Later, on the lath March, 1785, Zaguri wrote: "In two months at the
latest, all will be settled. I am very happy." Referring further, it is
conjectured, to Casanova's hopes of placing himself with the Count.
IV -- LETTERS FROM FRANCESCA
20th March 1784. "I see that you will print one of your books; you say
that you will send me two hundred copies which I can sell at thirty sous
each; that you will tell Zaguri and that he will advise those who wish
copies to apply to me . . ."
This book was the Lettre historico-critique sur un fait connu dependant
d'une cause peu connue, adressee au duc de * * *, 1784.
3rd April 1784. "I see with pleasure that you have gone to amuse yourself
in company with two ladies and that you have traveled five posts to see
the Emperor [Joseph II] . . . . You say that your fortune consists of one
sequin . . . . I hope that you obtained permission to print your book,
that you will send me the two hundred copies, and that I may be able to
sell them. . . ."
14th April 1784. "You say that a man without money is the image of death,
that he is a very wretched animal. I learn with regret that I am unlikely
to see you at the approaching Festival of the Ascension . . . that you
hope to see me once more before dying . . . . You make me laugh, telling
me that at Vienna a balloon was made which arose in the air with six
persons and that it might be that you would go up also."
28th April 1784. "I see, to my lively regret, that you have been in bed
with your usual ailment [hemorrhoids]. But I am pleased to know that you
are better. You certainly should go to the baths . . . . I have been
discouraged in seeing that you have not come to Venice because you have
no money .... P. S. Just at this moment I have received a good letter,
enclosing a bill of exchange, which I will go and have paid . . . ."
5th May 1784. "I went to the house of M. Francesco Manenti, at S. Polo di
Campo, with my bill of exchange, and he gave me at once eighteen pieces
of ten lires each . . . . I figure that you made fun of me saying
seriously that you will go up in a balloon and that, if the wind is
favorable, you will go in the air to Trieste and then from Trieste to
Venice."
19th May 1784. "I see, to my great regret, that you are in poor health
and still short of money .... You say that you need twenty sequins and
that you have only twenty trari . . . . I hope that your book is printed.
. . ."
29th May 1784. "I note with pleasure that you are going to take the
baths; but I regret that this treatment enfeebles and depresses you. It
reassures me that you do not fail in your appetite nor your sleep.... I
hope I will not hear you say again that you are disgusted with
everything, and no longer in love with life . . . . I see that for you,
at this moment, fortune sleeps . . . . I am not surprised that everything
is so dear in the city where you are, for at Venice also one pays dearly
and everything is priced beyond reach."
Zaguri wrote Casanova the 12th May, that he had met Francesca in the
Mongolfieri casino. And on the 2nd June Casanova, doubtless feeling his
helplessness in the matter of money, and the insufficiency of his
occasional remittances, and suspicious of Francesca's loyalty, wrote her
a letter of renunciation. Then came her news of the sale of his books;
and eighteen months passed before he wrote to her again.
On the 12th June 1784, Francesca replied: "I could not expect to convey
to you, nor could you figure, the sorrow that tries me in seeing that you
will not occupy yourself any more with me . . . . I hid from you that I
had been with that woman who lived with us, with her companion, the
cashier of the Academie des Mongolfceristes. Although I went to this
Academy with prudence and dignity, I did not want to write you for fear
you would scold me. That is the only reason, and hereafter you may be
certain of my sincerity and frankness. . . . I beg you to forgive me this
time, if I write you something I have never written for fear that you
would be angry with me because I had not told you. Know then that four
months ago, your books which were on the mezzanine were sold to a library
for the sum of fifty lires, when we were in urgent need. It was my mother
who did it. . . ."
26th June 1784. ". . . Mme. Zenobia [de Monti] has asked me if I would
enjoy her company. Certain that you would consent I have allowed her to
come and live with me. She has sympathy for me and has always loved me."
7th July 1784. "Your silence greatly disturbs me! To receive no more of
your letters! By good post I have sent you three letters, with this one,
and you have not replied to any of them. Certainly, you have reason for
being offended at me, because I hid from you something which you learned
from another . . . . But you might have seen, from my last letter, that I
have written you all the truth about my fault and that I have asked your
pardon for not writing it before.... Without you and your help, God knows
what will become of us.... For the rent of your chamber Mme. Zenobia will
give us eight lires a month and five lires for preparing her meals. But
what can one do with thirteen lires! . . . I am afflicted and mortified.
. . . Do not abandon me."
V -- LAST DAYS AT VIENNA
In 1785, at Vienna, Casanova ran across Costa, his former secretary who,
in 1761, had fled from him taking "diamonds, watches, snuffbox, linen,
rich suits and a hundred louis." "In 1785, I found this runagate at
Vienna. He was then Count Erdich's man, and when we come to that period,
the reader shall hear what I did."
Casanova did not reach this period, in writing his Memoirs, but an
account of this meeting is given by Da Ponte, who was present at it, in
his Memoirs. Costa had met with many misfortunes, as he told Casanova,
and had himself been defrauded. Casanova threatened to have him hanged,
but according to Da Ponte, was dissuaded from this by counter accusations
made by Costa.
Da Ponte's narration of the incident is brilliant and amusing, in spite
of our feeling that it is maliciously exaggerated: "Strolling one morning
in the Graben with Casanova, I suddenly saw him knit his brows, squawk,
grind his teeth, twist himself, raise his hands skyward, and, snatching
himself away from me, throw himself on a man whom I seemed to know,
shouting with a very loud voice: 'Murderer, I have caught thee.' A crowd
having gathered as a result of this strange act and yell, I approached
them with some disgust; nevertheless, I caught Casanova's hand and almost
by force I separated him from the fray. He then told me the story, with
desperate motions and gestures, and said that his antagonist was
Gioachino Costa, by whom he had been betrayed. This Gioachino Costa,
although he had been forced to become a servant by his vices and bad
practices, and was at that very time servant to a Viennese gentleman, was
more or less of a poet. He was, in fact, one of those who had honored me
with their satire, when the Emperor Joseph selected me as poet of his
theater. Costa entered a cafe, and while I continued to walk with
Casanova, wrote and send him by a messenger, the following verses:
"'Casanova, make no outcry;
You stole, indeed, as well as I;
You were the one who first taught me;
Your art I mastered thoroughly.
Silence your wisest course will be.'
"These verses had the desired effect. After a brief silence, Casanova
laughed and then said softly in my ear: 'The rogue is right.' He went
into the cafe and motioned to Costa to come out; they began to walk
together calmly, as if nothing had happened, and they parted shaking
hands repeatedly and seemingly calm and friendly. Casanova returned to me
with a cameo on his little finger, which by a strange coincidence,
represented Mercury, the god-protector of thieves. This was his greatest
valuable, and it was all that was left of the immense booty, but
represented the character of the two restored friends, perfectly."
Da Ponte precedes this account with a libellous narrative of Casanova's
relations with the Marquise d'Urfe, even stating that Casanova stole from
her the jewels stolen in turn by Costa, but, as M. Maynial remarks, we
may attribute this perverted account "solely to the rancour and antipathy
of the narrator." It is more likely that Casanova frightened Costa almost
out of his wits, was grimly amused at his misfortunes, and let him go,
since there was no remedy to Casanova's benefit, for his former
rascality. Casanova's own brief, anticipatory account is given in his
Memoirs.
In 1797, correcting and revising his Memoirs, Casanova wrote: "Twelve
years ago, if it had not been for my guardian angel, I would have
foolishly married, at Vienna, a young, thoughtless girl, with whom I had
fallen in love." In which connection, his remark is interesting: "I have
loved women even to madness, but I have always loved liberty better; and
whenever I have been in danger of losing it, fate has come to my rescue."
While an identification of the "young, thoughtless girl" has been
impossible, M. Rava believes her to be "C. M.," the subject of a poem
found at Dux, written in duplicate, in Italian and French, and headed
"Giacomo Casanova, in love, to C. M."
"When, Catton, to your sight is shown the love Which all my tenderest
caresses prove, Feeling all pleasure's sharpest joys and fears, Burning
one moment, shivering the next, Caressing you while showering you with
tears, Giving each charm a thousand eager kisses, Wishing to touch at
once a thousand blisses And, at the ones beyond my power, vexed,
Abandoned in a furious desire, Leaving these charms for other charms that
fire, Possessing all and yet desiring Until, destroyed by excesses of
pleasure, Finding no words of love nor anything To express my fires
overflowing measure Than deepening sighs and obscure murmuring: Ah! Then
you think to read my inmost heart To find the love that can these signs
impart ....Be not deceived. These transports, amorous cries, These
kisses, tears, desires and heavy sighs, Of all the fire which devours me
Could less than even the lightest tokens be."
Evidently this same girl is the authoress of the two following letters
written by "Caton M . . . ." to Casanova in 1786.
12th April 1786. "You will infinitely oblige me if you will tell me to
whom you wrote such pretty things about me; apparently it is the Abbe Da
Ponte; but I would go to his house and, either he would prove that you
had written it or I would have the honor of telling him that he is the
most infamous traducer in the world. I think that the lovely picture
which you make of my future has not as much excuse as you may think, and,
in spite of your science, you deceive yourself.... But just now I will
inform you of all my wooers and you can judge for yourself by this
whether I deserve all the reproaches you made me in your last letter. It
is two years since I came to know the Count de K . . . ; I could have
loved him but I was too honest to be willing to satisfy his desires . . . .
Some months afterward, I came to know the Count de M . . . ; he was not
so handsome as K . . . , but he possessed every possible art for seducing
a girl; I did everything for him, but I never loved him as much as his
friend. In fine, to tell you all my giddinesses in a few words, I set
everything right again with K . . . . and got myself into a quarrel with
M . . . ., then I left K. . . . and returned to M . . . ., but at the
house of the latter there was always an officer who pleased me more than
both the two others and who sometimes conducted me to the house; then we
found ourselves at the house of a friend, and it is of this same officer
that I am ill. So, my dear friend, that is all. I do not seek to justify
my past conduct; on the contrary, I know well that I have acted badly....
I am much afflicted at being the cause of your remaining away from Venice
during the Carnival . . . . I hope to see you soon again and am, with
much love,
"Monsieur, your sincere
"Caton M. . . ."
16th July 1786. "I have spoken with the Abbe Da Ponte. He invited me to
come to his house because, he said, he had something to tell me for you.
I went there, but was received so coldly that I am resolved not to go
there again. Also, Mlle. Nanette affected an air of reserve and took at
on herself to read me lessons on what she was pleased to call my
libertinism . . . . I beg that you will write nothing more about me to
these two very dangerous personages.... Just now I will tell you of a
little trick which I played on you, which without doubt deserves some
punishment. The young, little Kasper, whom you formerly loved, came to
ask me for the address of her dear Monsieur de Casanova, so that she
could write a very tender letter full of recollections. I had too much
politeness to wish to refuse a pretty girl, who was once the favorite of
my lover, so just a request, so I gave her the address she wished; but I
addressed the letter to a city far from you. Is it not, my dear friend,
that you would like well to know the name of the city, so that you could
secure the letter by posts. But you can depend on my word that you will
not know it until you have written me a very long letter begging me very
humbly to indicate the place where the divine letter of the adorable
object of your vows has gone. You might well make this sacrifice for a
girl in whom the Emperor [Joseph II] interests himself, for it is known
that, since your departure from Vienna, it is he who is teaching her
French and music; and apparently he takes the trouble of instructing her
himself, for she often goes to his house to thank him for his kindnesses
to her, but I know not in what way she expresses herself.
"Farewell, my dear friend. Think sometimes of me and believe that I am
your sincere friend."
On the 23rd April 1785, the ambassador Foscarini died, depriving Casanova
of a protector, probably leaving him without much money, and not in the
best of health. He applied for the position of secretary to Count Fabris,
his former friend, whose name had been changed from Tognolo, but without
success. Casanova then determined to go to Berlin in the hope of a place
in the Academy. On the 30th July he arrived at Bruen in Moravia, where
his friend Maximilian-Joseph, Count Lamberg gave him, among other letters
of recommendation, a letter addressed to Jean-Ferdinand Opiz, Inspector
of Finances and Banks at Czaslau, in which he wrote:
"A celebrated man, M. Casanova, will deliver to you, my dear friend, the
visiting card with which he is charged for Mme. Opiz and yourself.
Knowing this amiable and remarkable man, will mark an epoch in your life,
be polite and friendly to him, 'quod ipsi facies in mei memoriam
faciatis'. Keep yourself well, write to me, and if you can direct him to
some honest man at Carlsbad, fail not to do so. . . ."
On the 15th August 1785, M. Opiz wrote Count Lamberg about Casanova's
visit:
"Your letter of the 30th, including your cards for my wife and myself,
was delivered the first of this month by M. Casanova. He was very anxious
to meet the Princess Lubomirski again at Carlsbad. But as something about
his carriage was broken, he was obliged to stop in Czaslau for two hours
which he passed in my company. He has left Czaslau with the promise of
giving me a day on his return. I am already delighted. Even in the short
space of time in which I enjoyed his company, I found in him a man worthy
of our highest consideration and of our love, a benevolent philosopher
whose homeland is the great expanse of our planet (and not Venice alone)
and who values only the men in the kings . . . . I know absolutely no one
at Carlsbad, so I sincerely regret being unable to recommend him to
anyone there, according to your desire. He did not wish, on account of
his haste, to pause even at Prague and, consequently, to deliver, at this
time, your letter to Prince Furstemberg."
PART THE THIRD -- DUX -- 1786-1798
I -- THE CASTLE AT DUX
It is uncertain how long Casanova remained at Carlsbad. While there,
however, he met again the Polish nobleman Zawoiski, with whom he had
gambled in Venice in 1746. "As to Zawoiski, I did not tell him the story
until I met him in Carlsbad old and deaf, forty years later." He did not
return to Czaslau, but in September 1785 he was at Teplitz where he found
Count Waldstein whom he accompanied to his castle at Dux.
From this time onward he remained almost constantly at the castle where
he was placed in charge of the Count's library and given a pension of one
thousand florins annually.
Describing his visit to the castle in 1899, Arthur Symons writes: "I had
the sensation of an enormous building: all Bohemian castles are big, but
this one was like a royal palace. Set there in the midst of the town,
after the Bohemian fashion, it opens at the back upon great gardens, as
if it were in the midst of the country. I walked through room after room,
corridor after corridor; everywhere there were pictures, everywhere
portraits of Wallenstein, and battle scenes in which he led on his
troops. The library, which was formed, or at least arranged, by Casanova,
and which remains as he left it, contains some twenty-five thousand
volumes, some of them of considerable value . . . . The library forms
part of the Museum, which occupies a ground-floor wing of the castle. The
first room is an armoury, in which all kinds of arms are arranged, in a
decorative way, covering the ceiling and the walls with strange patterns.
The second room contains pottery, collected by Casanova's Waldstein on
his Eastern travels. The third room is full of curious mechanical toys,
and cabinets, and carvings in ivory. Finally, we come to the library,
contained in the two innermost rooms. The book shelves are painted white
and reach to the low vaulted ceilings, which are whitewashed. At the end
of a bookcase, in the corner of one of the windows, hangs a fine engraved
portrait of Casanova."
In this elaborate setting, Casanova found the refuge he so sadly needed
for his last years. The evil days of Venice and Vienna, and the problems
and makeshifts of mere existence, were left behind. And for this refuge
he paid the world with his Memoirs.
II -- LETTERS FROM FRANCESCA
In 1786, Casanova renewed his correspondence with Francesca, who wrote:
1st July 1786. "After a silence of a year and a half, I received from you
yesterday a good letter which has consoled me in informing me that you
are in perfect health. But, on the other hand, I was much pained to see
that in your letter you did not call me Friend, but Madame . . . . You
have reason to chide me and to reproach me for having rented a house
without surety or means of paying the rent. As to the advice you give me
that if some honest person would pay me my rent, or at least a part of
it, I should have no scruples about taking it because a little more, or a
little less, would be of little importance . . . . I declare to you that
I have been disconsolated at receiving from you such a reproach which is
absolutely unjustified . . . . You tell me that you have near you a young
girl who merits all your solicitations and your love, she and her family
of six persons who adore you and give you every attention; that she costs
you all you have, so that you cannot send me even a sou . . . . I am
pained to hear you say that you will never return to Venice, and yet I
hope to see you again. . . ."
The "young girl" referred to in Francesca's letter was Anna-Dorothea
Kleer, daughter of the porter of the castle. This young girl became
pregnant in 1786 and Casanova was accused of seducing her. The guilty
one, however, was a painter named Schottner who married the unfortunate
girl in January 1787.
9th August 1786.
"My only true friend,
"It is two days since I received your dear letter; I was very happy to
see your writing .... You have reason to mortify me and reproach me in
recalling all the troubles I caused you, and especially that which you
call treachery, the sale of your books, of which in part I was not guilty
. . . . Forgive me, my dear friend, me and my foolish mother who, despite
all my objections, absolutely insisted on selling them. Regarding that
which you write me that you know that my mother, last year, told about
that you had been my ruin, this may unhappily be true, since you already
know the evil thoughts of my mother, who even says that you are still at
Venice . . . . When have I not been always sincere with you, and when
have I not at least listened to your good advices and offers? I am in a
desperate situation, abandoned by all, almost in the streets, almost
about to be homeless . . . . Where are all the pleasures which formerly
you procured me? Where are the theatres, the comedies which we once saw
together? . . ."
5th January 1787.
"The first of the year I received your dear letter with the bill of
exchange for one hundred and twenty-five lires which you sent me so
generously . . . . You say you have forgiven me for all the troubles I
have caused you. Forget all, then, and do not accuse me any more of
things which are but too true and of which the remembrance alone cuts me
to the heart . . . . You write me that you have been forgotten by a
person of whom you were very fond, that she is married and that you have
not seen her for more than a month."
The "person" referred to was Anna Kleer.
5th October 1787.
. . . . "Until the other day, I had been waiting for your arrival, hoping
that you would come to assist at the entry of the Procurator Memmo . . . .
I see by your good letter that you were not able to get away, since your
presence is nearly always necessary in the great castle . . . . I learn
of the visit you have received from the Emperor who wished to see your
library of forty-thousand volumes! . . . You say that you detest the
chase and that you are unhappy when politeness obliges you to go . . . .
I am pleased to know that you are in good health, that you are stout and
that you have a good appetite and sleep well . . . . I hope that the
printing of your book [Histoire de ma fuite] is going according to your
wishes. If you go to Dresden for the marriage of your niece, enjoy
yourself for me . . . . Forget not to write to me; this gives me such
pleasure! Remember me. Full of confidence in your friendship, I am, and
always will be, your true and sincere friend,
"Francesca Buschina."
III -- CORRESPONDENCE AND ACTIVITIES
In 1787, a book was published under the title of 'Dreissig Brief uber
Galizien by Traunpaur', which included this passage: "The most famous
adventurers of two sorts (there are two, in fact: honest adventurers and
adventurers of doubtful reputation) have appeared on the scene of the
kingdom of Poland. The best known on the shores of the Vistula are: the
miraculous Cagliostro: Boisson de Quency, grand charlatan, soldier of
fortune, decorated with many orders, member of numerous Academies: the
Venetian Casanova of Saint-Gall, a true savant, who fought a duel with
Count Branicki: the Baron de Poellnitz . . . the lucky Count Tomatis, who
knew so well how to correct fortune, and many others."
In June 1789, Casanova received a letter from Teresa Boisson de Quency,
the wife of the adventurer above referred to:
"Much honored Monsieur Giacomo:
"For a long time I have felt a very particular desire to evidence to you
the estimation due your spirit and your eminent qualities: the superb
sonnet augmented my wish. But the inconveniences of childbirth and the
cares required by a little girl whom I adore, made me defer this
pleasure. During my husband's absence, your last and much honored letter
came to my hands. Your amiable compliments to me, engage me to take the
pen to give you renewed assurance that you have in me a sincere admirer
of your great talent . . . . When I wish to point out a person who writes
and thinks with excellence, I name Monsieur Casanova . . . ."
In 1793, Teresa de Quency wished to return to Venice at which time Zaguri
wrote Casanova: "The Bassani has received letters from her husband which
tell her nothing more than that he is alive."
Casanova passed the months of May, June and July 1788 at Prague,
supervising the printing of the Histoire de ma fuite.
"I remember laughing very heartily at Prague, six years ago, on learning
that some thin-skinned ladies, on reading my flight from The Leads, which
was published at that date, took great offense at the above account,
which they thought I should have done well to leave out."
In May he was troubled with an attack of the grippe. In October, he was
in Dresden, apparently with his brother. Around this time "The
Magdalene," a painting by Correggio, was stolen from the Museum of the
Elector.
On the 30th October 1788, Casanova wrote to the Prince Belozelski,
Russian Minister to the Court of Dresden: "Tuesday morning, after having
embraced my dear brother, I got into a carriage to return here. At the
barrier on the outskirts of Dresden, I was obliged to descend, and six
men carried the two chests of my carriage, my two night-bags and my
capelire into a little chamber on the ground level, demanded my keys, and
examined everything . . . . The youngest of these infamous executors of
such an order told me they were searching for 'The Magdalene! . . . The
oldest had the impudence to put his hands on my waistcoat . . . . At last
they let me go.
"This, my prince, delayed me so that I could not reach Petervalden by
daylight. I stopped at an evil tavern where, dying of famine and rage, I
ate everything I saw; and, wishing to drink and not liking beer, I gulped
down some beverage which my host told me was good and which did not seem
unpleasant. He told me that it was Pilnitz Moste. This beverage aroused a
rebellion in my guts. I passed the night tormented by a continual
diarrhoea. I arrived here the day before yesterday (the 28th), where I
found an unpleasant duty awaiting me. Two months ago, I brought a woman
here to cook, needing her while the Count is away; as soon as she
arrived, I gave her a room and I went to Leipzig. On returning here, I
found three servants in the hands of surgeons and all three blame my cook
for putting them in such a state. The Count's courier had already told
me, at Leipzig, that she had crippled him. Yesterday the Count arrived
and would do nothing but laugh, but I have sent her back and exhorted her
to imitate the Magdalene. The amusing part is that she is old, ugly and
ill-smelling."
In 1789, 1791 and 1792, Casanova received three letters from Maddalena
Allegranti, the niece of J. B. Allegranti the innkeeper with whom
Casanova lodged at Florence in 1771. "This young person, still a child,
was so pretty, so gracious, with such spirit and such charms, that she
incessantly distracted me. Sometimes she would come into my chamber to
wish me good-morning . . . . Her appearance, her grace, the sound of her
voice . . . were more than I could resist; and, fearing the seduction
would excuse mine, I could find no other expedient than to take flight.
. . . Some years later, Maddalena became a celebrated musician."
At this period of Casanova's life, we hear again of the hussy who so
upset Casanova during his visit to London that he was actually on the
point of committing suicide through sheer desperation. On the 20th
September 1789, he wrote to the Princess Clari, sister of the Prince de
Ligne: "I am struck by a woman at first sight, she completely ravishes
me, and I am perhaps lost, for she may be a Charpillon."
There were, among the papers at Dux, two letters from Marianne
Charpillon, and a manuscript outlining the story of Casanova's relations
with her and her family, as detailed in the Memoirs: With the story in
mind, the letters from this girl, "the mistress, now of one, now of
another," are of interest:
"I know not, Monsieur, whether you forgot the engagement Saturday last;
as for me, I remember that you consented to give us the pleasure of
having you at dinner to-day, Monday, the 12th of the month. I would
greatly like to know whether your ill-humor has left you; this would
please me. Farewell, in awaiting the honor of seeing you.
"Marianne de Charpillon."
"Monsieur,
"As I have a part in all which concerns you, I am greatly put out to know
of the new illness which incommodes you; I hope that this will be so
trifling that we will have the pleasure of seeing you well and at our
house, to-day or to-morrow.
"And, in truth, the gift which you sent me is so pretty that I know not
how to express to you the pleasure it has given me and how much I value
it; and I cannot see why you must always provoke me by telling me that it
is my fault that you are filled with bile, while I am as innocent as a
new-born babe and would wish you so gentle and patient that your blood
would become a true clarified syrup; this will come to you if you follow
my advice. I am, Monsieur,
"Your very humble servant,
"[Marianne Charpillon]
"Wednesday at six o'clock"
On the 8th April, 1790, Zaguri wrote in reference to vertigo of which
Casanova complained: "Have you tried riding horseback? Do you not think
that is an excellent preservative? I tried it this last summer and I find
myself very well."
In 1790, Casanova had a conversation with the Emperor Joseph II at
Luxemburg, on the subject of purchased nobility, which he reports in the
Memoirs.
This same year, attending the coronation of Leopold at Prague, Casanova
met his grandson (and, probably, as he himself believed, his own son),
the son of Leonilda, who was the daughter of Casanova and Donna Lucrezia,
and who was married to the Marquis C . . . . In 1792, Leonilda wrote,
inviting Casanova to "spend the remainder of my days with her."
In February 1791, Casanova wrote to Countess Lamberg: "I have in my
capitularies more than four hundred sentences which pass for aphorisms
and which include all the tricks which place one word for another. One
can read in Livy that Hannibal overcame the Alps by means of vinegar. No
elephant ever uttered such a stupidity. Livy? Not at all. Livy was not a
beast; it is you who are, foolish instructor of credulous youth! Livy did
not say aceto which means vinegar, but aceta which means axe."
In April 1791, Casanova wrote to Carlo Grimani at Venice, stating that he
felt he had committed a great fault in publishing his libel, 'Ne amori ne
donne', and very humbly begging his pardon. Also that his Memoirs would
be composed of six volumes in octavo with a seventh supplementary volume
containing codicils.
In June, Casanova composed for the theater of Princess Clari, at Teplitz,
a piece entitled: 'Le Polemoscope ou la Calomnie demasquee par la
presence d'esprit, tragicomedie en trois actes'. The manuscript was
preserved at Dux, together with another form of the same, having the
sub-title of 'La Lorgnette Menteuse ou la Calomnie demasquee'. It may be
assumed that the staging of this piece was an occasion of pleasant
activity for Casanova.
In January 1792, during Count Waldstein's absence in London or Paris,
Casanova was embroiled with M. Faulkircher, maitre d'hotel, over the
unpleasant matter indicated in two of Casanova's letters to this
functionary:
"Your rascally Vidierol . . . tore my portrait out of one of my books,
scrawled my name on it, with the epithet which you taught him and then
stuck it on the door of the privy ....
"Determined to make sure of the punishment of your infamous valet, and
wishing at the same time to give proof of my respect for Count Waldstein,
not forgetting that, as a last resort, I have the right to invade his
jurisdiction, I took an advocate, wrote my complaint and had it
translated into German . . . . Having heard of this at Teplitz, and
having known that I would not save your name, you came to my chamber to
beg me to write whatever I wished but not to name you because it would
place you wrong before the War Council and expose you to the loss of your
pension . . . . I have torn up my first complaint and have written a
second in Latin, which an advocate of Bilin has translated for me and
which I have deposited at the office of the judiciary at Dux...."
Following this matter, Casanova attended the Carnival at Oberleutensdorf,
and left at Dux a manuscript headed 'Passe temps de Jacques Casanova de
Seingalt pour le carnaval de l'an 1792 dans le bourg d'Oberleutensdorf'.
While in that city, meditating on the Faulkircher incident, he wrote also
'Les quinze pardons, monologue nocturne du bibliothecaire', also
preserved in manuscript at Dux, in which we read:
"Gerron, having served twenty years as a simple soldier, acquired a great
knowledge of military discipline. This man was not yet seventy years old.
He had come to believe, partly from practice, partly from theory, that
twenty blows with a baton on the rump are not dishonoring. When the
honest soldier was unfortunate enough to deserve them, he accepted them
with resignation. The pain was sharp, but not lasting; it did not deprive
him of either appetite nor honor . . . . Gerron, becoming a corporal, had
obtained no idea of any kind of sorrow other than that coming from the
blows of a baton on the rump . . . . On this idea, he thought that the
soul of an honest man was no different than a soldier's breech. If Gerron
caused trouble to the spirit of a man of honor, he thought that this
spirit, like his own, had only a rump, and that any trouble he caused
would pass likewise. He deceived himself. The breech of the spirit of an
honest man is different than the breech of the spirit of a Gerron who
rendered compatible the rank of a military officer with the vile
employments of a domestic and the stable-master of some particular lord.
Since Gerron deceived himself, we must pardon him all his faults . . ."
etc.
Casanova complained of the Faulkircher incident to the mother of Count
Waldstein, who wrote: "I pity you, Monsieur, for being obliged to live
among such people and in such evil company, but my son will not forget
that which he owes to himself and I am sure he will give you all the
satisfaction you wish." Also to his friend Zaguri, who wrote, the 16th
March: "I hope that the gout in your hand will not torment you any more.
. . . You have told me the story I asked about and which begins: 'Two
months have passed since an officer, who is at Vienna, insulted me!' I
cannot understand whether he who wrote you an insulting letter is at
Vienna or whether he is at Dux. When will the Count return? . . . You
should await his return because you would have, among other reasons to
present to him, that of not wishing to have recourse to other
jurisdiction than his. . . You say your letters have been intercepted?
Someone has put your portrait in the privy? The devil! It is a miracle
that you have not killed someone. Positively, I am curious to know the
results and I hope that you make no mistakes in this affair which appears
to me very delicate."
In August 1792, or thereabouts, Da Ponte on his way to Dresden, visited
Casanova at Dux, in the hope of collecting an old debt, but gave up this
hope on realizing Casanova's limited resources. In the winter of 1792-3
Da Ponte found himself in great distress in Holland. "Casanova was the
only man to whom I could apply," he writes in his Memoirs. "To better
dispose him, I thought to write him in verse, depicting my troubles and
begging him to send me some money on account of that which he still owed
me. Far from considering my request, he contented himself with replying,
in vulgar prose, by a laconic billet which I transcribe: 'When Cicero
wrote to his friends, he avoided telling them of his affairs.'"
In May 1793, Da Ponte wrote from London: "Count Waldstein has lived a
very obscure life in London, badly lodged, badly dressed, badly served,
always in cabarets, cafes, with porters, with rascals, with . . . we will
leave out the rest. He has the heart of an angel and an excellent
character, but not so good a head as ours."
Toward the end of 1792, Cssanova wrote a letter to Robespierre, which, as
he advises M. Opiz, the 13th January 1793, occupied one hundred and
twenty folio pages. This letter was not to be found at Dux and it may
possibly have been sent, or may have been destroyed by Casanova on the
advice of Abbe O'Kelly. Casanova's feelings were very bitter over the
trial of Louis XVI., and in his letters to M. Opiz he complained bitterly
of the Jacobins and predicted the ruin of France. Certainly, to Casanova,
the French Revolution represented the complete overthrow of many of his
cherished illusions.
On the 1st August 1793, Wilhelmina Rietz, Countess Lichtenau (called the
Pompadour of Frederic-William II., King of Prussia) wrote to the
librarian at Dux:
"Monsieur
"It seems impossible to know where Count Valstaine [Waldstein] is
staying, whether he is in Europe, Africa, America, or possibly the
Megamiques. If he is there, you are the only one who could insure his
receiving the enclosed letter.
"For my part, I have not yet had time to read their history, but the
first reading I do will assuredly be that.
"Mademoiselle Chappuis has the honor of recalling herself to your memory,
and I have that of being your very humble servant,
"Wilhelmina Rietz."
The allusions to a "history" and to the 'Megamiques' in this letter refer
to Casanova's romance, 'Icosameron'.
About this time, Count Waldstein returned to Dux after having been, at
Paris, according to Da Ponte, concerned in planning the flight of Louis
XVI., and in attempting to save the Princess Lamballe. On the 17th
August, Casanova replied to the above letter:
"Madame,
"I handed the Count your letter two minutes after having received it,
finding him easily. I told him that he should respond at once, for the
post was ready to go; but, as he begged to wait for the following
ordinary, I did not insist. The day before yesterday, he begged me to
wait again, but he did not find me so complaisant. I respond to you,
Madame, for his carelessness in replying to letters is extreme; he is so
shameful that he is in despair when he is obliged to it. Although he may
not respond, be sure of seeing him at your house at Berlin after the
Leipzig Fair, with a hundred bad excuses which you will laugh at and
pretend to believe good ones . . . . This last month, my wish to see
Berlin again has become immeasurable, and I will do my best to have Count
Waldstein take me there in the month of October or at least to permit me
to go . . . . You have given me an idea of Berlin far different than that
the city left with me when I passed four months there twenty-nine years
ago . . . . If my 'Icosameron' interests you, I offer you its Spirit. I
wrote it here two years ago and I would not have published it if I had
not dared hope that the Theological Censor would permit it. At Berlin no
one raised the least difficulty . . . . If circumstances do not permit me
to pay you my respects at Berlin, I hope for the happiness of seeing you
here next year . . . ."
Sometime after this and following his quarrel with M. Opiz, Casanova
evidently passed through a period of depression, as indicated by a
manuscript at Dux, headed "Short reflection of a philosopher who finds
himself thinking of procuring his own death," and dated "the 13th
December 1793, the day dedicated to S. Lucie, remarkable in my too long
life."
"Life is a burden to me. What is the metaphysical being who prevents me
from slaying myself? It is Nature. What is the other being who enjoins me
to lighten the burdens of that life which brings me only feeble pleasures
and heavy pains? It is Reason. Nature is a coward which, demanding only
conservation, orders me to sacrifice all to its existence. Reason is a
being which gives me resemblance to God, which treads instinct under foot
and which teaches me to choose the best way after having well considered
the reasons. It demonstrates to me that I am a man in imposing silence on
the Nature which opposes that action which alone could remedy all my
ills.
"Reason convinces me that the power I have of slaying myself is a
privilege given me by God, by which I perceive that I am superior to all
animals created in the world; for there is no animal who can slay itself
nor think of slaying itself, except the scorpion, which poisons itself,
but only when the fire which surrounds it convinces it that it cannot
save itself from being burned. This animal slays itself because it fears
fire more than death. Reason tells me imperiously that I have the right
to slay myself, with the divine oracle of Cen: 'Qui non potest vivere
bene non vivat male.' These eight words have such power that it is
impossible that a man to whom life is a burden could do other than slay
himself on first hearing them."
Certainly, however, Casanova did not deceive himself with these sophisms,
and Nature, who for many years had unquestionably lavished her gifts on
him, had her way.
Over the end of the year, the two mathematicians, Casanova and Opiz, at
the request of Count Waldstein, made a scientific examination of the
reform of the calendar as decreed the 5th October 1793 by the National
Convention.
In January 1795, Casanova wrote to the Princess Lobkowitz to thank her
for her gift of a little dog. On the 16th the Princess wrote from Vienna:
"Monsieur,
"I am enchanted at the charming reception you accorded the dog which I
sent you when I learned of the death of your well-loved greyhound,
knowing that she would nowhere be better cared for than with you,
Monsieur. I hope with all my heart that she has all the qualities which
may, in some fashion, help you to forget the deceased . . . ."
In the autumn of 1795, Casanova left Dux. The Prince de Ligne writes in
his Memoirs: "God directed him to leave Dux. Scarcely believing in more
than his death, which he no longer doubted, he pretended that each thing
he had done was by the direction of God and this was his guide. God
directed him to ask me for letters of recommendation to the Duke of
Weimar, who was my good friend, to the Duchess of Gotha, who did not know
me, and to the Jews of Berlin. And he departed secretly, leaving for
Count Waldstein a letter at once tender, proud, honest and irritating.
Waldstein laughed and said he would return. Casanova waited in
ante-chambers; no one would place him either as governor, librarian or
chamberlain. He said everywhere that the Germans were thorough beasts.
The excellent and very amiable Duke of Weimer welcomed him wonderfully;
but in an instant he became jealous of Goethe and Wieland, who were under
the Duke's protection. He declaimed against them and against the
literature of the country which he did not, and could not, know. At
Berlin, he declaimed against the ignorance, the superstition and the
knavery of the Hebrews to whom I had addressed him, drawing meanwhile,
for the money they claimed of him, bills of exchange on the Count who
laughed, paid, and embraced him when he returned. Casanova laughed, wept,
and told him that God had ordered him to make this trip of six weeks, to
leave without speaking of it, and to return to his chamber at Dux.
Enchanted at seeing us again, he agreeably related to us all the
misfortunes which had tried him and to which his susceptibility gave the
name of humiliations. 'I am proud,' he said, 'because I am nothing'. . . .
Eight days after his return, what new troubles! Everyone had been
served strawberries before him, and none remained for him."
The Prince de Ligne, although he was Casanova's sincere friend and
admirer, gives a rather somber picture of Casanova's life at Dux: "It
must not be imagined that he was satisfied to live quietly in the refuge
provided him through the kindness of Waldstein. That was not within his
nature. Not a day passed without trouble; something was certain to be
wrong with the coffee, the milk, the dish of macaroni, which he required
each day. There were always quarrels in the house. The cook had ruined
his polenta; the coachman had given him a bad driver to bring him to see
me; the dogs had barked all night; there had been more guests than usual
and he had found it necessary to eat at a side table. Some hunting-horn
had tormented his ear with its blasts; the priest had been trying to
convert him; Count Waldstein had not anticipated his morning greeting;
the servant had delayed with his wine; he had not been introduced to some
distinguished personage who had come to see the lance which had pierced
the side of the great Wallenstein; the Count had lent a book without
telling him; a groom had not touched his hat to him; his German speech
had been misunderstood; he had become angry and people had laughed at
him."
Like Count Waldstein, however, the Prince de Ligne made the widest
allowances, understanding the chafing of Casanova's restless spirit.
"Casanova has a mind without an equal, from which each word is
extraordinary and each thought a book."
On the 16th December, he wrote Casanova: "One is never old with your
heart, your genius and your stomach."
Casanova's own comment on his trip away from Dux will be found in the
Memoirs. "Two years ago, I set out for Hamburg, but my good genius made
me return to Dux. What had I to do at Hamburg?"
On the 10th December, Casanova's brother Giovanni [Jean] died. He was the
Director of the Academy of Painting at Dresden. Apparently the two
brothers could not remain friends.
Giovanni left two daughters, Teresa and Augusta, and two sons, Carlo and
Lorenzo. While he was unable to remain friendly with his brother,
Casanova apparently wished to be of assistance to his nieces, who were
not in the best of circumstances, and he exchanged a number of letters
with Teresa after her father's death.
On the occasion of Teresa Casanova's visit to Vienna in 1792, Princess
Clari, oldest sister of the Prince de Ligne, wrote of her: "She is
charming in every way, pretty as love, always amiable; she has had great
success. Prince Kaunitz loves her to the point of madness."
In a letter of the 25th April 1796, Teresa assured her "very amiable and
very dear uncle" that the cautions, which occupied three-fourths of his
letter, were unnecessary; and compared him with his brother Francois, to
the injury of the latter. On the 5th May, Teresa wrote:
"Before thanking you for your charming letter, my very kind uncle, I
should announce the issue of our pension of one hundred and sixty crowns
a year, which is to say, eighty crowns apiece; I am well satisfied for I
did not hope to receive so much." In the same letter, Teresa spoke of
seeing much of a "charming man," Don Antonio, who was no other than the
rascally adventurer Don Antonio della Croce with whom Casanova had been
acquainted since 1753, who assisted Casanova in losing a thousand sequins
at Milan in 1763; who in 1767, at Spa, following financial reverses,
abandoned his pregnant mistress to the charge of Casanova; and who in
August 1795, wrote to Casanova: "Your letter gave me great pleasure as
the sweet souvenir of our old friendship, unique and faithful over a
period of fifty years."
It is probable that, at this time, Casanova visited Dresden and Berlin
also. In his letter "To Leonard Snetlage," he writes: "'That which proves
that revolution should arrive,' a profound thinker said to me in Berlin,
last year, 'is that it has arrived.'"
On the 1st March, 1798, Carlo Angiolini, the son of Maria Maddalena,
Casanova's sister, wrote to Casanova: "This evening, Teresa will marry M.
le Chambellan de Veisnicht [Von Wessenig] whom you know well." This
desirable marriage received the approval of Francesco also. Teresa, as
the Baroness Wessenig, occupied a prominent social position at Dresden.
She died in 1842.
Between the 13th February and the 6th December 1796, Casanova engaged in
a correspondence with Mlle. Henriette de Schuckmann who was visiting at
Bayreuth. This Henriette (unfortunately not the Henriette of the Memoirs
whose "forty letters" to Casanova apparently have not been located), had
visited the library at Dux in the summer of 1786. "I was with the
Chamberlain Freiberg, and I was greatly moved, as much by your
conversation as by your kindness which provided me with a beautiful
edition of Metastasio, elegantly bound in red morocco." Finding herself
at Bayreuth in an enforced idleness and wishing a stimulant, wishing also
to borrow some books, she wrote Casanova, under the auspices of Count
Koenig, a mutual friend, the 13th February 1796, recalling herself to his
memory. Casanova responded to her overtures and five of her letters were
preserved at Dux. On the 28th May Henriette wrote:
"But certainly, my good friend, your letters have given me the greatest
pleasure, and it is with a rising satisfaction that I pore over all you
say to me. I love, I esteem, I cherish, your frankness . . . . I
understand you perfectly and I love to distraction the lively and
energetic manner with which you express yourself."
On the 30th September, she wrote: "You will read to-day, if you please, a
weary letter; for your silence, Monsieur, has given me humors. A promise
is a debt, and in your last letter you promised to write me at least a
dozen pages. I have every right to call you a bad debtor; I could summon
you before a court of justice; but all these acts of vengeance would not
repair the loss which I have endured through my hope and my fruitless
waiting . . . . It is your punishment to read this trivial page; but
although my head is empty, my heart is not so, and it holds for you a
very living friendship."
In March 1797, this Henriette went to Lausanne and in May from there to
her father's home at Mecklenburg.
IV -- CORRESPONDENCE WITH JEAN-FERDINAND OPIZ
On the 27th July 1792, Casanova wrote M. Opiz that he had finished the
twelfth volume of his Memoirs, with his age at forty-seven years 1772.
"Our late friend, the worthy Count Max Josef Lamberg," he added, "could
not bear the idea of my burning my Memoirs, and expecting to survive me,
had persuaded me to send him the first four volumes. But now there is no
longer any questions that his good soul has left his organs. Three weeks
ago I wept for his death, all the more so as he would still be living if
he had listened to me. I am, perhaps, the only one who knows the truth.
He who slew him was the surgeon Feuchter at Cremsir, who applied
thirty-six mercurial plasters on a gland in his left groin which was
swollen but not by the pox, as I am sure by the description he gave me of
the cause of the swelling. The mercury mounted to his esophagus and,
being able to swallow neither solids nor fluids, he died the 23rd June of
positive famine . . . . The interest of the bungling surgeon is to say
that he died of the pox. This is not true, I beg, you to give the lie to
anyone you hear saying it. I have before my eyes four hundred and sixty
of his letters over which I weep and which I will burn. I have asked
Count Leopold to burn mine, which he had saved, and I hope that he will
please me by doing it. I have survived all my true friends. 'Tempus abire
mihi est' Horace says to me.
"Returning to my Memoirs . . . I am a detestable man; but I do not care
about having it known, and I do not aspire to the honor of the
detestation of posterity. My work is full of excellent moral
instructions. But to what good, if the charming descriptions of my
offences excite the readers more to action than to repentance?
Furthermore, knowing readers would divine the names of all the women and
of the men which I have masked, whose transgressions are unknown to the
world, my indiscretion would injure them, they would cry out against my
perfidy, even though every word of my history were true . . . . Tell me
yourself whether or not I should burn my work? I am curious to have your
advice."
On the 6th May 1793, Casanova wrote Opiz: "The letter of recommendation
you ask of me to the professor my brother for your younger son, honors
me; and there is no doubt that, having for you all the estimation your
qualities merit, I should send it to you immediately. But this cannot be.
And here is the reason. My brother is my enemy; he has given me sure
indications of it and it appears that his hate will not cease until I no
longer exist. I hope that he may long survive me and be happy. This
desire is my only apology."
"The epigraph of the little work which I would give to the public,"
Casanova wrote the 23rd August 1793, "is 'In pondere et mensura'. It is
concerned with gravity and measure. I would demonstrate not only that the
course of the stars is irregular but also that it is susceptible only to
approximate measures and that consequently we must join physical and
moral calculations in establishing celestial movements. For I prove that
all fixed axes must have a necessarily irregular movement of oscillation,
from which comes a variation in all the necessary curves of the planets
which compose their eccentricities and their orbits. I demonstrate that
light has neither body nor spirit; I demonstrate that it comes in an
instant from its respective star; I demonstrate the impossibility of many
parallaxes and the uselessness of many others. I criticize not only
Tiko-Brahi, but also Kepler and Newton . . . .
"I wish to send you my manuscript and give you the trouble of publishing
it with my name at Prague or elsewhere . . . . I will sell it to the
printer or to yourself for fifty florins and twenty-five copies on fine
paper when it is printed."
But Opiz replied:
"As the father of a family, I do not feel myself authorized to dispose of
my revenues on the impulse of my fancy or as my heart suggests.... and no
offer of yours could make me a book-seller."
This shows plainly enough that Opiz, for all his interest in Casanova,
had not the qualities of true friendship.
On the 6th September 1793, Casanova wrote:
"I will have my Reveries printed at Dresden, and I will be pleased to
send you a copy. I laughed a little at your fear that I would take
offense because you did not want my manuscript by sending me the
ridiculous sum I named to you. This refusal, my dear friend, did not
offend me. On the contrary it was useful as an aid in knowing character.
Add to this that in making the offer I thought to make you a gift. Fear
nothing from the event. Your system of economy will never interfere with
either my proceedings or my doctrines; and I am in no need of begging
you, for I think that your action followed only your inclination and
consequently your greatest pleasure."
On the insistence of Opiz, Casanova continued his correspondence, but he
passed over nothing more, neither in exact quotations from Latin authors,
nor solecisms, nor lame reasonings. He even reproached him for his poor
writing and did not cease joking at the philanthropic and amiable
sentiments Opiz loved to parade while at the same time keeping his
purse-strings tight. A number of quarreling letters followed, after which
the correspondence came to an end. One of Casanova's last letters, that
of the 2nd February 1794, concludes: "One day M. de Bragadin said to me:
'Jacques, be careful never to convince a quibbler, for he will become
your enemy.' After this wise advice I avoided syllogism, which tended
toward conviction. But in spite of this you have become my enemy. . . ."
Among the Casanova manuscripts at Dux was one giving his final comment on
his relations with Opiz. Accusing Opiz of bringing about a quarrel,
Casanova nevertheless admits that he himself may not be blameless, but
lays this to his carelessness. "I have a bad habit," he writes, "of not
reading over my letters. If, in re-reading those I wrote to M. Opiz, I
had found them bitter, I would have burned them." Probably Casanova
struck the root of the matter in his remark, "Perfect accord is the first
charm of a reciprocal friendship." The two men were primarily of so
different a temperament, that they apparently could not long agree even
on subjects on which they were most in accord.
The complete correspondence is of very considerable interest.
V -- PUBLICATIONS
In 1786, Casanova published 'Le soliloque d'un penseur', in which he
speaks of Saint-Germain and of Cagliostro. On the 23rd December 1792,
Zaguri wrote Casanova that Cagliostro was in prison at San Leo. "Twenty
years ago, I told Cagliostro not to set his foot in Rome, and if he had
followed this advice he would not have died miserably in a Roman prison."
In January 1788, appeared 'Icosameron' a romance in five volumes,
dedicated to Count Waldstein, which he describes as "translated from the
English." This fanciful romance, which included philosophic and
theological discussions, was the original work of Casanova and not a
translation. It was criticized in 1789 by a literary journal at Jena.
Preserved at Dux were several manuscripts with variants of 'Icosameron'
and also an unpublished reply to the criticism.
In 1788 Casanova published the history of his famous flight
from "The Leads". An article on this book appeared in the German
'Litteratur-Zeitung', 29th June 1789: "As soon as the history was
published and while it was exciting much interest among us and among our
neighbors, it was seen that other attempts at flight from prisons would
make their appearance. The subject in itself is captivating; all
prisoners awake our compassion, particularly when they are enclosed in a
severe prison and are possibly innocent . . . . The history with which we
are concerned has all the appearances of truth; many Venetians have
testified to it, and the principal character, M. Casanova, brother of the
celebrated painter, actually lives at Dux in Bohemia where the Count
Waldstein has established him as guardian of his important library."
In July 1789 there was discovered, among the papers of the Bastille, the
letter which Casanova wrote from Augsburg in May 1767 to Prince Charles
of Courlande on the subject of fabricating gold. Carrel published this
letter at once in the third volume of his 'Memoirs authentiques et
historiques sur la Bastille'. Casanova kept a copy of this letter and
includes it in the Memoirs.
In October 1789, Casanova wrote M. Opiz that he was writing to a
professor of mathematics [M. Lagrange] at Paris, a long letter in
Italian, on the duplication of the cube, which he wished to publish. In
August 1790, Casanova published his 'Solution du Probleme Deliaque
demontree and Deux corollaires a la duplication de hexadre'. On the
subject of his pretended solution of this problem in speculative
mathematics, Casanova engaged with M. Opiz in a heated technical
discussion between the 16th September and 1st November 1790. Casanova
sought vainly to convince Opiz of the correctness of his solution.
Finally, M. Opiz, tired of the polemics, announced that he was leaving on
a six-weeks tour of inspection and that he would not be able to occupy
himself with the duplication of the cube for some time to come. On the
1st November, Casanova wished him a pleasant journey and advised him to
guard against the cold because "health is the soul of life."
In 1797, appeared the last book published during Casanova's lifetime, a
small work entitled: 'A Leonard Snetlage, docteur en droit de
l'Universite de Goettingue, Jacques Casanova, docteur en droit de
l'Universite de Padoue'. This was a careful criticism of the neologisms
introduced into French by the Revolution. In reference to Casanova's
title of "Doctor," researches by M. Favoro at the University of Padua had
failed to establish this claim, although, in the Memoirs Casanova had
written:
"I remained at Padua long enough to prepare myself for the Doctor's
degree, which I intended to take the following year." With this devil of
a man, it is always prudent to look twice before peremptorily questioning
the truth of his statement. And in fact, the record of Casanova's
matriculation was discovered by Signor Bruno Brunelli.
VI -- SUMMARY of MY LIFE
The 2nd November, 1797, Cecilia Roggendorff wrote to Casanova: "By the
way, how do you call yourself, by your baptismal name? On what day and in
what year were you born? You may laugh, if you wish, at my questions, but
I command you to satisfy me . . ." To this request, Casanova responded
with:
"Summary of My Life:--my mother brought me into the world at Venice on
the 2nd April, Easter day of the year 1725. She had, the night before, a
strong desire for crawfish. I am very fond of them.
"At baptism, I was named Jacques-Jerome. I was an idiot until I was
eight-and-a-half years old. After having had a hemorrhage for three
months, I was taken to Padua, where, cured of my imbecility, I applied
myself to study and, at the age of sixteen years I was made a doctor and
given the habit of a priest so that I might go seek my fortune at Rome.
"At Rome, the daughter of my French instructor was the cause of my being
dismissed by my patron, Cardinal Aquaviva.
"At the age of eighteen years, I entered the military service of my
country, and I went to Constantinople. Two years afterward, having
returned to Venice, I left the profession of honor and, taking the bit in
my teeth, embraced the wretched profession of a violinist. I horrified my
friends, but this did not last for very long.
"At the age of twenty-one years, one of the highest nobles of Venice
adopted me as his son, and, having become rich, I went to see Italy,
France, Germany and Vienna where I knew Count Roggendorff. I returned to
Venice, where, two years later, the State Inquisitors of Venice, for just
and wise reasons, imprisoned me under The Leads.
"This was the state prison, from which no one had ever escaped, but, with
the aid of God, I took flight at the end of fifteen months and went to
Paris. In two years, my affairs prospered so well that I became worth a
million, but, all the same, I went bankrupt. I made money in Holland;
suffered misfortune in Stuttgart; was received with honors in
Switzerland; visited M. de Voltaire; adventured in Genoa, Marseilles,
Florence and in Rome where the Pope Rezzonico, a Venetian, made me a
Chevalier of Saint-Jean-Latran and an apostolic protonotary. This was in
the year 1760.
"In the same year I found good fortune at Naples; at Florence I carried
off a girl; and, the following year, I was to attend the Congress at
Augsburg, charged with a commission from the King of Portugal. The
Congress did not meet there and, after the publication of peace, I passed
on into England, which great misfortunes caused me to leave in the
following year, 1764. I avoided the gibbet which, however, should not
have dishonored me as I should only have been hung. In the same year I
searched in vain for fortune at Berlin and at Petersburg, but I found it
at Warsaw in the following year. Nine months afterwards, I lost it
through being embroiled in a pistol duel with General Branicki; I pierced
his abdomen but in eight months he was well again and I was very much
pleased. He was a brave man. Obliged to leave Poland, I returned to Paris
in 1767, but a 'lettre de cachet' obliged me to leave and I went to Spain
where I met with great misfortunes. I committed the crime of making
nocturnal visits to the mistress of the 'vice-roi', who was a great
scoundrel.
"At the frontiers of Spain, I escaped from assassins only to suffer, at
Aix, in Provence, an illness which took me to the edge of the grave,
after spitting blood for eighteen months.
"In the year 1769, I published my Defense of the Government of Venice, in
three large volumes, written against Amelot de la Houssaie.
"In the following year the English Minister at the Court of Turin sent
me, well recommended, to Leghorn. I wished to go to Constantinople with
the Russian fleet, but as Admiral Orlof, would not meet my conditions, I
retraced my steps and went to Rome under the pontificate of Ganganelli.
"A happy love affair made me leave Rome and go to Naples and, three
months later, an unhappy love made me return to Rome. I had measured
swords for the third time with Count Medini who died four years ago at
London, in prison for his debts.
"Having considerable money, I went to Florence, where, during the
Christmas Festival, the Archduke Leopold, the Emperor who died four or
five years ago, ordered me to leave his dominions within three days. I
had a mistress who, by my advice, became Marquise de * * * at Bologna.
"Weary of running about Europe, I determined to solicit mercy from the
Venetian State Inquisitors. For this purpose, I established myself at
Trieste where, two years later, I obtained it. This was the 14th
September 1774. My return to Venice after nineteen years was the most
pleasant moment of my life.
"In 1782, I became embroiled with the entire body of the Venetian
nobility. At the beginning of 1783, I voluntarily left the ungrateful
country and went to Vienna. Six months later I went to Paris with the
intention of establishing myself there, but my brother, who had lived
there for twenty-six years, made me forget my interests in favor of his.
I rescued him from the hands of his wife and took him to Vienna where
Prince Kaunitz engaged him to establish himself. He is still there, older
than I am by two years.
"I placed myself in the service of M. Foscarini, Venetian Ambassador, to
write dispatches. Two years later, he died in my arms, killed by the gout
which mounted into his chest. I then set out for Berlin in the hope of
securing a position with the Academy, but, half way there, Count
Waldstein stopped me at Teplitz and led me to Dux where I still am and
where, according to all appearances, I shall die.
"This is the only summary of my life that I have written, and I permit
any use of it which may be desired.
"'Non erubesco evangelium'.
"This 17th November 1797.
"Jacques Casanova."
In reference to Casanova's ironic remark about his escape from England,
see his conversation, on the subject of "dishonor," with Sir Augustus
Hervey at London in 1763, which is given in the Memoirs.
VII -- LAST DAYS AT DUX
Scattered through the Memoirs are many of Casanova's thoughts about his
old age. Some were possibly incorporated in the original text, others
possibly added when he revised the text in 1797. These vary from
resignation to bitterness, doubtless depending on Casanova's state of
mind at the moment he wrote them:
"Now that I am seventy-two years old, I believe myself no longer
susceptible of such follies. But alas! that is the very thing which
causes me to be miserable."
"I hate old age which offers only what I already know, unless I should
take up a gazette."
"Age has calmed my passions by rendering them powerless, but my heart has
not grown old and my memory has kept all the freshness of youth."
"No, I have not forgotten her [Henriette]; for even now, when my head is
covered with white hair, the recollection of her is still a source of
happiness for my heart."
"A scene which, even now, excites my mirth."
"Age, that cruel and unavoidable disease, compels me to be in good
health, in spite of myself."
"Now that I am but the shadow of the once brilliant Casanova, I love to
chatter."
"Now that age has whitened my hair and deadened the ardor of my senses,
my imagination does not take such a high flight and I think differently."
"What embitters my old age is that, having a heart as warm as ever, I
have no longer the strength necessary to secure a single day as blissful
as those which I owed to this charming girl."
"When I recall these events, I grow young again and feel once more the
delights of youth, despite the long years which separate me from that
happy time."
"Now that I am getting into my dotage, I look on the dark side of
everything. I am invited to a wedding and see naught but gloom; and,
witnessing the coronation of Leopold II, at Prague, I say to myself,
'Nolo coronari'. Cursed old age, thou art only worthy of dwelling in
hell."
"The longer I live, the more interest I take in my papers. They are the
treasure which attaches me to life and makes death more hateful still."
And so on, through the Memoirs, Casanova supplies his own picture,
knowing very well that the end, even of his cherished memories, is not
far distant.
In 1797, Casanova relates an amusing, but irritating incident, which
resulted in the loss of the first three chapters of the second volume of
the Memoirs through the carelessness of a servant girl at Dux who took
the papers "old, written upon, covered with scribbling and erasures," for
"her own purposes," thus necessitating a re-writing, "which I must now
abridge," of these chapters. Thirty years before, Casanova would
doubtless have made love to the girl and all would have been forgiven.
But, alas for the "hateful old age" permitting no relief except
irritation and impotent anger.
On the 1st August, 1797, Cecilia Roggendorff, the daughter of the Count
Roggendorff [printed Roquendorf] whom Casanova had met at Vienna in 1753,
wrote: "You tell me in one of your letters that, at your death, you will
leave me, by your will, your Memoirs which occupy twelve volumes."
At this time, Casanova was revising, or had completed his revision of,
the twelve volumes. In July 1792, as mentioned above, Casanova wrote Opiz
that he had arrived at the twelfth volume. In the Memoirs themselves we
read, ". . . the various adventures which, at the age of seventy-two
years, impel me to write these Memoirs . . .," written probably during a
revision in 1797.
At the beginning of one of the two chapters of the last volume, which
were missing until discovered by Arthur Symons at Dux in 1899, we read:
"When I left Venice in the year 1783, God ought to have sent me to Rome,
or to Naples, or to Sicily, or to Parma, where my old age, according to
all appearances, might have been happy. My genius, who is always right,
led me to Paris, so that I might see my brother Francois, who had run
into debt and who was just then going to the Temple. I do not care
whether or not he owes me his regeneration, but I am glad to have
effected it. If he had been grateful to me, I should have felt myself
paid; it seems to me much better that he should carry the burden of his
debt on his shoulders, which from time to time he ought to find heavy. He
does not deserve a worse punishment. To-day, in the seventy-third year of
my life, my only desire is to live in peace and to be far from any person
who might imagine that he has rights over my moral liberty, for it is
impossible that any kind of tyranny should not coincide with this
imagination."
Early in February, 1798, Casanova was taken sick with a very grave
bladder trouble of which he died after suffering for three-and-a-half
months. On the 16th February Zaguri wrote: "I note with the greatest
sorrow the blow which has afflicted you." On the 31st March, after having
consulted with a Prussian doctor, Zaguri sent a box of medicines and he
wrote frequently until the end.
On the 20th April Elisa von der Recke, whom Casanova had met, some years
before, at the chateau of the Prince de Ligne at Teplitz, having returned
to Teplitz, wrote: "Your letter, my friend, has deeply affected me.
Although myself ill, the first fair day which permits me to go out will
find me at your side." On the 27th, Elisa, still bedridden, wrote that
the Count de Montboisier and his wife were looking forward to visiting
Casanova. On the 6th May she wrote, regretting that she was unable to
send some crawfish soup, but that the rivers were too high for the
peasants to secure the crawfish. "The Montboisier family, Milady Clark,
my children and myself have all made vows for your recovery." On the 8th,
she sent bouillon and madeira.
On the 4th June, 1798, Casanova died. His nephew, Carlo Angiolini was
with him at the time. He was buried in the churchyard of Santa Barbara at
Dux. The exact location of his grave is uncertain, but a tablet, placed
against the outside wall of the church reads:
JAKOB
CASANOVA
Venedig 1725 Dux 1798
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